Special Hell Time! :D
I might maybe possibly have had a fit of "I am bored and my housemates are being mean :(" last night, and during this, I might maybe possibly have done that "Do drabbles for the five fics you'd be ashamed to write for anything but a meme" thing, and... yeah. Special hell. Very special hell indeed.
So not proofread, and not one worksafe fic amongst the bunch. Enjoy!
Seraph made the best sounds, Heat happily discovered, when you had one thumb on her clit and the other on the head of his cock. God, it didn't matter what they were - he'd thought about it over and over, Serph and Sera in the same body... he'd always wanted them both, so much, and it was one hell of a weird way to get that, but with Serph moaning and Sera twitching and both of them feeling what he was doing, he couldn't complain anymore. He'd loved fucking Serph and he'd wanted to hold Sera and be inside her and just... just god, being dead wasn't meant to be this much fun.
None of Seraph complained at Heat's technique and he sped up, waiting to see what would happen, to see if... oh fuck, fuck they did, and Serph was coming over himself, over Sera's breasts while she slickened and tightened and came, and Heat couldn't fucking take that, coming deep inside her and him and them before collapsing exhausted.
Given Gale's recent tendency to wander off by himself and start screaming, it wasn't like they were the only ones taking advantage of merging.
Shadow Demon was all hands, feeling and feeling and feeling like he'd only just discovered how. Then again, how many hundreds of years had passed since he'd sacrificed a physical body for ethereal immortality? No one knew what had cursed the castle into giving everyone human forms though it felt temporary enough. Perhaps one of the Dungeon Master's tricks.
It had been a long time since he last undressed and he didn't care for it much, but anything that could make time pass faster was welcome, and there was something cruelly amusing about the fact all Shadow Demon could find to say was "Master, master, master".
He wouldn't complain or insult the creature. Let it have its strange way of expressing loyalty for a few hours. It wasn't outright unpleasant.
"You'll clean that up, Shadow Demon."
"Yes master."
If he hadn't come from the place, Griffon would have had the distinct suspicion he was going to hell.
Happily, perhaps, but nonetheless.
He'd known he was going to suggest it the moment he walked in on Damien using them to read while pulling the loose threads of the chair the young demon had been sat in. Refused to admit it to himself, but dreams can chase you.
He'd been chased, caught, and submitted to asking Damien... maybe tying him up was a bit too much but Damien seemed to enjoy it, it added to the performance, and it was never going to be a subtle act.
Griffon watched from a chair he'd dragged up to the bedside as Damien's newly discovered appendages worked free of his lower back and proceeded to clumsily make their way over Damien's body, one sliding across his cheek before pushing between his willing, pliant lips, another moving underneath to curl around and grip the erection Griffon had given Damien, another working its way inside him until he cried out.
The fourth, final tentacle waited and waited before pushing in alongside its brother carefully and twisting, and when Damien finally screamed, Griffon couldn't have known who of them came hardest.
No, no, no, no, no.
He always panics when he dreams like this even through it might not mean anything, can't mean anything, just some fucked up Freudian shit he's not heard of or something and a cigar's not always a fucking cigar.
He's calm though, in the dream, moves slowly and carefully and deliberately, knows every way to touch, and when he presses his lips to a mass of burnt scarred flesh that ought to be skin and ink Michael breaks beneath him and he knows it's all for him. Michael did this all for him. And Michael sobs when he comes over Lincoln's sheets and Lincoln comes inside him and it's every shade of fucked up, his conscious self knows it is, but he's stuck inside the dream and the horrifying knowledge it brings.
Lincoln's been uncomfortable in his own skin in his own apartments wherever they've been, but inside Michael, in his dreams, it's the only place that's ever felt like home.
Illidan doesn't like to watch.
The reason why is pretty damned obvious, all things considered.
Still, it explains how Illidan remains quite confident of his sanity while Kael feels like he's losing his. Illidan gets to listen and feel, while Kael has to watch as well.
No matter how beautiful her face and the curves of her upper body, Lady Vashj was terrifying, and only seemed more so up close.
Kael suspected he mostly managed to keep hard through sheer force of will and the fact Illidan could do obscene things with his tongue to elven ears. That, and his refusal to ask what it was the Lady used to ride him. It was slick, that at least was comfortingly sane, but most all parts of naga tended to be slick anyway.
He ought to say something at some point about leaving Lady Vashj's role in their partnership outside the bedroom. Ought to.
But then, she did make such very interesting noises.
*leaps athletically into the handbasket to Hell*
ETA: You know you've been in the House fandom too often when you get asked to do a neuro-fuzzy simulator for a hospital and all you can think of is "If the patient has pie, test positive for lemon meringue and/or AIDS." And also, "It might be Lupus".
