Books | Film | Telefilm

[aiechan]

Questa è la prima categoria aperta, promptate, miei intrepidi kinkers!
Fuoco alle polveri e si dia inizio alle danze! \o/

Ricordo che:
1. Un prompt per commento
2. Promptate nel MACRO apposito
2. Fandom - Pairing - Rating vanno nel Titolo
3. Kink e spiegazioni varie nel Commento

DOCTOR WHO/TORCHWOOD
GAME OF THRONES/A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE
GLEE
INCEPTION

Comments

FILL (eng) - Never cease to amaze minds - PG - 2/4

[waferkya]

Ashley shakes his head, slowly, trying to get rid of everything, reset and start over, maybe getting things right this time. Stuart is straight, he’s pathetically head over heels for Maxine but his ego and his pride and whatever are costantly getting in his way, and he doesn’t even realize it. Stuart is straight, and anyway he’s his fucking mate, his collegue, his alpha and his I.C.E. contact, though he doesn’t know that and Ashley is so fucking scared he will and freak out that he’s always hypercareful and hyperaware of everything and costantly trying not to get in any trouble or accident or anything so that nobody will ever need to call his I.C.E. He’s Stuart, and he’s straight and a brainiac and he’s annoying and hopeless and Ashley maybe is in love with him, but Stuart most definitely isn’t, he’s straight, he’s Stuart.
Ashley shuts his eyes, goes to the bathroom like that, blind, careful on his tiptoes and taking small little steps, testing the ground with the tip of his toe before every breath, because he doesn’t want to step on Stuart’s naked hip, or his head, or his shoulder or even his cock, for fuck’s sake, because they would need to call an ambulance then and Ashley really doesn’t want everybody at work to know or assume or even think about him and Stuart having sex. He gets into the shower, the shrill roar of the water drilling his head open, and when he’s all clean and dying in agony and his mouth tastes like raspberries and toothpaste he finally gets back to his bedroom, looks down, and Stuart’s still there, still sleeping, still wearing his socks, so fuck, God, it wasn’t just a nightmare.
Ashley bites his bottom lip so hard it almost splits. In the shower he decided they do anything, really, and that’s because if he ever happened to finally, oh finally actually have sex with Stuart, he trusts his brain to remember it the morning after. So, yeah. He convinced himself of that, he really did, but now he’s looking at Stuart’s arse, his pale back, his shoulderblades barely visible under the skin, and he doesn’t really feel that cocksure anymore. Jesus fuck, no, that’s wrong: his cock seems to be the only part of him which knows exactly how to deal with all of this. Ashley feels it stir and stiffen through the hangover, definitely insterested in, well, whatever it is that Stuart has that makes Ashley’s stomach filled with a bucket of motherfucking butterflies.
He needs a smoke, he decides, so he walks gingerly to his closet; his inner Rachid throws back his head in his trademark impolite laughter at that, and Ashley is deeply ashamed of himself because he has an inner Rachid, he really has, but the newbie’s grown on him so fast it’s almost scary; and throws on the first couple of clothes he finds. He steps over Stuart to get out of the bedroom, and he doesn’t turn around to give him one last look before walking away.
He finds his lighter carelessly tossed around the kitchen, he doesn’t remember doing that, but his cigarettes are nowhere in sight. He curses under his breath, gets his wallet, his coat, tugs the belt tight around his waist and gets out.

Stuart finds him two hours later, still not changed into work clothes, sitting in his usual spot on the back of the ambulance, right there on the edge. Ashley is smoking his sixth cigarette in a row, but Stuart doesn’t need to know that. Rachid lies next to him on his back, his legs hanging off the van, staring at their drugs stack. The green in his uniform stings at Ashley’s eyes more than smoke ever did, but it’s a nice kind of feeling, somehow, definitely better than the chill he gets when he meets Stuart’s eye. Fuck.
“Hey guys,” Stuart says, and there’s this frown in his voice and in the light sky blue of his eyes that makes Ashley want to crawl out of his skin. He closes his lips around the cigarette instead, nods curtly. Rachid yanks up, almost touches the tips of his fingers to his feet.
“’lo Stu,” he says, cheerful and oblivious as ever, but Ashley can’t really blame him, there’s nothing particularly wrong about today, except the fact that last night he and Stuart probably fucked or maybe they didn’t, and it’s completely, overwhelmingly weird. “Did ya have fun last nigh’? You’ve got that funny look on ya, ya always have tha’ when ya had fun.”