[pornmas] day 3.
Summary: "You want to fuck," he says slowly, like he's having trouble with the words, "on a canvas covered in paint. Potentially multiple times."
Fandom/Pairings: One Direction/X-Factor; Harry/George
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: I don't recommend fucking someone on a giant canvas covered in paint. That being said, here! Have George and Harry fucking on a giant canvas covered in paint. (Also I don't recommend poorly negotiated relationships, but no one said every relationship is perfectly negotiated so this one is very badly negotiated.) Today's mix is Christmas Menagerie, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't think so, somehow.
as messy as my heart
George meets Harry approximately four hours after he's moved into his brand-new dorm freshman year, just as Harry's walking out of the bathroom. Harry is stark naked the first time they meet and appears to not notice the entire time George is silently freaking out, which kind of sets the tone for their entire friendship. It's also pretty indicative of Harry himself, which is why George probably shouldn't be surprised by what Harry's just asked him. George thinks he can be forgiven for staring at Harry in shock, though.
"You want to fuck," George says slowly, like he's having trouble with the words, "on a canvas covered in paint. Potentially multiple times."
"Yeah," Harry rolls his eyes, "That's what I just said, only you make it sound like we'd be fucking on the same canvas and it'd be multiple."
"You're crazy."
Harry raises an eyebrow, and George cross his arms. When he got to art school, starting out writing stupid blackout poetry from Doctor Who novels, he did not ever expect that his flatmate-slash-sometimes-fuck-buddy would be asking him to roll around on a paint-covered canvas while fucking to create art. Really, how was George ever supposed to anticipate Harry Styles existing at all? People who love so freely and hand out affection without thinking don't exist. Harry Styles shouldn't fucking exist and yet.
Sighing, George slumps against the wall of their living room. There's a mischievous glint to Harry's eyes that George recognizes from that one weekend Harry held up a length of rope and-no. No, definitely not thinking about that. And definitely not thinking about the fact that Harry's practically naked either.
(That one is easier, because Harry spends most of his time in the apartment nearly naked. The only reason he doesn't spend all of his time fully naked is that they made a deal that Harry had to wear underwear unless they were fucking.)
"No," George says, trying for firm and ending up somewhere more around desperate, "I'm not going to fuck you on a canvas because you have some kind of vision. Get Louis to do it."
The silence stretches out, Harry standing and staring at George like he's just waiting for George to agree. Which is definitely not ever going to happen because Harry's ideas are stupid and George doesn't want to wash paint off for weeks except for the part where he really, really wants to fuck Harry and smear paint over him like a living canvas. He's not even a painting major.
"I could," Harry says patiently, "but Louis has this thing about getting dirty. I'd owe him so many favors for making him do this and I'd really rather not have him lording this over me when we're eighty and wrinkled."
"Nick would do it," George says, a little desperately, "You know he loves freaky shit like this."
Smirk firmly in place, Harry steps forward. He slides in George's space easy as breathing, fingers splayed across George's chest. George's breathing hitches, which just makes Harry's smirk worse.
"You love freaky shit like this too," Harry whispers, lips kissing the shell of George's ear, "don't think I've forgotten, George."
Swallowing, George shoves Harry away. It's not hard, and Harry stumbles back laughing. The worst part about living with someone like Harry for four years, George has decided, is that Harry know all the ways to push his buttons and is completely unapologetic about using any and all of them to twist George into doing what he wants. Harry only asked because he knew that George would do it, and the game they're playing right now is little more than a formality.
"You're doing all the dishes until we graduate," George says, "and if I die because you get paint up my arse, I'm gonna come back and haunt you forever."
"I would expect nothing less."
It should bother George, the way Harry saunters away like the cat that got the cream, like there was never any question he was going to get what he wanted, but it doesn't. George watches as Harry starts laying down drop cloths and pushing furniture out of the way to lay out the area where they'll be fucking. It doesn't take that long, and honestly George should be worried that Harry thought he was a sure enough thing to have this all ready to go. He's not a slag. It's not like he'd drop everything to fuck Harry, regardless of the fact that he's done exactly that on multiple occasions in the past.
