(posted this previously, but was Special with the Internet.)
Hello! So, I'm currently in a rut, writing wise, and want to kick start myself, so I'm taking 5 things requests (seriously, I'm your writing slave *g*)
Fandoms offered: due South, Wilby Wonderful, Hard Core Logo, Last Night, Twitch City, Men With Brooms, Men With Guns, Slings and Arrows, Torchwood, Tamora Pierce universes (except the Trickster's books, and the 3rd wave Emelan books) Harry Potter, Ashes to Ashes, Narnia (anything I've blathered on about here, really.)
No prompt too small/big/cracky.
This is underscore unhurt underscore's first request: four times hugh couldn't get it up (and one time he could). (because hugh dillon + erectile dysfunction = win? ahem. *seeks help*)
Four times Hugh couldn’t get it up (and one time he could) rated R, Hugh/Canada
1- The first time he tried to lose his virginity, he was fifteen. The girl, Mary-Ann, had a gap between her teeth, and the most fantastic tits he’d seen out of a porno magazine. She was perfect. They were in her bedroom, and…it had been going well, outside, she had ridden on the crossbar on the front of his bike and the way her hair had smelt made it hard to pedal, but…stuffed animals.
Her room was full of the furry fuckers, all pink, with glassy dead eyes and fixed cutesy leers, and. Well, he wasn’t showing Binky the Bear little hugh. No sir. They were making out, and he was trying, really trying, going through the motions but in hindsight he was damn fucking glad her father had come home from work early.
The rifle chase, and the fact that his back wheel had been punctured by a bullet wasn’t so gladdening.
He’d jerked off three times that afternoon, just to prove his dick still worked. He still doesn’t like rabbits.
2- cocaine was a complete bitch. And that was all he was saying about that.
3- Okay, so generally he was okay with driving stick shift as well as automatic- he could fill a whole book with whacked out queerness analogies, he really could. It wasn’t serious; he was just messing around, and groupies of both sexes were part of the lifestyle. But on tour, with a groupie who had black spiky hair and a crooked front tooth, and warm hands, who kissed him in an alleyway-
it felt a little too fucking serious. Hugh found himself wondering what books the groupie liked. Little Hugh got all fucking shy. He faked a curfew, told the guy one of the tech guys was his minder and went up to apologise to ‘Stu’ for breaking the terms of his probation.
Stu, weirdly, didn’t seem all that phased.
4- Paul told him it was for the good of Canada. He really…Okay, Paul was attractive, but he didn’t really fancy a two hour argument over who was going to top, and the pressure of competing was making him feel tired already. And very unhappy in his pants.
He sent Don along in his place.
5- It had been like some sort of silent consensus between the rest of the band. The moment he and Cal got back from a talk with Bruce, they all cleared off, Trent giving Callum one of those weird telepathic man stares.
“So, uh.”
That had been all it needed for Callum to start kissing him, backing him into his bunk- the bottom one; Trent lost the thumb wrestle- and landing on him, all denim and lame-ass cowboy shirt. He tasted like smoke and coffee, and made hungry little moans in the back of his throat that Hugh thought he’d like to put on the next album. Hugh at this point was hard enough to hammer nails, and he was seriously worried for the welfare of Cal’s dick in all that tight denim.
“Did you bribe them?” he asked, or tried to- it came out a little garbled. Callum’s hands were groping and grasping every part of Hugh they could get to, and Hugh was left feeling as if he was in the path of a very sexy hurricane. He shouldn’t have let him order that fourth coffee- not that he regretted it, because he couldn’t fucking think, let alone doubt, it was that fast. All he could do was grind up against Callum like a horny teenager, too desperate to even get out of his jeans, and let him have his wicked way-
He’d seduced Callum, of course. Just really discreetly. Leading from the bottom. “Christ, you-” he began, gasping for air. Callum didn’t respond, just moved on to his neck with a happy little growling noise. “I- ohh jesus fuck. Right there- by my ear. And then- ohhh god. And- gnrrrgh, jesus, I-”
He grabbed onto Callum’s ass- not that there was much of it- thrust into the space between them, friction and pressure completely fucking awesome, whatever jean assassination they were committing. He was close- so close, and Callum was biting, almost, so different from the cool-ass James Dean persona he cultivated. He really, really wanted him, and it was that thought that set Hugh off, closing his eyes and coming with this really girly breathy moan. Callum came almost at the same time, burying his face in Hugh’s neck and jerking, arching his back.
They lay there in a pile of arms, legs, sweat, denim and come for a while. Hugh wasn’t sure if he could move.
