Pick-A-Porn: Round Three
For inlovewithnight -
John/Carolyn
John is having a hard time believing this is his life.
Not because he’s hooked up with an old friend again and there are sparks that he’s not quite ready to acknowledge due to the fact that he has a long-term girlfriend he loves very much and he hadn’t thought about fucking guys for a long time before Carolyn, but because his girlfriend - his very sexy, very hot, very feminine girlfriend (if you don’t count the whole castrating bitch nickname her co-workers have given her) is standing in front of him wearing black thigh high stockings, a black leather bra and a fucking dark purple strap-on and he’s on his knees, a breath away from sucking her off.
Carolyn’s eyes are dark with power, and John can feel it vibrating on her skin as he strokes her thighs, taking his time and licking the head of the dildo. She makes a sound low in her throat and he traces the ridge of the head, old habits coming back in a rush, remembering the power he always feels like this.
“Want me to fuck you, John?” Her voice is a purr of lust, hungry and thick and he shudders and takes the dildo deep. The gag reflex flares up, but he suppresses it, pulling back and taking it slower, lips and mouth and tongue working in concert. He holds her still, hands curved around her slip hips and takes it deep again, pressing it against her and knowing without her saying a word that it’s hard against her clit. “Or do you want Kevin inside you?”
He groans, can’t help it. Carolyn knows every button to push and does it with a sick sort of glee, and he takes the dildo deeper still. He can feel it, wet and slick and can imagine it buried in his ass, Carolyn’s sleek body against his like a cat. She laughs and the sound sends a ricochet of shivers along his spine, his cock pushing hard at his jeans, straining the faded denim. “Or maybe you should suck him off while I fuck you.”
“C-Caro…” He can’t go any further, as she thrusts forward, sliding deep again. John slips his hands between her legs, fingers feeling wet flesh and then heat as he fucks her, matching the thrust of his fingers with the thrust of her hips, sucking her and fucking her until she shudders, moaning his name as she comes.
For grammarwoman -
Helo/Kara
Demetrius is like an oven baking sweat and flesh and shit; it’s a festering sore that spews pus and blood. Kara runs the point of the protractor along her bicep, watching the red line come up on her flesh, the light glistening off the raised skin and perspiration. She’s immune to the smell now, immune to it all. She just wants the pain in her head to coalesce into the path to earth, a glowing arrow pointing the way home.
The door opens and she expects Sam, but instead the shadow falls longer and darker, and the need to frak rather than fight isn’t quite as intense. She turns her head and looks at Helo, her blonde hair falling damp and ragged in her face. “I didn’t call for you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here anyway.” Helo spins a chair from the table and sits in it, legs spread. There’s no protocol here, no rules and regs. It’s just sweat and anger, building up to lethal levels. He grabs her hand and jerks her over to him, letting her sprawl across his body, slick skin sliding like a match on a rough surface, starting fires. Athena’s playing peacekeeper, and Seelix is riding the line to mutiny and Helo wants them all to shut the frak up. “Frak me.”
“What?” She doesn’t pull away from him, her breath hotter than her skin, than their skin pressed together. “That how you talk to your commanding officer, Agathon?”
“Frak me. Sir.” He kisses her hard, biting her lower lip and tasting spit and sweat and salt and frustration. There are fires banked on the ship, waiting for a single spark to fly out and ignite it all, make them combust until there’s nothing left but ashes. Kara groans in his mouth and reaches between them, undoing her pants, undoing his.
He stands up, holding her against him, pushing until they’re both down to nothing but wet tanks and skin and he slides inside her, settling back on the chair. Kara’s knees dig into his thighs as she moves, wild and crazed, frakking him like there’s no tomorrow.
Helo doesn’t complain. He thinks she might be right.
For elly427 -
Katee/Jamie
The set is different nowadays, and it’s not just the fact that things are ending. That’s part of it, of course. They’re something of a family together now, knowing too many secrets, but more it’s that the show has taken them off in different directions in the script and in shooting. Katee hasn’t seen Tricia in ages, and Jamie seems like a distant sort of memory. Still, she goes through the paces - almost done, she reminds herself, shivering slightly at the thought of next and the unknown - surprised when they lead her here, staring up at Jamie as he comes off the set into the dark hallway where she’s standing.
“Jamie.”
He nods and swallows, and his eyes fall on her like a starving man on food, devouring her. Her body reacts, breath catching and blood flooding through her. “Hullo, Katee.”
She takes a step back and he follows her, no one around them in the darkness as the set is killed, the floodlights and filters going dark. His hands feel right as they touch her bare shoulders, damp with simulated sweat, sticky with it. She slides her hands beneath his suit jacket and over his shirt, and it feels wrong somehow. She’s used to pilots gear and overlays of tank tops, not real clothes, the kind that seem like everyday life, like real life. “Jamie.”
He kisses her, and it’s like coming home, this is home to her, this slide of skin and bodies, this heat of his mouth and the press of his tongue. His hands touch her, stealing under her clothes and she moans into his kiss, hooking a leg around the back of his. He presses her harder against the wall and she can feel him against her, hard and desperate as he thrusts against her. She breaks the kiss, gasping for air and pulling away. Jamie’s eyes are too dark to see, just black hollows that could hold anything she wanted.
“My trailer.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and they make their way through twists and turns of the studio she knows better than her apartment to the bed she thinks of as theirs, the one where they’ve done things they wanted, things they shouldn’t, and all the things she’s going to miss when it’s gone.
