ooo gurl
i graduate tomorrow.
I THINK THE ICON IS APPROPRIATE, YES?
k here have pornz based on picturez
don't click these if you know me in real life, seriously. unless you're my sister.
Hot can't even begin to cover Chris' thought process when he sees those pictures of Karl by the pool, arms playing coy with the tightly-stretched sleeves of the luckiest black t-shirt ever. Never mind that he's barefoot and in jeans that cradle his thighs and there's sunlight highlighting places Chris is quite familiar with but wouldn't mind (not at all) rememorizing. Then Chris sees hemp and he's pretty much done for.
"Close your mouth," Karl says, reaching over two long, freckled fingers to press beneath Chris' chin. Chris is torn between staring at the photo and staring at Karl, who happens to be giving him the exact same look as in the picture. "Unless."
Chris swallows, and Karl's mouth curls up over his canines.
Chris supposes he's luckier than the t-shirt, because he gets to touch Karl everywhere. He knows the parentheses of hipbones and the weird knob at his wrists, has learned the tapering of ankles and spread of shoulder blades. He's comfortable in the soft padding of thumbs, connected to broad palms warm and sure in their movements. Chris favors the crease of Karl's thigh, the crinkling hairs in the arrow down his stomach. He knows what Karl's spine tastes like, knows what his eyelashes feel like against his collarbone, what the shape of his lips feel like on his ribs.
With controlled and calculated movements Karl pushes the laptop aside, slinks over to perch above Chris' sprawl. On reflex, Chris knees fall away, legs parting to accept Karl between them. They're closer than air but they're not touching, and around the lump in his throat Chris makes a hungry noise. Karl's eyes darken, and his rumble of laughter is even darker.
Today, Karl's tongue tastes like mirth and salt and the glass of a bottle, like he's been flirting with Chris' beer. The kiss isn't even a kiss, not when their lips are merely open for the sake of making room. Karl's thumb is spread over Chris' cheekbone, holding him steady (like Chris would be anywhere else), his thighs hot and hard between Chris' legs. Their tongues curl and Karl sucks and pulls and when Chris feels the edge of teeth on his bottom lip, his hands clench needy and now in Karl's shirt. Without thinking, he follows when Karl shifts away, mouth still open and eyes unfocused beneath heavy lids. Karl's smile is so filthy and dirty, Chris feels utterly hunted.
His stomach pulls in as Karl slides a hand beneath his stupid, ratty Stripes t-shirt. Chris has nowhere to go except backwards into the headboard, or forward into a touch like molasses, and the smooth heat curling in his gut spreads licks of flames all the way down to the arches of his feet. As the fabric is pulled up and over Chris' head, Karl's thumb makes friends with his nipple and it's great.
"Good form." Chris is kind of in love with the way Karl's tongue rounds out the 'r', lips quirking on the double 'o' and Chris blesses the English language.
"Thank you."
Because really, with fingernails scratching promises on his lower back, what else is he going to say?
Karl's shoulders are impossible under Chris' hands and he can't stop sweeping them across the muscled line of his neck, down to the divot of his collarbones that disappear under his wife beater. His mouth is an angry red from Chris' stubble and his irises are mere slivers of thundering green, nearly black. Chris would be stupid to tear his eyes away from the movement of tongue over lips, and his breath comes out as a shudder.
They make out for what feels like hours, Karl's solid frame cornering Chris into the headboard. His head is muddy with lust and by now the heat between his thighs is aching, cock pushing into the seam of his jeans. He wants but Karl is persistent in taking it slow, the painful kind of slow that makes his teeth ache and his calves burn.
But then, the heel of Karl's hands finds the bulge in Chris' pants, and his skull hits the headboard with a dull thud. It's not even a grip, just a barely-there massage that makes Chris feel like whining. He's stupid for finding it hot, because it's not so much that Karl's touching him but that he's touching him while wearing a fucking hemp bracelet his kid made for him, and Chris should be disturbed, but all he can think at the moment is comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon.
"You love it," Karl husks into the shell of Chris' ear. "You've no idea what you look like, sound like, begging for it like a whore." Apparently, the mindless, babbling litany in Chris' head is not entirely in his head. Like clockwork, Chris' hips push into Karl's hand and he's rewarded with a sharp nip to his earlobe, and seriously, Chris is going to burst open at his seams.
Then Karl, bless up, drags down the zipper and it's a relief Chris isn't often thankful for. He's going to chew his own lips off as Karl's breath is hot and teasing on the length of his dick. "Oh," Chris gasps, Karl's mouth wet and warm and slick around the head of his cock. Chris' fists make a sweaty, wrinkled mess in the fabric of their sheets and he feels like passing out, all this suction and tongue and don'tstopohmygodKarl.
