(no subject)
Song meme -- i've decided to post as many of these song meme fics as i can, when i get them done. also, i'm going to add links to the songs, so you can hear them (if you don't know them). the first two - sharon's and raz's
#121 - Heero/Duo, dialog fic to Lonestar’s “All the Way” for sharona1x2, warnings: hints of sap, language, suggestion of sex of the BL kind.
“Hey, nearly done there?”
“Just a moment. The tender’s being a bitch and won’t lite.”
“Heh, and this from the pyrotech king who could blow up anything with common household products.”
“Yeah, I managed to create a few fireworks through the years, haven’t I?”
“Mmmm, no complaints from me on that.”
“Good, cause we have plans and I’d hate to usurp them just to prove you wrong.”
“I wouldn’t mind…”
“Of course not. Fire’s going, did you bring the champagne…”
“Here take this, hook your arm - like that.”
“Oooh, fancy are we?”
“What else are you supposed to do on a romantic anniversary weekend?”
“Ah, the good stuff.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to down the glass in one swallow… or smack your lips like that.”
“I don’t think I was meant for ‘the finer sensibilities’.”
“You don’t have to smirk about it.”
“What’s on the music disk? Want more of this ‘hooch’?”
“Hooch, Duo? …just half a glass for me. I want to keep my faculties clear for later.”
“Oh? Have something in mind?”
“Always where you’re concerned.”
“Good. Hate to think you were hanging around for someone else after all this time.”
“As if anyone else would still be breathing…”
“Damn straight! What is this music you’re playing?”
“Uh… A compilation of the ‘Best One-Thousand Love Songs of the Past Six Hundred Years’.”
“Huh… by whose standards I’d like to know. Sorry, Heero, but that shit has got to go.”
“Shit? Should have known you and romance cannot share air space.”
“You want romance? I’ll show you romance. Just let me switch disks…”
“Oh, this is…mmmm… much better.”
“Like dancing do you?”
“With you? Since day one.”
“How many dances has there been?”
“Not enough…”
“Let’s see… sixteen years together, and at least a dance a month…”
“You’re tickling my ear.”
“Heh… how’s that?”
“Wet.”
“Never satisfied, are you?”
“Never…”
“Less than two hundred? That doesn’t sound right…”
“Numbers don’t count. This does.”
“Wanna sit this one out?”
“Tired alread- Hey! Bruising isn’t encouraged on anniversary get-aways.”
“By whose rules?”
“You want bruises? I’ll give you bruises!”
“Heero! No fair, man! Ummph… you gaining weight?”
“Tell me how much you like to bottom and I’ll let you up.”
“I love it when you bottom…”
“No! You bottom.”
“Like I said, I like it when you… Ah! Heero! That’s definitely no fair! And definitely not romantic grabbing me there while pinned.”
“Just proving a point… ummm, weren’t we supposed to be snuggling in front of the fire?”
“This could count as snuggling. Though you might wanna let up on my wrist there…”
“How’s this?”
“This is nice.”
“Are you wearing my cologne?”
“Mmmm, I like the way it smells on you.”
“I rather like how it smells on you too.”
“More cham-pang-na?”
“Pfft, how ‘bout I just sip from yours?”
“And share germs? I’m not so sure…hmmmprf!”
“Don’t seem to mind so much now.”
“Nope. Share a little more?”
“Hmmm, getting warm in here to you?”
“Let me take off your sweater. Better?”
“Much.”
“I agree… your skin looks great in the firelight.”
“…is that a compliment?”
“Shut up. You know what I meant.”
“Such a romantic.”
“Didn’t we already discuss that?”
“Kiss me again to show me.”
“Always…”
“There?”
“Good… and there…”
“Think maybe these pants might be getting a little warm, too.”
“Yes, take them off for me… what’s wrong?”
“You’re wearing my underwear.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“They’re my Jimmy Unitus specials.”
“Trust me, Duo, they do not enhance the package.”
“They’re shaping yours just fine… and looks like someone’s arroused.”
“And you’re not?”
“Mmmm, never said I wasn’t. But-”
“AH! Duo!”
“Like that? How ‘bout when I do…”
“Oh God, yes… more…”
“You bring the… good.”
