Extra Bingo!
See my card here. This is THE BLUE SET.
Title:Dr Feelgood (Law & Order: SVU, Huang/OMC, Emotional Manipulation)
Summary: Feeling better never felt so good.
Content notes: Slash, the fluffiest emotional manip you’ve ever seen, sexless sex
George Huang was startled by the sound of someone pounding furiously at his door. Getting up from the couch, he went to the door and checked the peephole. Seeing a familiar face, he quickly opened it.
“Robert, love, why are you here?” he asked gently, reaching out to draw the shivering policeman into his house. He closed the door behind him, still cradling his lover against his chest.
Robert shuddered, pressing his forehead into George’s shoulder. “I…I can’t get her out of my head, George!” he whimpered, his head rocking from side to side. “All I can see is the video of her, laughing…” He began to cry.
George held him closely, rocking him gently. He knew the case that Robert was referring to; his lover had been working to find a young woman who had vanished, the last sighting of her being a subway video. Robert had been tense about it for a while, and he knew just how much it was bothering him. That thought in mind, George slowly drew him back towards the bedroom.
He urged Robert to strip down, take everything off, and lie down on the bed, face down. He adjusted the lights, lighting the electric candles that stood on the dresser for a little light. Opening a drawer on the bedside table, he drew out a bottle of scented oil. He climbed up on the bed, threw a leg over his hips, and poured some of the oil into his hands.
Lavender was a uniquely useful scent. It was calming, especially for women, but had an arousing effect on men. Nothing too strong, just a little assistance getting out of depressive patterns. It worked well with massage, and so George set to work. He stroked up and down Robert’s back, his fingers working hard against tense muscles.
“I love you,” he whispered, working his fingers into Robert’s shoulders. “You are a gorgeous man.” He shifted how he was straddling the other man’s hips and started working his hands down his sides. He knew that his lover could feel the half-hard erection, but that wasn’t the focus, not right now.
Robert shifted beneath him, hmming into the pillow. That just encouraged George, who kept his hands on his skin, working the lavender-scented oil into his cinnamon skin. He leant in, so that he was hovering over Robert, and whispered in his ear, “you captivate me. You’re so smart, so good at what you do… It’s beautiful, and I love you for it. So much.” He kissed the back of his lover’s neck, hands now working on his ass.
“Y’re trying to cheer me up,” Robert mumbled into the pillow, going loose and limp beneath George’s hands.
The psychiatrist laughed. “Is it working?” he asked, sliding further down his lover’s body and working at his legs.
“Mmm,” Robert agreed, nodding. “Making me feel good, anyway.”
“I’m glad,” George told him. Now working Robert’s calf, he twisted and pressed a kiss to the curve of his spine. “You should feel good. You’re so smart and talented. I love you, pretty boy.”
Robert laughed and rolled over slowly, giving George time to get out of the way of his feet. “Kiss me, lover?” he asked, smiling softly.
Smiling back at him, George slid slowly up his body, glad to see the smile on his lover’s face. He could feel Robert’s erection, too; he was getting harder as the psychiatrist moved over him, never breaking contact. He grinned as he felt that, and cupped Robert’s face in oily hands. The kiss was hot, slick, and messy.
“Love the way you make me feel,” Robert whispered against his lips, surging up against George’s body, grinding their erections together.
George grinned. “Love making you feel good,” he replied, slightly cross-eyed as he focused on the other man’s face. He kissed him again, his hands sliding down, down, down until he was grasping Robert’s hips, drawing them down against his own in a smooth, rhythmic pattern. When Robert twined his legs around his hips and pulled him down, George offered no resistance, letting their bodies collide in the best way.
He would do anything to make his lover feel better.
Title:Feast (Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sokka/Zuko, Food)
Summary: Zuko can hold very, very still. Sokka takes advantage.
Content notes: Slash, the use of food in sexual situations
“So let me get this straight,” Sokka said, pacing back and forth in front of Zuko. “You think you can hold absolutely still, no matter what?”
Zuko, lying naked beneath the blanket, nodded. “Meditation, loser. Nothing can make me move.”
Sokka twitched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t call me a loser, jerk. I want you to prove it,” he demanded arrogantly, his hands on his hips. It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been bare-ass naked.
“Fine,” Zuko shot back snottily, shrugging. “Just name the time and place.”
Sokka grinned.
Zuko had the sudden, sickening thought that that might have been a mistake.
----
Oh, giving Sokka free license had been a mistake, and that was for sure, Zuko thought sourly. To his credit, though, who in their right mind heard “can hold perfectly still for extended periods of time” and thought “dinner!”?
Well, considering that he was talking about Sokka, Zuko admitted, quite good, actually. The boy was obsessed with food.
Seeing the boy in question coming down the hall, a platter of food in hand, Zuko sighed and leant back against the table once more. He had taken a long bath, and was scrupulously clean. As Sokka entered the room, he sighed, wondering briefly what his people would have said, had they known that the Fire Lord was lying back and letting the Water Tribe ambassador use him as a dish.
