original fic post -probably not going to be xposted anywhere, i just like it.
so i've written something kinky, and it's het, and it's not fanfiction in any way shape or form. this is unprecedented, and i want to get it out in the world just to get it away from my notepad because it would actually be so much more if i let it.
tenderly/tastefully : R : original fiction
- so there's a nameless guy and a nameless girl, and their friend Tom. with several discussions of kinklike proportions. unbeta'd, and i'm scared to post it (the product of severe insomnia and many other things).
okay so he completely doesn't know what the fuck has just happened, but this is definitely going to develop into a problem. a problem he will obsess over and need to talk about, and then panic that everyone will know about it because he isn't able to tell the person he usually tells about all his weird sex things. this whole situation, basically, would be much easier if it wasn't that person's fault. it's hard to think about when he's this kind of high, too, like in a pragmatic way. not in a fantastic way, of course, they've talked about how getting high means they find a way to leave the room swiftly after a while to sort themselves out, and he laughed and his eyes widened when she admitted how good it felt. but in a "how can this become a reality" way, it's not something he wants to do now and he knows being high makes him forget everything when it all blends together which would be severely uncool. he does not want to forget how it feels to actually enjoy something sexual.
it's not like he hates sex, he told her once, feeling stupid and virginlike next to her easy, penetrating looks as they wait for the kettle to boil one time at three in the morning, it's just such a letdown to what he was expecting. sometimes he's going for it, really putting in the effort, and it takes so damn long to get a reaction that he completely loses it (at this point a gesture of "you know, it" is made, and handwaved immediately) - he likes going down on a girl now, now he's got the technique and the feedback. she secretly thinks that if he wasn't so self conscious, he'd make a feedback form like "so when i do that thing where i flick my tongue on your clit, rate your pleasure from 1-5, 1 being 'no pleasure' and 5 being 'maximum pleasure'" and everyone involved would need to sign it at the bottom. it'd make sex easier, sure, but she's trying to get to the whole root of this. nobody ever complains about good head, especially when guys definitely need some balance perspective in relation to when to take and when to give, but if she sat through sex like this she'd probably go batshit insane. you're meant to lose yourself a bit, make dumb ass faces and hitch your legs up into some position that makes the muscles on the insides of your thighs burn for days but it'd worth it for the deepness, so she asks him, do you have any fetishes? and he's a guy who could be convinced, definitely, he's too new and open to not, he admits he finds weird things hot like when his latest is just wearing a t-shirt and the curve of her ass is just below the hem. which is possibly the cutest "fetish" ever, as she involves him in a conversation about light bondage and domination. she could dominate the fuck out of him, starts contemplating it.
so this conversation took place a week ago and between that time he's had passable sex - he came, he didn't lose it, it was an improvement. and he's reading the links to all the sex things she sends him asking him to evaluate his sexuality, he's sat around most days not knowing what to say because it's all a bit deep. like he's never had to question himself much, had a comfort zone, but how does he know he's straight when he likes feeling soft but definite muscles and kissing the side of Tom's mouth, seriously? Tom wasn't even his type of friend, he looks all indie pretentious and likes tailoring and paying too much attention to haircuts but he has very very blue eyes and gets intense about things he gets intense about, and he's admitted as much to her. she didn't judge and this means that the whole problem he has is going to be worse, because it's kind of about them and not him.
the first time she mentioned it, slightly embarrassed but amused at the same time and finding the way to say it, he decided to hold back on the "woah woah woah kinky" front because it's obviously quite, riveting, and he's got questions. like, why would you like a guy for this? if you like men and women, don't you go to one for the normal guy stuff and one for the normal girl stuff? he knows the answer - she likes different, she says - but he doesn't get it yet.