He fucking hoped there wasn’t chafing.
I am open to requests, bring them on *g*
Fandoms offered: due South, Wilby Wonderful, Hard Core Logo, Last Night, Twitch City, Men With Brooms, Men With Guns, Slings and Arrows, Torchwood, Tamora Pierce universes (except the Trickster's books, and the 3rd wave Emelan books) Harry Potter, Ashes to Ashes, Narnia (anything I've blathered on about here, really.)
No prompt too small/big/cracky.
This is underscore unhurt underscore's first request: four times hugh couldn't get it up (and one time he could). (because hugh dillon + erectile dysfunction = win? ahem. *seeks help*)
Four times Hugh couldn’t get it up (and one time he could) rated R, Hugh/Canada
1- The first time he tried to lose his virginity, he was fifteen. The girl, Mary-Ann, had a gap between her teeth, and the most fantastic tits he’d seen out of a porno magazine. She was perfect. They were in her bedroom, and…it had been going well, outside, she had ridden on the crossbar on the front of his bike and the way her hair had smelt made it hard to pedal, but…stuffed animals.
Her room was full of the furry fuckers, all pink, with glassy dead eyes and fixed cutesy leers, and. Well, he wasn’t showing Binky the Bear little hugh. No sir. They were making out, and he was trying, really trying, going through the motions but in hindsight he was damn fucking glad her father had come home from work early.
The rifle chase, and the fact that his back wheel had been punctured by a bullet wasn’t so gladdening.
He’d jerked off three times that afternoon, just to prove his dick still worked. He still doesn’t like rabbits.
2- cocaine was a complete bitch. And that was all he was saying about that.
3- Okay, so generally he was okay with driving stick shift as well as automatic- he could fill a whole book with whacked out queerness analogies, he really could. It wasn’t serious; he was just messing around, and groupies of both sexes were part of the lifestyle. But on tour, with a groupie who had black spiky hair and a crooked front tooth, and warm hands, who kissed him in an alleyway-
it felt a little too fucking serious. Hugh found himself wondering what books the groupie liked. Little Hugh got all fucking shy. He faked a curfew, told the guy one of the tech guys was his minder and went up to apologise to ‘Stu’ for breaking the terms of his probation.
Stu, weirdly, didn’t seem all that phased.
4- Paul told him it was for the good of Canada. He really…Okay, Paul was attractive, but he didn’t really fancy a two hour argument over who was going to top, and the pressure of competing was making him feel tired already. And very unhappy in his pants.
He sent Don along in his place.
5- It had been like some sort of silent consensus between the rest of the band. The moment he and Cal got back from a talk with Bruce, they all cleared off, Trent giving Callum one of those weird telepathic man stares.
“So, uh.”
That had been all it needed for Callum to start kissing him, backing him into his bunk- the bottom one; Trent lost the thumb wrestle- and landing on him, all denim and lame-ass cowboy shirt. He tasted like smoke and coffee, and made hungry little moans in the back of his throat that Hugh thought he’d like to put on the next album. Hugh at this point was hard enough to hammer nails, and he was seriously worried for the welfare of Cal’s dick in all that tight denim.
“Did you bribe them?” he asked, or tried to- it came out a little garbled. Callum’s hands were groping and grasping every part of Hugh they could get to, and Hugh was left feeling as if he was in the path of a very sexy hurricane. He shouldn’t have let him order that fourth coffee- not that he regretted it, because he couldn’t fucking think, let alone doubt, it was that fast. All he could do was grind up against Callum like a horny teenager, too desperate to even get out of his jeans, and let him have his wicked way-
He’d seduced Callum, of course. Just really discreetly. Leading from the bottom. “Christ, you-” he began, gasping for air. Callum didn’t respond, just moved on to his neck with a happy little growling noise. “I- ohh jesus fuck. Right there- by my ear. And then- ohhh god. And- gnrrrgh, jesus, I-”
He grabbed onto Callum’s ass- not that there was much of it- thrust into the space between them, friction and pressure completely fucking awesome, whatever jean assassination they were committing. He was close- so close, and Callum was biting, almost, so different from the cool-ass James Dean persona he cultivated. He really, really wanted him, and it was that thought that set Hugh off, closing his eyes and coming with this really girly breathy moan. Callum came almost at the same time, burying his face in Hugh’s neck and jerking, arching his back.
They lay there in a pile of arms, legs, sweat, denim and come for a while. Hugh wasn’t sure if he could move.
He fucking hoped there wasn’t chafing.
I am open to requests, bring them on *g*