“You ready to start?” Sokka asked, suddenly appearing in his field of vision, a plate of food still hovering in his hand.
“Do your worst, loser,” Zuko drawled, and then Sokka disappeared as he closed his eyes and began to meditate.
Sokka set gleefully to work. He began placing little scraps of food all around Zuko’s torso, laying them in careful, elegant patterns. Fire Nation was home to a lot of flowering fruits, and he enjoyed both the way they looked and the way they tasted.
They looked prettier than normal, spread out against the cinnamon backdrop of Zuko’s skin. The dark, deep tone brought out the rich, jewel-like color of the tropical fleshes, making the fruits seem to glow and shine. The sight made Sokka’s mouth water, and not just because of the food.
He quickly shaped a series of patterns on Zuko, patterns that he had learned years ago from GranGran, when she was teaching Katara beadwork. The sunbursts and waves had never sunk in for his sister-she was too eager to get up and bend, to play-but Sokka had learned the picture-stories and the meanings of all the patterns. He played them out across Zuko’s smooth skin, telling the story of a Southern Tribe boy who had become enemies, then friends, and finally lovers with the Fire Lord himself.
His mouth watering, Sokka decided that the story was as complete as he could make it at this time. He lifted one final thing from the tray-a silver bowl full of thick, sweet cream. Taking a quick peek at Zuko’s face-still, calm, completely quiet and unaware-he nestled the bowl down between his lover’s thighs, and then dipped a hand in. He let the thick cream drip from his fingers, tracing patterns around Zuko’s body, filling in the spaces around the sweet fruits, drizzling it here and there across them. That done, Sokka licked his fingers clean.
He sighed, standing back and enjoying the final picture. Zuko was covered with white, sticky tendrils of cream, adorned with fresh, growing jewels from the finest groves in the Fire Nation. He was calm, relaxed, and his face was slack with peace. He was unaware of the world around him, and his chest barely rose and fell as he breathed.
Licking his lips, Sokka adjusted the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t wait to have this feast!
Title:Wash You Throughly (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Percy/Nico, Washing/Cleaning)
Summary: Percy cleans Nico up, and gets a little jealous of water.
Content notes: slash, young adults in sexual situations, washing/cleaning
Just calm down, Percy told himself firmly, biting his lip and listening to the whispering of the souls all around them. He could not afford to alienate his friend, could not afford to frighten off Nico now that he had convinced him to join them. Nico was a son of one of the Big Three, just like Percy himself, and, while he was yet but a child, he would soon be a dangerously powerful man. And, unlike Percy, he had been training for the better part of his life already.
“Percy?”
Speak of the damned. Percy turned around, smiling quickly at the younger teen. “You ready, Nico?” he asked, fighting back the urge to let his eyes fall down, down, down Nico’s body.
Nico nodded, though his bandaged fingers twitched slightly against his collarbone, as if he was trying to remember not to clench them nervously. It would only aggravate the injuries he had gotten earlier, the same injuries that Annabelle had done her best to repair by immobilizing his arm and strapping it against his body. Unfortunately, her actions had meant that Nico was completely dependent on Percy, for everything.
Which included washing off the grave dirt that he was smothered in. Nico fought hard when he fought, and that generally resulted in a nasty, thick mud all over every exposed inch of his skin, a combination of grave dirt and sweat. With his arm bound up, the younger teen was completely incapable of washing the mud off himself, but was understandably unwilling to let it sit on his skin.
“Well, come here, then,” Percy urged, beckoning him over. Taking a deep breath-in hopes of keeping himself from springing wood while bathing his friend-he took out a small knife and began to cut Nico’s clothes right off of him. Other than a quiet whimper and slight twitch, Nico gave no hint that he was uncomfortable with the other demi-god’s actions. He just stood there, letting Percy do what he would, stripping him with the knife.
His calm acceptance, the way he acted so uncaring, so doll-like… It frightened Percy. Shaken, suddenly unsure of himself and what he was doing, Percy led Nico to the edge of the quietly burbling river. With a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder, he led him forward, until the water lapped at his toes, until it kissed his ankles, until it caressed his thighs, until it brushed tender hands across his hips.
Suddenly, irrationally, Percy was jealous of the water. His anger made it slosh and froth around his hips, and Nico shot him a curious look. Seeing that look, Percy fought back the emotion-honestly, jealous of water? He controlled water, for crying out loud!-and smiled comfortingly at Nico. “Well, come on. Let’s get you all cleaned off.”
He released Nico’s shoulder and began to guide water up, using gentle, scooping motions to urge the liquid upward. Carrying it over Nico’s shoulders, he let the water go, removing the tendril of power he controlled it with.
It spilled over Nico’s shoulders in thick, fat tendrils, pulling away dirt and dingy sweat. Runnels of it ran down his strong, sallow chest, leaving clean lines in its wake. Percy could feel the smooth, velvety touch of it as it ran over Nico’s skin, caressing everywhere that he didn’t dare dream of caressing, stroking and petting that which Percy had no claim to desire.