He and Harry actually fucked within a month of knowing each other, and it kind of just kept happening. Ella's asked on multiple occasions if he and Harry are an item and the truth is that what they have is a little . . . It's complicated. They're not exclusive or anything, but they do fuck on a regular basis. It's just that Harry also occasionally fucks Louis or Nick or that kid who swears he isn't related to Nick George never remembers the name of. Or girls. There's an endless string of girls that let Harry drop to his knees and bring them off.
George isn't jealous of them, exactly. Sometimes George pictures that: Harry between some girl's thighs and clearly enjoying himself while manicured fingers root themselves in his hair. Sometimes George pictures himself, Harry swallowing around his cock while he moans brokenly. Harry is a walking sexual fantasy, and George doesn't blame people for wanting a piece of that, especially when Harry seems so eager to give it away. Besides, it's not like George doesn't have Jaymi and JJ and Josh and (once, rather drunk) Ella. They're not exclusive in the slightest, and George isn't jealous.
Harry turns then, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and George feels a little bit like he's choking on his heart. It's possible that even though he's not jealous, George likes Harry best of anyone he's had. He can't see himself twining his fingers together and walking up the street with anyone else, can't see himself buying silly presents and waking up next to anyone but Harry. It probably means something, but George doesn't examine it too much.
"Do you want to fuck me or you do want me to fuck you?"
The question drops from Harry's tongue easily, and George ponders for a second. There's benefits to both, and George is seized by indecision for a moment until he catches sight of the bottle of paint in Harry's hand and makes his choice.
"You should fuck me first," George says, "and then I'll fuck you on the next one."
"Sounds good," Harry grins, turning back to his canvas and squirting a line of paint down, "You should probably get naked."
Aware of the fact that he's implicitly agreed to do this more than once, George sighs and starts stripping. He tosses his jeans over the back of their couch and piles the rest of his clothes on the couch itself before settling against the wall and watching Harry work. There's no real pattern to what he's doing, as far as George can tell, but George also isn't the one with the vision here so maybe he just doesn't understand what Harry's doing. Regardless, George is sure that this isn't going to go how Harry thinks it will.
Harry's extremely high concept, and his work all has to do with the body and the interaction of bodies and art. George has modeled for him before-or more accurately, let Harry use him as a human paintbrush. Something about a homage Yves Klein, maybe. Whatever it was, George sees how this is just an extension of Harry's previous work, but he isn't entirely sure how it'll turn out. He can't much complain though, because either way he gets a fantastic shag out of the deal. The floor will probably be a little rough on his body, but that's fine. George doesn't mind a little rough. Harry stands, stretching before peeling off his underwear and tossing them in the general direction of the couch.
"Get over here," Harry says, motioning for George to come over.
He goes without fuss, because he's found that it's easier to do what Harry says rather than trying to fight it. Once he's withing reach, Harry starts positioning him without asking. He presses George down over the paint, and it's not precisely the weirdest thing that George has ever experienced, but it's rather close.
"The point," Harry says as he starts slicking up his fingers with lube George didn't even see him grab, "is to make as much of a mess as possible and show the ecstasy of orgasm."
There's a response on the tip of George's tongue, but Harry takes that moment to press his fingers into George and the words fall away. George takes Harry's words to heart though, flailing his arms around more than he usually would. Harry smirks, and George makes a face at him. It only makes Harry slip a second finger in, though, so George isn't sure how effective that was in the long run. He lets his head fall back, knowing that he'll be washing paint out of his hair for days, and twists as Harry finishes prepping him.
Paint is finding its way everywhere on George, and he thinks Harry looks annoyingly pristine in comparison. He fixes it once Harry's rolled a condom on and pressed in close, though, rolling them so he's on top and Harry starts looking like a proper mess. They stay like that for a few moments, and then Harry flips them again. George is content to stay where they are, though, instead running his paint-wet fingers through Harry's hair and pulling him down for a kiss.
