(no subject)
Hello:) I wrote this yesterday when I was trying to tackle my other fics revamp, "A brutal Kind of love," for my beta but I just couldn't do that while this was going round in my head. So I typed it out and got rid of it. Here it is, I thought I'd share it just...because really.
It's the second part of a ficlet I wrote called, The Conception on my l.j. It's Dom's diary entry and is set during filming of LOTR.
Title: The Murder
Author:
georgia_mason
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Monaboyd
Summary: First time.
Feedback: Would be appreciated and well recieved:)
Dear Journal,
Today I died.
I feel he took the very breath of me.
He kisses like a drowning man. He gasps for air. He reaches for something to hold onto. He calls out. He pulls at my t-shirt, violent tugs at the material.
The memory of it has burned itself into my mind. Branded. Tattooed. Marked.
I remember everything.
I remember...
-------*-------------
He wants to stop. But he can't. "We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers, "We shouldnt be doing this." But we are. And I feel it, feel him, rush over every inch of my being, like the tide I can hear roaring outside.
He's strong, so strong and he's fire and he's wind and he's rain and he's my beautiful tempest.
I let him rage. I let him lash out.
I let him lash out so hard - even as he slams me against the wall with a violence, that, for a moment, scares me.
And again.
Slam.
And again.
Slam.
And he's hurting me now and I love it. I love it because I understand. I can see him fighting with himself. Fighting with me. This is all wrong because it's so bloody right. The tempest is whooshing the air out of my lungs and it's a struggle to speak. But I do.
"I know, Billy."
Slam.
"I know."
And he knows too. I can tell by the way he's kissing me now. Sucking my lips hard into his mouth. Teeth nipping, biting, drawing blood. I don't bite back. It's not my place. And as his small, warm fingers undo the buttons of my shirt I'm suddenly petrified by how much I want this. He scares the living daylights out of me by just being. It's vicious, how much I need him.
We were laughing earlier, at the bar. Laughing and joking and eyeing up the biggest breasted women we could find.
I love the feel of his flat, firm chest underneath my hands now and I can't remember how we got to this moment.
I'm afraid to talk now, afraid I'll fuck this up and send him bolting for the door. I'm afraid to break his concentration as he sucks my nipples hard in his mouth while his hands reach down for the button of my jeans.
His eyes come back up to mine and he stares at me as he pulls down my zipper. He's so afraid and so strong and so perfect. He's going to say something. I can tell. Please tell me you want me, I think to myself. But I don't speak the words.
"I'll fuck you later. Just a hand-job now."
And that will do. It will have to because you don't get anything from Billy that he's not willing to give. And there is the promise of more.
My mind races and a thought processes that he may be thinking the same thing I am. Maybe he doesn't want to fuck me here because he doesn't want to break away to get the lube. He's afraid to go anywhere while we're in this storm together.
This cyclone. This violent need.
The tide seems to have gotten louder outside, like god has turned up the volume. But our gasps and the smack of our lips together still seem to drown it all out.
"Alright," I reply, "Alright."
He leans his forhead against mine and pushes his hips against my groin. I take the hint and unbutton his jeans. My hands are shaking so badly that that's all I can manage, I don't even try to undo his shirt.
It is only then that he slips his hand inside my pants, pushing them down as he goes. I do the same to him and with our pants around our ankles we gently wank each other off. It feels obscene. It feels perfectly obscene.
He feels ludicrously hot in my hand like his cock is burning my palm. I half expect to see steam rising out from us like some Hannah-Barbara cartoon. He is making the most beautiful sounds. He is all moans and gasps and I'm glad for it because I wouldn't make a sound, if he didn't.
"Oh god," I gasp. "Oh god." And I can't stop saying it because it feels so good. The heat, our breaths mingling together. His sweet little kisses to my lips, cheeks and nose. It's almost teasing.
He gasps again, murmuring, "Fuck." And I know he's close. The precome leaking between us is creating a beautiful friction and I'm nearing the edge now too. He gets more agressive then. He's longing for that release. I would gladly stay on this side of it forever, though.
He lets go of my aching, dripping, erection and removes my hand from his and I moan with frustration until he pushes his hips flush against mine. Hard.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
"Aw fuck, Dom. Fuck. Fuck."
I moan incoherent words of praise, lust, want. I push back in time with his thrusts against me as we move and slide against each other.
His hands come around my waist and down to my arse. He pulls me harder against him and I have to drop my head to his shoulder and bite to stop myself screaming like a girl.
I cry out as I come against him but manage to muffle the sound into the side of his neck. My cock is so sensitive as he continues to push against me and I'm slammed back against the wall before I can even gather myself together. His lips are on my right ear and his moist breath gushes there.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
"Getting there. Oh god, getting there."
And then he does and I feel it trickle warmly between my legs.
We slide down the wall and he buries his face into the crook of my neck, afraid to meet my eyes for quite some time but when he does, I take my chance. Grab onto it.
"Bed?"
He nods and the tempest rages once more after the brief calm.
--------*------------
As I write this, he is next to me, whistling as he sleeps.
He will never read this. He will never see these words gushing out, spilling out from deep inside of me. But he will feel it when the storm comes again.
And today he took the very breath of me.