He could feel the touch from both sides, and it ran through his veins like liquid heat. He could feel the heat and velvet-smooth sensation of Nico’s skin, offering resistance to the water’s flow, warming it and giving it life, and he could feel the tickling trickle as it traced the lines of his body, slowly, as if he were the one in the other demi-god’s skin.
He was hardening rapidly, and it made his breath quicken in his chest. He fought to keep Nico from noticing, focusing instead on making the water swirl around his companion’s body. Nico needed to be comfortable, needed to be clean. Percy couldn’t risk him noticing the way bathing him was affecting him, and so he made sure that the water frothed and burbled around his friend, hiding all evidence of his own problems.
The problem was that he enjoyed bathing Nico more than he should have, and he knew it. Nico was a close friend, and so the fact that he was helping him, caring for him, should not have inspired this reaction. Watching the water flow over Nico’s body, cleaning him, washing away the detritus of his day and his fighting, Percy found himself wanting to not just feel the water, but to be the water.
His pulse grew over more rapid, and as it increased, so too did the rate of the water’s flow. Nico did not seem to notice, too busy luxuriating in the sweet sensation of cool water moving over him. He groaned pleasantly, and the sound rippled through the water to trickle over Percy’s skin.
The older teen bit back a matching groan, and struggled to focus on Nico alone-but not in a bad way. He drew the water around their close-pressed bodies in a rapid swirl, and then let it surge up Nico’s body. The grave dirt and sweat were slowly washed off of Nico’s long body, whirling away in little eddying swirls of water.
And still Percy bathed Nico.
Title:Strangers at the Bar (Batman Universe, Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, Anonymity)
Summary: Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that they don’t have a thing for anonymity.
Content notes: Slash, faux-anonymity
“Hello, stranger,” the tall, dark-haired man said, smiling slyly at the man wearing the demon-faced mask from beneath his own domino mask.
Demon-face smirked back, though the only sign of that was the shift in how the mask sat on his face. “You’re the one that’s been sending me drinks all night,” he accused playfully. As if to play up his words, he tossed the glass on the bar in front of him from side to side.
Domino’s face twitched into a matching smirk. “Indeed. Tell me, was it worth the cliché?”
“That depends,” Demon-face replied. “What do you want from me, stranger?”
Domino came up behind him, moving slinkily until he was cloaking Demon-face from behind, his hot breath rushing over the other man’s ear in a tantalizing whisper. “What do you think I want? Even in the mask, you’re beautiful.” As he spoke, he ran his hands down Demon-face’s sides, bringing them to rest on his narrow hips.
Demon-face chuckled. “Ah. Well, then,” he answered, turning to face Domino, a tantalizing tilt to his body. “Yes, then, it was worth the cliché.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Domino said, smiling sweetly, though a hint of danger and heat lurked in his voice and in his face. “Shall we?” he added, lifting one hand from Demon-face’s hips and offering it in a mock gentlemanly motion.
“Where to?” Demon-face asked, already accepting the hand and letting the other man help him from the bar stool.
“I have a little place not far away,” Domino replied. “You up for a trip?”
Demon-face laughed. “You’re on.” He reached up and yanked the mask off, revealing a sweet face with dark, wide eyes. His red, cupid’s-bow lips looked soft and lush, and the way he was grinning revealed deep dimples. He waited for a second, and then gestured imperiously at the other man. “Well, then. Let’s see it.”
Chuckling, Domino slid his fingers under the edge of his domino mask and slowly peeled it from his skin. There was a thin red line left at the edge of where the mask had sat, glued to his skin, but that didn’t distract from the playful look in his dark eyes or the elegant lashes that curled against his cheeks; supermodels would have been jealous of those (and of the pale, perfect skin revealed by the mask’s removal). Domino grinned confidently as he tucked the mask in his back pocket. “You can call me,” he started.
But Demon-face stopped him, putting one long, thin finger against his lips, stilling them before he could finish speaking. “No names,” he warned. His eyes dancing, he added, “it’s more fun that way, beautiful.”
Domino shook his head, but smiled beneath Demon-face’s finger. “Indeed…hot stuff.” Sliding a hand along the other man’s shoulder, he parted his lips and gently nipped the end of the other man’s finger. “Let’s go, yeah?”
----
Demon-face pushed Domino down, hard, into his own mattress. “This okay?” he asked, his soft tone at odds with the bruising force of his strong hands as they gripped the larger man’s upper arms, pinning him down.
Domino grinned, watching the way that Demon-face’s eyes searched his face, looking for some indicator that this was unwanted. He knew that they would find nothing; he loved being held down by men who were nothing more than a face and a name-if even that. That was why he had gone to the mask party, to look for someone who enjoyed the anonymity as much as he did.
“It’s more than okay,” he agreed, twisting slightly to get room to move against the other man. “Mmm, feels good, baby boy.” He strained to bring his erections into contact with some part of Demon-face’s body.