John/Carolyn
John is having a hard time believing this is his life.
Not because he’s hooked up with an old friend again and there are sparks that he’s not quite ready to acknowledge due to the fact that he has a long-term girlfriend he loves very much and he hadn’t thought about fucking guys for a long time before Carolyn, but because his girlfriend - his very sexy, very hot, very feminine girlfriend (if you don’t count the whole castrating bitch nickname her co-workers have given her) is standing in front of him wearing black thigh high stockings, a black leather bra and a fucking dark purple strap-on and he’s on his knees, a breath away from sucking her off.
Carolyn’s eyes are dark with power, and John can feel it vibrating on her skin as he strokes her thighs, taking his time and licking the head of the dildo. She makes a sound low in her throat and he traces the ridge of the head, old habits coming back in a rush, remembering the power he always feels like this.
“Want me to fuck you, John?” Her voice is a purr of lust, hungry and thick and he shudders and takes the dildo deep. The gag reflex flares up, but he suppresses it, pulling back and taking it slower, lips and mouth and tongue working in concert. He holds her still, hands curved around her slip hips and takes it deep again, pressing it against her and knowing without her saying a word that it’s hard against her clit. “Or do you want Kevin inside you?”
He groans, can’t help it. Carolyn knows every button to push and does it with a sick sort of glee, and he takes the dildo deeper still. He can feel it, wet and slick and can imagine it buried in his ass, Carolyn’s sleek body against his like a cat. She laughs and the sound sends a ricochet of shivers along his spine, his cock pushing hard at his jeans, straining the faded denim. “Or maybe you should suck him off while I fuck you.”
“C-Caro…” He can’t go any further, as she thrusts forward, sliding deep again. John slips his hands between her legs, fingers feeling wet flesh and then heat as he fucks her, matching the thrust of his fingers with the thrust of her hips, sucking her and fucking her until she shudders, moaning his name as she comes.
For grammarwoman -
Helo/Kara
Demetrius is like an oven baking sweat and flesh and shit; it’s a festering sore that spews pus and blood. Kara runs the point of the protractor along her bicep, watching the red line come up on her flesh, the light glistening off the raised skin and perspiration. She’s immune to the smell now, immune to it all. She just wants the pain in her head to coalesce into the path to earth, a glowing arrow pointing the way home.
The door opens and she expects Sam, but instead the shadow falls longer and darker, and the need to frak rather than fight isn’t quite as intense. She turns her head and looks at Helo, her blonde hair falling damp and ragged in her face. “I didn’t call for you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here anyway.” Helo spins a chair from the table and sits in it, legs spread. There’s no protocol here, no rules and regs. It’s just sweat and anger, building up to lethal levels. He grabs her hand and jerks her over to him, letting her sprawl across his body, slick skin sliding like a match on a rough surface, starting fires. Athena’s playing peacekeeper, and Seelix is riding the line to mutiny and Helo wants them all to shut the frak up. “Frak me.”
“What?” She doesn’t pull away from him, her breath hotter than her skin, than their skin pressed together. “That how you talk to your commanding officer, Agathon?”
“Frak me. Sir.” He kisses her hard, biting her lower lip and tasting spit and sweat and salt and frustration. There are fires banked on the ship, waiting for a single spark to fly out and ignite it all, make them combust until there’s nothing left but ashes. Kara groans in his mouth and reaches between them, undoing her pants, undoing his.
He stands up, holding her against him, pushing until they’re both down to nothing but wet tanks and skin and he slides inside her, settling back on the chair. Kara’s knees dig into his thighs as she moves, wild and crazed, frakking him like there’s no tomorrow.
Helo doesn’t complain. He thinks she might be right.
For elly427 -
Katee/Jamie
The set is different nowadays, and it’s not just the fact that things are ending. That’s part of it, of course. They’re something of a family together now, knowing too many secrets, but more it’s that the show has taken them off in different directions in the script and in shooting. Katee hasn’t seen Tricia in ages, and Jamie seems like a distant sort of memory. Still, she goes through the paces - almost done, she reminds herself, shivering slightly at the thought of next and the unknown - surprised when they lead her here, staring up at Jamie as he comes off the set into the dark hallway where she’s standing.
“Jamie.”
He nods and swallows, and his eyes fall on her like a starving man on food, devouring her. Her body reacts, breath catching and blood flooding through her. “Hullo, Katee.”
She takes a step back and he follows her, no one around them in the darkness as the set is killed, the floodlights and filters going dark. His hands feel right as they touch her bare shoulders, damp with simulated sweat, sticky with it. She slides her hands beneath his suit jacket and over his shirt, and it feels wrong somehow. She’s used to pilots gear and overlays of tank tops, not real clothes, the kind that seem like everyday life, like real life. “Jamie.”
He kisses her, and it’s like coming home, this is home to her, this slide of skin and bodies, this heat of his mouth and the press of his tongue. His hands touch her, stealing under her clothes and she moans into his kiss, hooking a leg around the back of his. He presses her harder against the wall and she can feel him against her, hard and desperate as he thrusts against her. She breaks the kiss, gasping for air and pulling away. Jamie’s eyes are too dark to see, just black hollows that could hold anything she wanted.
“My trailer.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and they make their way through twists and turns of the studio she knows better than her apartment to the bed she thinks of as theirs, the one where they’ve done things they wanted, things they shouldn’t, and all the things she’s going to miss when it’s gone.