His toes curl hard enough to break and his hips snap up, but what really gets him is how easily the muscles in Karl's forearm steel to hold him down to the bed. Chris flies apart on a guttural moan and Karl sucks him down, works him through with steady strokes of his hand. A moment later, he's too lazy to do anything but continue sprawling, bare and open and raw as Karl buries his nose in the gross, sweaty skin of his groin. The fingertip pressure to his perineum is too sensitive but he can't muster up enough energy to twist away, his cock twitching in hope. Karl's laugh vibrates all the way through his sternum, and Chris's grin could split open his face.
and this monstrosity
"Seriously?"
"What?" Chris swivels this way and that, twisting himself around to see the suit in every angle. Ugly royal blue velvet stares back at him, crinkling with each movement of his hips. Karl appreciates the view, don't get him wrong, but not even Chris' ass can make up for his fashion choices.
"Velvet?" Karl makes a face.
Chris stares at him in the mirror, bright blue eyes brighter from the almost purple suit. It's a nice effect, but still.
"I'm not one hundred percent in love with your tone right now, Karl," Chris says, jaw clenched as he smooths down the front of the jacket. The corner of Karl's mouth tics like he's going to laugh, but Chris keeps staring and it's getting kind of awkward.
"That's nice." Karl plants has palms on both armrests and pushes himself upwards, striding over to run his fingers beneath the collar of Chris' shirt. It's silk, which is a nice touch, and Karl has to admit the bow tie is kind of cute. "You look like Bob Barker's replacement for The Price is Right."
"Fuck you," Chris says, but it's without venom and he's staring at Karl's mouth. Hands broad like paws curve over Karl's hips, pulling him flush against Chris. Karl raises an eyebrow and straightens the bow tie.
"You'd regret it. Might wrinkle the velvet." Karl smiles, pats Chris' cheek. He starts to pull away, but Chris' grip tightens and his pupils widen.
"Like you care. You seem to hate it." It's shameless, the way their eyes follow the path of tongues over chapped lips, starting a slow rock of hips that's not nearly enough to get them anywhere but frustrated. Karl leans in, tilts his head and lowers his eyelashes in a way that makes Chris feel short of breath, suddenly constricted by his collar. Everything is touching but their mouths and it's awful, Chris wants to kiss him now but the stupid Kiwi bitch just grins and says low and husky,
"You should get going."
Chris has an excellent idea of which direction Karl should be going (it's south), but a glance over Karl's head at the clock tells Chris it's true. Pulling a face, Chris reluctantly untangles himself from Karl and finishes buttoning the suit jacket.
"You better get your mouth ready for when I get back," he retorts, jabbing a finger into Karl's chest.
In response, Karl sucks his lower lip into said mouth and flutters his eyelashes. Chris blinks, flips him the bird, and leaves. oh and this too ----> lol genderbend
I THINK THE ICON IS APPROPRIATE, YES?
k here have pornz based on picturez
don't click these if you know me in real life, seriously. unless you're my sister.
Hot can't even begin to cover Chris' thought process when he sees those pictures of Karl by the pool, arms playing coy with the tightly-stretched sleeves of the luckiest black t-shirt ever. Never mind that he's barefoot and in jeans that cradle his thighs and there's sunlight highlighting places Chris is quite familiar with but wouldn't mind (not at all) rememorizing. Then Chris sees hemp and he's pretty much done for.
"Close your mouth," Karl says, reaching over two long, freckled fingers to press beneath Chris' chin. Chris is torn between staring at the photo and staring at Karl, who happens to be giving him the exact same look as in the picture. "Unless."
Chris swallows, and Karl's mouth curls up over his canines.
Chris supposes he's luckier than the t-shirt, because he gets to touch Karl everywhere. He knows the parentheses of hipbones and the weird knob at his wrists, has learned the tapering of ankles and spread of shoulder blades. He's comfortable in the soft padding of thumbs, connected to broad palms warm and sure in their movements. Chris favors the crease of Karl's thigh, the crinkling hairs in the arrow down his stomach. He knows what Karl's spine tastes like, knows what his eyelashes feel like against his collarbone, what the shape of his lips feel like on his ribs.
With controlled and calculated movements Karl pushes the laptop aside, slinks over to perch above Chris' sprawl. On reflex, Chris knees fall away, legs parting to accept Karl between them. They're closer than air but they're not touching, and around the lump in his throat Chris makes a hungry noise. Karl's eyes darken, and his rumble of laughter is even darker.
Today, Karl's tongue tastes like mirth and salt and the glass of a bottle, like he's been flirting with Chris' beer. The kiss isn't even a kiss, not when their lips are merely open for the sake of making room. Karl's thumb is spread over Chris' cheekbone, holding him steady (like Chris would be anywhere else), his thighs hot and hard between Chris' legs. Their tongues curl and Karl sucks and pulls and when Chris feels the edge of teeth on his bottom lip, his hands clench needy and now in Karl's shirt. Without thinking, he follows when Karl shifts away, mouth still open and eyes unfocused beneath heavy lids. Karl's smile is so filthy and dirty, Chris feels utterly hunted.
His stomach pulls in as Karl slides a hand beneath his stupid, ratty Stripes t-shirt. Chris has nowhere to go except backwards into the headboard, or forward into a touch like molasses, and the smooth heat curling in his gut spreads licks of flames all the way down to the arches of his feet. As the fabric is pulled up and over Chris' head, Karl's thumb makes friends with his nipple and it's great.