But Demon-face was having none of it. He chuckled, keeping himself just out of Domino’s reach. This game was going to be played by his rules right now, and right now, those rules called for him to kiss Domino as hard as he could.
It was violent and rough. Domino moaned beneath his nipping teeth, bringing his hands up to scrape his nails down Demon-face’s back, startling an agreeable rumble from the man. Domino grinned fiercely against the sting of Demon-face’s teeth, digging his fingernails deeper into the other man’s skin, knowing that he was going to leave deep, aching red tracks. The knowledge that, tomorrow, this man, this stranger, would be wandering around the city, decorated with his marks, hidden from sight, made the heat already roiling under his skin simply boil up faster and faster.
Demon-face gasped as Domino suddenly arched like an acrobat beneath him, slinging a leg over his high-arced hips and physically hauling him down. The resulting tumble left Domino in control, leveraging the other man against his body in just the places he wanted him. But Demon-face didn’t go down easily; he fought dirty, inclining his head and biting at Domino’s collarbones, smirking at the low groan that won him.
He did so love it when Dick decided to play strangers-at-the-bar.
Title:Shot Above the Heart (Torchwood, Ianto Jones/Lisa Hallett, Nippleplay)
Summary: How Ianto and Lisa got together.
Content notes: Het, pre-series, nipple piercings.
Ianto shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the meeting table, glad that he was only there to get some filing done, cursing whatever crazy, drunken decision had led to his late-night adventure. Going out for drinks with his friends from uni had been a mistake, and he was fast being reminded of that. Bran and Will were the kind of people who would immediately leap on a bad choice and declare it “excellent” and “choice,” and that was something that he should have remembered before asking them for assistance with his “little problem.”
Ugh, that was a stupid idea, really, he told himself, resisting the urge to bang his head against the desk. Bran and Will were to blame for the tattoo on his ass-a Welsh dragon, chosen for its patriotic value during one serious bender-and now they were going to be to blame for his newest body modification.
He hissed suddenly his shirt moved against his nipples, jarring his newest jewelry. He honestly didn’t know how people did this on a regular basis, erotic value or no. It was painful, to say the least, and he had yet to discover anyone with whom he was tempted to share that particular addition.
Except Lisa. Then again, he’d had a thing for Lisa for longer than he tended to want to admit to. And given the way Lisa tended to act-that was to say, like she knew something he didn’t, and that something was exciting and adventurous-Ianto would have been willing to bet that she wouldn’t be put off by a little silver.
Sighing, Ianto tried to pay attention to the pile of paperwork sitting on top of the table. These reports weren’t going to file themselves. Fantasizing about Lisa? Dear heaven, but he was losing it.
----
With his nipples finally healed-and lord, but that had been a long waiting experience, and no mistake!-Ianto was ready for some fun. He’d spent enough time being mocked by Bran and Will about his jewelry and the way his now so-sensitive nipples made him twitch; it was time for him to reap some of the benefit of what he had sown. He swore to himself that that was the only reason he was going out drinking with his mates again tonight, conveniently ignoring the fact that neither they nor he was that stupid.
“Hey, there’s a hot one,” Bran declared drunkenly, pointing out someone who had just entered the pub.
Ianto looked up, knowing full well that Bran’s taste dropped off the face of a cliff when he was completely pissed-which he was-and nearly spat out the beer in his mouth. Lisa. Lisa Hallett. That was who had just walked in the door of the pub, looking as poised and as powerful as ever. She had come with a group of friends, and she was laughing and joking with them. She was beautiful.
He made a point for the rest of the night of attracting her attention, of gaining and keeping her attention on him. He was as charming as he knew how, and she seemed to be enjoying it. As the night went on, she spent more and more time with him, finally saying goodbye to her girlfriends as they left and she stayed with Ianto.
They closed out the pub that night, and when Ianto left, he left with Lisa.
----
“Ah, Lisa!” he gasped, his fingers tightening around her upper arms. He fought the urge to buck up beneath her as a frisson of energy rattled down his spine, powerful and pleasant.
She grinned down at him. Her teeth were straight and white, glowing dimly in the dingy, shadowy dark of Ianto’s flat. As soon as they had entered the room-Ianto leading backwards, Lisa propelling him towards his destination with a fierce eagerness-she had slammed him into the wall, just beside the door. She’d reached out blindly, slapping at the wall until her palm landed on the switchplate and cut the lights off.
From then on, she’d been all over him, unrestrained. Most of her focus had been on the shining silver rings through his nipples. Since he had stripped his shirt off, she had not left them alone.
Straddling Ianto’s hips, Lisa growled playfully for a second before leaning down and rapidly sucking his left nipple into her mouth. She pinned him down, hands on his shoulders, as he surged upwards. When she was certain that she had full control over him-or at least as much control as she was going to need-she released his nipple and then, after a second’s hesitation, bit down sharply.
Ianto surged upwards again-or at least he tried to. Lisa kept him pinned down, chuckling low and deep in her throat as a soft sob ripped past Ianto’s lips.