“Hurry!”
“Nuh huh…that’s not the romantic way.”
“Fuck the romance!”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
“Then get on with ~ it.”
“Hit the spot there?”
“Again!”
“Demanding are we? I can do that… see? Damn you look so fucking sexy like that.”
“Duo…”
“Don’t move… not ~ yet…”
“Duo… now! God, now!”
“Impatient demanding bastard.”
“Arrogant prick.”
“You love this prick.”
“Mmmm, just like that… again…”
“Who likes to bottom?”
“Pri~ck!”
“Oh. OH! God-fucking-damn! Heero!”
“Du~o!”
“Yeah, hmmm, snuggling in front of the fireplace.”
“Don’t move yet.”
“Okay, just hooking my shirt for…”
“’k, thanks.”
“Hmmm, you taste good.”
“Heh… you’re tickling again. Shift over.”
“How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
“Hey, don’t be falling asleep.”
“Not sleepin’…”
“No? Then why are your eyes closed? …huh? What was that? Not sure I understand slumber-mumble.”
“Prick.”
“Heh, but you love this prick.”
“And that one.”
“More champagne? I think there’s a little left.”
“Don’t want to move.”
“You’re so pliant after sex. Bet I could get you to agree to a new car…”
“What’s wrong with the one you’re driving now?”
“I guess not.”
“Duo, what’s wrong with your car?”
“Nothing, just wondering how far I could…”
“Nothing? Is that why we drove mine up here?”
“No, we drove yours because you wanted to drive. Controlling bastard.”
“Damn straight. Now give me another kiss.”
“Roger that. …meet specifications?”
“Affirmative.”
“We done with this romantic in front of the fire shit now?”
“Hell, Duo. I’ll make a note that there’s to be no more romantic…”
“This is good!”
“…get-aways in the future.”
“I just want to check out the game console… they have Chronis Fighter IV, and…”
“I’m Jax’Pal.”
“HA! Shar’cotan will kick his ass! ‘specially with me on the controls.”
#43 - Trowa/Quatre “Mercy” by Duffy for Raz, warnings: SEX, bondage, and probably a couple of other things as well... as a note, raz's original song and i didn't get along, so i offered to use one of the two songs playing during katee's SYTYCD routine - this was one hot number and i had to use the song.
Silk ropes tied in practiced, expert fashion and looped through the headboard slats bind his wrists and ankles in a kneeling position. He tests them with a gentle tug of his arm, even knowing he is well and truly caught. Another swatch of silk is wrapped about his head, blinding his sight. His lips part. He is panting in sudden, vicious need, and his ears strain for any sounds of him.
“Quatre,” he breathes, knowing a response will not come. But, the act of saying his lover’s name excites him even more, and the cheeks of his buttocks tighten, pushing his hips out, making his stiffened cock jut that much more.
A touch. A touch is all he needs. At least for the moment.
Fingertips ghost over his cheek, and his head tilts toward it, seeking further contact and earning a sharp tap on his nose.
“My pleasure, not yours,” the voice he longs to hear says.
So close, and Trowa lowers his head in instant submission. The mattress dips and there is a touch, a hand running up the inside of his thigh. His breath stutters in a gasp and he trembles, holding back the urge to speak, to ask for more. The hand is gone before it reaches where he most desires touch.
“Beautiful,” his lover says, and it is all he can do to remain still, to keep from uttering pleas.
A mouth closes over his nipple and he tenses, his arms jerk in slight appreciation. The mouth is warm; its tongue works his erect nub. He is vibrating, feeling the hint of suction from chest to groin, and his erection jumps in its confine. A brush of a thumb over his other nipple and he arches his head back, gasping.
“Easy,” is the breath of a word on his skin.
“Master,” he pleas.
The vibration of the laugh is felt through their connection of mouth to nipple, and Trowa moans. He pulls on his wrist restraints, wanting to touch, and stills only when the soothing hand runs down his flank, caresses the cheek of his ass. With a sigh, he gives in to that hand, to the mouth sucking and biting, and to the pinching and twisting of his flesh between the fingers.
