A gift of procrastination porn
Just a fly-by porn toss before I go out to the bar (my friends just called and accused me of being on the computer writing porn when I could be hanging out with them...and they were right!) The following is a present for lillianmorgan, one of my favorite people on LJ and one who needs some comforting, I think. She recently confessed that B/S/A is her kink and so I present:
Together They Come Undone
Pairing: Buffy/Spike/Angel
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All for lillianmorgan, not for profit.
Summary: Set vaguely AtS Season 5, like say, "The Girl in Question." Yeah, exactly, that's when.
Author's Note: This is a femmenerd first--threesome fic! Very short.
All off-the-cuff comments regarding oil and/or wrestling aside, Buffy had never really imagined this.
Angel lives in one section of her heart and Spike has an equally roomy part all of his own. And they seem to get that now-both of them.
But looking up and seeing them moving above her, Buffy realizes how blind she’s been to what they mean to one another. She won’t even pretend to understand the weird Vampire Guy complexities that go on behind their snarking and posturing and puffed out chests, but regardless of what they’d say in a non-sweaty situation, this bond goes deep.
Two souls later and some semi-evil office work and her boys are on the same page (or at least the same chapter).
Buffy gasped when Spike entered her. It had been so long and she’d thought it would never happen again. At least not outside of the Torturous Sex Dreams of the Dead Undead.
But now he’s here again. Whispering in her ear. Dripping salty sweat and burying his face in the crook of her neck as he absorbs each of Angel’s thrusts.
In this moment it makes sense-what their bodies are doing together and how. That Spike would be the meat in the sandwich, the flesh between them, the one who can translate passion into action.
Because Angel and I are more past than present.
But this is now and we’re all of us connected.
They’re beautiful, her men. Dark and light. Lithe and strong.
What she needs.
Their combined rhythm is slow and weighted with the interlocking threads of emotional history-some sordid, some sweet, but all of it achingly real. In these tangled sheets, all is forgiven. Nothing remains but this unpoisoned need.
And so Buffy leaves the thinking for another day, another night, when her bed will be cold, and they’ll each be fighting their own fight.
Until they come back together again.
Together They Come Undone
Pairing: Buffy/Spike/Angel
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All for lillianmorgan, not for profit.
Summary: Set vaguely AtS Season 5, like say, "The Girl in Question." Yeah, exactly, that's when.
Author's Note: This is a femmenerd first--threesome fic! Very short.
All off-the-cuff comments regarding oil and/or wrestling aside, Buffy had never really imagined this.
Angel lives in one section of her heart and Spike has an equally roomy part all of his own. And they seem to get that now-both of them.
But looking up and seeing them moving above her, Buffy realizes how blind she’s been to what they mean to one another. She won’t even pretend to understand the weird Vampire Guy complexities that go on behind their snarking and posturing and puffed out chests, but regardless of what they’d say in a non-sweaty situation, this bond goes deep.
Two souls later and some semi-evil office work and her boys are on the same page (or at least the same chapter).
Buffy gasped when Spike entered her. It had been so long and she’d thought it would never happen again. At least not outside of the Torturous Sex Dreams of the Dead Undead.
But now he’s here again. Whispering in her ear. Dripping salty sweat and burying his face in the crook of her neck as he absorbs each of Angel’s thrusts.
In this moment it makes sense-what their bodies are doing together and how. That Spike would be the meat in the sandwich, the flesh between them, the one who can translate passion into action.
Because Angel and I are more past than present.
But this is now and we’re all of us connected.
They’re beautiful, her men. Dark and light. Lithe and strong.
What she needs.
Their combined rhythm is slow and weighted with the interlocking threads of emotional history-some sordid, some sweet, but all of it achingly real. In these tangled sheets, all is forgiven. Nothing remains but this unpoisoned need.
And so Buffy leaves the thinking for another day, another night, when her bed will be cold, and they’ll each be fighting their own fight.
Until they come back together again.