With A Capital V
So NaNo is over, but now I'm bogged down with finals crap, and I only managed to write this short little thing in between. :(
Don't worry, though, you'll get tons of goodies from me over Winter Break. <33 (Only 8 days away! *dances*)
Title: With A Capital V
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Very vague things that could be seen as: Grif/Simmons, Sarge/Sarge's hand, Church/Tucker, Donut/Dildo, and then something very not vague that is.... You'll see. ;)
Rating: R. Very R. xD
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Someone gets too much enjoyment from the antics going on in the canyon.
Disclaimer: Red vs Blue is not mine. I wish it were. :c
A/N: This is total and utter crack I thought of during November, but I had to beat down the urges to write it until December, after NaNoWriMo was over. Dear Lord, I'm glad I did, because this morphed into something even more awesome than I had in mind in the first place. Enjoy the one time you'll probably ever read this particular pairing in your entire life. ;D
---
His shoes click impatiently beneath him as he traverses the long hallway quickly, settling himself almost gingerly onto the stool that had always had his name on it. The large computer screen before him is silent, a soft black sheen shimmering across its LCD brilliance. A trembling finger punches a button eagerly, and he is basked in light as the computer boots up, asking him to put in five different passwords and taking an iris scan of his right eye before it lets him in.
He hits a few keys rapidly and the screen splits into nine, a different picture buzzing lightly with static from each square. Tall pines cast in shade from the sheer rock wall, unmoving in the still air; the deserted concrete roofs of two bases; rocks, scrubby grass, nothing exciting until, there -- movement in a hallway, furtive glances pass back and forth before two men stumble over each other to get into a room, closing the door behind them.
His eyes drift to the next box, which shows the room the two had scrambled into. It's dark, and their faces are cast in an unearthly nightvision green glow as they crush their lips together, tightly, frantically. He can only imagine the moans and groans they must be making as his tongue curves a slight wet trail across his upper lip.
They crash on top of each other onto a rumpled bed, hand groping and pulling off clothes that separate them, wild and animalistic in their desire. His breathing quickens as he watches, hand curling against the edge of the desk desperately, turning knuckles to ghost white. His heartbeat strenghtens and he feels his face heat up with the evidence of seedy arousal, a low throbbing starting to press urgently against his black pants. Their skintones are so different, pale contrasting with tan deliciously as they writhe together, thrusting and griding, mouths open with heady gasps that he only hears in his mind.
His hand drifts shakily to the zipper of his pants, and he pulls it down in a long, metallic hiss. He has to bite his tongue to keep the greedy pants from escaping him as his index finger trails lazily up his length, stroking firmly in a path following a pulsing vein that leads to his damp and leaking head. His eyes are locked on their exchange, and he's timing his pulls with the beat of their thrusts, and the shuddery gasps ripping from him could very well be their own. And then they're coming, and he's coming, and everything is a white hot mess before he's regained his breath, hitting a few keys with a rubbery left hand before a different window is pulled up, showing another scene.
This time it's a bathroom, a shower room to be exact, and there's a lone man standing under the hot spray, grisled and old, hair cropped short and sweet, just like his. The hands that scrub roughly against skin leave him with a gritty feeling in his mouth, but then the man's hand is going lower, and it's grasping a beautifully engorged cock, and just like that, he's hard again, hand fumbling back to his crotch with huffs of impatience.
They're both done after a while, and he clicks off to a different window, where two more men are already at it, the pale one reclined with his hands burrowed into the black one's hair as his head bobs up and down along the pale man's shaft. His own member shudders again, and he whimpers, mind a hazy fog of adrenaline and dopamine as he starts jerking himself off for the third time.
A green call light screams at him from his left, but he ignores it, eyesight swimming as he pulls harder on himself, tremors wracking his arms and he leans against the wall, mouth in a wide 'oh' as he shoots his load in a white sticky arc that splats obscenely onto the floor.
