McFly fic: This Is How I Disappear - JuddJones
Title: This Is How I Disappear
Author: Ellie (evolia)
Rating: NC-17, I'd say. Though pretty mild.
Pairing: JuddJones
Genre: I'd say angsty sex. Standalone
Summary: a pattern they’re afraid to follow outside of the bed...
A/N: Con-crit very welcome, as it's my first McFly fic ever, and also the first time I ever venture in the (very) appealing world of slash. Thanks goes out to jo_winchester for giving this a read-through beforehand.
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's only pure fun for my twisted mind and my equally twisted muse. And I'm poor anyway.
His fingers slip, between sheets and sweat, across skin and through hair, along spine and under fabric, drawing out planes and hills of shoulders and back, travelling over soft skin and pooling heat. His tongue tastes salty, spicy, at the base of his neck and down, back bending and arching in his chest, overheated flesh touching overheated flesh as they pull and push, palms drifting over hips and groans muffled in pillows. Swollen lips run over freckles, hiding breathless cries in sloppy kisses, teeth catching skin when the moves become too harsh and unorganized.
There’s a warmth enveloping them and it’s safe, the blinding haze in which they’re imperfectly performing their midnight, forbidden dancing is safe, it’s concrete here, like hands caressing tense stomach muscles or fisting into thrown away blankets. There’s a rhythm here, a pattern they’re afraid to follow outside of the bed, an habit that feels wrong when it’s not late at night, when there’s the daylight, when they’re pounding on instruments, and not into each other.
His breathing quickens, fawns over glowing skin in the moonlight, clouds over them and tangles with his, shared moans turning into biting marks, hushed words vanishing in the heavy silence, only broken by bedspring squeaks and escaped growls, through pursed lips and clenched teeth. His toes are curled, touching calves and digging hard as he thrusts and moves, body staying as close as can be yet constantly moving, hips driven against ass, primal grunts pressed against knotted muscles and curly hair.
There’s a smell of sweat and desire here, in the maze of his own muddled brain where he knows he shouldn’t but doesn’t bring himself to care enough when lips grazes him and silent pleas are whispered, when there’s nails breaking his skin and sharp intakes of breath in his ear. There’s a flash here, before he dives and loses himself in delight and guilt, just before he looks into blue eyes and gives up, a second before clothes are shed and they are a tangle, where he can’t say where one starts and the other finishes.
His muscles clenches, indefinable moment, time disappearing in the midst of unchecked movements and raw flesh slides against raw flesh, eternity settling in between bony hips and torn up feelings, stillness falling over heavy lids. There’s a warning here, a hard red sign embedded in his mind but he ignores it, chest moulding against back when sleep flutters around them.
There’s just the way it should be.
JuddJones/Standalone
Author: Ellie (evolia)
Rating: NC-17, I'd say. Though pretty mild.
Pairing: JuddJones
Genre: I'd say angsty sex. Standalone
Summary: a pattern they’re afraid to follow outside of the bed...
A/N: Con-crit very welcome, as it's my first McFly fic ever, and also the first time I ever venture in the (very) appealing world of slash. Thanks goes out to jo_winchester for giving this a read-through beforehand.
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's only pure fun for my twisted mind and my equally twisted muse. And I'm poor anyway.
His fingers slip, between sheets and sweat, across skin and through hair, along spine and under fabric, drawing out planes and hills of shoulders and back, travelling over soft skin and pooling heat. His tongue tastes salty, spicy, at the base of his neck and down, back bending and arching in his chest, overheated flesh touching overheated flesh as they pull and push, palms drifting over hips and groans muffled in pillows. Swollen lips run over freckles, hiding breathless cries in sloppy kisses, teeth catching skin when the moves become too harsh and unorganized.
There’s a warmth enveloping them and it’s safe, the blinding haze in which they’re imperfectly performing their midnight, forbidden dancing is safe, it’s concrete here, like hands caressing tense stomach muscles or fisting into thrown away blankets. There’s a rhythm here, a pattern they’re afraid to follow outside of the bed, an habit that feels wrong when it’s not late at night, when there’s the daylight, when they’re pounding on instruments, and not into each other.
His breathing quickens, fawns over glowing skin in the moonlight, clouds over them and tangles with his, shared moans turning into biting marks, hushed words vanishing in the heavy silence, only broken by bedspring squeaks and escaped growls, through pursed lips and clenched teeth. His toes are curled, touching calves and digging hard as he thrusts and moves, body staying as close as can be yet constantly moving, hips driven against ass, primal grunts pressed against knotted muscles and curly hair.
There’s a smell of sweat and desire here, in the maze of his own muddled brain where he knows he shouldn’t but doesn’t bring himself to care enough when lips grazes him and silent pleas are whispered, when there’s nails breaking his skin and sharp intakes of breath in his ear. There’s a flash here, before he dives and loses himself in delight and guilt, just before he looks into blue eyes and gives up, a second before clothes are shed and they are a tangle, where he can’t say where one starts and the other finishes.
His muscles clenches, indefinable moment, time disappearing in the midst of unchecked movements and raw flesh slides against raw flesh, eternity settling in between bony hips and torn up feelings, stillness falling over heavy lids. There’s a warning here, a hard red sign embedded in his mind but he ignores it, chest moulding against back when sleep flutters around them.
There’s just the way it should be.
JuddJones/Standalone