she says it's just the unexpectedness, the idea that she could be at home or coming home or something and her man has been waiting for so long to get this all right, and he walks in and her jaw would drop. because guys have pretty slim, straight legs, there's not as much of that curve of the thighs to accommodate the junk in the trunk, so the elastics of the garter belt would sit flush as he stood and flattened them down, to make sure the stockings were still attached to the loops and they stop just around three quarters up the thighs. plus, unlike when she's been too lazy to shave her legs for a couple of days and forgoes tights for the skinny jeans, he's been sat in the bath with a Venus and some gel trying not to cut himself, making sure the sheer and smooth feeling isn't ruined through the material. when she stands up and strokes the tops of the stockings where the lace pattern flowers and latches to the belt, with him even taller than before in the court shoes (black ones, and court shoes are involved because they're fucking uncomfortable to walk in but would look fantastic) she imagines her fantasy boy buckling and knowing what she's about to do, so he turns around and braces himself on the wall, and she strikes his perfectly framed bony ass with a seriously intentional slap. they'd both listen to the sound of the first one and lose themselves in the rest, and play speed metal to cover their moans because everyone's heard what her wild flatmate sex is like.
but yeah, she says with a shrug and a quirk at him, she would love this, and she thinks about it too much, like it's one of the things that she can be sat eating dinner and bitching out the flat next door for their lack of fire alarm awareness but suddenly she thinks about it and gets her excuse to leave. he's fascinated by that idea of being overcome by something you find it that hot and didn't expect to ever know what that was like. yes he has thoughts, they're vague and he doesn't know where he wants to be or who he wants to be in them, but they make him feel changed and hot and he locks the door those times. but he couldn't articulate what got him hot about it, he's trying everything to know.
and now, he's standing at this juncture and he knows his mouth is slack-jawed with the weed and the sharp shock, before he says "don't slap my ass" and turns back to his sticky pasta, but he knows he's found exactly what he needs. he's too selfless, he got told once, like he doesn't receive anything as well as he gives it because he's wanting to please. in a way he supposes this is a good idea there because he's offering himself (not on a silver platter because it's not some regency porn, but against a wall or straddling a chair or something more honest, to show he wants this, he's not just a prize) but also getting something out of it. now, he needs to find heels that fit.
the next week, when she's writing something in her room and watching for various site updates because it was a long night and a boring shitty day, he walks in and looks her straight in the eye and hopes he chose the colours well. red and black kind of feels cliche, but he got assistance for this. seductresses wear red, he tells himself, and she walks barefoot across to him. they both brace themselves.
______________________________________________
How was it for you? Title stolen from Interpol.
tenderly/tastefully : R : original fiction
- so there's a nameless guy and a nameless girl, and their friend Tom. with several discussions of kinklike proportions. unbeta'd, and i'm scared to post it (the product of severe insomnia and many other things).
okay so he completely doesn't know what the fuck has just happened, but this is definitely going to develop into a problem. a problem he will obsess over and need to talk about, and then panic that everyone will know about it because he isn't able to tell the person he usually tells about all his weird sex things. this whole situation, basically, would be much easier if it wasn't that person's fault. it's hard to think about when he's this kind of high, too, like in a pragmatic way. not in a fantastic way, of course, they've talked about how getting high means they find a way to leave the room swiftly after a while to sort themselves out, and he laughed and his eyes widened when she admitted how good it felt. but in a "how can this become a reality" way, it's not something he wants to do now and he knows being high makes him forget everything when it all blends together which would be severely uncool. he does not want to forget how it feels to actually enjoy something sexual.
it's not like he hates sex, he told her once, feeling stupid and virginlike next to her easy, penetrating looks as they wait for the kettle to boil one time at three in the morning, it's just such a letdown to what he was expecting. sometimes he's going for it, really putting in the effort, and it takes so damn long to get a reaction that he completely loses it (at this point a gesture of "you know, it" is made, and handwaved immediately) - he likes going down on a girl now, now he's got the technique and the feedback. she secretly thinks that if he wasn't so self conscious, he'd make a feedback form like "so when i do that thing where i flick my tongue on your clit, rate your pleasure from 1-5, 1 being 'no pleasure' and 5 being 'maximum pleasure'" and everyone involved would need to sign it at the bottom. it'd make sex easier, sure, but she's trying to get to the whole root of this. nobody ever complains about good head, especially when guys definitely need some balance perspective in relation to when to take and when to give, but if she sat through sex like this she'd probably go batshit insane. you're meant to lose yourself a bit, make dumb ass faces and hitch your legs up into some position that makes the muscles on the insides of your thighs burn for days but it'd worth it for the deepness, so she asks him, do you have any fetishes? and he's a guy who could be convinced, definitely, he's too new and open to not, he admits he finds weird things hot like when his latest is just wearing a t-shirt and the curve of her ass is just below the hem. which is possibly the cutest "fetish" ever, as she involves him in a conversation about light bondage and domination. she could dominate the fuck out of him, starts contemplating it.
