Porn
Some days you just have to write porn, for no other reason than that it's there. Warning NC-17. Duh. This is porn. No plot, just gratuitous sex between gay men.
Black hair in sweaty tangles over the pillow, lean limbs taut and slick, body arching in an age old rhythm, voice echoing smoky moans in the heated evening air all coalesce into an image of sexual tension.
"Gods..."
Zax is pure sex, violet eyes hazy and expression twisted into frustrated bliss, body open and greedy, so greedy, taking everything Cloud can offer and begging for more, harder, deeper.
"Come on Spike... So good..."
The only way to shut him up is to kiss him, thrust a tongue in deep and feel the wet heat, taste cinnamon and mint and lick at bruised lips while wringing the sweetest little hurt noises from his throat. Choked off moans and tiny gasps as the angle gets just right.
"Zax..." It's easy to follow his lead, give into the hands on your shoulders, the thighs gripping your waist and just move to his beat, give him everything he wants, everything you have. Wrap your hand around his leaking length and just twist, thumbing the head and spreading his pre-come because after so many hand jobs late at night you've got his body memorized. You know how he likes it, how to make him do that little stuttering growl.
"Spi..ke.."
It's even better when he shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, biting into the thin skin of his lower lip as he spills hot and thick over your fist. Tight muscle clenches and you're thrusting into your own mess, thrusting into *him*, pumping him through the shudders and barely aware of the animal whines pouring out of your mouth because...
Because it's Zax, warm and soft and holding you, making you move, making you real, and no bodily release however glorious can match the knowledge that for a few heartbeats you brought him ecstasy.
"Cloud... you okay?"
It's so easy to kiss the questions away.
Black hair in sweaty tangles over the pillow, lean limbs taut and slick, body arching in an age old rhythm, voice echoing smoky moans in the heated evening air all coalesce into an image of sexual tension.
"Gods..."
Zax is pure sex, violet eyes hazy and expression twisted into frustrated bliss, body open and greedy, so greedy, taking everything Cloud can offer and begging for more, harder, deeper.
"Come on Spike... So good..."
The only way to shut him up is to kiss him, thrust a tongue in deep and feel the wet heat, taste cinnamon and mint and lick at bruised lips while wringing the sweetest little hurt noises from his throat. Choked off moans and tiny gasps as the angle gets just right.
"Zax..." It's easy to follow his lead, give into the hands on your shoulders, the thighs gripping your waist and just move to his beat, give him everything he wants, everything you have. Wrap your hand around his leaking length and just twist, thumbing the head and spreading his pre-come because after so many hand jobs late at night you've got his body memorized. You know how he likes it, how to make him do that little stuttering growl.
"Spi..ke.."
It's even better when he shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, biting into the thin skin of his lower lip as he spills hot and thick over your fist. Tight muscle clenches and you're thrusting into your own mess, thrusting into *him*, pumping him through the shudders and barely aware of the animal whines pouring out of your mouth because...
Because it's Zax, warm and soft and holding you, making you move, making you real, and no bodily release however glorious can match the knowledge that for a few heartbeats you brought him ecstasy.
"Cloud... you okay?"
It's so easy to kiss the questions away.