Ficlet post.
First, a few written for pornandkittens and porn meme things. Meaning there's a distinctive lack of porn in a few of 'em.
There was something strangely comforting about sharing a bed with two men.
Yuuri/Conrart/Wolfram. Umm. Sharing a bed? Not quite cuddling? Shameless fluff.
Bed Hog
There was something strangely comforting about sharing a bed with two men.
Not, of course, that Yuuri liked sharing a bed with two men-- But who was he kidding? He did like it, sorta, in a way he really, really wouldn't ever admit to anyone. Nope. Not ever.
But still, there was something kinda nice about sleeping with one man on his right, and one man on his left. And, well, they were men. And not women. They didn't have breasts (and sometimes Yuuri wondered what it'd be like, to have breasts on either side of him, but usually he got distracted by other things, and--), or soft curves, or, well, anything that was particularly feminine, though Wolfram still looked a little bit like a girl. But mostly like a man.
A man who was currently flinging one heavy, choking arm over Yuuri's face.
"Geeze," Yuuri grumbled, trying to push Wolfram's arm off his face. "Stop trying to kill me in my sleep, Wolfram."
Wolfram mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "wimp," rolling over and flinging his arms and legs every which way. Yuuri shimmied back, trying to avoid one rather persistent leg, and ended up splayed across a warm, wide chest.
"Yuuri?" Conrad asked, sounding sleepy and a little amused, like Yuuri had done something really embarrassing that Yuuri wouldn't realize for another few hours.
"Er," Yuuri said, "Wolfram was just kicking, and--"
Conrad's arms were warm and sturdy, just like his chest, and Yuuri felt his muscles relax a little, eyes blinking sleepily.
"Do you want to switch places?" Conrad asked, voice a little slurry. Yuuri yawned, shook his head.
"Nah," he said, "I'm fine." More than fine, really, 'cause Conrad was big and warm, and felt nice pressed against his back. And the place where Wolfram's outstretched fingers brushed against Yuuri's wrist felt hot, in the nice way that sent butterflies through Yuuri's stomach. And really, Yuuri wasn't sure if he could think of something better, not that he'd ever tell anyone.
But sometimes, Yuuri really, really liked sharing his bed with the two men he loved. Er, liked. Liked.
...who was he kidding?
Loved.
Then, his bed somehow becomes their bed, full of tangled limbs and bumped heads.
Doumeki/Himawari/Watanuki. Cuddling and tickling on a big bed, 'cause they're kids playing a giant game of life. More shameless slightly angsty? fluff.
Bed for Three
They have a big bed.
Correction: Watanuki has a big bed.
He buys it when he's nineteen, because he's not going to college, and he's worked two jobs, and he might as well use his money for something he likes. And he likes sleeping (when he can sleep, that is), and why not get a big bed?
And it just so happens the bed seems to come along with Doumeki, because the first night the bed's in his apartment, there's Doumeki, too, taking up more than half the bed like he belongs there. Watanuki throws a fit, Doumeki rolls over, and they sleep on opposite sides of the bed, because when hard pressed, Watanuki will bite.
Anyways, Himawari-chan comes along soon enough, right in between one day and another. She's a little edgy, not quite smiling, but she fits nicely between Doumeki and Watanuki, and she smiles a little bit more in the morning.
Then, his bed somehow becomes their bed, full of tangled limbs and bumped heads.
You, Watanuki shouts sometimes, keep hogging my bed! And he grabs the blankets, pulls them off Doumeki, and curls up with his blankets, in his bed, until Himawari laughs and kisses him, and Doumeki pulls the blankets back.
And it's comfortable. Watanuki's not big on touching, because he's a little skittish to being that close, but it's nice. Himawari's soft and warm, and Doumeki likes to cuddle, who knew, and Watanuki doesn't hate sprawling with them as much as he pretends. And on Sundays, when Yuuko's nursing a hangover and Doumeki's office is closed, and Himawari doesn't have any articles, they can sleep in.
And cuddle.
