Writing's on the Wall 6/9
anonymous
October 22 2010, 01:42:58 UTC
Alfred’s words have dissolved to variants of “fuck,” and “fuck yes, Arthurrrr,” and some incoherent word jumbles that are most likely gibberish. Alfred moans, whispers at Arthur’s name. He tries to keep himself from jerking his hips. He writhes. His legs are trembling, and he spreads them further as Arthur continues to lavish attention on his rigid cock.
One hand falls from the wall, curls into Arthur’s hair. Arthur smiles around the kisses he lies across the cockhead. He finally, finally, draws the cockhead into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it. Alfred keens quietly, his body quaking. But as satisfying as that small touch is, so quickly does Arthur pull away, kissing at his navel again.
“Fucking-ah-tease,” Alfred says somewhere above Arthur’s head.
“I can be much worse,” Arthur warns, though his words are warm. “You don’t seem as if you’ll last long, darling.”
“It’s been fucking two months-shit,” Alfred cries out, and jerks his hips. “Arthur-wait. I want to be in you or-or you in me. Or something. Please… it’s been too long, ah-”
Arthur hums quietly and gives Alfred’s cock one last lick before he slowly pulls himself to his feet, dragging Alfred down to kiss him. His mouth is just as warm, smoldering. He laves kisses against his mouth, touches at the inside of Alfred’s mouth, traces every contour and moment, everything-he knows every moment of this lad.
He pulls away though, takes the hand from his hair and drags Alfred’s fingers to his mouth, swirling his tongue over the digits, his eyes hooded as he stares up at Alfred. Alfred moans, his mouth open, panting-so pink, so lovely.
“O-oh,” Alfred gasps out and even when he’s in the middle of being so demonically gorgeous and hot, he’s still so stupidly adorable that Arthur is torn between cooing and purring at him. He’s flushed. He’s strained-he’s only for Arthur. “You sure you don’t wanna sit down or lie down or-”
“I have been sitting on day on that plane waiting to just fucking get here,” Arthur moans, “Fuck me standing. Now.”
“Oh,” Alfred says quietly, again, and then he grins-thrilled. Always so thrilled. Always so charming and lovely.
“Fuck me,” Arthur commands, lifts one leg to draw Alfred close again-a promise. “Come along, lad.”
“I guess the key word being ‘come’ right? Ha ha.” He’s laughing-nervous, twittering. He has no reason to be-they’ve done this before. It’s been so long, though-
Arthur rolls his eyes. “That’s the idea.”
“Christ,” Alfred chokes, clenches his hands in Arthur’s hair and kisses at him again, trembling. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost,” Arthur agrees, sardonically, never one to let good irony escape his grasp, even in situations like this, and thrusts his hips up against Alfred’s, his cock still standing freely out of the rocket ship boxers.
Alfred moans quietly, and the hoarse, rattling sound echoes straight to Arthur’s core and for all his jokes in the past about Alfred’s endurance in this area, Arthur is pretty sure he’s about ready to climax without ever getting the chance to unbuckle his pants.
“Please tell me you have lube,” he whispers.
Alfred bends his head, kissing at an old scar across Arthur’s collarbone, sloppy and misguided and distracted by the way Arthur’s hand has fallen down to stroke at Alfred’s cock.
“Y-yeah,” he whispers. “Upstairs.”
Arthur tries to speak, but nothing comes to him-not even air. He’s suffocating, surrounded by Alfred and just wanting Alfred in him. He drags his eyes over Alfred’s body, appreciatively.
“Go get it,” Arthur commands, his voice husky with lust and sounding like darkened sandpaper. “And fuck me already.”
Alfred is nodding eagerly, and almost stumbles when he takes a step back. And he’s still grinning.
“I’ll be back,” he says, in that horribly impersonation of The Terminator that he knows Arthur hates.
If Arthur wasn’t so horny, he’d kick Alfred away and just walk right out of the foyer. He knows, deep down, that even if he wasn’t aroused he wouldn’t do that. “That joke is not nearly as cute as you think it is.”
One hand falls from the wall, curls into Arthur’s hair. Arthur smiles around the kisses he lies across the cockhead. He finally, finally, draws the cockhead into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it. Alfred keens quietly, his body quaking. But as satisfying as that small touch is, so quickly does Arthur pull away, kissing at his navel again.
“Fucking-ah-tease,” Alfred says somewhere above Arthur’s head.
“I can be much worse,” Arthur warns, though his words are warm. “You don’t seem as if you’ll last long, darling.”
“It’s been fucking two months-shit,” Alfred cries out, and jerks his hips. “Arthur-wait. I want to be in you or-or you in me. Or something. Please… it’s been too long, ah-”
Arthur hums quietly and gives Alfred’s cock one last lick before he slowly pulls himself to his feet, dragging Alfred down to kiss him. His mouth is just as warm, smoldering. He laves kisses against his mouth, touches at the inside of Alfred’s mouth, traces every contour and moment, everything-he knows every moment of this lad.
He pulls away though, takes the hand from his hair and drags Alfred’s fingers to his mouth, swirling his tongue over the digits, his eyes hooded as he stares up at Alfred. Alfred moans, his mouth open, panting-so pink, so lovely.
“O-oh,” Alfred gasps out and even when he’s in the middle of being so demonically gorgeous and hot, he’s still so stupidly adorable that Arthur is torn between cooing and purring at him. He’s flushed. He’s strained-he’s only for Arthur. “You sure you don’t wanna sit down or lie down or-”
“I have been sitting on day on that plane waiting to just fucking get here,” Arthur moans, “Fuck me standing. Now.”
“Oh,” Alfred says quietly, again, and then he grins-thrilled. Always so thrilled. Always so charming and lovely.
“Fuck me,” Arthur commands, lifts one leg to draw Alfred close again-a promise. “Come along, lad.”
“I guess the key word being ‘come’ right? Ha ha.” He’s laughing-nervous, twittering. He has no reason to be-they’ve done this before. It’s been so long, though-
Arthur rolls his eyes. “That’s the idea.”
“Christ,” Alfred chokes, clenches his hands in Arthur’s hair and kisses at him again, trembling. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost,” Arthur agrees, sardonically, never one to let good irony escape his grasp, even in situations like this, and thrusts his hips up against Alfred’s, his cock still standing freely out of the rocket ship boxers.
Alfred moans quietly, and the hoarse, rattling sound echoes straight to Arthur’s core and for all his jokes in the past about Alfred’s endurance in this area, Arthur is pretty sure he’s about ready to climax without ever getting the chance to unbuckle his pants.
“Please tell me you have lube,” he whispers.
Alfred bends his head, kissing at an old scar across Arthur’s collarbone, sloppy and misguided and distracted by the way Arthur’s hand has fallen down to stroke at Alfred’s cock.
“Y-yeah,” he whispers. “Upstairs.”
Arthur tries to speak, but nothing comes to him-not even air. He’s suffocating, surrounded by Alfred and just wanting Alfred in him. He drags his eyes over Alfred’s body, appreciatively.
“Go get it,” Arthur commands, his voice husky with lust and sounding like darkened sandpaper. “And fuck me already.”
Alfred is nodding eagerly, and almost stumbles when he takes a step back. And he’s still grinning.
“I’ll be back,” he says, in that horribly impersonation of The Terminator that he knows Arthur hates.
If Arthur wasn’t so horny, he’d kick Alfred away and just walk right out of the foyer. He knows, deep down, that even if he wasn’t aroused he wouldn’t do that. “That joke is not nearly as cute as you think it is.”
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