Rule 34 Meme
This was dev_chieftain's idea but she didn't want this on her journal so I volunteered to host it.
1. If you know something (a person, pairing, threesome, etc) that you think might break Rule 34* (would help if you actually wanted to see it), post it here.
2. Then, wait for comments (comment on someone else's request while you wait, if you want!) to roll in.
( Read more... )
1. If you know something (a person, pairing, threesome, etc) that you think might break Rule 34* (would help if you actually wanted to see it), post it here.
2. Then, wait for comments (comment on someone else's request while you wait, if you want!) to roll in.
( Read more... )
"Ah," Rastus cooed into his lover's spongy yet-slightly-crisp shoulder, his billowy white toque askew as he further explored the muscular man-terrain of his counterpart, ignoring the progressively syrupy feel of sweat and powdered sugar about his nether regions.
---
It seemed so simple, at first. Inconsequential, even innocent. A shuddering of sweetened crumbs scraped off the cold blade of a butter knife, a simple projectile raisin aimed coyly at the placid, warm surface of a bowl of boiled farina. It was breakfast, then. Something light to get you through the morning. Something you wouldn't miss too much if you were late to work and had to make do with a vending machine coffee. Breakfast. But like breakfast, it woke him up. Rastus had never known anything like being with him. Not with Jemima or Betty Crocker before her. Not even with Little Debbie, with all her forbidden, eager, stupid youth.
He had never known anyone at all like Toast, really, with his cocky grin and superhero's chin cleft. And that Herculean physique. A man like Toast consumed his senses --that unique musk of his that combined flatulence, sugar and slightly burnt sandwich bread, the feel of that rough grain of naked toast-flesh under his greedy, searching hands, the sparkle and taste (but mostly taste) of powdered sugar that clung to every well-formed arch of muscle no matter how deep Rastus's tongue explored. Didn't hurt that he could fly, either. Not even Tony the Tiger, with all his egotistical machismo could have given Rastus the thrill of a good fart-propelled sky-fuck.
----
Rastus groaned and threw his head back, rocking into Toast over and over. Globs of crusted-over farina spattered the sheets, a testament to their many epic marathons of love-making. Toast gritted his teeth as he came, half a dozen slices of piping-hot Wonderbread scattering over Rastus's sweat-slick chest as the spent hero collapsed into lover's eager embrace.
It was beyond breakfast now, --beyond lunch and beyond dinner. Beyond even a midnight snack. This was compulsion, this was gluttony, in the biblical sense, tempting and wrong and sinful and yet---
D:
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STILL, POWDERED TOAST MAN/RASTUS OTP 4EVA.
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