[fic] alles was zaehlt { triple ficlet post
.suitable for all hair-types (and labradors)
[roman/maximilian. r. 600 words.]
notes; for shellydkitty , lololol.
warnings; none.
summary; she hadn't exactly planned on spending her free time getting overly-acquainted with the plumbing.
It was quiet and the Centre was just settling down at the end of a hard day's use when the phone rang, breaking the calm and shattering the silence. It was Simone, panicking slightly about the fact the men's showers had been leaking as of late and how the environment couldn't handle such a wasteful thing and would Constanze mind ever so much going to check on it before she left for the evening?
Glancing at her watch with a sigh, Constanze pulled herself up from the creaking chair at the front desk and lumbered towards the locker-room, determined to get it seen to in the three-minutes-twenty-six-seconds left of her shift. Heaven knew the Steinkamps wouldn't offer overpay if she was kept late by leaky faucets, and she hadn't exactly planned on spending her free time getting overly-acquainted with the plumbing. Especially not the ones in the men's changing rooms. Oh god.
As she swung open the door and made for the showers, a flurry of activity in her peripheral caught her attention. Turning to the right brought the picture into focus; Roman Wild, clothed legs wrapped around the waist of the Centre's tyrant, hands in his hair; and Maximilian, hands full of skater buttock. Maximilian had his head tilted back to rest against the lockers, mouth gaping as he panted and let out a sound entirely devoid of vowels from the back of his throat. Roman was whispering something in his ear as they rocked together, and, inbetween the huffing-noises and the whines, Constanze could just make out things like "yeh, you want that?" and "you like that, don't you, slut" and "I can make it feel even better".
Roman reached over Maximilian's shoulder into a locker--presumably his own--and started groping around for something. Constanze held her breath, bit her lip, mind racing with possibilities. What if it was a vibrator? Or a pair of handcuffs? Or something really kinky, like a gag or a blindfold... or a whip? Ohmygodohmygodomigoddddd. Roman stopped his rummaging, eyes gleeful as he looked Maximilian in the eye.
"You sure you're ready for this?" He asked, tone warm as ever.
Maximilian looked pale, but he nodded anyway, chin set high. Roman smiled at him, lent down and kissed him, soft wet kisses that made Maximilian whimper and Constanze look away. Then his thumb flicked the cap. The click was deafening in the quiet, the splurt that came next followed suit. So did the deep, throaty, needy noises that escaped Max's lips and echoed off the tiles as Roman ran his fingers through his hair and dragged his nails across his scalp. Bits of lather dripped onto Maximilian's suit jacket and ran down his forehead as he tilted his head forward. He worked his hips in time with Roman's strokes, his own hands spasming over the backpockets of Roman's jeans.
Constanze dropped her keys onto the floor with a crash.
They both instantly blossomed in various shades of puce, and Roman untangled his hands from Maximilian's hair and dropped his legs to the floor. He was missing a shoe.
Before they could do more than splutter and run over each others words, Constanze held up a hand and their mouths clicked shut. She entered the room properly, flung open the shower curtains without a word and set all the shower-dials to OFF. Glancing back at the two men, who still fidgeted with opened zips and undone buttons and bubbly hair, she shrugged and opened the door that led back out.
"Have a good night, Mr von Altenburg. Roman."
And the door snicked shut behind her.
.preference
[deniz/renate. pg. words.]
notes; lilbach dared me.
warning; hahahaha
summary; the thing about her eyes is that the light never leaves.
Where eyes are concerned, Deniz is sure that he's never had a preference for colour. It's all in the message they get across, or the way that they light up in joy, fear, confusion or rage. With Renate it's hardly ever the latter. She gets angry from time to time, maybe even furious on some rare occasions, but she hasn't got the kind of dangerous temper that Deniz has learned to steer clear of (not least because he's got a bit of one himself).
The thing about her eyes is that the light never leaves. Even in the morning when she's only half-conscious and can manage little more than a blink in response to whispered coaxing, the light's there, and it's the most beautiful thing that Deniz has ever seen.
From there, it's short work to strip off the covers and lavish attention on the rest of her. Deniz has learned that those thin arms closing around his ribcage means that Renate is more awake than she's willing to let on, and her fingertips always seem to know exactly how far beyond a faint caress to push their tentative skating over Deniz's shoulder blades. Denizs nose is tickled with warm Renate-smell as he kisses a line down from nipple to bellybutton.
And farther down? All he can hear is Renate's voice, and that's worth worshipping in its own right.
.sap
[roman/marian. r. 600 words.]
notes; shellydkitty said pls ship roman/marian, pls pls pls pls pls. and i am too nice to say no.
warnings; hints of marian/deniz incest.
summary; his voice sounds funny; possibly his tongue needs sleep as well.
"I’m going to kiss you now."
Before Roman can respond, Marian's lips are pressing against his, soft and sweet, undemanding. He closes his eyes, but feels the other man pull away. He remains there with his eyes closed for another moment, willing his terrified heart to beat again. He touches his own lips with his fingertips and looks at Marian, who seems equal parts worried and proud of himself. As he should be, Roman thinks.
