aka Lolitics is my 6th sense

[lolitics_meme]

Welcome to our glorious sixth post.

That's right: 6! But let's move on to not bore you with interesting facts ;)

All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
Otherwise it will get very chaotic.

Places of interest:
1) Unfilled prompts can be found on

Comments

Fill: Muddy Mandelbrown porn, part 1/2

[anonymous]

Huddled in a waterproof coat, Peter stared out at the pitch through the pouring rain. Black clouds were swirling overhead and he was astonished that the referee hadn’t called for time out yet, but maybe that was just Peter’s ignorance of the game. Gordon was instantly recognisable in spite of the weather, a scowling hulk of a man, his curly black hair wetted to his skull, his white shorts stained all over with grass and mud.

There was something about the way Gordon circled the pitch like a predator on the prowl before picking his target and tackling them, knocking their bodies into the ground and wrestling the ball from their grip that was strangely arousing to Peter, and he couldn’t help wishing that it was him caught under Gordon’s sturdy weight.

A red-shirted player kicked the ball over the strange metal framework at one end of the pitch, and Peter’s side of the stands erupted into cheers. At long last, the shirts of the players became too sodden, the rain too heavy, and the referee’s whistle sounded faintly over the howling of the wind. Frustrated, the rest of the spectators spilled away, returning to the dry comfort of their cars and homes.

Peter waited outside the changing rooms at the edge of the pitch, the hood of his mac pulled over his face as the players, dressed and towelled, stalked away through the bog of the pitch. Gordon was last to leave, locking the door behind him, and Peter ran for him, throwing his arms around his neck.

“You were wonderful,” he breathed, and Gordon prised him away, looking the scrawny, soaking man up and down.

“Did you wait just for me?” he asked. Peter nodded and began to unzip his coat, throwing it away. His so usually neat hair was matted to his forehead and his eyes were half closed against the rain.

“I’m cold, Gordon,” he held out his arms, and Gordon felt like telling him to get dressed and piss off; he wasn’t meant to be trampling over the field without permission. But already his white shirt was beginning to soak through and stick to his body, “please?”

There was no harm in satisfying the twisted fantasies that had been distracting Peter through the game, so long as there was pleasure to reap. Gordon grabbed his shoulders and shoved him to the ground. Peter gasped, feeling the cold squelch of mud against his skin and in a second, the larger man was atop him, jaw set as he peeled off his own jacket and began to tear open Peter’s shirt. Peter’s fingers grappled with Gordon’s buttons, numb and shaking, just managing to open his shirt and run his palms across his broad chest. A heavy hand grabbed a handful of silky brown hair and pressed Peter back into the swamp, grass and mud soaking into his hair and skin, it was creeping under his clothing, into his trousers. Raindrops hammered down on his exposed face, and he whimpered as Gordon’s lips closed on one nipple, already erect from the cold, open air. He felt teeth sink into the nub of flesh, and clenched his teeth, holding back a moan.

Peter felt his way down Gordon’s chest, his stomach, finding his bulging crotch and squeezing the contours in the fabric of his jeans. His own cock was straining against his underwear and longed for attention with every surge of blood southwards. The larger man lowered his weight onto the shivering body belong him and their twin erections met through layers of clothing.

“Do you want to move to the changing rooms?” Gordon’s voice was a rumble as he loosened his belt. Peter shook his head breathlessly.

“Here, please.”