Pressure Is Rising
Hi, long time listener first time caller, and *wow* am I nervous. Here's hoping you like this 625-ish word drabble - profuse thanks to Ardent, CeliaD and Linda for their eleventh hour beta'ing.
Pressure Is Rising, by Cliona
Another night in the low 80's, with air so close the smallest draft is a heated sucker-punch to the skin. Damp sheets imprint wrinkles into Ray's back despite his constant shifting. He can't take much more; he's going to lose it any minute now. Corkscrewing to his side, he pulls up on one elbow to wallop his pillow, then galumphs back down onto the bed. Ten seconds later, he springs up again, hurtling the offending goosefeathers across the room.
"Jesus fuck! Just let me sleep decent one night, okay?" Flinging himself back against the sweaty bed, Ray raggedly cards his fingers through damp hair. "Can you goddamn just quit it already, for six hours even?", rapping his fists on the side of his head.
Freak. Coward. Pervert. Chickenshit. Faggot. Bottomboy.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up", sweat beads up over the planes of his body, and Ray wipes his brow in a long stroke, then sweeps his palm across his cheek, gliding down his Adam's apple until it rests lightly along his clavicle. He shudders from the contact, wet and hot along his skin. Tension, too much to tolerate. He needs to do something.
"Tomorrow. Got to remember to pick up coffee for Huey, never should have made that bet." Ray's opposite hand skims down his ribcage, softly brushing. "The 19th, Cubs are away, Sox are at home, wonder who's pitching?" His fingers start drumming his chest lightly, then move to join the other, lower hand. "Hey, Sandor turns 50 next week, gotta remember to give him shit about it." He grasps himself firmly at the base of his cock. "Yeah, those aren't just hairline cracks, better call the landlord about that." He cups his balls in a loose, undulating grip. "Wonder what time Fras-" his hands still briefly, then move again, more frenzied. "Um, should try to get up a little early, have a decent breakf-"
Freak. Ray flinches, but doesn't stop. He hopes he can hang on until he comes, and he prays to God he passes out right after. Coward. Fraser's face lights up, his tongue moistens the corner of his lip as he smiles at Ray's invitation. Pervert. Fraser sits on the couch, wedged as far away as he can, mouth aghast at what Ray has just asked. "Shut up," Ray murmurs as his index finger plays at the slit of his penis.
Chickenshit. Fraser hovers below his line of sight; Ray can just see his bobbing head if he unfocuses a little, concentrates. Faggot. Fraser lurches up, turning his back on Ray as he gathers up his jacket to leave. "Shut the hell up," Ray groans, pressing the skin behind his balls, while his hips thrust forward.
Bottomboy. Oh god, god, Fraser's over him, bending Ray's knees back, eyes shut tight, Fraser's whispering. You should be ashamed. Fraser's lips purse in disgust as he smacks away Ray's hand on his shoulder. "Shut up, fuck, please," he begs, the cotton bunching under Ray's ass and cupping his cheeks as he pistons into a vise grip while fingers push hard upon the ring at his cleft, Ray gasping when the muscle is breached, a fast scraping thrust up to the second knuckle.
You want to be punished. Fraser's eyes gleam, watching Raywith feral lust while pulling and pushing relentlessly, breaking Ray apart, smelting him to his core. He'll hate you. Fraser shuts the door behind him, before Ray can explain. He wants it. Fraser arches, a keening growl ripping from deep inside him. You're sick. You love him.
"Shutupshutupshutupsh-please, oh fuck Fraser fuck- godgodBen!"
He collapses into sleep, at last. No break in the heat wave is forecast for tomorrow. But Ray already knows that.
Pressure Is Rising, by Cliona
Another night in the low 80's, with air so close the smallest draft is a heated sucker-punch to the skin. Damp sheets imprint wrinkles into Ray's back despite his constant shifting. He can't take much more; he's going to lose it any minute now. Corkscrewing to his side, he pulls up on one elbow to wallop his pillow, then galumphs back down onto the bed. Ten seconds later, he springs up again, hurtling the offending goosefeathers across the room.
"Jesus fuck! Just let me sleep decent one night, okay?" Flinging himself back against the sweaty bed, Ray raggedly cards his fingers through damp hair. "Can you goddamn just quit it already, for six hours even?", rapping his fists on the side of his head.
Freak. Coward. Pervert. Chickenshit. Faggot. Bottomboy.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up", sweat beads up over the planes of his body, and Ray wipes his brow in a long stroke, then sweeps his palm across his cheek, gliding down his Adam's apple until it rests lightly along his clavicle. He shudders from the contact, wet and hot along his skin. Tension, too much to tolerate. He needs to do something.
"Tomorrow. Got to remember to pick up coffee for Huey, never should have made that bet." Ray's opposite hand skims down his ribcage, softly brushing. "The 19th, Cubs are away, Sox are at home, wonder who's pitching?" His fingers start drumming his chest lightly, then move to join the other, lower hand. "Hey, Sandor turns 50 next week, gotta remember to give him shit about it." He grasps himself firmly at the base of his cock. "Yeah, those aren't just hairline cracks, better call the landlord about that." He cups his balls in a loose, undulating grip. "Wonder what time Fras-" his hands still briefly, then move again, more frenzied. "Um, should try to get up a little early, have a decent breakf-"
Freak. Ray flinches, but doesn't stop. He hopes he can hang on until he comes, and he prays to God he passes out right after. Coward. Fraser's face lights up, his tongue moistens the corner of his lip as he smiles at Ray's invitation. Pervert. Fraser sits on the couch, wedged as far away as he can, mouth aghast at what Ray has just asked. "Shut up," Ray murmurs as his index finger plays at the slit of his penis.
Chickenshit. Fraser hovers below his line of sight; Ray can just see his bobbing head if he unfocuses a little, concentrates. Faggot. Fraser lurches up, turning his back on Ray as he gathers up his jacket to leave. "Shut the hell up," Ray groans, pressing the skin behind his balls, while his hips thrust forward.
Bottomboy. Oh god, god, Fraser's over him, bending Ray's knees back, eyes shut tight, Fraser's whispering. You should be ashamed. Fraser's lips purse in disgust as he smacks away Ray's hand on his shoulder. "Shut up, fuck, please," he begs, the cotton bunching under Ray's ass and cupping his cheeks as he pistons into a vise grip while fingers push hard upon the ring at his cleft, Ray gasping when the muscle is breached, a fast scraping thrust up to the second knuckle.
You want to be punished. Fraser's eyes gleam, watching Raywith feral lust while pulling and pushing relentlessly, breaking Ray apart, smelting him to his core. He'll hate you. Fraser shuts the door behind him, before Ray can explain. He wants it. Fraser arches, a keening growl ripping from deep inside him. You're sick. You love him.
"Shutupshutupshutupsh-please, oh fuck Fraser fuck- godgodBen!"
He collapses into sleep, at last. No break in the heat wave is forecast for tomorrow. But Ray already knows that.