I think it's officially Friday in the Netherlands, so...
Happy Birthday, not_yet_tamed! <3
There should be a picture here if Photobucket is behaving. If not, mentally picture Dom blowing... out some candles.
Act
The floor creaked under light footsteps.
Ian smiled as a rush of warmth met his back and sides. “No hello?”
“Silence,” Dom quoted, moving around to face Ian. “Is the perfectest herald of joy.” He looked up proudly.
“You’ve been getting into my books again. Haven’t you, boy?” The ends of Dom’s mouth curled. Ian teased them with his fingers, molding the smile higher into his cheeks. “Very naughty.”
“I suppose,” Dom began, lowering his head and cocking it to the left. “I ought to be punished.” He looked up at Ian, less submissive than baiting.
“Yes.” Ian’s tone was grave, but his eyes danced. He reached for Dom’s wrists and gripped them tightly, pulling them to his chest.
“Only.” Dom yanked his trapped wrists back toward himself. “I didn’t mess with your books. I have read Shakespeare, you know. In fact, Billy and I often recite dialogue to each other.” Dom bit into one of Ian’s knuckles, sucking with his lips as his teeth withdrew.
“While he fucks you, Dominic?” He loosened his grip and lowered his splayed fingers down Dom’s arms to his elbows, where he pinched the tender flesh in the crooks. “While he pumps in and out of your tight, hot body? Does he croon to you in an iambic lilt?” Ian leaned forward and flattened his tongue against Dom’s ear, licking a straight line up, then tracing the outer curve. “Or does he quote crude vulgarities in his rough Scots brogue?” He drug his fingernails up Dom’s arms, circling his shoulders and clawing down his back. “I bet you banter like Beatrice and Benedick.”
Dom stuttered out his held breath as the cool cotton of his shirt fell back against the faint burn of his skin where Ian had branded him.
Ian coiled behind Dom, slipping his hands underneath his arms and pulling him to his chest. He cupped his mouth over Dom’s ear as his fingers slithered toward the top button of his shirt. “For this driveling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.” Ian played with the button-loop, turned over the button to rub the hard plastic into Dom’s sternum.
“Stop there,” Dom murmured.
“Stop?” Ian slowly pulled away.
“N-no, no.” Dom edged backward, reaching for Ian’s hips.
“Ah, you were only quoting. As was I.”
“What with your tongue in your taile?” Dom grinned, smoothing his thumbs into the creases of Ian’s thighs.
“No, mine in yours.” Ian pressed himself forward, clamping Dom’s hands between them. He pushed his fingers beneath the waistband of Dom’s trousers, ruffling the hair below his navel. Resting his chin on the top of Dom’s head, he unfastened his belt, undid the button and slowly lowered the zipper. He scooped his fingers inside his waistband again, moving along the edges to the sides, tickling over the twitching gooseflesh there. Then he tugged down firmly until his arms were straight, and Dom’s trousers pooled around his shins.
Ian smirked into Dom’s hair, shifted his position to kiss the soft place beneath his jaw. “It stands well with you.”
Dom laughed breathily then choked as Ian pinched the head of his penis between his fingers. “Fuck.”
Dom felt Ian’s silent laughter rumble against him. “That’s right, my boy. Because, really.” He opened his first two fingers and stroked them roughly up the shaft to the base of Dom’s penis. “I’m rather bored with Shakespeare.”
Dom trembled as Ian moved away from him, stood as patiently as he could. Ian rested his forehead against the curve of Dom’s neck. His hands worked adeptly at his own trousers until they were down around his shins. He stepped out of them swiftly, kicking them aside with one flick of his foot.
Lifting his head, Ian bit his way up Dom’s neck, closing his arms around his waist. “Shakespeare,” Ian huffed into his ear. “He was all talk, and little action.” Ian jerked his hand down Dom’s penis until the foreskin bunched around the head. Dom thrust forward into Ian’s grip, then backward into his hips.
Ian sighed and hummed against Dom’s cheek. Dom twisted and licked the outer crease of Ian’s eye.
“Why then is my pump well flower’d,” Dom teased.
Ian growled. “I said I’m bored of this, boy.” He turned Dom around by the shoulders, fingers digging in. “Now, down on your knees.”
Dom opened his mouth and said no more.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Quotations:
“Silence is the perfectest heralt of joy; I were but little happy, if I could say how much!”
~Claudio, Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, scene i.
Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene iv:
Mercutio: Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art as well as by nature, for this driveling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
Benvolio: Stop there, stop there.
&:
“Why then is my pump well flower’d.”
~Mercutio, ibid.
“What with your tongue in your taile?”
Misquoting of Petruchio to Katherina in The Taming of the Shrew, Act II, scene i:
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
Kath.: In his tongue.
Pet.: Whose tongue?
Kath: Yours if it talk of tales, and so farewell.
Pet.: What with my tongue in your taile.
