(no subject)
Hi...I'm new...and I come bearing the midly disturbing. These weren't my idea, the person responsible knows who she is... ~_^ SO! Here we have three Hastur/Famine ficlets, the shortest is just a bit too long for a drabble, in sort of a chronological-ish order. Not the order they were written, but they seem to make sense this way. Hastur/Horsepeople fic seems to be my thing at the moment, I'll have to post the Hastur/Pollution later.
He didn’t know why he was doing this. He hated the demon, right? They couldn’t spend even a moment in each other’s presence before they started arguing, or worse. And yet . . . Famine asked himself again how it had happened. He ran through the events in his mind again and again, and still couldn’t determine what had made him lose his balance, why Hastur had stumbled at the same moment, how they had fallen into each other just so, and why . . . his mouth went dry and he rubbed suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers. After that was only lips and heat and . . . The horseman groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool wall. He should leave now, before the demon arrived. Nothing good could come of this, nothing . . . The door of the cheap motel room opened and Famine spun to see Hastur standing in the doorway, smirking. The demon strode forward without a word, and the door closed behind him. Famine stood his ground, returning the demon’s leer with a calm stare. Hastur stopped only inches from Famine and put his hands on the wall on either side of the horseman’s head. “You came.”
“I said that I would.” Hastur’s smirk grew and he leaned forward, their faces now less than an inch apart.
“And you will.” The demon closed the final distance between them, and the world faded away in a blur of lips, and skin, and sweat.
It couldn’t last. Too many differences, too many barriers. It would destroy them both in the end, they knew. When apart they’d both swear to themselves never to return, and yet they did. Stolen moments all, slipping into back rooms and cheap motels when no one else was watching. No one who knew them would have ever expected, truly they would never have expected this to happen. Yet it had, and their entire existences began to center around these not-so-accidental meetings, nights where the cheap motel around them vanished in visions of hot breath and hotter skin. It was an addiction, something they both knew they should end, and yet neither could. Soon they would be discovered. Soon they would have to part ways, probably for eternity. But somehow, when the world shrunk to a horseman and a demon in the lumpy bed of a run-down motel, it never mattered.
Heat. That was the first thing Famine noticed when it happened. It wasn’t surprising, really, that a demon’s mouth would be so hot, and Famine couldn’t get enough of it. Equally hot hands slid under his shirt and he pressed into them, moaning around Hastur’s tongue. A hard body pressed him against the wall, the heat radiating through the thin shirts that were suddenly no longer there. Famine tried to think, he knew that this shouldn’t be happening, and for a moment a pair of vague, grey eyes danced in front of him. But then the rest of their closed had vanished and that hot mouth was somewhere else, and thinking wasn’t all that important any more.
He didn’t know why he was doing this. He hated the demon, right? They couldn’t spend even a moment in each other’s presence before they started arguing, or worse. And yet . . . Famine asked himself again how it had happened. He ran through the events in his mind again and again, and still couldn’t determine what had made him lose his balance, why Hastur had stumbled at the same moment, how they had fallen into each other just so, and why . . . his mouth went dry and he rubbed suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers. After that was only lips and heat and . . . The horseman groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool wall. He should leave now, before the demon arrived. Nothing good could come of this, nothing . . . The door of the cheap motel room opened and Famine spun to see Hastur standing in the doorway, smirking. The demon strode forward without a word, and the door closed behind him. Famine stood his ground, returning the demon’s leer with a calm stare. Hastur stopped only inches from Famine and put his hands on the wall on either side of the horseman’s head. “You came.”
“I said that I would.” Hastur’s smirk grew and he leaned forward, their faces now less than an inch apart.
“And you will.” The demon closed the final distance between them, and the world faded away in a blur of lips, and skin, and sweat.
It couldn’t last. Too many differences, too many barriers. It would destroy them both in the end, they knew. When apart they’d both swear to themselves never to return, and yet they did. Stolen moments all, slipping into back rooms and cheap motels when no one else was watching. No one who knew them would have ever expected, truly they would never have expected this to happen. Yet it had, and their entire existences began to center around these not-so-accidental meetings, nights where the cheap motel around them vanished in visions of hot breath and hotter skin. It was an addiction, something they both knew they should end, and yet neither could. Soon they would be discovered. Soon they would have to part ways, probably for eternity. But somehow, when the world shrunk to a horseman and a demon in the lumpy bed of a run-down motel, it never mattered.
Heat. That was the first thing Famine noticed when it happened. It wasn’t surprising, really, that a demon’s mouth would be so hot, and Famine couldn’t get enough of it. Equally hot hands slid under his shirt and he pressed into them, moaning around Hastur’s tongue. A hard body pressed him against the wall, the heat radiating through the thin shirts that were suddenly no longer there. Famine tried to think, he knew that this shouldn’t be happening, and for a moment a pair of vague, grey eyes danced in front of him. But then the rest of their closed had vanished and that hot mouth was somewhere else, and thinking wasn’t all that important any more.