There's a voice to the light, now, leaving a message. It's British, condescending, irritated beyond all belief. "Vic, I told you to be ready for this call, bugger it all! I've got an important message from our dear you know who and you know how he gets when he's upset!"
His finger trembles as he pushes the answer button. "Yeah, dude, sorry. I was kinda busy." He curses the waver in his voice, and hopes the other man doesn't notice.
"How the bloody hell are you busy on a night like this," the Brit mutters, and he realizes that his secret's still safe, somehow. He slumps a little, realizing he's missed the pale man's orgasm, and he half heartedly clicks at the computer again, bringing up the image of an effeminite man writhing on his bed with a dildo shoved half up his ass. His cock jumps excitedly and he's tending to it again eagerly, watching the movie intently, memorizing that impossible curve of the other man's back.
"Vic!" a voice barks in his ear, but he's a panting, heaving mess, and he can't give a response more intelligent than a needy groan.
"Oh, not this again..." and he realizes that his secret isn't safe, after all. "Ugh, Vic, you're a voyeur with a capital V."
"Shut up, dude," he manages to pant out, the sharp anger of the Brit making him harder than he'd like to admit. He turns his attention from the writhing on his screen to the voice from his Commlink, eyes fluttering closed as he conjures up the image of a buff, slightly graying man with a moustache, steel blue eyes regarding him cruelly. His length quivers beneath his palm and cries out for release, but he slows, waiting for that lilting beautiful voice again.
"Don't you tell me to shut up, you incompetent excuse for surveillance."
"Nnngh, yeah, dude, just like that, Wyoming. Ohhh, dude..."
There's an awkward silence on the other end as his hand runs slick up and down and up again. Wyoming finally clears his throat and mutters thickly, "You are not rubbing one off to my voice." Even he can hear the wavering denial in the other man's voice, and it makes him even harder, heart straining wildly in his chest. His breath is coming erradically now, in huffs and sighs and gasps and he imagines his hand is Wyoming's as it continues its dance of up, down, up.
"Oh, Jesus, dude, please, oh!"
Wyoming's heavy breathing betrays him as he replies with another plea for him to shut up, and he grins maniacally, full of himself that he could get the normally-proper man all hot and bothered over a radio link.
"Your hands are all over me, dude, I can feel it." He hopes his voice sounded as low and alluring and sexy as he had willed it to be.
The other man is panting with a strained rhythm, and he wonders -- and hopes -- that he's in the same position, hand in a vice grip around leaky wood, eyes clenched shut with wild awe and intense pleasure. A violent tremble rips through him and he has to still his hand lest he explode all over his keyboard.
"Ha... stop saying that," Wyoming groans, and the deep timber of his voice shoots straight to his cock. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, fighting to keep his mind steady so he can answer.
"Stop saying what, dude?"
"That." It's a snarl, a low, sexy, beautiful snarl that has his eyelids flashing with all the colors of the rainbow and then he's gone, letting go with a soft yelp as it all ends in an overflow of heat and lust and intensity that sticks over his fingers like glue.
A muffled gasp shoots through the blinking green light, and then they're panting, riding an afterglow together millions of miles apart.
It takes him a minute to regain his thoughts, but then he murmurs softly, "So what was the message, dude?"
Silence, then an awkward cough and, "I seem to have forgotten. Might I call you back when I remember?"
He laughs, a soft rasp that he keeps reigned in so Wyoming doesn't hear him. "Sure, dude. Call back whenever you want to." He hopes the wink in his voice isn't too subtle.
But he doesn't get to find out, because the beautiful accented voice has disappeared to be replaced with a dial tone, and he's sighing and turning back to the computer, unhappy to see he's missed yet another orgasm, the young man's room now empty.
He tisks slightly, checking to see if he'd remembered to record it on tape. He hadn't.
Pity. Tonight had been such an eventful night, too.
---
A/N: Holy shiznuts, why hasn't anyone latched onto the idea of Voyeur!Vic before this?! XD He has cameras that show everything that's happening in the Gulch, seriously.
Ahem. Now that I've got that crack out of my system... I can get to more important things. (Like finishing my goddammed NaNo. Grrr!)