To think. It would only get better…
Title:Dr Feelgood (Law & Order: SVU, Huang/OMC, Emotional Manipulation)
Summary: Feeling better never felt so good.
Content notes: Slash, the fluffiest emotional manip you’ve ever seen, sexless sex
George Huang was startled by the sound of someone pounding furiously at his door. Getting up from the couch, he went to the door and checked the peephole. Seeing a familiar face, he quickly opened it.
“Robert, love, why are you here?” he asked gently, reaching out to draw the shivering policeman into his house. He closed the door behind him, still cradling his lover against his chest.
Robert shuddered, pressing his forehead into George’s shoulder. “I…I can’t get her out of my head, George!” he whimpered, his head rocking from side to side. “All I can see is the video of her, laughing…” He began to cry.
George held him closely, rocking him gently. He knew the case that Robert was referring to; his lover had been working to find a young woman who had vanished, the last sighting of her being a subway video. Robert had been tense about it for a while, and he knew just how much it was bothering him. That thought in mind, George slowly drew him back towards the bedroom.
He urged Robert to strip down, take everything off, and lie down on the bed, face down. He adjusted the lights, lighting the electric candles that stood on the dresser for a little light. Opening a drawer on the bedside table, he drew out a bottle of scented oil. He climbed up on the bed, threw a leg over his hips, and poured some of the oil into his hands.
Lavender was a uniquely useful scent. It was calming, especially for women, but had an arousing effect on men. Nothing too strong, just a little assistance getting out of depressive patterns. It worked well with massage, and so George set to work. He stroked up and down Robert’s back, his fingers working hard against tense muscles.
“I love you,” he whispered, working his fingers into Robert’s shoulders. “You are a gorgeous man.” He shifted how he was straddling the other man’s hips and started working his hands down his sides. He knew that his lover could feel the half-hard erection, but that wasn’t the focus, not right now.
Robert shifted beneath him, hmming into the pillow. That just encouraged George, who kept his hands on his skin, working the lavender-scented oil into his cinnamon skin. He leant in, so that he was hovering over Robert, and whispered in his ear, “you captivate me. You’re so smart, so good at what you do… It’s beautiful, and I love you for it. So much.” He kissed the back of his lover’s neck, hands now working on his ass.
“Y’re trying to cheer me up,” Robert mumbled into the pillow, going loose and limp beneath George’s hands.
The psychiatrist laughed. “Is it working?” he asked, sliding further down his lover’s body and working at his legs.
“Mmm,” Robert agreed, nodding. “Making me feel good, anyway.”
“I’m glad,” George told him. Now working Robert’s calf, he twisted and pressed a kiss to the curve of his spine. “You should feel good. You’re so smart and talented. I love you, pretty boy.”
Robert laughed and rolled over slowly, giving George time to get out of the way of his feet. “Kiss me, lover?” he asked, smiling softly.
Smiling back at him, George slid slowly up his body, glad to see the smile on his lover’s face. He could feel Robert’s erection, too; he was getting harder as the psychiatrist moved over him, never breaking contact. He grinned as he felt that, and cupped Robert’s face in oily hands. The kiss was hot, slick, and messy.
“Love the way you make me feel,” Robert whispered against his lips, surging up against George’s body, grinding their erections together.
George grinned. “Love making you feel good,” he replied, slightly cross-eyed as he focused on the other man’s face. He kissed him again, his hands sliding down, down, down until he was grasping Robert’s hips, drawing them down against his own in a smooth, rhythmic pattern. When Robert twined his legs around his hips and pulled him down, George offered no resistance, letting their bodies collide in the best way.
He would do anything to make his lover feel better.
Title:Feast (Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sokka/Zuko, Food)
Summary: Zuko can hold very, very still. Sokka takes advantage.
Content notes: Slash, the use of food in sexual situations
“So let me get this straight,” Sokka said, pacing back and forth in front of Zuko. “You think you can hold absolutely still, no matter what?”
Zuko, lying naked beneath the blanket, nodded. “Meditation, loser. Nothing can make me move.”
Sokka twitched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t call me a loser, jerk. I want you to prove it,” he demanded arrogantly, his hands on his hips. It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been bare-ass naked.
“Fine,” Zuko shot back snottily, shrugging. “Just name the time and place.”
Sokka grinned.
Zuko had the sudden, sickening thought that that might have been a mistake.
----
Oh, giving Sokka free license had been a mistake, and that was for sure, Zuko thought sourly. To his credit, though, who in their right mind heard “can hold perfectly still for extended periods of time” and thought “dinner!”?
Well, considering that he was talking about Sokka, Zuko admitted, quite good, actually. The boy was obsessed with food.
Seeing the boy in question coming down the hall, a platter of food in hand, Zuko sighed and leant back against the table once more. He had taken a long bath, and was scrupulously clean. As Sokka entered the room, he sighed, wondering briefly what his people would have said, had they known that the Fire Lord was lying back and letting the Water Tribe ambassador use him as a dish.