But his next kiss will breathe new life into me and I will surrender to his rage, his passion, his storm.
And he will never read this.
He will never know my thoughts.
But I will.
It's the second part of a ficlet I wrote called, The Conception on my l.j. It's Dom's diary entry and is set during filming of LOTR.
Title: The Murder
Author:
georgia_mason
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Monaboyd
Summary: First time.
Feedback: Would be appreciated and well recieved:)
Dear Journal,
Today I died.
I feel he took the very breath of me.
He kisses like a drowning man. He gasps for air. He reaches for something to hold onto. He calls out. He pulls at my t-shirt, violent tugs at the material.
The memory of it has burned itself into my mind. Branded. Tattooed. Marked.
I remember everything.
I remember...
-------*-------------
He wants to stop. But he can't. "We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers, "We shouldnt be doing this." But we are. And I feel it, feel him, rush over every inch of my being, like the tide I can hear roaring outside.
He's strong, so strong and he's fire and he's wind and he's rain and he's my beautiful tempest.
I let him rage. I let him lash out.
I let him lash out so hard - even as he slams me against the wall with a violence, that, for a moment, scares me.
And again.
Slam.
And again.
Slam.
And he's hurting me now and I love it. I love it because I understand. I can see him fighting with himself. Fighting with me. This is all wrong because it's so bloody right. The tempest is whooshing the air out of my lungs and it's a struggle to speak. But I do.
"I know, Billy."
Slam.
"I know."
And he knows too. I can tell by the way he's kissing me now. Sucking my lips hard into his mouth. Teeth nipping, biting, drawing blood. I don't bite back. It's not my place. And as his small, warm fingers undo the buttons of my shirt I'm suddenly petrified by how much I want this. He scares the living daylights out of me by just being. It's vicious, how much I need him.
We were laughing earlier, at the bar. Laughing and joking and eyeing up the biggest breasted women we could find.
I love the feel of his flat, firm chest underneath my hands now and I can't remember how we got to this moment.
I'm afraid to talk now, afraid I'll fuck this up and send him bolting for the door. I'm afraid to break his concentration as he sucks my nipples hard in his mouth while his hands reach down for the button of my jeans.
His eyes come back up to mine and he stares at me as he pulls down my zipper. He's so afraid and so strong and so perfect. He's going to say something. I can tell. Please tell me you want me, I think to myself. But I don't speak the words.
"I'll fuck you later. Just a hand-job now."
And that will do. It will have to because you don't get anything from Billy that he's not willing to give. And there is the promise of more.
My mind races and a thought processes that he may be thinking the same thing I am. Maybe he doesn't want to fuck me here because he doesn't want to break away to get the lube. He's afraid to go anywhere while we're in this storm together.
This cyclone. This violent need.
The tide seems to have gotten louder outside, like god has turned up the volume. But our gasps and the smack of our lips together still seem to drown it all out.
"Alright," I reply, "Alright."
He leans his forhead against mine and pushes his hips against my groin. I take the hint and unbutton his jeans. My hands are shaking so badly that that's all I can manage, I don't even try to undo his shirt.
It is only then that he slips his hand inside my pants, pushing them down as he goes. I do the same to him and with our pants around our ankles we gently wank each other off. It feels obscene. It feels perfectly obscene.
He feels ludicrously hot in my hand like his cock is burning my palm. I half expect to see steam rising out from us like some Hannah-Barbara cartoon. He is making the most beautiful sounds. He is all moans and gasps and I'm glad for it because I wouldn't make a sound, if he didn't.
"Oh god," I gasp. "Oh god." And I can't stop saying it because it feels so good. The heat, our breaths mingling together. His sweet little kisses to my lips, cheeks and nose. It's almost teasing.
He gasps again, murmuring, "Fuck." And I know he's close. The precome leaking between us is creating a beautiful friction and I'm nearing the edge now too. He gets more agressive then. He's longing for that release. I would gladly stay on this side of it forever, though.
He lets go of my aching, dripping, erection and removes my hand from his and I moan with frustration until he pushes his hips flush against mine. Hard.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
"Aw fuck, Dom. Fuck. Fuck."
I moan incoherent words of praise, lust, want. I push back in time with his thrusts against me as we move and slide against each other.
His hands come around my waist and down to my arse. He pulls me harder against him and I have to drop my head to his shoulder and bite to stop myself screaming like a girl.
I cry out as I come against him but manage to muffle the sound into the side of his neck. My cock is so sensitive as he continues to push against me and I'm slammed back against the wall before I can even gather myself together. His lips are on my right ear and his moist breath gushes there.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
"Getting there. Oh god, getting there."
And then he does and I feel it trickle warmly between my legs.
We slide down the wall and he buries his face into the crook of my neck, afraid to meet my eyes for quite some time but when he does, I take my chance. Grab onto it.
"Bed?"
He nods and the tempest rages once more after the brief calm.
--------*------------
As I write this, he is next to me, whistling as he sleeps.
He will never read this. He will never see these words gushing out, spilling out from deep inside of me. But he will feel it when the storm comes again.
And today he took the very breath of me.
But his next kiss will breathe new life into me and I will surrender to his rage, his passion, his storm.
And he will never read this.
He will never know my thoughts.
But I will.