all day, every day i think about sex.
no. really.
anyways. i've come to the conclusion that before i complete the v-day requests, there needs to be some pre v-day love. because things are better the day before.
i dub today and the rest of the week:
NATIONAL COMMENT!PR0N WEEK minus monday, anyhow. because no one should be deprived of the sexy. no one. it's shame if you are ( Read more... )
anyways. i've come to the conclusion that before i complete the v-day requests, there needs to be some pre v-day love. because things are better the day before.
i dub today and the rest of the week:
NATIONAL COMMENT!PR0N WEEK minus monday, anyhow. because no one should be deprived of the sexy. no one. it's shame if you are ( Read more... )
this is by far an excellent idea. *loves*
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They first time they fuck, Jenny is sixteen and so is Tommy and they don't use a condom.
She obsesses over this fact for an entire month. And it's not because of thoughts of skipped periods or phrases like 'damn, Jenny Reilly got knocked up?' or horrifying slides from sophomore year health class. Instead ( ... )
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~
Every little secret is tattooed on her hip by the time they're eighteen and Tommy's got a chance to leave the neighborhood.
But he knows, like everyone else, about things like family, god, and everything in between. He can't quite fit Jenny in anywhere and today, like yesterday, seems to bother him more than it should
-- there's a folded wedding invitation on his coffee table, under a condom from Sasha and with a coffee ring.
And so when she says i want you to see spinning around in that simple wedding dress of hers (it's what he likes about Jenny best, no flashes but everything underneath), he goes home and falls to his knees. He shoves his hand into his jeans, his fist curling around his cock and rubbing furiously.
He breathes jenny and then jenny again because this is the closest he'll get to praying and remember what it was like to stain the insides of her thighs with his release.
Should've had her. Already mine.
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-
The night of her rehearsal dinner they eat steak and drink dark beer and there's a lot of laughter and she thinks it goes slightly unwarranted. (He sits at the other end of the long table, wedged between Sean and Kevin, and they bump shoulders and yell 'fuck' a lot; she sits at the head of the table and smiles a lot).
The party winds down and she helps with dishes (practice for this thing called domesticity she's fast treading towards) and Tommy catches her in the doorway. Hand brushes the front of her hip, then, awkward, tight hug, his mouth in her hair, she feels rather than hears him murmur 'congratulations.'
She gets home, hands shaking, and she can't get the zipper of her dress down (hands shaking) and the rings of the shower curtain scrape as she pulls it closed. And, oh god, she can't breathe, she can't breathe, she can't fucking breathe - that's her mascara sliding down her cheeks - and she has two fingers in her cunt, her thumb against her clit, slick tile beneath that other hand (the shower ( ... )
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~
The morning of, it's a little late because the groom (the asshole, Kev growls something about losing a hundred bucks to the best man) is in traffic. So he steals off to the room, sneaking around five giggling bridesmaids and into the room.
"Tommy," she breathes wide-eyed.
And his gaze is dark when he takes in silk, silk, and more silk. His fingers curl into fists and he steps forward.
He breathes. "I just wanted to say-- I--"
Her lips are too pink and there's a color, a paint, on his coffee table that he has for this kind of memory. Except now, he thinks about that one time and coming inside of her, between her legs, and oh.
"You look beautiful."
She looks down to blush.
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-
She's wearing a wedding dress -
"I'm sorry," she says, quietly, her eyes fixed on his lips and her hand skates along the front of his pants.
Her wrist feels light, small and he holds it too tight (she's wearing perfume today and it's strange - that Jenny Reilly, always one of the boys -) and she gasps and he groans as she presses the flat of her palm against his hardening cock.
"You're getting married," he grits out, nostrils flaring and she rubs, up and down, up and down -
there's a knock and the door swings open.
"He's here!" a bridesmaid giggles (and as if this isn't bad enough, he has to wait until after the ceremony before he can finally jerk himself off).
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~
There are rumors about oil drums.
And it's almost tragic- his ma's already saying things like oh that poor girl with a smile.
He's convinced she knows, lies, and looks off to the side for reasons that she's not ready to share and fuck, it's his fucking fault for not snatching her.
He's home, alone, and jerking off to jenny, jenny, jenny like it matters and matters more.
"I let myself in."