"Do that again," he says.
This time, he's ready, lips parted, sliding his tongue in where it is welcomed with a moan that reverberates straight to his toes. He wraps one hand around the back of Marian's neck, stroking his thumb along the soft skin just below his ear. His other hand, trapped mostly between them, grasps at Marian's undershirt. He feels a hand rubbing on his chest, thumb circling his nipple, before Marian breaks away to bury his head in Roman's neck, licking at the sensitive skin there. He swallows a gasp at the feel of teeth grazing at the bend between his neck and shoulder.
"Yes," he says, and when Marian bites down, he hardens helplessly. He frees his other hand to grab Marian's head with both and bring his lips back. He's careful to keep his lower body from mindlessly pushing forward. Marian tries to move closer, but Roman groans and shifts back. Marian makes a noise of protest and moves his hand to his lower back, pulling him in. Roman breaks away.
"Marian, wait."
"Getting shy on me?"
Roman places a palm on Marian's chest and looks up at him. Though he honestly is feeling a bit vulnerable, he meets Marian's eyes and wonders if his look nearly as dark and wild. Marian seems to read his worry and his eyes flicker across the room to Deniz's door.
"You're not still--"
"No," Roman says, shaking his head. "I just don't want to hurt him."
"You're such a sap, you know."
"Yeh, I'd kind of figured that out," he says. He keeps his hand on Marian's chest and leans in.
It's been long enough since Roman has been here, tangled in sheets, spit-slick and sweat-soaked, that he feels adolescently bashful in the aftermath. Marian, still catching his breath, lets his fingers idly trace nonsense patterns on Roman's stomach. He endures it as long as he can before sleepily grabbing hold of the fingers.
"Tickles," he murmurs. His voice sounds funny. Possibly his tongue needs sleep as well.
"Heh," he hears in response and instantly regrets admitting that. But Marian's fingers still and rest easily on his skin, as if he cannot keep his hands off, and Roman's chest makes this funny twisty clench at the thought he may not be the only sap in the room. Then Marian leans down and is kissing him again. Hard. Hungry. And Roman finds himself responding despite feeling utterly drained. When Marian pulls away, his expression is something Roman, with all his experience of reading Öztürk faces, cannot define.
Marian reaches over and tangles his fingers with Roman's, thumb stroking the inside of Roman's wrist.
Roman snorts. "Sap," he says, but curls into him regardless, threading together any parts that will mesh. He rests his head in the space where Marian's neck becomes shoulder and back becomes front and refuses to remember the focused intensity of Marian's attention, the several times he swears he heard Marian whisper "Deniz", and how much harder that made him.
[roman/maximilian. r. 600 words.]
notes; for shellydkitty , lololol.
warnings; none.
summary; she hadn't exactly planned on spending her free time getting overly-acquainted with the plumbing.
It was quiet and the Centre was just settling down at the end of a hard day's use when the phone rang, breaking the calm and shattering the silence. It was Simone, panicking slightly about the fact the men's showers had been leaking as of late and how the environment couldn't handle such a wasteful thing and would Constanze mind ever so much going to check on it before she left for the evening?
Glancing at her watch with a sigh, Constanze pulled herself up from the creaking chair at the front desk and lumbered towards the locker-room, determined to get it seen to in the three-minutes-twenty-six-seconds left of her shift. Heaven knew the Steinkamps wouldn't offer overpay if she was kept late by leaky faucets, and she hadn't exactly planned on spending her free time getting overly-acquainted with the plumbing. Especially not the ones in the men's changing rooms. Oh god.
As she swung open the door and made for the showers, a flurry of activity in her peripheral caught her attention. Turning to the right brought the picture into focus; Roman Wild, clothed legs wrapped around the waist of the Centre's tyrant, hands in his hair; and Maximilian, hands full of skater buttock. Maximilian had his head tilted back to rest against the lockers, mouth gaping as he panted and let out a sound entirely devoid of vowels from the back of his throat. Roman was whispering something in his ear as they rocked together, and, inbetween the huffing-noises and the whines, Constanze could just make out things like "yeh, you want that?" and "you like that, don't you, slut" and "I can make it feel even better".
Roman reached over Maximilian's shoulder into a locker--presumably his own--and started groping around for something. Constanze held her breath, bit her lip, mind racing with possibilities. What if it was a vibrator? Or a pair of handcuffs? Or something really kinky, like a gag or a blindfold... or a whip? Ohmygodohmygodomigoddddd. Roman stopped his rummaging, eyes gleeful as he looked Maximilian in the eye.
"You sure you're ready for this?" He asked, tone warm as ever.
Maximilian looked pale, but he nodded anyway, chin set high. Roman smiled at him, lent down and kissed him, soft wet kisses that made Maximilian whimper and Constanze look away. Then his thumb flicked the cap. The click was deafening in the quiet, the splurt that came next followed suit. So did the deep, throaty, needy noises that escaped Max's lips and echoed off the tiles as Roman ran his fingers through his hair and dragged his nails across his scalp. Bits of lather dripped onto Maximilian's suit jacket and ran down his forehead as he tilted his head forward. He worked his hips in time with Roman's strokes, his own hands spasming over the backpockets of Roman's jeans.
