Fic: Public Interlude (Plaude)
Since I've been feeling like crap today for no good reason other than triggered depression, I finished this tiny, tiny thing to cheer myself up. Except that now Heroes seems to have fucked up again. In my opinion, anyway. If the Sylar fan suddenly wants him dead, that really says something. I think tomorrow I'll just watch my novela (not Heroes, the other one), some My Name is Earl, and actually try to study, unlike today when nothing got done.
Title: Public Interlude
Rating: R
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Inspired by visiblemarket's suggestion for chain link fence porn. There really isn't more to it than that.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Peter’s head falls back against the chain link fence, the slim metal curling under his fingers, neck arching so far back that Claude can’t see his face, but the intensity of his reaction is palpable in the drawn out whimper slipping from his mouth, so tender and fragile that Claude wishes he could cup it in his hand and preserve it as precious proof of Peter’s vulnerability before him, before his fingers tugging down the zipper of Peter’s jeans, down, down, so slowly down, lightly brushing Peter’s risen flesh, dragging the most plaintive pleas from Peter as Claude strokes the dark fabric of those enticing little boxer briefs Peter likes to parade around the flat in, naked save for that scant stretch of cloth, knowing that Claude can’t resist pressing him against the couch and peeling them off in a possessive movement, just like he does now, except that the venue is a bit more open, their desire catching them unawares, and neither is willing to wait the several minutes it would take to reach their home when this piece of park is so nicely deserted, and with a little invisibility who’s to know? The distant rattle of a train zooming over its tracks falls like a whisper on Claude’s eardrums, momentary and insignificant as he revels in the far more alluring tune of Peter’s pleas when Claude exposes him to the cool, dusk air.
“Come on, Claude. Don’t tease me like that.”
Claude’s warm chuckle makes Peter tremble, longing ripe in his gorgeous body.
“Now, now. Anticipation is half the pleasure. Don’t be so hasty or you’ll ruin it.”
He murmurs the last few words directly over Peter’s member, blowing currents of warm air on his needy flesh.
“If I could wait any longer I would have flown us to the apartment.”
“Come now,” Claude places his hand on the underside of Peter’s cock, gripping him with a gentle pressure. Peter lets out a startled gasp. “How are you going to learn patience if you’re not willing to wait?”
Closing his hand, he begins to stroke, long, leisurely rubs that make Peter’s hands tighten until the strips of wire are sure to be imprinted on his skin, his hips jutting forward, begging with every excited fiber in his being for Claude to take him.
“Claude.”
Obliging Peter’s plea, Claude leans forward and kisses Peter’s head, encircling him with his lips and taking him in with tiny, teasing sucks, drawing back with every inch gained until he can swallow him no more and Peter yells his name with open mouthed moans, over and over again, and Claude swells with pride and no small amount of flattery. His boy. His beautiful, precious boy, his to cherish and kiss and pleasure all he wants until neither of them can take any more, and that point is fast arriving for Peter, his legs faltering so that Claude has to grab him by the waist to keep him up, hips twitching with a tiny thrust every time Claude strokes his balls with his thumb, the lightest touch to heighten his pleasure. He’s hard himself, aching to reach down and ease the discomfort in his trousers, but he can’t attend to himself yet. His attention must remain fully on Peter, on his rich scent, his heated skin, his soft moans, his needy voice as he whimpers “Claude” as his anchor, until he finally grabs Claude’s shoulders and comes, shouting into the night, but neither cares if anyone’s around to hear.
After Peter spends himself, Claude raises his head and swallows, grinning up at the slack, satiated face above him.. Dazed eyes meet his, and a pretty smile warms the air.
Title: Public Interlude
Rating: R
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Summary: Inspired by visiblemarket's suggestion for chain link fence porn. There really isn't more to it than that.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Peter’s head falls back against the chain link fence, the slim metal curling under his fingers, neck arching so far back that Claude can’t see his face, but the intensity of his reaction is palpable in the drawn out whimper slipping from his mouth, so tender and fragile that Claude wishes he could cup it in his hand and preserve it as precious proof of Peter’s vulnerability before him, before his fingers tugging down the zipper of Peter’s jeans, down, down, so slowly down, lightly brushing Peter’s risen flesh, dragging the most plaintive pleas from Peter as Claude strokes the dark fabric of those enticing little boxer briefs Peter likes to parade around the flat in, naked save for that scant stretch of cloth, knowing that Claude can’t resist pressing him against the couch and peeling them off in a possessive movement, just like he does now, except that the venue is a bit more open, their desire catching them unawares, and neither is willing to wait the several minutes it would take to reach their home when this piece of park is so nicely deserted, and with a little invisibility who’s to know? The distant rattle of a train zooming over its tracks falls like a whisper on Claude’s eardrums, momentary and insignificant as he revels in the far more alluring tune of Peter’s pleas when Claude exposes him to the cool, dusk air.
“Come on, Claude. Don’t tease me like that.”
Claude’s warm chuckle makes Peter tremble, longing ripe in his gorgeous body.
“Now, now. Anticipation is half the pleasure. Don’t be so hasty or you’ll ruin it.”
He murmurs the last few words directly over Peter’s member, blowing currents of warm air on his needy flesh.
“If I could wait any longer I would have flown us to the apartment.”
“Come now,” Claude places his hand on the underside of Peter’s cock, gripping him with a gentle pressure. Peter lets out a startled gasp. “How are you going to learn patience if you’re not willing to wait?”
Closing his hand, he begins to stroke, long, leisurely rubs that make Peter’s hands tighten until the strips of wire are sure to be imprinted on his skin, his hips jutting forward, begging with every excited fiber in his being for Claude to take him.
“Claude.”
Obliging Peter’s plea, Claude leans forward and kisses Peter’s head, encircling him with his lips and taking him in with tiny, teasing sucks, drawing back with every inch gained until he can swallow him no more and Peter yells his name with open mouthed moans, over and over again, and Claude swells with pride and no small amount of flattery. His boy. His beautiful, precious boy, his to cherish and kiss and pleasure all he wants until neither of them can take any more, and that point is fast arriving for Peter, his legs faltering so that Claude has to grab him by the waist to keep him up, hips twitching with a tiny thrust every time Claude strokes his balls with his thumb, the lightest touch to heighten his pleasure. He’s hard himself, aching to reach down and ease the discomfort in his trousers, but he can’t attend to himself yet. His attention must remain fully on Peter, on his rich scent, his heated skin, his soft moans, his needy voice as he whimpers “Claude” as his anchor, until he finally grabs Claude’s shoulders and comes, shouting into the night, but neither cares if anyone’s around to hear.
After Peter spends himself, Claude raises his head and swallows, grinning up at the slack, satiated face above him.. Dazed eyes meet his, and a pretty smile warms the air.