OR VASCULITIS.
So not proofread, and not one worksafe fic amongst the bunch. Enjoy!
Seraph made the best sounds, Heat happily discovered, when you had one thumb on her clit and the other on the head of his cock. God, it didn't matter what they were - he'd thought about it over and over, Serph and Sera in the same body... he'd always wanted them both, so much, and it was one hell of a weird way to get that, but with Serph moaning and Sera twitching and both of them feeling what he was doing, he couldn't complain anymore. He'd loved fucking Serph and he'd wanted to hold Sera and be inside her and just... just god, being dead wasn't meant to be this much fun.
None of Seraph complained at Heat's technique and he sped up, waiting to see what would happen, to see if... oh fuck, fuck they did, and Serph was coming over himself, over Sera's breasts while she slickened and tightened and came, and Heat couldn't fucking take that, coming deep inside her and him and them before collapsing exhausted.
Given Gale's recent tendency to wander off by himself and start screaming, it wasn't like they were the only ones taking advantage of merging.
Shadow Demon was all hands, feeling and feeling and feeling like he'd only just discovered how. Then again, how many hundreds of years had passed since he'd sacrificed a physical body for ethereal immortality? No one knew what had cursed the castle into giving everyone human forms though it felt temporary enough. Perhaps one of the Dungeon Master's tricks.
It had been a long time since he last undressed and he didn't care for it much, but anything that could make time pass faster was welcome, and there was something cruelly amusing about the fact all Shadow Demon could find to say was "Master, master, master".
He wouldn't complain or insult the creature. Let it have its strange way of expressing loyalty for a few hours. It wasn't outright unpleasant.
"You'll clean that up, Shadow Demon."
"Yes master."
If he hadn't come from the place, Griffon would have had the distinct suspicion he was going to hell.
Happily, perhaps, but nonetheless.
He'd known he was going to suggest it the moment he walked in on Damien using them to read while pulling the loose threads of the chair the young demon had been sat in. Refused to admit it to himself, but dreams can chase you.
He'd been chased, caught, and submitted to asking Damien... maybe tying him up was a bit too much but Damien seemed to enjoy it, it added to the performance, and it was never going to be a subtle act.
Griffon watched from a chair he'd dragged up to the bedside as Damien's newly discovered appendages worked free of his lower back and proceeded to clumsily make their way over Damien's body, one sliding across his cheek before pushing between his willing, pliant lips, another moving underneath to curl around and grip the erection Griffon had given Damien, another working its way inside him until he cried out.
The fourth, final tentacle waited and waited before pushing in alongside its brother carefully and twisting, and when Damien finally screamed, Griffon couldn't have known who of them came hardest.
No, no, no, no, no.
He always panics when he dreams like this even through it might not mean anything, can't mean anything, just some fucked up Freudian shit he's not heard of or something and a cigar's not always a fucking cigar.
He's calm though, in the dream, moves slowly and carefully and deliberately, knows every way to touch, and when he presses his lips to a mass of burnt scarred flesh that ought to be skin and ink Michael breaks beneath him and he knows it's all for him. Michael did this all for him. And Michael sobs when he comes over Lincoln's sheets and Lincoln comes inside him and it's every shade of fucked up, his conscious self knows it is, but he's stuck inside the dream and the horrifying knowledge it brings.
Lincoln's been uncomfortable in his own skin in his own apartments wherever they've been, but inside Michael, in his dreams, it's the only place that's ever felt like home.
Illidan doesn't like to watch.
The reason why is pretty damned obvious, all things considered.
Still, it explains how Illidan remains quite confident of his sanity while Kael feels like he's losing his. Illidan gets to listen and feel, while Kael has to watch as well.
No matter how beautiful her face and the curves of her upper body, Lady Vashj was terrifying, and only seemed more so up close.
Kael suspected he mostly managed to keep hard through sheer force of will and the fact Illidan could do obscene things with his tongue to elven ears. That, and his refusal to ask what it was the Lady used to ride him. It was slick, that at least was comfortingly sane, but most all parts of naga tended to be slick anyway.
He ought to say something at some point about leaving Lady Vashj's role in their partnership outside the bedroom. Ought to.
But then, she did make such very interesting noises.
*leaps athletically into the handbasket to Hell*
ETA: You know you've been in the House fandom too often when you get asked to do a neuro-fuzzy simulator for a hospital and all you can think of is "If the patient has pie, test positive for lemon meringue and/or AIDS." And also, "It might be Lupus".
OR VASCULITIS.