FIC: Monstrous Regiment -- Terminology
(In which our hero is overcome by feelings of fluffiness and adoration and wanting to have just loads of sex with these two. Daily. Hourly.)
Title: Terminology.
Fandom: Monstrous Regiment [novel].
Rating: R for sexual themes. *evil laughter in distance*
Genre: Romance.
Summary: For such a basic act, doesn't it have a lot of names?
Warnings: Spoilers for Monstrous Regiment . . . like . . . a lot?
Word Count: 226.
Author's Note: I have decided that November 7th should be International Tonker/Lofty Appreciation Day, because as far as I know there isn't one yet, and this is a travesty. Enjoy this if you can, and I shall be posting at least one Tonker/Lofty piece every November 7th from this point on. At least until I forget. Or lose interest.
Disclaimer: The marvelous Tonker and Lofty belong to Terry Pratchett, also known as God With A Proper Author Hat, and I'm making no money from this.
Formerly posted at cheesemongers, specifically here.
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Terminology
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Despite what Tonker would like to think, it isn't fucking.
The sounds aren't right, for one thing. There's a percussiveness implied in the word that just isn't ever present with them--not the first time, in the Grey House, with the cold seeping in around the edges of the window and their lips clenched between their teeth; not after they decided to leave, with a shared conspiratorial gleam in their eyes and in the air between them; not on the march, on watch, although that was awkward and didn't quite work; especially not after it all, more out of relief than desire, once the bureaucratic nonsense had been taken care of and they'd gotten away from the Keep at last.
There is desire, but it's not the sort of thing that leads men limping to the Guild of Seamstresses in the city outside their rented room. It's certainly nothing like the loud, dramatic desire that causes men in powdered wigs and women with stuffed bosoms to poison themselves in confusing circumstances on the stage (Lofty much prefers comedies, but Tonker finds the tragedies of Hwel the Bard to be enchanting). It might be described as a desire for unity. Mostly, though, it isn't described at all.
Tonker is gentle, and Lofty's edges soften, and they come at the same time.
Perhaps it's making love?
Title: Terminology.
Fandom: Monstrous Regiment [novel].
Rating: R for sexual themes. *evil laughter in distance*
Genre: Romance.
Summary: For such a basic act, doesn't it have a lot of names?
Warnings: Spoilers for Monstrous Regiment . . . like . . . a lot?
Word Count: 226.
Author's Note: I have decided that November 7th should be International Tonker/Lofty Appreciation Day, because as far as I know there isn't one yet, and this is a travesty. Enjoy this if you can, and I shall be posting at least one Tonker/Lofty piece every November 7th from this point on. At least until I forget. Or lose interest.
Disclaimer: The marvelous Tonker and Lofty belong to Terry Pratchett, also known as God With A Proper Author Hat, and I'm making no money from this.
Formerly posted at cheesemongers, specifically here.
---
Terminology
---
Despite what Tonker would like to think, it isn't fucking.
The sounds aren't right, for one thing. There's a percussiveness implied in the word that just isn't ever present with them--not the first time, in the Grey House, with the cold seeping in around the edges of the window and their lips clenched between their teeth; not after they decided to leave, with a shared conspiratorial gleam in their eyes and in the air between them; not on the march, on watch, although that was awkward and didn't quite work; especially not after it all, more out of relief than desire, once the bureaucratic nonsense had been taken care of and they'd gotten away from the Keep at last.
There is desire, but it's not the sort of thing that leads men limping to the Guild of Seamstresses in the city outside their rented room. It's certainly nothing like the loud, dramatic desire that causes men in powdered wigs and women with stuffed bosoms to poison themselves in confusing circumstances on the stage (Lofty much prefers comedies, but Tonker finds the tragedies of Hwel the Bard to be enchanting). It might be described as a desire for unity. Mostly, though, it isn't described at all.
Tonker is gentle, and Lofty's edges soften, and they come at the same time.
Perhaps it's making love?