It turns out to be some kind of affront to Harry, though, because Harry starts fucking in in earnest, sliding him slightly across the canvas, and George grasps for purchase on anything. It's all slick, though, so there's really nothing George can do but twist around in it.
Showering and washing all the paint off is going to be a bitch, but George can't really find it in himself to care that much. Bracing, he manages to flip them again. It's less like they're fucking, George thinks, and maybe more like they're wrestling. Harry doesn't seem to mind, though, momentarily taking George's position and twisting in the paint while George fucks himself onto Harry.
When George is just gathering a rhythm, Harry twists and flips them again. There's a stupid amount of flailing on George's part, which Harry definitely won't mind, and he laughs before pulling Harry down for another kiss. Harry obliges, settling into a rhythm, and making George twist in the paint. Stopping for a second, George lifts a hand and settles it over Harry's heart. It's stupidly sentimental, and George isn't entirely expecting it when Harry folds down to kiss him again.
"I love you," Harry whispers when he pulls away.
"I," George tries, "I love you too."
Something about the atmosphere shifts, just a little, and George is so caught up in it and Harry that when he comes, it takes him by surprise. Crying out, George arches up and flings his arms out looking for something, anything, to anchor himself with. Harry's fingers find his, threading them together and holding George in place while he thrusts once, twice more and then comes too. They breathe for a moment, the air suddenly brittle, and then the moment is gone. Grimacing, Harry pulls away and settles down on the canvas next to George. He catches his breath, and George turns his head to look at him, watch him.
Harry's covered in paint, mottled over his skin and in the shapes of George's hands, and he still manages to look stupidly gorgeous. George isn't sure if that's because he loves Harry or because Harry really is gorgeous, and he can't bring himself to care. There are about a thousand things that George wants to say, but he's not entirely sure how to word any of them and he's still choking on his heart just a little. He settles for tangling his fingers together with Harry's and breathing.
It's enough.
(ps: if you're late to the party/just want more porn, go check out the pornmas advent calendar/masterlist.)
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D
Fandom/Pairings: One Direction/X-Factor; Harry/George
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: I don't recommend fucking someone on a giant canvas covered in paint. That being said, here! Have George and Harry fucking on a giant canvas covered in paint. (Also I don't recommend poorly negotiated relationships, but no one said every relationship is perfectly negotiated so this one is very badly negotiated.) Today's mix is Christmas Menagerie, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't think so, somehow.
as messy as my heart
George meets Harry approximately four hours after he's moved into his brand-new dorm freshman year, just as Harry's walking out of the bathroom. Harry is stark naked the first time they meet and appears to not notice the entire time George is silently freaking out, which kind of sets the tone for their entire friendship. It's also pretty indicative of Harry himself, which is why George probably shouldn't be surprised by what Harry's just asked him. George thinks he can be forgiven for staring at Harry in shock, though.
"You want to fuck," George says slowly, like he's having trouble with the words, "on a canvas covered in paint. Potentially multiple times."
"Yeah," Harry rolls his eyes, "That's what I just said, only you make it sound like we'd be fucking on the same canvas and it'd be multiple."
"You're crazy."
Harry raises an eyebrow, and George cross his arms. When he got to art school, starting out writing stupid blackout poetry from Doctor Who novels, he did not ever expect that his flatmate-slash-sometimes-fuck-buddy would be asking him to roll around on a paint-covered canvas while fucking to create art. Really, how was George ever supposed to anticipate Harry Styles existing at all? People who love so freely and hand out affection without thinking don't exist. Harry Styles shouldn't fucking exist and yet.
Sighing, George slumps against the wall of their living room. There's a mischievous glint to Harry's eyes that George recognizes from that one weekend Harry held up a length of rope and-no. No, definitely not thinking about that. And definitely not thinking about the fact that Harry's practically naked either.
(That one is easier, because Harry spends most of his time in the apartment nearly naked. The only reason he doesn't spend all of his time fully naked is that they made a deal that Harry had to wear underwear unless they were fucking.)