Wonderful beta from Char and Shannon. Thank you so much! All errors are my own.
There should be a picture here if Photobucket is behaving. If not, mentally picture Dom blowing... out some candles.
Act
The floor creaked under light footsteps.
Ian smiled as a rush of warmth met his back and sides. “No hello?”
“Silence,” Dom quoted, moving around to face Ian. “Is the perfectest herald of joy.” He looked up proudly.
“You’ve been getting into my books again. Haven’t you, boy?” The ends of Dom’s mouth curled. Ian teased them with his fingers, molding the smile higher into his cheeks. “Very naughty.”
“I suppose,” Dom began, lowering his head and cocking it to the left. “I ought to be punished.” He looked up at Ian, less submissive than baiting.
“Yes.” Ian’s tone was grave, but his eyes danced. He reached for Dom’s wrists and gripped them tightly, pulling them to his chest.
“Only.” Dom yanked his trapped wrists back toward himself. “I didn’t mess with your books. I have read Shakespeare, you know. In fact, Billy and I often recite dialogue to each other.” Dom bit into one of Ian’s knuckles, sucking with his lips as his teeth withdrew.
“While he fucks you, Dominic?” He loosened his grip and lowered his splayed fingers down Dom’s arms to his elbows, where he pinched the tender flesh in the crooks. “While he pumps in and out of your tight, hot body? Does he croon to you in an iambic lilt?” Ian leaned forward and flattened his tongue against Dom’s ear, licking a straight line up, then tracing the outer curve. “Or does he quote crude vulgarities in his rough Scots brogue?” He drug his fingernails up Dom’s arms, circling his shoulders and clawing down his back. “I bet you banter like Beatrice and Benedick.”
Dom stuttered out his held breath as the cool cotton of his shirt fell back against the faint burn of his skin where Ian had branded him.
Ian coiled behind Dom, slipping his hands underneath his arms and pulling him to his chest. He cupped his mouth over Dom’s ear as his fingers slithered toward the top button of his shirt. “For this driveling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.” Ian played with the button-loop, turned over the button to rub the hard plastic into Dom’s sternum.
“Stop there,” Dom murmured.
“Stop?” Ian slowly pulled away.
“N-no, no.” Dom edged backward, reaching for Ian’s hips.
“Ah, you were only quoting. As was I.”
“What with your tongue in your taile?” Dom grinned, smoothing his thumbs into the creases of Ian’s thighs.
“No, mine in yours.” Ian pressed himself forward, clamping Dom’s hands between them. He pushed his fingers beneath the waistband of Dom’s trousers, ruffling the hair below his navel. Resting his chin on the top of Dom’s head, he unfastened his belt, undid the button and slowly lowered the zipper. He scooped his fingers inside his waistband again, moving along the edges to the sides, tickling over the twitching gooseflesh there. Then he tugged down firmly until his arms were straight, and Dom’s trousers pooled around his shins.
Ian smirked into Dom’s hair, shifted his position to kiss the soft place beneath his jaw. “It stands well with you.”
Dom laughed breathily then choked as Ian pinched the head of his penis between his fingers. “Fuck.”
Dom felt Ian’s silent laughter rumble against him. “That’s right, my boy. Because, really.” He opened his first two fingers and stroked them roughly up the shaft to the base of Dom’s penis. “I’m rather bored with Shakespeare.”
Dom trembled as Ian moved away from him, stood as patiently as he could. Ian rested his forehead against the curve of Dom’s neck. His hands worked adeptly at his own trousers until they were down around his shins. He stepped out of them swiftly, kicking them aside with one flick of his foot.
Lifting his head, Ian bit his way up Dom’s neck, closing his arms around his waist. “Shakespeare,” Ian huffed into his ear. “He was all talk, and little action.” Ian jerked his hand down Dom’s penis until the foreskin bunched around the head. Dom thrust forward into Ian’s grip, then backward into his hips.
Ian sighed and hummed against Dom’s cheek. Dom twisted and licked the outer crease of Ian’s eye.
“Why then is my pump well flower’d,” Dom teased.
Ian growled. “I said I’m bored of this, boy.” He turned Dom around by the shoulders, fingers digging in. “Now, down on your knees.”
Dom opened his mouth and said no more.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Quotations:
“Silence is the perfectest heralt of joy; I were but little happy, if I could say how much!”
~Claudio, Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, scene i.
Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene iv:
Mercutio: Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art as well as by nature, for this driveling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
Benvolio: Stop there, stop there.
&:
“Why then is my pump well flower’d.”
~Mercutio, ibid.
“What with your tongue in your taile?”
Misquoting of Petruchio to Katherina in The Taming of the Shrew, Act II, scene i:
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
Kath.: In his tongue.
Pet.: Whose tongue?
Kath: Yours if it talk of tales, and so farewell.
Pet.: What with my tongue in your taile.
Wonderful beta from Char and Shannon. Thank you so much! All errors are my own.