And do other things, too. Like touch, and kiss, and sweat and moan and clutch each other, three pairs of hands and three pairs of eyes, and one huge life, tangled all up together. Watanuki kisses Himawari's back, where the skin and muscle is all twisted up, and Himawari cries sometimes, and Doumeki grabs her and tickles her, like a kid, and maybe they're all kids, playing a giant game of life.
And there aren't winners, but there aren't losers, either, and in the end, they have a big bed.
It's a nice bed.
Yeah, maybe Cloud had been waiting for Zack, but that’s because honestly, there were certain things teenage boys wanted, and needed, and would spend most of their waking moments thinking about.
For example, sex.
Cloud/Zack, voyeur!Auron, handjobs, alleyways, shameless use of summons as epithets, and more. Did I mention it's crack?
The Grocery List of Sex: Or, When Auron Might've Maybe Possibly Hopefully Gotten Some
He was headed down the street, aiming towards groceries (milk, eggs, bread, what was he forgetting? He knew he was forgetting something--) when he heard it. It was a moaning sound, broken and dragging long, and it was coming from an alleyway, just to his left. Auron wasn’t an exceedingly inquisitive man, by nature, but there were some things that just couldn’t be ignored. Like, for instance, strange sounds from dusky alleyways.
Anyways, it’d just take a moment, and then he’d be back on his way, to get his groceries, and he knew he was forgetting something, and what was-
There was a boy in the alleyway. Well, actually, it was two boys. Or a boy and a man. It was a boy with arms flung over a man’s shoulders, fingers digging into the material of the man’s shirt. The boy’s head was pressed against the alley wall, face turned towards Auron, and his eyes were closed, his mouth open. The boy’s mouth moved, an almost quiver, and there was the moan again, drawn out as the boy’s hands spasmed on the material of the man’s shirt.
Well. Groceries could wait. For a few minutes, at least. And maybe Auron could remember the rest of his list if he took a-
A breather. Right. A breather.
x
Cloud hadn’t been waiting for Zack. Not really. It was just that, well, school was boring, and Zack wasn’t quite so boring, and yeah, maybe Cloud had been waiting for Zack, but that’s because honestly, there were certain things teenage boys wanted, and needed, and would spend most of their waking moments thinking about.
For example, sex. Or anything like sex. Or any kind of sex. Blowjobs, or handjobs, and any kind of job, really, as long as it got Cloud off, and preferably if Zack was on the other end of the job.
And it wasn’t that Cloud spent the entire last period thinking about Zack sucking him off. Well, yeah, he had, but he was seventeen. It was practically expected for him to daydream about blowjobs twenty-four seven. Or more. Possibly more.
So by the time the bell rung, and school as finally out, thank Shiva, Cloud was half-hard and horny as hell, and waiting for Zack was like waiting on pins and needles, when he knew he could just sneak into the bathroom and toss off real quick. But. But. There was Zack, and when there was Zack, there was usually sex, and it was Zack-flavored sex, and yeah, Cloud could wait, and he would wait. It was, after all, for the greater good. And the better sex, too.
“Hey, handsome,” Zack purred into Cloud’s ear, and Cloud jumped, whipping around. “You waiting for someone-“ Zack began, looking mischievous.
There was, Cloud decided, time for pranks, and time for greetings, and time for quick and dirty. This was a quick and dirty time. He grabbed Zack’s arm, cutting Zack off midsentence. “You, now.”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Zack yelped, stumbling after Cloud. Cloud didn’t pause, just tugged Zack along faster, looking around. Oh, there, there, an alleyway. Not the best, but good enough, and close, and right there, which meant that Cloud could get off right then, and Cloud was sure that was the best thought of his day so far.
“Come on,” Cloud groaned, spinning around and grabbing both of Zack’s hands, pulling Zack with him further into the alleyway. “Ifrit, I wanna-“ He tugged, and pulled, and there, just like that, Zack’s hands were finally on him, and Bahamut, that felt good. He bucked against Zack’s hands, curling his own hands around Zack’s wrists.
“Hey, babe,” Zack said, voice sounding amused and something else, something darker and deeper that made Cloud want to rub frantically against him, “you’re antsy today.”
