Ughh, the computer thing sucks, but elrhiarhodan is totally awesome! Also, all of the pain thing sucks (I can commiserate, I am also bleeding as we speak). I'll try to help. I haven't written any porn (or much of anything, to be honest) lately, so here goes, just for you:
Neal held back a whine as he spread his legs wider. He pushed his face deeper into the hot, sweat-dampened pillow, hyper-aware of how exposed his balls were, swaying slightly with every tiny movement.
Peter gently slid the cool, leather paddle across the skin of Neal's hot, sore ass. Neal hissed and bit his lower lip.
"What was that?" Peter asked, pulling the paddle away.
Holy shit, how did he hear that? Neal wondered, biting his lip harder.
Peter's hand slid between Neal's legs and he took Neal's balls in one hand. "What did you say?"
Pathetically, his face shoved into the pillow, Neal shook his head. He didn't say anything.
"Don't lie to me, Neal," Peter said, his voice dropping to a growl. His grip tightened around Neal's balls. Neal clenched his fingers into fists. He wanted to cry out. God, he couldn't think about anything else except Peter's hand on him.
"I told you," Peter said, "to be silent."
Neal pressed his lips together and his skin broke out in goosebumps. He swallowed hard, but his mouth was dry. He couldn't speak if he wanted to.
Peter squeezed Neal's balls tighter and it was excruciating and wonderful. Then Peter leaned forward -- Neal could feel his movement through the mattress -- and pressed a kiss just above Neal's right thigh.
It was soft, but it felt like acid burning against his skin. If it weren't for the vice grip Peter had on his balls, Neal would have come. Instead, he cried out uncontrollably, something between a sob and a scream.
Peter laughed, low and dark, but not cruel. "There it is," he mumbled, leaning back.
Neal lifted his head, just to see Peter pick up the paddle again.
---- (I would have had this faster, but I got distracted by baseball. My team just won the division! It's been a party, with intermittent porn, lol. Really, really short porn.)
Neal held back a whine as he spread his legs wider. He pushed his face deeper into the hot, sweat-dampened pillow, hyper-aware of how exposed his balls were, swaying slightly with every tiny movement.
Peter gently slid the cool, leather paddle across the skin of Neal's hot, sore ass. Neal hissed and bit his lower lip.
"What was that?" Peter asked, pulling the paddle away.
Holy shit, how did he hear that? Neal wondered, biting his lip harder.
Peter's hand slid between Neal's legs and he took Neal's balls in one hand. "What did you say?"
Pathetically, his face shoved into the pillow, Neal shook his head. He didn't say anything.
"Don't lie to me, Neal," Peter said, his voice dropping to a growl. His grip tightened around Neal's balls. Neal clenched his fingers into fists. He wanted to cry out. God, he couldn't think about anything else except Peter's hand on him.
"I told you," Peter said, "to be silent."
Neal pressed his lips together and his skin broke out in goosebumps. He swallowed hard, but his mouth was dry. He couldn't speak if he wanted to.
Peter squeezed Neal's balls tighter and it was excruciating and wonderful. Then Peter leaned forward -- Neal could feel his movement through the mattress -- and pressed a kiss just above Neal's right thigh.
It was soft, but it felt like acid burning against his skin. If it weren't for the vice grip Peter had on his balls, Neal would have come. Instead, he cried out uncontrollably, something between a sob and a scream.
Peter laughed, low and dark, but not cruel. "There it is," he mumbled, leaning back.
Neal lifted his head, just to see Peter pick up the paddle again.
----
(I would have had this faster, but I got distracted by baseball. My team just won the division! It's been a party, with intermittent porn, lol. Really, really short porn.)
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