It is the anticipation of knowing what is to come that has him tense. The blindfold keeps him from knowing just where he will be, what he will do.
The hand slides palm flat on his skin from his chest down to his abdomen. Fingers curl and stroke in caressing touches; his hips jerk in short, quick motion, seeking the hand, seeking more. And the hand is bridging the frame of his pubic curl. His lower lip quivers, and he bites at it, keeping the utterance from being released.
“Do you want me to touch you? Or,” fingers brush in the lightest of touches over his cock; the voice tickles his ear, its tone teases along nerve-lines, twitching at his cock, “…do you want to suck me?”
Trowa gasps, his mouth is open and he is straining in the war of his decision. To give or receive; the desire is both his, and the choice is made. A finger glides over the rigidness of him, swipes through the moisture gathering at the head, and is gone. A wet, pleased sound is made, and the finger is back, another swipe, another sound.
“Lovely.” And Trowa smiles, knowing he has given already, knowing there is more to give. A zipper sounds, and there is the rustle of clothing. His skin pimples and immediately flushes; he shivers as he waits.
Arms circle around his confined ones, and the play is loosened in pinning his upper body to the bed. His lover is so close; the smell of him overwhelms his nostrils. Trowa turns his head just enough, and his face is tucked against a shoulder. He cannot resist nuzzling, though he knows he will be punished for the liberty.
“Che, none of that.” The tone is light, though, amused, and Trowa dares more. His tongue streaks out for a taste. He is rewarded with a laugh, but his lover’s body draws away, and he regrets the distance.
“You should have enough room, now.”
A hand is placed on his head, pushing it down, and he bends at the waist, his mouth open and seeking. Slick wetness slides on his cheek, and he homes in on his target. Mouth wide, the thick, stiff flesh glides over lips and tongue, and Trowa begins to work throat muscles, clamping and drawing, swallowing at nothing.
The hand on his head begins to stroke through his hair; his lover moans, hips thrust to his face. His throat relaxes, letting his lover fuck his mouth. His lover’s other hand joins the first, and his hair is gripped in twin fists, guiding and holding his head in place.
Trowa smells the leather, and can feel the metal of the zipper with each down-stroke. He images what his lover is wearing, wishes he could see to confirm. The red leather, he decides knowing they are Quatre’s favorites. His feet will be bare, and Trowa’s cock jumps at the thought. He cannot tell if a shirt is being worn, but determines there hadn’t been one - no fabric came between him and his lover when he pressed his face to his lover’s chest. Trowa moans around his lover at the mental picture he’s created.
The need to come is strong and gaining.
“So good,” his lover groans.
He works his tongue, adding some small measure of friction and texture to the experience. He knows it will last moments only, and if he is pleased, it will be his turn. His buttocks clench in excitement, and he feels his cock jiggle against his thighs. A touch will be all it takes.
And his master is coming; he swallows. He feels a spill and whimpers at the loss. His lover is finished, but still the leather is pressed tightly to his face, his nose is squashed into the fly’s crease, his forehead against the waistband. Trowa’s breathing steadies as he waits his lover’s pleasure. A hand releases its hold and he feels it slide over his shoulder, stroke his back in a soothing caress.
“You are so beautiful like this. So very beautiful.” There is unconcealed desire and adoration in the voice, and Trowa shivers at its rawness. “You please me very much,” his lover says, and Trowa moans.
His mouth is emptied, and Trowa’s tongue is licking at the edges of his lips, recovering the last of his lover. A laugh, and his lover is kissing him, tongue plundering, tasting him and himself. The hand still wrapped in his hair pulls, drawing him upward, and he is flush with his lover, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Trowa tests his bonds again, sounds his displeasure at being unable to touch, to hold.
“Would you like release?” his lover laughs softly against his mouth. The hand on his back is gone, only to appear at his hip, trailing fingers tease at the tuffs of hair cover his groin.
“Please,” he murmurs, seeking the mouth so close to his. “Please.”
Fingers unclip his ring. “Come for me,” he is commanded, and his mouth is covered again with his lover’s.
His cry is swallowed as he comes, his body arches, straining against the silk ropes, and his eyelids flutter behind the blind. Quivering, weak and panting, he slumps into the arms that hold him.