“Zack,” Cloud whined, grabbing at Zack’s shoulder, digging in his fingers and rubbing against Zack’s hands. Really, he was moments away from humping Zack until he creamed himself, and if his boyfriend didn’t get a clue, Cloud was going to break some heads. “Come on, please.”
“Right,” Zack breathed, and he was finally moving, shaking his hands loose of Cloud, and tugging at Cloud’s pants. Cloud’s hands skittered across Zack’s shoulders, then caught in the fabric, digging in and not letting go.
“Oh, Kjata, Zack,“ Cloud moaned, letting his head drop back against the brick wall, shoving his hips up, pushing himself further into Zack’s hands. “Oh, Ramuh-“
x
Auron watched the couple for a long moment, as the boy shook and made a keening sound, as though he was either dying or having a really, really nice orgasm. Auron was betting on the latter. He bit back a groan when the man lifted his hand up to his mouth, licking on long fingers. Really, it wasn’t fair how the light barely lit the alleyway. Auron couldn’t see the man’s expressions as he licked at what had to be the boy’s come, and-- And-
Then again, there wasn’t really a reason Auron couldn’t, say, mosey on over and introduce himself. After all, there was no time like the present, and beggars can’t be choosers, and all those other anecdotes Braska was forever spouting off. With particularly tight-in-the-groin pants and a cocky spring in his step (and by cocky, he meant cocky in so many senses of the word), Auron moved into the alleyway, and to his destiny. Or a really good fucking. Possibly both.
After all, his groceries could always wait, and it what Jecht didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?
Right.
"I'm drunk," the Tenth says in that shaky, flustered voice he always gets when he's saying something Hayato's going to hate.
spurned!Hayato, Yamamoto/Tsuna, Hayato/Bianchi. Incest, and unrequited love, and birthday wishes.
Happy Birthday Wishes
Hayato gets drunk for the seventeenth time (and legally drunk for the first time) the day he turns twenty. The fall is threatening to be a hot one, and he's sprawled out, only half-dressed, on his bedroom floor, AC whirring above him. There are beer cans and wine bottles scattered around, and Yamamoto's leaning against the bed, laughing at something the Tenth's trying to say, stumbling over his words.
Hayato rolls over, flinging out his arms and legs until he can barely touch the Tenth. The Tenth's skin is hot, slick with sweat, and his eyes, when he looks at Hayato, are wide and glazed, and his mouth is moving quickly, saying something Hayato can't be bothered to try to decipher. Yamamoto laughs louder, and Hayato presses his fingertips against the Tenth's leg, feeling heavy and loose-limbed.
They're drunk, and it's hot, and they can't be held accountable for anything, because it's his birthday, and that's why, when Yamamoto darts forward, grabbing the Tenth to kiss him, Hayato doesn't move. He lies there, fingers inches from the Tenth's skin, and watches as the Tenth leans forward, and makes a sound that wrenches Hayato's gut. And when Yamamoto pulls back, not laughing, Hayato rolls over onto his back, staring up at the A/C. His body feels heavy, sluggish and slow, and his heart feels slower, and the sweat on his skin is cold.
"I'm drunk," the Tenth says in that shaky, flustered voice he always gets when he's saying something Hayato's going to hate.
"I know," Hayato says, and it's his birthday, twenty years old and still stuck like a kid, drinking beer with his friends that won't ever be more, no matter how hard he tries.
Hayato has his seventeenth hangover (and first legal hangover) the day after he turns twenty. He stumbles into Bianchi's apartment, stinking and tired, and sinks down onto her couch, his arms thrown over the back. Bianchi kneels in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. Her Italian is smooth, slow, and he leans his head back, closes his eyes.
When she kisses him, he kisses her back, resting fingertips against her face, nudging against her goggles. Her skin is cool and dry, and not like the Tenth's, and not like Yamamoto's, and they're like strangers in a strange land, trying so hard to break themselves apart, fit themselves into slots where they were never meant to be.