Don't worry, though, you'll get tons of goodies from me over Winter Break. <33 (Only 8 days away! *dances*)
Title: With A Capital V
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Very vague things that could be seen as: Grif/Simmons, Sarge/Sarge's hand, Church/Tucker, Donut/Dildo, and then something very not vague that is.... You'll see. ;)
Rating: R. Very R. xD
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Someone gets too much enjoyment from the antics going on in the canyon.
Disclaimer: Red vs Blue is not mine. I wish it were. :c
A/N: This is total and utter crack I thought of during November, but I had to beat down the urges to write it until December, after NaNoWriMo was over. Dear Lord, I'm glad I did, because this morphed into something even more awesome than I had in mind in the first place. Enjoy the one time you'll probably ever read this particular pairing in your entire life. ;D
---
His shoes click impatiently beneath him as he traverses the long hallway quickly, settling himself almost gingerly onto the stool that had always had his name on it. The large computer screen before him is silent, a soft black sheen shimmering across its LCD brilliance. A trembling finger punches a button eagerly, and he is basked in light as the computer boots up, asking him to put in five different passwords and taking an iris scan of his right eye before it lets him in.
He hits a few keys rapidly and the screen splits into nine, a different picture buzzing lightly with static from each square. Tall pines cast in shade from the sheer rock wall, unmoving in the still air; the deserted concrete roofs of two bases; rocks, scrubby grass, nothing exciting until, there -- movement in a hallway, furtive glances pass back and forth before two men stumble over each other to get into a room, closing the door behind them.
His eyes drift to the next box, which shows the room the two had scrambled into. It's dark, and their faces are cast in an unearthly nightvision green glow as they crush their lips together, tightly, frantically. He can only imagine the moans and groans they must be making as his tongue curves a slight wet trail across his upper lip.
They crash on top of each other onto a rumpled bed, hand groping and pulling off clothes that separate them, wild and animalistic in their desire. His breathing quickens as he watches, hand curling against the edge of the desk desperately, turning knuckles to ghost white. His heartbeat strenghtens and he feels his face heat up with the evidence of seedy arousal, a low throbbing starting to press urgently against his black pants. Their skintones are so different, pale contrasting with tan deliciously as they writhe together, thrusting and griding, mouths open with heady gasps that he only hears in his mind.
His hand drifts shakily to the zipper of his pants, and he pulls it down in a long, metallic hiss. He has to bite his tongue to keep the greedy pants from escaping him as his index finger trails lazily up his length, stroking firmly in a path following a pulsing vein that leads to his damp and leaking head. His eyes are locked on their exchange, and he's timing his pulls with the beat of their thrusts, and the shuddery gasps ripping from him could very well be their own. And then they're coming, and he's coming, and everything is a white hot mess before he's regained his breath, hitting a few keys with a rubbery left hand before a different window is pulled up, showing another scene.
This time it's a bathroom, a shower room to be exact, and there's a lone man standing under the hot spray, grisled and old, hair cropped short and sweet, just like his. The hands that scrub roughly against skin leave him with a gritty feeling in his mouth, but then the man's hand is going lower, and it's grasping a beautifully engorged cock, and just like that, he's hard again, hand fumbling back to his crotch with huffs of impatience.
They're both done after a while, and he clicks off to a different window, where two more men are already at it, the pale one reclined with his hands burrowed into the black one's hair as his head bobs up and down along the pale man's shaft. His own member shudders again, and he whimpers, mind a hazy fog of adrenaline and dopamine as he starts jerking himself off for the third time.
A green call light screams at him from his left, but he ignores it, eyesight swimming as he pulls harder on himself, tremors wracking his arms and he leans against the wall, mouth in a wide 'oh' as he shoots his load in a white sticky arc that splats obscenely onto the floor.
There's a voice to the light, now, leaving a message. It's British, condescending, irritated beyond all belief. "Vic, I told you to be ready for this call, bugger it all! I've got an important message from our dear you know who and you know how he gets when he's upset!"
