Somebody should stop me from doing these things o.O;;;
Caution: lots of pictures, innuendo, general bad taste, misuse of RPS, OMG what the hell was I thinking?
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Picture Ficlet from Hell
There was an attractive man at the party-dark, with a goofy smile, and Jeff knew he had to have him.
“Excuse me, but do you know me?” asked Jeff, slipping in beside the man as he refilled his drink.
“Ah-no, I don’t think so," said the man.
“Would you like to?” asked Jeff, leaning in slyly.
“I think that could be arranged,” said the man, smile blinding, and, in the coat closet, later, Jeff kissed him-tasted his toothy grin and asked him his name (“Jim; my name is Jim”) and
when he came he watched himself fill Jim’s sweet-warm mouth and looked into his opened eyes and thought, I want this.
“My name is Jeff,” he says when his damp cock is tucked into his boxer-briefs and his fly is zippered up.
“Why don’t we continue this at my place?”
And he was there that night, and the next, and Jim got tired of going back every-other-day for clothes after a year of slow smiles and sweaty sex and dates on Fridays/Saturdays/Whenever-the-Hell-days, so he just stopped going, and Jeff helped him move his stuff into his apartment and bent him over his-their-counter-top, and said “I love you,” and Jim said it back when he could breathe.
A year became two years became the squeaky hopefulness of “Will you marry me?”, and he asks when he’s cleaning out the lizard cages because he’s an idiot and Jim loves him anyway, and
“Are you serious?” asks Jim, blushing, ecstatic, and
“Yes,” says Jeff; “yes, yes, I want-I-well, will you?”
“Yes,” says Jim, and Jeff’s heart is so full it’s almost bursting out of his chest, he’s so happy.
Time goes on and time keeps going and
Jeff is a science professor, and he might not always go by-the-book but he’s brilliant at it, everyone agrees, and
Jim is in theater because he’s funny and silly and sweet and over-the-top and just what hum-drum comedies need to become great, and
they are happy together, and quirky and bizarre and charming, and
they live happily ever after, just as they deserve.
/
Picture Ficlet from Hell
There was an attractive man at the party-dark, with a goofy smile, and Jeff knew he had to have him.
“Excuse me, but do you know me?” asked Jeff, slipping in beside the man as he refilled his drink.
“Ah-no, I don’t think so," said the man.
“Would you like to?” asked Jeff, leaning in slyly.
“I think that could be arranged,” said the man, smile blinding, and, in the coat closet, later, Jeff kissed him-tasted his toothy grin and asked him his name (“Jim; my name is Jim”) and
when he came he watched himself fill Jim’s sweet-warm mouth and looked into his opened eyes and thought, I want this.
“My name is Jeff,” he says when his damp cock is tucked into his boxer-briefs and his fly is zippered up.
“Why don’t we continue this at my place?”
And he was there that night, and the next, and Jim got tired of going back every-other-day for clothes after a year of slow smiles and sweaty sex and dates on Fridays/Saturdays/Whenever-the-Hell-days, so he just stopped going, and Jeff helped him move his stuff into his apartment and bent him over his-their-counter-top, and said “I love you,” and Jim said it back when he could breathe.
A year became two years became the squeaky hopefulness of “Will you marry me?”, and he asks when he’s cleaning out the lizard cages because he’s an idiot and Jim loves him anyway, and
“Are you serious?” asks Jim, blushing, ecstatic, and
“Yes,” says Jeff; “yes, yes, I want-I-well, will you?”
“Yes,” says Jim, and Jeff’s heart is so full it’s almost bursting out of his chest, he’s so happy.
Time goes on and time keeps going and
Jeff is a science professor, and he might not always go by-the-book but he’s brilliant at it, everyone agrees, and
Jim is in theater because he’s funny and silly and sweet and over-the-top and just what hum-drum comedies need to become great, and
they are happy together, and quirky and bizarre and charming, and
they live happily ever after, just as they deserve.