"No," George says, trying for firm and ending up somewhere more around desperate, "I'm not going to fuck you on a canvas because you have some kind of vision. Get Louis to do it."
The silence stretches out, Harry standing and staring at George like he's just waiting for George to agree. Which is definitely not ever going to happen because Harry's ideas are stupid and George doesn't want to wash paint off for weeks except for the part where he really, really wants to fuck Harry and smear paint over him like a living canvas. He's not even a painting major.
"I could," Harry says patiently, "but Louis has this thing about getting dirty. I'd owe him so many favors for making him do this and I'd really rather not have him lording this over me when we're eighty and wrinkled."
"Nick would do it," George says, a little desperately, "You know he loves freaky shit like this."
Smirk firmly in place, Harry steps forward. He slides in George's space easy as breathing, fingers splayed across George's chest. George's breathing hitches, which just makes Harry's smirk worse.
"You love freaky shit like this too," Harry whispers, lips kissing the shell of George's ear, "don't think I've forgotten, George."
Swallowing, George shoves Harry away. It's not hard, and Harry stumbles back laughing. The worst part about living with someone like Harry for four years, George has decided, is that Harry know all the ways to push his buttons and is completely unapologetic about using any and all of them to twist George into doing what he wants. Harry only asked because he knew that George would do it, and the game they're playing right now is little more than a formality.
"You're doing all the dishes until we graduate," George says, "and if I die because you get paint up my arse, I'm gonna come back and haunt you forever."
"I would expect nothing less."
It should bother George, the way Harry saunters away like the cat that got the cream, like there was never any question he was going to get what he wanted, but it doesn't. George watches as Harry starts laying down drop cloths and pushing furniture out of the way to lay out the area where they'll be fucking. It doesn't take that long, and honestly George should be worried that Harry thought he was a sure enough thing to have this all ready to go. He's not a slag. It's not like he'd drop everything to fuck Harry, regardless of the fact that he's done exactly that on multiple occasions in the past.
He and Harry actually fucked within a month of knowing each other, and it kind of just kept happening. Ella's asked on multiple occasions if he and Harry are an item and the truth is that what they have is a little . . . It's complicated. They're not exclusive or anything, but they do fuck on a regular basis. It's just that Harry also occasionally fucks Louis or Nick or that kid who swears he isn't related to Nick George never remembers the name of. Or girls. There's an endless string of girls that let Harry drop to his knees and bring them off.
George isn't jealous of them, exactly. Sometimes George pictures that: Harry between some girl's thighs and clearly enjoying himself while manicured fingers root themselves in his hair. Sometimes George pictures himself, Harry swallowing around his cock while he moans brokenly. Harry is a walking sexual fantasy, and George doesn't blame people for wanting a piece of that, especially when Harry seems so eager to give it away. Besides, it's not like George doesn't have Jaymi and JJ and Josh and (once, rather drunk) Ella. They're not exclusive in the slightest, and George isn't jealous.
Harry turns then, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and George feels a little bit like he's choking on his heart. It's possible that even though he's not jealous, George likes Harry best of anyone he's had. He can't see himself twining his fingers together and walking up the street with anyone else, can't see himself buying silly presents and waking up next to anyone but Harry. It probably means something, but George doesn't examine it too much.
"Do you want to fuck me or you do want me to fuck you?"
The question drops from Harry's tongue easily, and George ponders for a second. There's benefits to both, and George is seized by indecision for a moment until he catches sight of the bottle of paint in Harry's hand and makes his choice.
"You should fuck me first," George says, "and then I'll fuck you on the next one."
"Sounds good," Harry grins, turning back to his canvas and squirting a line of paint down, "You should probably get naked."
Aware of the fact that he's implicitly agreed to do this more than once, George sighs and starts stripping. He tosses his jeans over the back of their couch and piles the rest of his clothes on the couch itself before settling against the wall and watching Harry work. There's no real pattern to what he's doing, as far as George can tell, but George also isn't the one with the vision here so maybe he just doesn't understand what Harry's doing. Regardless, George is sure that this isn't going to go how Harry thinks it will.