His finger trembles as he pushes the answer button. "Yeah, dude, sorry. I was kinda busy." He curses the waver in his voice, and hopes the other man doesn't notice.
"How the bloody hell are you busy on a night like this," the Brit mutters, and he realizes that his secret's still safe, somehow. He slumps a little, realizing he's missed the pale man's orgasm, and he half heartedly clicks at the computer again, bringing up the image of an effeminite man writhing on his bed with a dildo shoved half up his ass. His cock jumps excitedly and he's tending to it again eagerly, watching the movie intently, memorizing that impossible curve of the other man's back.
"Vic!" a voice barks in his ear, but he's a panting, heaving mess, and he can't give a response more intelligent than a needy groan.
"Oh, not this again..." and he realizes that his secret isn't safe, after all. "Ugh, Vic, you're a voyeur with a capital V."
"Shut up, dude," he manages to pant out, the sharp anger of the Brit making him harder than he'd like to admit. He turns his attention from the writhing on his screen to the voice from his Commlink, eyes fluttering closed as he conjures up the image of a buff, slightly graying man with a moustache, steel blue eyes regarding him cruelly. His length quivers beneath his palm and cries out for release, but he slows, waiting for that lilting beautiful voice again.
"Don't you tell me to shut up, you incompetent excuse for surveillance."
"Nnngh, yeah, dude, just like that, Wyoming. Ohhh, dude..."
There's an awkward silence on the other end as his hand runs slick up and down and up again. Wyoming finally clears his throat and mutters thickly, "You are not rubbing one off to my voice." Even he can hear the wavering denial in the other man's voice, and it makes him even harder, heart straining wildly in his chest. His breath is coming erradically now, in huffs and sighs and gasps and he imagines his hand is Wyoming's as it continues its dance of up, down, up.
"Oh, Jesus, dude, please, oh!"
Wyoming's heavy breathing betrays him as he replies with another plea for him to shut up, and he grins maniacally, full of himself that he could get the normally-proper man all hot and bothered over a radio link.
"Your hands are all over me, dude, I can feel it." He hopes his voice sounded as low and alluring and sexy as he had willed it to be.
The other man is panting with a strained rhythm, and he wonders -- and hopes -- that he's in the same position, hand in a vice grip around leaky wood, eyes clenched shut with wild awe and intense pleasure. A violent tremble rips through him and he has to still his hand lest he explode all over his keyboard.
"Ha... stop saying that," Wyoming groans, and the deep timber of his voice shoots straight to his cock. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, fighting to keep his mind steady so he can answer.
"Stop saying what, dude?"
"That." It's a snarl, a low, sexy, beautiful snarl that has his eyelids flashing with all the colors of the rainbow and then he's gone, letting go with a soft yelp as it all ends in an overflow of heat and lust and intensity that sticks over his fingers like glue.
A muffled gasp shoots through the blinking green light, and then they're panting, riding an afterglow together millions of miles apart.
It takes him a minute to regain his thoughts, but then he murmurs softly, "So what was the message, dude?"
Silence, then an awkward cough and, "I seem to have forgotten. Might I call you back when I remember?"
He laughs, a soft rasp that he keeps reigned in so Wyoming doesn't hear him. "Sure, dude. Call back whenever you want to." He hopes the wink in his voice isn't too subtle.
But he doesn't get to find out, because the beautiful accented voice has disappeared to be replaced with a dial tone, and he's sighing and turning back to the computer, unhappy to see he's missed yet another orgasm, the young man's room now empty.
He tisks slightly, checking to see if he'd remembered to record it on tape. He hadn't.
Pity. Tonight had been such an eventful night, too.
---
A/N: Holy shiznuts, why hasn't anyone latched onto the idea of Voyeur!Vic before this?! XD He has cameras that show everything that's happening in the Gulch, seriously.
Ahem. Now that I've got that crack out of my system... I can get to more important things. (Like finishing my goddammed NaNo. Grrr!)