“Beautiful,” he hears even as he begins to fade. “So beautiful.”
.
#121 - Heero/Duo, dialog fic to Lonestar’s “All the Way” for sharona1x2, warnings: hints of sap, language, suggestion of sex of the BL kind.
“Hey, nearly done there?”
“Just a moment. The tender’s being a bitch and won’t lite.”
“Heh, and this from the pyrotech king who could blow up anything with common household products.”
“Yeah, I managed to create a few fireworks through the years, haven’t I?”
“Mmmm, no complaints from me on that.”
“Good, cause we have plans and I’d hate to usurp them just to prove you wrong.”
“I wouldn’t mind…”
“Of course not. Fire’s going, did you bring the champagne…”
“Here take this, hook your arm - like that.”
“Oooh, fancy are we?”
“What else are you supposed to do on a romantic anniversary weekend?”
“Ah, the good stuff.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to down the glass in one swallow… or smack your lips like that.”
“I don’t think I was meant for ‘the finer sensibilities’.”
“You don’t have to smirk about it.”
“What’s on the music disk? Want more of this ‘hooch’?”
“Hooch, Duo? …just half a glass for me. I want to keep my faculties clear for later.”
“Oh? Have something in mind?”
“Always where you’re concerned.”
“Good. Hate to think you were hanging around for someone else after all this time.”
“As if anyone else would still be breathing…”
“Damn straight! What is this music you’re playing?”
“Uh… A compilation of the ‘Best One-Thousand Love Songs of the Past Six Hundred Years’.”
“Huh… by whose standards I’d like to know. Sorry, Heero, but that shit has got to go.”
“Shit? Should have known you and romance cannot share air space.”
“You want romance? I’ll show you romance. Just let me switch disks…”
“Oh, this is…mmmm… much better.”
“Like dancing do you?”
“With you? Since day one.”
“How many dances has there been?”
“Not enough…”
“Let’s see… sixteen years together, and at least a dance a month…”
“You’re tickling my ear.”
“Heh… how’s that?”
“Wet.”
“Never satisfied, are you?”
“Never…”
“Less than two hundred? That doesn’t sound right…”
“Numbers don’t count. This does.”
“Wanna sit this one out?”
“Tired alread- Hey! Bruising isn’t encouraged on anniversary get-aways.”
“By whose rules?”
“You want bruises? I’ll give you bruises!”
“Heero! No fair, man! Ummph… you gaining weight?”
“Tell me how much you like to bottom and I’ll let you up.”
“I love it when you bottom…”
“No! You bottom.”
“Like I said, I like it when you… Ah! Heero! That’s definitely no fair! And definitely not romantic grabbing me there while pinned.”
“Just proving a point… ummm, weren’t we supposed to be snuggling in front of the fire?”
“This could count as snuggling. Though you might wanna let up on my wrist there…”
“How’s this?”
“This is nice.”
“Are you wearing my cologne?”
“Mmmm, I like the way it smells on you.”
“I rather like how it smells on you too.”
“More cham-pang-na?”
“Pfft, how ‘bout I just sip from yours?”
“And share germs? I’m not so sure…hmmmprf!”
“Don’t seem to mind so much now.”
“Nope. Share a little more?”
“Hmmm, getting warm in here to you?”
“Let me take off your sweater. Better?”
“Much.”
“I agree… your skin looks great in the firelight.”
“…is that a compliment?”
“Shut up. You know what I meant.”
“Such a romantic.”
“Didn’t we already discuss that?”
“Kiss me again to show me.”
“Always…”
“There?”
“Good… and there…”
“Think maybe these pants might be getting a little warm, too.”
“Yes, take them off for me… what’s wrong?”
“You’re wearing my underwear.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“They’re my Jimmy Unitus specials.”
“Trust me, Duo, they do not enhance the package.”
“They’re shaping yours just fine… and looks like someone’s arroused.”
“And you’re not?”
“Mmmm, never said I wasn’t. But-”
“AH! Duo!”
“Like that? How ‘bout when I do…”
“Oh God, yes… more…”
“You bring the… good.”
“Hurry!”
“Nuh huh…that’s not the romantic way.”