“You ready to start?” Sokka asked, suddenly appearing in his field of vision, a plate of food still hovering in his hand.
“Do your worst, loser,” Zuko drawled, and then Sokka disappeared as he closed his eyes and began to meditate.
Sokka set gleefully to work. He began placing little scraps of food all around Zuko’s torso, laying them in careful, elegant patterns. Fire Nation was home to a lot of flowering fruits, and he enjoyed both the way they looked and the way they tasted.
They looked prettier than normal, spread out against the cinnamon backdrop of Zuko’s skin. The dark, deep tone brought out the rich, jewel-like color of the tropical fleshes, making the fruits seem to glow and shine. The sight made Sokka’s mouth water, and not just because of the food.
He quickly shaped a series of patterns on Zuko, patterns that he had learned years ago from GranGran, when she was teaching Katara beadwork. The sunbursts and waves had never sunk in for his sister-she was too eager to get up and bend, to play-but Sokka had learned the picture-stories and the meanings of all the patterns. He played them out across Zuko’s smooth skin, telling the story of a Southern Tribe boy who had become enemies, then friends, and finally lovers with the Fire Lord himself.
His mouth watering, Sokka decided that the story was as complete as he could make it at this time. He lifted one final thing from the tray-a silver bowl full of thick, sweet cream. Taking a quick peek at Zuko’s face-still, calm, completely quiet and unaware-he nestled the bowl down between his lover’s thighs, and then dipped a hand in. He let the thick cream drip from his fingers, tracing patterns around Zuko’s body, filling in the spaces around the sweet fruits, drizzling it here and there across them. That done, Sokka licked his fingers clean.
He sighed, standing back and enjoying the final picture. Zuko was covered with white, sticky tendrils of cream, adorned with fresh, growing jewels from the finest groves in the Fire Nation. He was calm, relaxed, and his face was slack with peace. He was unaware of the world around him, and his chest barely rose and fell as he breathed.
Licking his lips, Sokka adjusted the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t wait to have this feast!
Title:Wash You Throughly (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Percy/Nico, Washing/Cleaning)
Summary: Percy cleans Nico up, and gets a little jealous of water.
Content notes: slash, young adults in sexual situations, washing/cleaning
Just calm down, Percy told himself firmly, biting his lip and listening to the whispering of the souls all around them. He could not afford to alienate his friend, could not afford to frighten off Nico now that he had convinced him to join them. Nico was a son of one of the Big Three, just like Percy himself, and, while he was yet but a child, he would soon be a dangerously powerful man. And, unlike Percy, he had been training for the better part of his life already.
“Percy?”
Speak of the damned. Percy turned around, smiling quickly at the younger teen. “You ready, Nico?” he asked, fighting back the urge to let his eyes fall down, down, down Nico’s body.
Nico nodded, though his bandaged fingers twitched slightly against his collarbone, as if he was trying to remember not to clench them nervously. It would only aggravate the injuries he had gotten earlier, the same injuries that Annabelle had done her best to repair by immobilizing his arm and strapping it against his body. Unfortunately, her actions had meant that Nico was completely dependent on Percy, for everything.
Which included washing off the grave dirt that he was smothered in. Nico fought hard when he fought, and that generally resulted in a nasty, thick mud all over every exposed inch of his skin, a combination of grave dirt and sweat. With his arm bound up, the younger teen was completely incapable of washing the mud off himself, but was understandably unwilling to let it sit on his skin.
“Well, come here, then,” Percy urged, beckoning him over. Taking a deep breath-in hopes of keeping himself from springing wood while bathing his friend-he took out a small knife and began to cut Nico’s clothes right off of him. Other than a quiet whimper and slight twitch, Nico gave no hint that he was uncomfortable with the other demi-god’s actions. He just stood there, letting Percy do what he would, stripping him with the knife.
His calm acceptance, the way he acted so uncaring, so doll-like… It frightened Percy. Shaken, suddenly unsure of himself and what he was doing, Percy led Nico to the edge of the quietly burbling river. With a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder, he led him forward, until the water lapped at his toes, until it kissed his ankles, until it caressed his thighs, until it brushed tender hands across his hips.
Suddenly, irrationally, Percy was jealous of the water. His anger made it slosh and froth around his hips, and Nico shot him a curious look. Seeing that look, Percy fought back the emotion-honestly, jealous of water? He controlled water, for crying out loud!-and smiled comfortingly at Nico. “Well, come on. Let’s get you all cleaned off.”
He released Nico’s shoulder and began to guide water up, using gentle, scooping motions to urge the liquid upward. Carrying it over Nico’s shoulders, he let the water go, removing the tendril of power he controlled it with.
It spilled over Nico’s shoulders in thick, fat tendrils, pulling away dirt and dingy sweat. Runnels of it ran down his strong, sallow chest, leaving clean lines in its wake. Percy could feel the smooth, velvety touch of it as it ran over Nico’s skin, caressing everywhere that he didn’t dare dream of caressing, stroking and petting that which Percy had no claim to desire.