"I'm drunk," he says, because it's his birthday, and at twenty, Hayato is still such a kid, and still so stupid.
There was something strangely comforting about sharing a bed with two men.
Yuuri/Conrart/Wolfram. Umm. Sharing a bed? Not quite cuddling? Shameless fluff.
Bed Hog
There was something strangely comforting about sharing a bed with two men.
Not, of course, that Yuuri liked sharing a bed with two men-- But who was he kidding? He did like it, sorta, in a way he really, really wouldn't ever admit to anyone. Nope. Not ever.
But still, there was something kinda nice about sleeping with one man on his right, and one man on his left. And, well, they were men. And not women. They didn't have breasts (and sometimes Yuuri wondered what it'd be like, to have breasts on either side of him, but usually he got distracted by other things, and--), or soft curves, or, well, anything that was particularly feminine, though Wolfram still looked a little bit like a girl. But mostly like a man.
A man who was currently flinging one heavy, choking arm over Yuuri's face.
"Geeze," Yuuri grumbled, trying to push Wolfram's arm off his face. "Stop trying to kill me in my sleep, Wolfram."
Wolfram mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "wimp," rolling over and flinging his arms and legs every which way. Yuuri shimmied back, trying to avoid one rather persistent leg, and ended up splayed across a warm, wide chest.
"Yuuri?" Conrad asked, sounding sleepy and a little amused, like Yuuri had done something really embarrassing that Yuuri wouldn't realize for another few hours.
"Er," Yuuri said, "Wolfram was just kicking, and--"
Conrad's arms were warm and sturdy, just like his chest, and Yuuri felt his muscles relax a little, eyes blinking sleepily.
"Do you want to switch places?" Conrad asked, voice a little slurry. Yuuri yawned, shook his head.
"Nah," he said, "I'm fine." More than fine, really, 'cause Conrad was big and warm, and felt nice pressed against his back. And the place where Wolfram's outstretched fingers brushed against Yuuri's wrist felt hot, in the nice way that sent butterflies through Yuuri's stomach. And really, Yuuri wasn't sure if he could think of something better, not that he'd ever tell anyone.
But sometimes, Yuuri really, really liked sharing his bed with the two men he loved. Er, liked. Liked.
...who was he kidding?
Loved.
Then, his bed somehow becomes their bed, full of tangled limbs and bumped heads.
Doumeki/Himawari/Watanuki. Cuddling and tickling on a big bed, 'cause they're kids playing a giant game of life. More shameless slightly angsty? fluff.
Bed for Three
They have a big bed.
Correction: Watanuki has a big bed.
He buys it when he's nineteen, because he's not going to college, and he's worked two jobs, and he might as well use his money for something he likes. And he likes sleeping (when he can sleep, that is), and why not get a big bed?
And it just so happens the bed seems to come along with Doumeki, because the first night the bed's in his apartment, there's Doumeki, too, taking up more than half the bed like he belongs there. Watanuki throws a fit, Doumeki rolls over, and they sleep on opposite sides of the bed, because when hard pressed, Watanuki will bite.
Anyways, Himawari-chan comes along soon enough, right in between one day and another. She's a little edgy, not quite smiling, but she fits nicely between Doumeki and Watanuki, and she smiles a little bit more in the morning.
Then, his bed somehow becomes their bed, full of tangled limbs and bumped heads.
You, Watanuki shouts sometimes, keep hogging my bed! And he grabs the blankets, pulls them off Doumeki, and curls up with his blankets, in his bed, until Himawari laughs and kisses him, and Doumeki pulls the blankets back.
And it's comfortable. Watanuki's not big on touching, because he's a little skittish to being that close, but it's nice. Himawari's soft and warm, and Doumeki likes to cuddle, who knew, and Watanuki doesn't hate sprawling with them as much as he pretends. And on Sundays, when Yuuko's nursing a hangover and Doumeki's office is closed, and Himawari doesn't have any articles, they can sleep in.
And cuddle.
