[Fiction] Tonight's Bedmate
Title: Tonight's Bedmate
Series: Metal Gear Solid
Genre and Pairing: PWP. The End/Raiden.
Words/Progress: 250; Complete.
Notes: T. AU. The End is depicted as younger than is canon. For mgs_slash's community versus challenge. Originally posted here.
Summary: Raiden gains his patient interest, despite being an uncultured hack.
I slammed the other to his knees: hard but deliberate as all my actions were. Too quick a movement meant a chance for an error-meant a chance that a better course could have taken but was lost to the stupid impatience of a man in his youthful indiscretion. I, luckily enough, was not a victim to such foolishness, but I could not say the same for my bedmate for the night: the boy was nothing more than a pretty boy-a dim memory to be thought about with fierce pride later at being able to dominate an uncultured hack like this one who went by the name Raiden (a girly name for a girly man). I normally did not bother with such trite, but I had watched the kid for the entire night-through the gray smokehaze of the bar and the almost-never-parting crowd-and I knew a perfect target when I saw one: it would be easy to do... something... anything that would fester in the boy's mind so long that my spirit would watch the world through another's eyes. And I, more than a quick but somewhat satisfying release, needed that more than anything, but to do it I had to be slow. Every action a result of a thought and a forethought or three; every thought a result of a natural instinct that I trained myself to control. And although I saw some resistance in those bright, optimistic eyes of his, I knew that my patience and slowslow movements would prevail.
Series: Metal Gear Solid
Genre and Pairing: PWP. The End/Raiden.
Words/Progress: 250; Complete.
Notes: T. AU. The End is depicted as younger than is canon. For mgs_slash's community versus challenge. Originally posted here.
Summary: Raiden gains his patient interest, despite being an uncultured hack.
I slammed the other to his knees: hard but deliberate as all my actions were. Too quick a movement meant a chance for an error-meant a chance that a better course could have taken but was lost to the stupid impatience of a man in his youthful indiscretion. I, luckily enough, was not a victim to such foolishness, but I could not say the same for my bedmate for the night: the boy was nothing more than a pretty boy-a dim memory to be thought about with fierce pride later at being able to dominate an uncultured hack like this one who went by the name Raiden (a girly name for a girly man). I normally did not bother with such trite, but I had watched the kid for the entire night-through the gray smokehaze of the bar and the almost-never-parting crowd-and I knew a perfect target when I saw one: it would be easy to do... something... anything that would fester in the boy's mind so long that my spirit would watch the world through another's eyes. And I, more than a quick but somewhat satisfying release, needed that more than anything, but to do it I had to be slow. Every action a result of a thought and a forethought or three; every thought a result of a natural instinct that I trained myself to control. And although I saw some resistance in those bright, optimistic eyes of his, I knew that my patience and slowslow movements would prevail.