Constanze dropped her keys onto the floor with a crash.
They both instantly blossomed in various shades of puce, and Roman untangled his hands from Maximilian's hair and dropped his legs to the floor. He was missing a shoe.
Before they could do more than splutter and run over each others words, Constanze held up a hand and their mouths clicked shut. She entered the room properly, flung open the shower curtains without a word and set all the shower-dials to OFF. Glancing back at the two men, who still fidgeted with opened zips and undone buttons and bubbly hair, she shrugged and opened the door that led back out.
"Have a good night, Mr von Altenburg. Roman."
And the door snicked shut behind her.
.preference
[deniz/renate. pg. words.]
notes; lilbach dared me.
warning; hahahaha
summary; the thing about her eyes is that the light never leaves.
Where eyes are concerned, Deniz is sure that he's never had a preference for colour. It's all in the message they get across, or the way that they light up in joy, fear, confusion or rage. With Renate it's hardly ever the latter. She gets angry from time to time, maybe even furious on some rare occasions, but she hasn't got the kind of dangerous temper that Deniz has learned to steer clear of (not least because he's got a bit of one himself).
The thing about her eyes is that the light never leaves. Even in the morning when she's only half-conscious and can manage little more than a blink in response to whispered coaxing, the light's there, and it's the most beautiful thing that Deniz has ever seen.
From there, it's short work to strip off the covers and lavish attention on the rest of her. Deniz has learned that those thin arms closing around his ribcage means that Renate is more awake than she's willing to let on, and her fingertips always seem to know exactly how far beyond a faint caress to push their tentative skating over Deniz's shoulder blades. Denizs nose is tickled with warm Renate-smell as he kisses a line down from nipple to bellybutton.
And farther down? All he can hear is Renate's voice, and that's worth worshipping in its own right.
.sap
[roman/marian. r. 600 words.]
notes; shellydkitty said pls ship roman/marian, pls pls pls pls pls. and i am too nice to say no.
warnings; hints of marian/deniz incest.
summary; his voice sounds funny; possibly his tongue needs sleep as well.
"I’m going to kiss you now."
Before Roman can respond, Marian's lips are pressing against his, soft and sweet, undemanding. He closes his eyes, but feels the other man pull away. He remains there with his eyes closed for another moment, willing his terrified heart to beat again. He touches his own lips with his fingertips and looks at Marian, who seems equal parts worried and proud of himself. As he should be, Roman thinks.
"Do that again," he says.
This time, he's ready, lips parted, sliding his tongue in where it is welcomed with a moan that reverberates straight to his toes. He wraps one hand around the back of Marian's neck, stroking his thumb along the soft skin just below his ear. His other hand, trapped mostly between them, grasps at Marian's undershirt. He feels a hand rubbing on his chest, thumb circling his nipple, before Marian breaks away to bury his head in Roman's neck, licking at the sensitive skin there. He swallows a gasp at the feel of teeth grazing at the bend between his neck and shoulder.
"Yes," he says, and when Marian bites down, he hardens helplessly. He frees his other hand to grab Marian's head with both and bring his lips back. He's careful to keep his lower body from mindlessly pushing forward. Marian tries to move closer, but Roman groans and shifts back. Marian makes a noise of protest and moves his hand to his lower back, pulling him in. Roman breaks away.
"Marian, wait."
"Getting shy on me?"
Roman places a palm on Marian's chest and looks up at him. Though he honestly is feeling a bit vulnerable, he meets Marian's eyes and wonders if his look nearly as dark and wild. Marian seems to read his worry and his eyes flicker across the room to Deniz's door.
"You're not still--"
"No," Roman says, shaking his head. "I just don't want to hurt him."
"You're such a sap, you know."
"Yeh, I'd kind of figured that out," he says. He keeps his hand on Marian's chest and leans in.
It's been long enough since Roman has been here, tangled in sheets, spit-slick and sweat-soaked, that he feels adolescently bashful in the aftermath. Marian, still catching his breath, lets his fingers idly trace nonsense patterns on Roman's stomach. He endures it as long as he can before sleepily grabbing hold of the fingers.
"Tickles," he murmurs. His voice sounds funny. Possibly his tongue needs sleep as well.
"Heh," he hears in response and instantly regrets admitting that. But Marian's fingers still and rest easily on his skin, as if he cannot keep his hands off, and Roman's chest makes this funny twisty clench at the thought he may not be the only sap in the room. Then Marian leans down and is kissing him again. Hard. Hungry. And Roman finds himself responding despite feeling utterly drained. When Marian pulls away, his expression is something Roman, with all his experience of reading Öztürk faces, cannot define.
Marian reaches over and tangles his fingers with Roman's, thumb stroking the inside of Roman's wrist.
Roman snorts. "Sap," he says, but curls into him regardless, threading together any parts that will mesh. He rests his head in the space where Marian's neck becomes shoulder and back becomes front and refuses to remember the focused intensity of Marian's attention, the several times he swears he heard Marian whisper "Deniz", and how much harder that made him.