And do other things, too. Like touch, and kiss, and sweat and moan and clutch each other, three pairs of hands and three pairs of eyes, and one huge life, tangled all up together. Watanuki kisses Himawari's back, where the skin and muscle is all twisted up, and Himawari cries sometimes, and Doumeki grabs her and tickles her, like a kid, and maybe they're all kids, playing a giant game of life.
And there aren't winners, but there aren't losers, either, and in the end, they have a big bed.
It's a nice bed.
Yeah, maybe Cloud had been waiting for Zack, but that’s because honestly, there were certain things teenage boys wanted, and needed, and would spend most of their waking moments thinking about.
For example, sex.
Cloud/Zack, voyeur!Auron, handjobs, alleyways, shameless use of summons as epithets, and more. Did I mention it's crack?
The Grocery List of Sex: Or, When Auron Might've Maybe Possibly Hopefully Gotten Some
He was headed down the street, aiming towards groceries (milk, eggs, bread, what was he forgetting? He knew he was forgetting something--) when he heard it. It was a moaning sound, broken and dragging long, and it was coming from an alleyway, just to his left. Auron wasn’t an exceedingly inquisitive man, by nature, but there were some things that just couldn’t be ignored. Like, for instance, strange sounds from dusky alleyways.
Anyways, it’d just take a moment, and then he’d be back on his way, to get his groceries, and he knew he was forgetting something, and what was-
There was a boy in the alleyway. Well, actually, it was two boys. Or a boy and a man. It was a boy with arms flung over a man’s shoulders, fingers digging into the material of the man’s shirt. The boy’s head was pressed against the alley wall, face turned towards Auron, and his eyes were closed, his mouth open. The boy’s mouth moved, an almost quiver, and there was the moan again, drawn out as the boy’s hands spasmed on the material of the man’s shirt.
Well. Groceries could wait. For a few minutes, at least. And maybe Auron could remember the rest of his list if he took a-
A breather. Right. A breather.
x
Cloud hadn’t been waiting for Zack. Not really. It was just that, well, school was boring, and Zack wasn’t quite so boring, and yeah, maybe Cloud had been waiting for Zack, but that’s because honestly, there were certain things teenage boys wanted, and needed, and would spend most of their waking moments thinking about.
For example, sex. Or anything like sex. Or any kind of sex. Blowjobs, or handjobs, and any kind of job, really, as long as it got Cloud off, and preferably if Zack was on the other end of the job.
And it wasn’t that Cloud spent the entire last period thinking about Zack sucking him off. Well, yeah, he had, but he was seventeen. It was practically expected for him to daydream about blowjobs twenty-four seven. Or more. Possibly more.
So by the time the bell rung, and school as finally out, thank Shiva, Cloud was half-hard and horny as hell, and waiting for Zack was like waiting on pins and needles, when he knew he could just sneak into the bathroom and toss off real quick. But. But. There was Zack, and when there was Zack, there was usually sex, and it was Zack-flavored sex, and yeah, Cloud could wait, and he would wait. It was, after all, for the greater good. And the better sex, too.
“Hey, handsome,” Zack purred into Cloud’s ear, and Cloud jumped, whipping around. “You waiting for someone-“ Zack began, looking mischievous.
There was, Cloud decided, time for pranks, and time for greetings, and time for quick and dirty. This was a quick and dirty time. He grabbed Zack’s arm, cutting Zack off midsentence. “You, now.”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Zack yelped, stumbling after Cloud. Cloud didn’t pause, just tugged Zack along faster, looking around. Oh, there, there, an alleyway. Not the best, but good enough, and close, and right there, which meant that Cloud could get off right then, and Cloud was sure that was the best thought of his day so far.
“Come on,” Cloud groaned, spinning around and grabbing both of Zack’s hands, pulling Zack with him further into the alleyway. “Ifrit, I wanna-“ He tugged, and pulled, and there, just like that, Zack’s hands were finally on him, and Bahamut, that felt good. He bucked against Zack’s hands, curling his own hands around Zack’s wrists.
“Hey, babe,” Zack said, voice sounding amused and something else, something darker and deeper that made Cloud want to rub frantically against him, “you’re antsy today.”