“Fuck the romance!”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
“Then get on with ~ it.”
“Hit the spot there?”
“Again!”
“Demanding are we? I can do that… see? Damn you look so fucking sexy like that.”
“Duo…”
“Don’t move… not ~ yet…”
“Duo… now! God, now!”
“Impatient demanding bastard.”
“Arrogant prick.”
“You love this prick.”
“Mmmm, just like that… again…”
“Who likes to bottom?”
“Pri~ck!”
“Oh. OH! God-fucking-damn! Heero!”
“Du~o!”
“Yeah, hmmm, snuggling in front of the fireplace.”
“Don’t move yet.”
“Okay, just hooking my shirt for…”
“’k, thanks.”
“Hmmm, you taste good.”
“Heh… you’re tickling again. Shift over.”
“How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
“Hey, don’t be falling asleep.”
“Not sleepin’…”
“No? Then why are your eyes closed? …huh? What was that? Not sure I understand slumber-mumble.”
“Prick.”
“Heh, but you love this prick.”
“And that one.”
“More champagne? I think there’s a little left.”
“Don’t want to move.”
“You’re so pliant after sex. Bet I could get you to agree to a new car…”
“What’s wrong with the one you’re driving now?”
“I guess not.”
“Duo, what’s wrong with your car?”
“Nothing, just wondering how far I could…”
“Nothing? Is that why we drove mine up here?”
“No, we drove yours because you wanted to drive. Controlling bastard.”
“Damn straight. Now give me another kiss.”
“Roger that. …meet specifications?”
“Affirmative.”
“We done with this romantic in front of the fire shit now?”
“Hell, Duo. I’ll make a note that there’s to be no more romantic…”
“This is good!”
“…get-aways in the future.”
“I just want to check out the game console… they have Chronis Fighter IV, and…”
“I’m Jax’Pal.”
“HA! Shar’cotan will kick his ass! ‘specially with me on the controls.”
#43 - Trowa/Quatre “Mercy” by Duffy for Raz, warnings: SEX, bondage, and probably a couple of other things as well... as a note, raz's original song and i didn't get along, so i offered to use one of the two songs playing during katee's SYTYCD routine - this was one hot number and i had to use the song.
Silk ropes tied in practiced, expert fashion and looped through the headboard slats bind his wrists and ankles in a kneeling position. He tests them with a gentle tug of his arm, even knowing he is well and truly caught. Another swatch of silk is wrapped about his head, blinding his sight. His lips part. He is panting in sudden, vicious need, and his ears strain for any sounds of him.
“Quatre,” he breathes, knowing a response will not come. But, the act of saying his lover’s name excites him even more, and the cheeks of his buttocks tighten, pushing his hips out, making his stiffened cock jut that much more.
A touch. A touch is all he needs. At least for the moment.
Fingertips ghost over his cheek, and his head tilts toward it, seeking further contact and earning a sharp tap on his nose.
“My pleasure, not yours,” the voice he longs to hear says.
So close, and Trowa lowers his head in instant submission. The mattress dips and there is a touch, a hand running up the inside of his thigh. His breath stutters in a gasp and he trembles, holding back the urge to speak, to ask for more. The hand is gone before it reaches where he most desires touch.
“Beautiful,” his lover says, and it is all he can do to remain still, to keep from uttering pleas.
A mouth closes over his nipple and he tenses, his arms jerk in slight appreciation. The mouth is warm; its tongue works his erect nub. He is vibrating, feeling the hint of suction from chest to groin, and his erection jumps in its confine. A brush of a thumb over his other nipple and he arches his head back, gasping.
“Easy,” is the breath of a word on his skin.
“Master,” he pleas.
The vibration of the laugh is felt through their connection of mouth to nipple, and Trowa moans. He pulls on his wrist restraints, wanting to touch, and stills only when the soothing hand runs down his flank, caresses the cheek of his ass. With a sigh, he gives in to that hand, to the mouth sucking and biting, and to the pinching and twisting of his flesh between the fingers.
It is the anticipation of knowing what is to come that has him tense. The blindfold keeps him from knowing just where he will be, what he will do.