"Good form." Chris is kind of in love with the way Karl's tongue rounds out the 'r', lips quirking on the double 'o' and Chris blesses the English language.
"Thank you."
Because really, with fingernails scratching promises on his lower back, what else is he going to say?
Karl's shoulders are impossible under Chris' hands and he can't stop sweeping them across the muscled line of his neck, down to the divot of his collarbones that disappear under his wife beater. His mouth is an angry red from Chris' stubble and his irises are mere slivers of thundering green, nearly black. Chris would be stupid to tear his eyes away from the movement of tongue over lips, and his breath comes out as a shudder.
They make out for what feels like hours, Karl's solid frame cornering Chris into the headboard. His head is muddy with lust and by now the heat between his thighs is aching, cock pushing into the seam of his jeans. He wants but Karl is persistent in taking it slow, the painful kind of slow that makes his teeth ache and his calves burn.
But then, the heel of Karl's hands finds the bulge in Chris' pants, and his skull hits the headboard with a dull thud. It's not even a grip, just a barely-there massage that makes Chris feel like whining. He's stupid for finding it hot, because it's not so much that Karl's touching him but that he's touching him while wearing a fucking hemp bracelet his kid made for him, and Chris should be disturbed, but all he can think at the moment is comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon.
"You love it," Karl husks into the shell of Chris' ear. "You've no idea what you look like, sound like, begging for it like a whore." Apparently, the mindless, babbling litany in Chris' head is not entirely in his head. Like clockwork, Chris' hips push into Karl's hand and he's rewarded with a sharp nip to his earlobe, and seriously, Chris is going to burst open at his seams.
Then Karl, bless up, drags down the zipper and it's a relief Chris isn't often thankful for. He's going to chew his own lips off as Karl's breath is hot and teasing on the length of his dick. "Oh," Chris gasps, Karl's mouth wet and warm and slick around the head of his cock. Chris' fists make a sweaty, wrinkled mess in the fabric of their sheets and he feels like passing out, all this suction and tongue and don'tstopohmygodKarl.
His toes curl hard enough to break and his hips snap up, but what really gets him is how easily the muscles in Karl's forearm steel to hold him down to the bed. Chris flies apart on a guttural moan and Karl sucks him down, works him through with steady strokes of his hand. A moment later, he's too lazy to do anything but continue sprawling, bare and open and raw as Karl buries his nose in the gross, sweaty skin of his groin. The fingertip pressure to his perineum is too sensitive but he can't muster up enough energy to twist away, his cock twitching in hope. Karl's laugh vibrates all the way through his sternum, and Chris's grin could split open his face.
and this monstrosity
"Seriously?"
"What?" Chris swivels this way and that, twisting himself around to see the suit in every angle. Ugly royal blue velvet stares back at him, crinkling with each movement of his hips. Karl appreciates the view, don't get him wrong, but not even Chris' ass can make up for his fashion choices.
"Velvet?" Karl makes a face.
Chris stares at him in the mirror, bright blue eyes brighter from the almost purple suit. It's a nice effect, but still.
"I'm not one hundred percent in love with your tone right now, Karl," Chris says, jaw clenched as he smooths down the front of the jacket. The corner of Karl's mouth tics like he's going to laugh, but Chris keeps staring and it's getting kind of awkward.
"That's nice." Karl plants has palms on both armrests and pushes himself upwards, striding over to run his fingers beneath the collar of Chris' shirt. It's silk, which is a nice touch, and Karl has to admit the bow tie is kind of cute. "You look like Bob Barker's replacement for The Price is Right."
"Fuck you," Chris says, but it's without venom and he's staring at Karl's mouth. Hands broad like paws curve over Karl's hips, pulling him flush against Chris. Karl raises an eyebrow and straightens the bow tie.
"You'd regret it. Might wrinkle the velvet." Karl smiles, pats Chris' cheek. He starts to pull away, but Chris' grip tightens and his pupils widen.
"Like you care. You seem to hate it." It's shameless, the way their eyes follow the path of tongues over chapped lips, starting a slow rock of hips that's not nearly enough to get them anywhere but frustrated. Karl leans in, tilts his head and lowers his eyelashes in a way that makes Chris feel short of breath, suddenly constricted by his collar. Everything is touching but their mouths and it's awful, Chris wants to kiss him now but the stupid Kiwi bitch just grins and says low and husky,
"You should get going."
Chris has an excellent idea of which direction Karl should be going (it's south), but a glance over Karl's head at the clock tells Chris it's true. Pulling a face, Chris reluctantly untangles himself from Karl and finishes buttoning the suit jacket.
"You better get your mouth ready for when I get back," he retorts, jabbing a finger into Karl's chest.
In response, Karl sucks his lower lip into said mouth and flutters his eyelashes. Chris blinks, flips him the bird, and leaves. oh and this too ----> lol genderbend