He could feel the touch from both sides, and it ran through his veins like liquid heat. He could feel the heat and velvet-smooth sensation of Nico’s skin, offering resistance to the water’s flow, warming it and giving it life, and he could feel the tickling trickle as it traced the lines of his body, slowly, as if he were the one in the other demi-god’s skin.
He was hardening rapidly, and it made his breath quicken in his chest. He fought to keep Nico from noticing, focusing instead on making the water swirl around his companion’s body. Nico needed to be comfortable, needed to be clean. Percy couldn’t risk him noticing the way bathing him was affecting him, and so he made sure that the water frothed and burbled around his friend, hiding all evidence of his own problems.
The problem was that he enjoyed bathing Nico more than he should have, and he knew it. Nico was a close friend, and so the fact that he was helping him, caring for him, should not have inspired this reaction. Watching the water flow over Nico’s body, cleaning him, washing away the detritus of his day and his fighting, Percy found himself wanting to not just feel the water, but to be the water.
His pulse grew over more rapid, and as it increased, so too did the rate of the water’s flow. Nico did not seem to notice, too busy luxuriating in the sweet sensation of cool water moving over him. He groaned pleasantly, and the sound rippled through the water to trickle over Percy’s skin.
The older teen bit back a matching groan, and struggled to focus on Nico alone-but not in a bad way. He drew the water around their close-pressed bodies in a rapid swirl, and then let it surge up Nico’s body. The grave dirt and sweat were slowly washed off of Nico’s long body, whirling away in little eddying swirls of water.
And still Percy bathed Nico.
Title:Strangers at the Bar (Batman Universe, Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, Anonymity)
Summary: Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that they don’t have a thing for anonymity.
Content notes: Slash, faux-anonymity
“Hello, stranger,” the tall, dark-haired man said, smiling slyly at the man wearing the demon-faced mask from beneath his own domino mask.
Demon-face smirked back, though the only sign of that was the shift in how the mask sat on his face. “You’re the one that’s been sending me drinks all night,” he accused playfully. As if to play up his words, he tossed the glass on the bar in front of him from side to side.
Domino’s face twitched into a matching smirk. “Indeed. Tell me, was it worth the cliché?”
“That depends,” Demon-face replied. “What do you want from me, stranger?”
Domino came up behind him, moving slinkily until he was cloaking Demon-face from behind, his hot breath rushing over the other man’s ear in a tantalizing whisper. “What do you think I want? Even in the mask, you’re beautiful.” As he spoke, he ran his hands down Demon-face’s sides, bringing them to rest on his narrow hips.
Demon-face chuckled. “Ah. Well, then,” he answered, turning to face Domino, a tantalizing tilt to his body. “Yes, then, it was worth the cliché.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Domino said, smiling sweetly, though a hint of danger and heat lurked in his voice and in his face. “Shall we?” he added, lifting one hand from Demon-face’s hips and offering it in a mock gentlemanly motion.
“Where to?” Demon-face asked, already accepting the hand and letting the other man help him from the bar stool.
“I have a little place not far away,” Domino replied. “You up for a trip?”
Demon-face laughed. “You’re on.” He reached up and yanked the mask off, revealing a sweet face with dark, wide eyes. His red, cupid’s-bow lips looked soft and lush, and the way he was grinning revealed deep dimples. He waited for a second, and then gestured imperiously at the other man. “Well, then. Let’s see it.”
Chuckling, Domino slid his fingers under the edge of his domino mask and slowly peeled it from his skin. There was a thin red line left at the edge of where the mask had sat, glued to his skin, but that didn’t distract from the playful look in his dark eyes or the elegant lashes that curled against his cheeks; supermodels would have been jealous of those (and of the pale, perfect skin revealed by the mask’s removal). Domino grinned confidently as he tucked the mask in his back pocket. “You can call me,” he started.
But Demon-face stopped him, putting one long, thin finger against his lips, stilling them before he could finish speaking. “No names,” he warned. His eyes dancing, he added, “it’s more fun that way, beautiful.”
Domino shook his head, but smiled beneath Demon-face’s finger. “Indeed…hot stuff.” Sliding a hand along the other man’s shoulder, he parted his lips and gently nipped the end of the other man’s finger. “Let’s go, yeah?”
----
Demon-face pushed Domino down, hard, into his own mattress. “This okay?” he asked, his soft tone at odds with the bruising force of his strong hands as they gripped the larger man’s upper arms, pinning him down.
Domino grinned, watching the way that Demon-face’s eyes searched his face, looking for some indicator that this was unwanted. He knew that they would find nothing; he loved being held down by men who were nothing more than a face and a name-if even that. That was why he had gone to the mask party, to look for someone who enjoyed the anonymity as much as he did.
“It’s more than okay,” he agreed, twisting slightly to get room to move against the other man. “Mmm, feels good, baby boy.” He strained to bring his erections into contact with some part of Demon-face’s body.