He jumps with shit, eyes wide and his cock still out wet and glistening and--
She's flushed.
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-
She likes to watch him draw.
He shows up, she serves him coffee, and he'll draw on the backs of placemats and stray napkins.
It's not the drawing she enjoys - it's the long fingers wrapped around the pencil, it's the look of concentration and the way he'll pretend he isn't watching her, studying her.
(It's the long fingers, and her husband is gone - he's not coming home, is he? - and her own are too skinny, too short, but she'll slip them under her panties (wet, always wet), her hips will buck, and she'll fuck her hand and pretend it's his).
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but i hope your test is canceled.
~
"Oh fuck you, Tommy Donnelly."
And already he's hard because christ there's nothing like watching Jenny Reilly angry. Her eyes are wide, dilated, and fierce and he's going to fuck her, dead husband and all.
His smirk is cruel and he steps forward tasting rain and smoke curling around them as they spill into the alley.
"Well?"
She throws her hands up into the air (-and he counts fingers, one through five and knows exactly how he wants them around his cock) and growls in frustration.
"Fuck you," she growls again.
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thanks. it'd be a valentine's day-esque miracle.
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Her hair catches and pulls against the brick and she scrapes her knuckles as her hand grazes the wall.
She grunts, his hips pushing against hers, and she's kissing Tommy Donnelly, she's kissing Tommy Donnelly and a siren wails and rain drips down the back of her shirt, cold and damp, the collar wet.
She bites down on his bottom lip, her fingers curling along his belt - hard cock and her hip, and he's got a hand in between her legs (another caught in her hair - his hand pulling, the brick pulling) and he rubs her cunt through her jeans (the rain falling harder and god he should know she was wet before this even started).
She bites his lip, tries to ride his hand (he rubs against the seam of her jeans, and yes, right there, the ridge of the seam meeting her clit, more pressure, more pressure ( ... )
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i want to be snowed in now. that would make me happy.
~
And he has it.
tommy, tommy, tommy is spilling against his throat, her tongue darting against his skin and fuck. He's been living in his memories for years and it's kind of surreal that this isn't in his head and her hand is around his cock.
"Move back," she breathes, already pushing him against the wall, wet and sliding to her knees.
He remembers here, now, and little Jenny Reilly never worried about getting dirty, grunting as her mouth wraps around his cock.
"Jesus," he breathes.
And she laughs.
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but seriously. the lj comment notification eating needs to stop. i like knowing when new pr0n has arrived ;)
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He doesn't talk about it (let's be honest, he's never been one good with words, always better at the illustration of these things).
He'll come over, he'll come back, and he'll shut the door quietly but the floorboards will still creak under his weight. He'll wash his hands, strip his clothes and he won't talk about the cut above his eyebrow, or the split lip or why exactly his knuckles are bruised and bandaged. Instead he'll slide in bed, next to her (his skin will be cold and she'll shiver but he'll kiss her, hot mouth, and she doesn't talk about it either - instead she'll spread her legs and try to ignore his voice - god help me god help me god help me - sliding thick across her neck).
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it does. but you know what's going to happen? i'll wake up in the morning and then there'll be 43 new emails from today. because lj's a bitch.
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The neighborhood is on fire with news and whispers of oh god, the donnelly boys and she's kind of wet (liar, liar) already with the thoughts of Tommy with those dark eyes.
Either way, she's working late and bent over a table to clean it. And suddenly he's behind her, against her, his cock brushing her as with one hand on her hip and the other against her breast.
"You done?"
Her lips quiver and part, breathlessly: "Almost."
And he chuckles against her skin, her shoulder, and she's remembering that he fucked her, bent over the railing of the stairs outside. His jeans around his ankles and her skirt at her waist.
"Wrong answer," he murmurs.
And she knows. (She likes doing these things on purpose.)
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and unfortunately, i think the pr0n has been zapped out of me (is that even possible? lol) and i'm off to study and pray i get a snow day tomorrow. i seriously feel like i'm 11 or something, lol.
as always, it's been a treat ♥
(and i'm totally writing tommy/jenny fic tomorrow. seriously. it's my mission.)
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lol. well, i'm here if you need a break or someone to vent. ♥ i'm writing michael/lindsay now.
a pleasure. *g*
(whee. it's a revolution.)
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