Pundit Kink Meme
The Pundits Kink Meme, 2.0
For The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, MSNBC, CNN, even FOX is fair game. :)
The Rules:
1. Choose a pairing.
2. Choose a kink. If none come to mind, see this list for inspiration.
3. Your comments should be anonymous! Before you read any further, click anonymous or log off.
4. Didn't I tell you to log off?
5. For every request ( Read more... )
He's on his bunk, and has barely opened his book when the door opens. He looks at Keith over the top of the paperback.
"Hey," he says, cautiously.
"Hey," Keith replies, stepping up onto a low rung of the ladder.
Anderson slowly replaces his bookmark and sets the book aside.
"Can I come up?" Keith asks, and Anderson smiles faintly.
"What's the password?" he asks, and Keith raises his eyebrows.
"Never figured you for a secret treehouse kind of guy," he says.
"I'm full of surprises," Anderson says, mildly - then, "My brother and I had one when we were kids." And because Keith knows that's all he's going to say about it, he nods, and Anderson scoots over.
Keith settles next to him, and they sit in silence. "You hate it here," Keith says eventually, amused, and Anderson shrugs.
"Not really a camp guy," he says, then - "despite what your friends think."
Keith glances down at his lap, slightly ashamed. "Ah. You heard-"
"Yeah."
"I'm so-"
"Don't say you're sorry," Anderson mumbles; he's heard that so many times in his life, "Just - don't."
"OK." Keith picks at a loose thread on his sock before venturing, awkwardly, "You know - they don't ... they're not being - hateful or anything."
"Really?" Anderson's skeptical, and Keith laughs a little.
"Yeah - it's. They've grown up with gay friends. It's good-natured, it - just. Probably doesn't sound like it to you."
"It doesn't," Anderson agrees, softly.
Keith hesitates. "If it wasn't - you know - friendly, I would've beaten them up years ago," and it takes a second for Anderson to understand what he's saying, but when he does, his head snaps up.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asks, eyes boring into Keith's, and Keith shrugs.
"You were honest with me," he says, as the door flings open, and Anderson sits there, thoughtfully, as Keith climbs down and the rest of the cabin returns.
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Keith touches his cheek, then leans in and kisses him, and it's confident and sure, and Anderson opens his mouth to him. Keith touches his tongue to Anderson's lightly, and Anderson pushes against him, instinctively, and Keith's hand falls to his hip.
He urges Anderson onto his back, his hand trailing along the waistband of his cotton shorts. His hand edges lower, and Anderson arches slightly, pleadingly, and Keith cups his growing erection.
The conversation around them turns to baseball as Keith's hand slips into his shorts. He bites down on his lip, hard, as Keith says, loudly, "You're a Mets fan. Your opinion doesn't count." His grip on Anderson's dick tightens, his thumb playing with a slit he finds by touch alone.
He's stroking faster, then, and Anderson's hips are rocking, his toes curling in the thin bedsheet. "Come on, Anderson," Keith all but mouthes into his hair, and Anderson's fucking his fist, and Keith covers his mouth with his other hand.
He comes with a shudder, Keith's hands down his pants and over his face; Keith slowly uncovers his mouth, and Anderson turns his head to the side, lazily, and kisses him.
"You don't even follow baseball," Keith says, dismissively - still, somehow, following the conversation, as Anderson's hands delve into his pants, and his neck arches as Anderson fondles his balls.
He starts stroking, loose and slow, and Keith pushes up into his hand impatiently, and Anderson can almost see his clenched teeth in the darkness.
He's still cupping one of Keith's balls with his other hand; he brushes his thumb over it, tests the weight in his palm, slowly speeding his hand up, and Keith turns to bite the pillow, hips jerking faster.
Taking pity on him, Anderson's strokes become faster, and Keith's breathing out his nose as comes over his stomach, Anderson's hands. Anderson pauses, wipes his hands on the bedspread, and Keith shoves at him, lightly, but he's smiling.
He tugs Anderson closer, moves his mouth to Anderson's ear. "Camp's not so bad," he whispers, and Anderson doesn't try to stifle his laugh.
end
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