But Demon-face was having none of it. He chuckled, keeping himself just out of Domino’s reach. This game was going to be played by his rules right now, and right now, those rules called for him to kiss Domino as hard as he could.
It was violent and rough. Domino moaned beneath his nipping teeth, bringing his hands up to scrape his nails down Demon-face’s back, startling an agreeable rumble from the man. Domino grinned fiercely against the sting of Demon-face’s teeth, digging his fingernails deeper into the other man’s skin, knowing that he was going to leave deep, aching red tracks. The knowledge that, tomorrow, this man, this stranger, would be wandering around the city, decorated with his marks, hidden from sight, made the heat already roiling under his skin simply boil up faster and faster.
Demon-face gasped as Domino suddenly arched like an acrobat beneath him, slinging a leg over his high-arced hips and physically hauling him down. The resulting tumble left Domino in control, leveraging the other man against his body in just the places he wanted him. But Demon-face didn’t go down easily; he fought dirty, inclining his head and biting at Domino’s collarbones, smirking at the low groan that won him.
He did so love it when Dick decided to play strangers-at-the-bar.
Title:Shot Above the Heart (Torchwood, Ianto Jones/Lisa Hallett, Nippleplay)
Summary: How Ianto and Lisa got together.
Content notes: Het, pre-series, nipple piercings.
Ianto shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the meeting table, glad that he was only there to get some filing done, cursing whatever crazy, drunken decision had led to his late-night adventure. Going out for drinks with his friends from uni had been a mistake, and he was fast being reminded of that. Bran and Will were the kind of people who would immediately leap on a bad choice and declare it “excellent” and “choice,” and that was something that he should have remembered before asking them for assistance with his “little problem.”
Ugh, that was a stupid idea, really, he told himself, resisting the urge to bang his head against the desk. Bran and Will were to blame for the tattoo on his ass-a Welsh dragon, chosen for its patriotic value during one serious bender-and now they were going to be to blame for his newest body modification.
He hissed suddenly his shirt moved against his nipples, jarring his newest jewelry. He honestly didn’t know how people did this on a regular basis, erotic value or no. It was painful, to say the least, and he had yet to discover anyone with whom he was tempted to share that particular addition.
Except Lisa. Then again, he’d had a thing for Lisa for longer than he tended to want to admit to. And given the way Lisa tended to act-that was to say, like she knew something he didn’t, and that something was exciting and adventurous-Ianto would have been willing to bet that she wouldn’t be put off by a little silver.
Sighing, Ianto tried to pay attention to the pile of paperwork sitting on top of the table. These reports weren’t going to file themselves. Fantasizing about Lisa? Dear heaven, but he was losing it.
----
With his nipples finally healed-and lord, but that had been a long waiting experience, and no mistake!-Ianto was ready for some fun. He’d spent enough time being mocked by Bran and Will about his jewelry and the way his now so-sensitive nipples made him twitch; it was time for him to reap some of the benefit of what he had sown. He swore to himself that that was the only reason he was going out drinking with his mates again tonight, conveniently ignoring the fact that neither they nor he was that stupid.
“Hey, there’s a hot one,” Bran declared drunkenly, pointing out someone who had just entered the pub.
Ianto looked up, knowing full well that Bran’s taste dropped off the face of a cliff when he was completely pissed-which he was-and nearly spat out the beer in his mouth. Lisa. Lisa Hallett. That was who had just walked in the door of the pub, looking as poised and as powerful as ever. She had come with a group of friends, and she was laughing and joking with them. She was beautiful.
He made a point for the rest of the night of attracting her attention, of gaining and keeping her attention on him. He was as charming as he knew how, and she seemed to be enjoying it. As the night went on, she spent more and more time with him, finally saying goodbye to her girlfriends as they left and she stayed with Ianto.
They closed out the pub that night, and when Ianto left, he left with Lisa.
----
“Ah, Lisa!” he gasped, his fingers tightening around her upper arms. He fought the urge to buck up beneath her as a frisson of energy rattled down his spine, powerful and pleasant.
She grinned down at him. Her teeth were straight and white, glowing dimly in the dingy, shadowy dark of Ianto’s flat. As soon as they had entered the room-Ianto leading backwards, Lisa propelling him towards his destination with a fierce eagerness-she had slammed him into the wall, just beside the door. She’d reached out blindly, slapping at the wall until her palm landed on the switchplate and cut the lights off.
From then on, she’d been all over him, unrestrained. Most of her focus had been on the shining silver rings through his nipples. Since he had stripped his shirt off, she had not left them alone.
Straddling Ianto’s hips, Lisa growled playfully for a second before leaning down and rapidly sucking his left nipple into her mouth. She pinned him down, hands on his shoulders, as he surged upwards. When she was certain that she had full control over him-or at least as much control as she was going to need-she released his nipple and then, after a second’s hesitation, bit down sharply.
Ianto surged upwards again-or at least he tried to. Lisa kept him pinned down, chuckling low and deep in her throat as a soft sob ripped past Ianto’s lips.
To think. It would only get better…