Drabbles and shortfics from prompts
Various porny-bits from requests
Disclaimer: These are non-profit, non-commercial works of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. These fictional stories are not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
For coricomile Pete/Patrick, filth, a double drabble (200 words)
For _slashygoodness Pete/Patrick crossdressing, 250 words
For the two anons who helped me out with smut suggestions a few months ago, Andy/Matt, I combined Pete(Andy) makes Patrick(Mixon) say every little dirty thought or thing they want done and talk themselves both up that way before even touching each other. Possibly over the phone. and Andy/Mixon: Discomfort during sex (rough edge of a table as counterpoint to pleasure; cold stone versus hot flesh; position is uncomfortable at first but then becomes perfect; penetration is painful, then pleasurable)
"I'm just saying, who needs *two* side projects, Andy? We started Burning Empires just so you could play something harder, what the fuck
do you need a metal band for, too?"
Matt winced at the sound of his own voice. He sounded whiney, like a *girlfriend*, and that was the last thing to make Andy want to come home from demoing in New York any faster.
But Andy just laughed it off. "Are you that jealous that I'm playing with Scott Ian, or you just need to get your rocks off that bad?"
Matt stretched out on the bed that still smelled like Andy and ran his hands down his thighs. Andy may have had a point there.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked, putting a snotty tone into his challenge.
Andy's high-pitched laugh came suddenly, as if he were surprised by an honest answer.
"*I* am not gonna do shit, Mix. I just want to know what you are gonna do."
"Maybe I won't do anything," Matt lied, stroking his hands down his legs. His own fingers looked too long, too brown, too plain against the skin of his thighs as he absently pushed his basketball shorts up.
"You little bitch, tell me what you are up to or I'll crash in Stu's room when I get home!"
He'd do it, too. Stu would play dumb and act like Andy just got tired after an epic video game match or something, but he would let Andy crash in his room and keep Matt from sneaking into bed with Andy.
"Fine, you dick, I've still got my clothes on and I'm not even hard yet, you happy now?"
Andy laughed.
Matt switched the heater vent in his room closed and opened the window. The clear, cold air focused him, slowed him down.
He grunted into the phone, "Alright, asshole, I'm taking my shirt off, what do you think of that?"
Andy's response came slower, more thoughtful. "The real question is, what do you think about it? Is that what you'd want me to do, if I were there?"
The cold air pebbled his nipples unpleasantly, made him notice the lack of Andy's warm chest to press against that much more. "No, no really. If you were here, I wouldn't pull this bullshit, narration, Pro. I'd," his fingers, tingling numbly with the cold, were clumsy opening the lube. They felt like cold spaghetti against his ass, foreign and not his own, but not like Andy's either. The shock of cold against his ass felt like punishment.
"I'd make you fuck me, Pro. I'd shove you in a chair and get you hard and I'd fucking-" his breath hitched as he shoved a second finger in, cold and slimy and *not Andy's* "I'd ride your dick, man, and I'd be loud. Make so much noise the guys would throw shit at us, fucking give you a hickie like a goddamn teenager."
He tried to keep telling Andy, to make him understand, but he couldn't hold the phone close enough to his mouth anymore, his dick was so cold in the breeze of the open window he had to rock into his left hand, his right now warmed with the effort of fucking his ass as hard as he wanted Andy to.
From a few inches away, he could hear the tinny sound of the phone speaker conveying Andy cursing. He held his own breath for a minute, startled by how much quieter the room became, until he heard his name faintly.
His breath came out in a brutal groan, starting low and ending higher as come streamed out of him, his balls emptying all over Andy's pillow. He pulled his fingers free carefully, wiped them off on the dirty pillowcase before picking up the phone.
"Alright, fucker, take your goddamn time in New York. I'll be waiting for you."
Disclaimer: These are non-profit, non-commercial works of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. These fictional stories are not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
For coricomile Pete/Patrick, filth, a double drabble (200 words)
For _slashygoodness Pete/Patrick crossdressing, 250 words
For the two anons who helped me out with smut suggestions a few months ago, Andy/Matt, I combined Pete(Andy) makes Patrick(Mixon) say every little dirty thought or thing they want done and talk themselves both up that way before even touching each other. Possibly over the phone. and Andy/Mixon: Discomfort during sex (rough edge of a table as counterpoint to pleasure; cold stone versus hot flesh; position is uncomfortable at first but then becomes perfect; penetration is painful, then pleasurable)
"I'm just saying, who needs *two* side projects, Andy? We started Burning Empires just so you could play something harder, what the fuck
do you need a metal band for, too?"
Matt winced at the sound of his own voice. He sounded whiney, like a *girlfriend*, and that was the last thing to make Andy want to come home from demoing in New York any faster.
But Andy just laughed it off. "Are you that jealous that I'm playing with Scott Ian, or you just need to get your rocks off that bad?"
Matt stretched out on the bed that still smelled like Andy and ran his hands down his thighs. Andy may have had a point there.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked, putting a snotty tone into his challenge.
Andy's high-pitched laugh came suddenly, as if he were surprised by an honest answer.
"*I* am not gonna do shit, Mix. I just want to know what you are gonna do."
"Maybe I won't do anything," Matt lied, stroking his hands down his legs. His own fingers looked too long, too brown, too plain against the skin of his thighs as he absently pushed his basketball shorts up.
"You little bitch, tell me what you are up to or I'll crash in Stu's room when I get home!"
He'd do it, too. Stu would play dumb and act like Andy just got tired after an epic video game match or something, but he would let Andy crash in his room and keep Matt from sneaking into bed with Andy.
"Fine, you dick, I've still got my clothes on and I'm not even hard yet, you happy now?"
Andy laughed.
Matt switched the heater vent in his room closed and opened the window. The clear, cold air focused him, slowed him down.
He grunted into the phone, "Alright, asshole, I'm taking my shirt off, what do you think of that?"
Andy's response came slower, more thoughtful. "The real question is, what do you think about it? Is that what you'd want me to do, if I were there?"
The cold air pebbled his nipples unpleasantly, made him notice the lack of Andy's warm chest to press against that much more. "No, no really. If you were here, I wouldn't pull this bullshit, narration, Pro. I'd," his fingers, tingling numbly with the cold, were clumsy opening the lube. They felt like cold spaghetti against his ass, foreign and not his own, but not like Andy's either. The shock of cold against his ass felt like punishment.
"I'd make you fuck me, Pro. I'd shove you in a chair and get you hard and I'd fucking-" his breath hitched as he shoved a second finger in, cold and slimy and *not Andy's* "I'd ride your dick, man, and I'd be loud. Make so much noise the guys would throw shit at us, fucking give you a hickie like a goddamn teenager."
He tried to keep telling Andy, to make him understand, but he couldn't hold the phone close enough to his mouth anymore, his dick was so cold in the breeze of the open window he had to rock into his left hand, his right now warmed with the effort of fucking his ass as hard as he wanted Andy to.
From a few inches away, he could hear the tinny sound of the phone speaker conveying Andy cursing. He held his own breath for a minute, startled by how much quieter the room became, until he heard his name faintly.
His breath came out in a brutal groan, starting low and ending higher as come streamed out of him, his balls emptying all over Andy's pillow. He pulled his fingers free carefully, wiped them off on the dirty pillowcase before picking up the phone.
"Alright, fucker, take your goddamn time in New York. I'll be waiting for you."