“Zack,” Cloud whined, grabbing at Zack’s shoulder, digging in his fingers and rubbing against Zack’s hands. Really, he was moments away from humping Zack until he creamed himself, and if his boyfriend didn’t get a clue, Cloud was going to break some heads. “Come on, please.”
“Right,” Zack breathed, and he was finally moving, shaking his hands loose of Cloud, and tugging at Cloud’s pants. Cloud’s hands skittered across Zack’s shoulders, then caught in the fabric, digging in and not letting go.
“Oh, Kjata, Zack,“ Cloud moaned, letting his head drop back against the brick wall, shoving his hips up, pushing himself further into Zack’s hands. “Oh, Ramuh-“
x
Auron watched the couple for a long moment, as the boy shook and made a keening sound, as though he was either dying or having a really, really nice orgasm. Auron was betting on the latter. He bit back a groan when the man lifted his hand up to his mouth, licking on long fingers. Really, it wasn’t fair how the light barely lit the alleyway. Auron couldn’t see the man’s expressions as he licked at what had to be the boy’s come, and-- And-
Then again, there wasn’t really a reason Auron couldn’t, say, mosey on over and introduce himself. After all, there was no time like the present, and beggars can’t be choosers, and all those other anecdotes Braska was forever spouting off. With particularly tight-in-the-groin pants and a cocky spring in his step (and by cocky, he meant cocky in so many senses of the word), Auron moved into the alleyway, and to his destiny. Or a really good fucking. Possibly both.
After all, his groceries could always wait, and it what Jecht didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?
Right.
"I'm drunk," the Tenth says in that shaky, flustered voice he always gets when he's saying something Hayato's going to hate.
spurned!Hayato, Yamamoto/Tsuna, Hayato/Bianchi. Incest, and unrequited love, and birthday wishes.
Happy Birthday Wishes
Hayato gets drunk for the seventeenth time (and legally drunk for the first time) the day he turns twenty. The fall is threatening to be a hot one, and he's sprawled out, only half-dressed, on his bedroom floor, AC whirring above him. There are beer cans and wine bottles scattered around, and Yamamoto's leaning against the bed, laughing at something the Tenth's trying to say, stumbling over his words.
Hayato rolls over, flinging out his arms and legs until he can barely touch the Tenth. The Tenth's skin is hot, slick with sweat, and his eyes, when he looks at Hayato, are wide and glazed, and his mouth is moving quickly, saying something Hayato can't be bothered to try to decipher. Yamamoto laughs louder, and Hayato presses his fingertips against the Tenth's leg, feeling heavy and loose-limbed.
They're drunk, and it's hot, and they can't be held accountable for anything, because it's his birthday, and that's why, when Yamamoto darts forward, grabbing the Tenth to kiss him, Hayato doesn't move. He lies there, fingers inches from the Tenth's skin, and watches as the Tenth leans forward, and makes a sound that wrenches Hayato's gut. And when Yamamoto pulls back, not laughing, Hayato rolls over onto his back, staring up at the A/C. His body feels heavy, sluggish and slow, and his heart feels slower, and the sweat on his skin is cold.
"I'm drunk," the Tenth says in that shaky, flustered voice he always gets when he's saying something Hayato's going to hate.
"I know," Hayato says, and it's his birthday, twenty years old and still stuck like a kid, drinking beer with his friends that won't ever be more, no matter how hard he tries.
Hayato has his seventeenth hangover (and first legal hangover) the day after he turns twenty. He stumbles into Bianchi's apartment, stinking and tired, and sinks down onto her couch, his arms thrown over the back. Bianchi kneels in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. Her Italian is smooth, slow, and he leans his head back, closes his eyes.
When she kisses him, he kisses her back, resting fingertips against her face, nudging against her goggles. Her skin is cool and dry, and not like the Tenth's, and not like Yamamoto's, and they're like strangers in a strange land, trying so hard to break themselves apart, fit themselves into slots where they were never meant to be.
"I'm drunk," he says, because it's his birthday, and at twenty, Hayato is still such a kid, and still so stupid.