The hand slides palm flat on his skin from his chest down to his abdomen. Fingers curl and stroke in caressing touches; his hips jerk in short, quick motion, seeking the hand, seeking more. And the hand is bridging the frame of his pubic curl. His lower lip quivers, and he bites at it, keeping the utterance from being released.
“Do you want me to touch you? Or,” fingers brush in the lightest of touches over his cock; the voice tickles his ear, its tone teases along nerve-lines, twitching at his cock, “…do you want to suck me?”
Trowa gasps, his mouth is open and he is straining in the war of his decision. To give or receive; the desire is both his, and the choice is made. A finger glides over the rigidness of him, swipes through the moisture gathering at the head, and is gone. A wet, pleased sound is made, and the finger is back, another swipe, another sound.
“Lovely.” And Trowa smiles, knowing he has given already, knowing there is more to give. A zipper sounds, and there is the rustle of clothing. His skin pimples and immediately flushes; he shivers as he waits.
Arms circle around his confined ones, and the play is loosened in pinning his upper body to the bed. His lover is so close; the smell of him overwhelms his nostrils. Trowa turns his head just enough, and his face is tucked against a shoulder. He cannot resist nuzzling, though he knows he will be punished for the liberty.
“Che, none of that.” The tone is light, though, amused, and Trowa dares more. His tongue streaks out for a taste. He is rewarded with a laugh, but his lover’s body draws away, and he regrets the distance.
“You should have enough room, now.”
A hand is placed on his head, pushing it down, and he bends at the waist, his mouth open and seeking. Slick wetness slides on his cheek, and he homes in on his target. Mouth wide, the thick, stiff flesh glides over lips and tongue, and Trowa begins to work throat muscles, clamping and drawing, swallowing at nothing.
The hand on his head begins to stroke through his hair; his lover moans, hips thrust to his face. His throat relaxes, letting his lover fuck his mouth. His lover’s other hand joins the first, and his hair is gripped in twin fists, guiding and holding his head in place.
Trowa smells the leather, and can feel the metal of the zipper with each down-stroke. He images what his lover is wearing, wishes he could see to confirm. The red leather, he decides knowing they are Quatre’s favorites. His feet will be bare, and Trowa’s cock jumps at the thought. He cannot tell if a shirt is being worn, but determines there hadn’t been one - no fabric came between him and his lover when he pressed his face to his lover’s chest. Trowa moans around his lover at the mental picture he’s created.
The need to come is strong and gaining.
“So good,” his lover groans.
He works his tongue, adding some small measure of friction and texture to the experience. He knows it will last moments only, and if he is pleased, it will be his turn. His buttocks clench in excitement, and he feels his cock jiggle against his thighs. A touch will be all it takes.
And his master is coming; he swallows. He feels a spill and whimpers at the loss. His lover is finished, but still the leather is pressed tightly to his face, his nose is squashed into the fly’s crease, his forehead against the waistband. Trowa’s breathing steadies as he waits his lover’s pleasure. A hand releases its hold and he feels it slide over his shoulder, stroke his back in a soothing caress.
“You are so beautiful like this. So very beautiful.” There is unconcealed desire and adoration in the voice, and Trowa shivers at its rawness. “You please me very much,” his lover says, and Trowa moans.
His mouth is emptied, and Trowa’s tongue is licking at the edges of his lips, recovering the last of his lover. A laugh, and his lover is kissing him, tongue plundering, tasting him and himself. The hand still wrapped in his hair pulls, drawing him upward, and he is flush with his lover, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Trowa tests his bonds again, sounds his displeasure at being unable to touch, to hold.
“Would you like release?” his lover laughs softly against his mouth. The hand on his back is gone, only to appear at his hip, trailing fingers tease at the tuffs of hair cover his groin.
“Please,” he murmurs, seeking the mouth so close to his. “Please.”
Fingers unclip his ring. “Come for me,” he is commanded, and his mouth is covered again with his lover’s.
His cry is swallowed as he comes, his body arches, straining against the silk ropes, and his eyelids flutter behind the blind. Quivering, weak and panting, he slumps into the arms that hold him.
“Beautiful,” he hears even as he begins to fade. “So beautiful.”
.