so this conversation took place a week ago and between that time he's had passable sex - he came, he didn't lose it, it was an improvement. and he's reading the links to all the sex things she sends him asking him to evaluate his sexuality, he's sat around most days not knowing what to say because it's all a bit deep. like he's never had to question himself much, had a comfort zone, but how does he know he's straight when he likes feeling soft but definite muscles and kissing the side of Tom's mouth, seriously? Tom wasn't even his type of friend, he looks all indie pretentious and likes tailoring and paying too much attention to haircuts but he has very very blue eyes and gets intense about things he gets intense about, and he's admitted as much to her. she didn't judge and this means that the whole problem he has is going to be worse, because it's kind of about them and not him.
the first time she mentioned it, slightly embarrassed but amused at the same time and finding the way to say it, he decided to hold back on the "woah woah woah kinky" front because it's obviously quite, riveting, and he's got questions. like, why would you like a guy for this? if you like men and women, don't you go to one for the normal guy stuff and one for the normal girl stuff? he knows the answer - she likes different, she says - but he doesn't get it yet.
she says it's just the unexpectedness, the idea that she could be at home or coming home or something and her man has been waiting for so long to get this all right, and he walks in and her jaw would drop. because guys have pretty slim, straight legs, there's not as much of that curve of the thighs to accommodate the junk in the trunk, so the elastics of the garter belt would sit flush as he stood and flattened them down, to make sure the stockings were still attached to the loops and they stop just around three quarters up the thighs. plus, unlike when she's been too lazy to shave her legs for a couple of days and forgoes tights for the skinny jeans, he's been sat in the bath with a Venus and some gel trying not to cut himself, making sure the sheer and smooth feeling isn't ruined through the material. when she stands up and strokes the tops of the stockings where the lace pattern flowers and latches to the belt, with him even taller than before in the court shoes (black ones, and court shoes are involved because they're fucking uncomfortable to walk in but would look fantastic) she imagines her fantasy boy buckling and knowing what she's about to do, so he turns around and braces himself on the wall, and she strikes his perfectly framed bony ass with a seriously intentional slap. they'd both listen to the sound of the first one and lose themselves in the rest, and play speed metal to cover their moans because everyone's heard what her wild flatmate sex is like.
but yeah, she says with a shrug and a quirk at him, she would love this, and she thinks about it too much, like it's one of the things that she can be sat eating dinner and bitching out the flat next door for their lack of fire alarm awareness but suddenly she thinks about it and gets her excuse to leave. he's fascinated by that idea of being overcome by something you find it that hot and didn't expect to ever know what that was like. yes he has thoughts, they're vague and he doesn't know where he wants to be or who he wants to be in them, but they make him feel changed and hot and he locks the door those times. but he couldn't articulate what got him hot about it, he's trying everything to know.
and now, he's standing at this juncture and he knows his mouth is slack-jawed with the weed and the sharp shock, before he says "don't slap my ass" and turns back to his sticky pasta, but he knows he's found exactly what he needs. he's too selfless, he got told once, like he doesn't receive anything as well as he gives it because he's wanting to please. in a way he supposes this is a good idea there because he's offering himself (not on a silver platter because it's not some regency porn, but against a wall or straddling a chair or something more honest, to show he wants this, he's not just a prize) but also getting something out of it. now, he needs to find heels that fit.
the next week, when she's writing something in her room and watching for various site updates because it was a long night and a boring shitty day, he walks in and looks her straight in the eye and hopes he chose the colours well. red and black kind of feels cliche, but he got assistance for this. seductresses wear red, he tells himself, and she walks barefoot across to him. they both brace themselves.
______________________________________________
How was it for you? Title stolen from Interpol.