Harry's extremely high concept, and his work all has to do with the body and the interaction of bodies and art. George has modeled for him before-or more accurately, let Harry use him as a human paintbrush. Something about a homage Yves Klein, maybe. Whatever it was, George sees how this is just an extension of Harry's previous work, but he isn't entirely sure how it'll turn out. He can't much complain though, because either way he gets a fantastic shag out of the deal. The floor will probably be a little rough on his body, but that's fine. George doesn't mind a little rough. Harry stands, stretching before peeling off his underwear and tossing them in the general direction of the couch.
"Get over here," Harry says, motioning for George to come over.
He goes without fuss, because he's found that it's easier to do what Harry says rather than trying to fight it. Once he's withing reach, Harry starts positioning him without asking. He presses George down over the paint, and it's not precisely the weirdest thing that George has ever experienced, but it's rather close.
"The point," Harry says as he starts slicking up his fingers with lube George didn't even see him grab, "is to make as much of a mess as possible and show the ecstasy of orgasm."
There's a response on the tip of George's tongue, but Harry takes that moment to press his fingers into George and the words fall away. George takes Harry's words to heart though, flailing his arms around more than he usually would. Harry smirks, and George makes a face at him. It only makes Harry slip a second finger in, though, so George isn't sure how effective that was in the long run. He lets his head fall back, knowing that he'll be washing paint out of his hair for days, and twists as Harry finishes prepping him.
Paint is finding its way everywhere on George, and he thinks Harry looks annoyingly pristine in comparison. He fixes it once Harry's rolled a condom on and pressed in close, though, rolling them so he's on top and Harry starts looking like a proper mess. They stay like that for a few moments, and then Harry flips them again. George is content to stay where they are, though, instead running his paint-wet fingers through Harry's hair and pulling him down for a kiss.
It turns out to be some kind of affront to Harry, though, because Harry starts fucking in in earnest, sliding him slightly across the canvas, and George grasps for purchase on anything. It's all slick, though, so there's really nothing George can do but twist around in it.
Showering and washing all the paint off is going to be a bitch, but George can't really find it in himself to care that much. Bracing, he manages to flip them again. It's less like they're fucking, George thinks, and maybe more like they're wrestling. Harry doesn't seem to mind, though, momentarily taking George's position and twisting in the paint while George fucks himself onto Harry.
When George is just gathering a rhythm, Harry twists and flips them again. There's a stupid amount of flailing on George's part, which Harry definitely won't mind, and he laughs before pulling Harry down for another kiss. Harry obliges, settling into a rhythm, and making George twist in the paint. Stopping for a second, George lifts a hand and settles it over Harry's heart. It's stupidly sentimental, and George isn't entirely expecting it when Harry folds down to kiss him again.
"I love you," Harry whispers when he pulls away.
"I," George tries, "I love you too."
Something about the atmosphere shifts, just a little, and George is so caught up in it and Harry that when he comes, it takes him by surprise. Crying out, George arches up and flings his arms out looking for something, anything, to anchor himself with. Harry's fingers find his, threading them together and holding George in place while he thrusts once, twice more and then comes too. They breathe for a moment, the air suddenly brittle, and then the moment is gone. Grimacing, Harry pulls away and settles down on the canvas next to George. He catches his breath, and George turns his head to look at him, watch him.
Harry's covered in paint, mottled over his skin and in the shapes of George's hands, and he still manages to look stupidly gorgeous. George isn't sure if that's because he loves Harry or because Harry really is gorgeous, and he can't bring himself to care. There are about a thousand things that George wants to say, but he's not entirely sure how to word any of them and he's still choking on his heart just a little. He settles for tangling his fingers together with Harry's and breathing.
It's enough.
(ps: if you're late to the party/just want more porn, go check out the pornmas advent calendar/masterlist.)
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D