Licorice 10
Author: sunsetsinthewes
Challenge: Licorice 10. Everywhere that Mary went
Extra: Sprinkles
Word Count: 1166
Rating: NC-17 (for good ol' fashion porn)
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Creation of a Multiverse.
Summary: Unable to resist and deny himself any longer, Owen pays an unannounced visit to a friend.
Notes: This takes place in October of 1984, when Owen is twenty. Hunter is a college friend of Owen's, and is nothing more than a one-shot character. He may or may not have feelings for Owen (he won't tell me), but he does care deeply for his friend. He is also one of the few out students at this particular college. If you have any questions about anything or anyone, feel free to ask.
***
There are moments, Owen knows, that while trivial and innocuous on their own, have the power to completely alter a person. They are events so unwittingly singular and particular that they reshape an entire life in an instant. From that point forward, everything changes.
Standing in front of Hunter’s dormroom, insistently pounding on the door, Owen knows that his actions in the next few minutes will determine if this is one of those moments.
There’s a muffled yell followed by a shuffling sound and then Hunter’s swinging the door open, grinning wide in the unashamed way he has. “Hey! Owen, great, I was just gonna call you. My dad sent me a few more boxes of books, if you and Eliz--”
As if he’s watching someone else, Owen shoves his way into the room and slams the door shut. He takes a few tense seconds to size up the situation before hurling himself across the room and pinning Hunter to the wall. Fisting the sweater beneath his palms, he leans in for a deep, bruising kiss. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, no gentle touches that ask permission-- just cold, hard demands.
It takes longer than he expects for Hunter to shove him away, wiping his mouth and gasping, “What the hell, man? Just-- what the hell?”
“Please,” Owen cracks out. “I can’t take it anymore.” He doesn’t bother to mask his emotions, sure that the depth of his desperation is plain as day. Stepping forward, he captures the back of Hunter’s head and roughly pulls their bodies together. As he moves to press their lips together once more, he murmurs, “Please.”
This time there’s little resistance, and after a guise of debate, Hunter reciprocates. He allows Owen to deepen the kiss, one hand on his hip while the other curls in his hair. They stay like that for some time, exploring each other’s mouths while their hands restlessly skim over firm muscles and soft skin. Little sound passes between them as they simply experience being with one another, until Owen impatiently tugs on Hunter’s sweater and loudly gasps.
They part only long enough for Hunter to end up bare-chested, slamming into one another for a sloppy, frantic kiss. Owen’s hands are flat against Hunter, absentmindedly pinching and scratching. When he lightly scrapes a fingernail across a pert nipple, the groan he receives in response is enough to drive him wild.
Owen shoves Hunter onto the bed without any notice, straddling him and breaking lip contact to suck and nip along hot, salty skin. He doesn’t bother to be cautious and marks Hunter’s neck and chest with abandon, unable to control himself in the slightest. A particularly vicious bite to the collarbone drags out a heady cry from Hunter and he snaps his hips upward, pushing their crotches together.
At that first feeling of solid, firm heat rubbing against his own erection, unbearably erotic even through layers of fabric separating them, Owen is in very real danger of coming right then and there. He digs his nails into Hunter’s chest and tosses his head back, moaning and thrusting downward to get more of that oh fuck so good sensation. Quickly becoming lost in the pleasure, he grinds their cocks together with enough force to be just this side of painful.
Hunter clamps his hands on Owen’s hips and gathers enough strength to hold him still, gasping, “Wait. Wait, just-- just hold on.”
Owen whimpers-- an actual whimper, and he’d be embarrassed about that if he still had the ability to think-- and rocks forward in a fruitless attempt to carry on. A few seconds of utter torture follow while Hunter firmly keeps Owen immobile before he hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. Then there’s a blessed hand fumbling at the front of Owen’s pants and his own zipper is pulled down and suddenly his boxers are being shoved aside and oh my fucking god.
By the time Owen is able to focus on anything other than the glorious fist that’s wrapped around him, Hunter’s managed to shove their clothes out of the way just far enough to take their cocks in his grip. The sight of Hunter working his hand over the both of them nearly causes Owen’s eyes to roll back in his head. Briefly, he thinks about contributing, reciprocating in some way, and desperately tries to think of something. But then Hunter starts thrusting again, wickedly dragging his shaft against Owen’s, and the unique feeling of skin-on-skin consumes him entirely.
In minutes they’re both hurtling toward the edge-- Hunter speeds up his strokes, deftly twisting his wrist and dragging a thumb across the tips of their cocks. Owen’s steadily leaking at this point, practically rutting into Hunter’s grasp, clutching at the bedspread as though hanging on for dear life. Hunter teases his slit, spreading the pre-come, and Owen arches and heedlessly cries out loud enough for the entire floor to hear.
It’s Hunter who finishes first. His strokes falter as he groans, jerking beneath Owen and coming hard. The sight is the single most arousing thing Owen has ever seen in real life and he wantonly continues, grinding his cock into the mess rapidly cooling on Hunter’s groin. The realization that the wet stickiness is Hunter’s come, that he’s fucking Hunter’s release, tips him over the edge and sending a powerful burst of pleasure throughout his body as he orgasms harder than he ever before.
Before even the twitching aftershocks have finished, he’s vividly aware that he has just committed the single worst act of his life. He’s disgusted, he’s revolted, he’s nauseated, and he’s nothing more than a depraved sinner-- and despite all these things, despite the sharp guilt and self-loathing, Owen has never felt anything to be so right.
He can’t stop the tears once they start, the sobs wracking his body hard enough to shake the bed. The thought that all the spiritual blood and sweat he’s poured into his own slim chance at salvation was so easily tossed away in a moment of despicable weakness cuts him like a knife. His chest feels shattered, his stomach lurches with self-hatred, and he simply cries harder because he’d give anything to do it all again.
Hunter averts his eyes from the spectacle beside him, his entire body tensing. It’s difficult to tell if he’s angry, devastated, or just exasperated until he gently murmurs, “Go home, Owen. Just... just go find Elizabeth and go home.”
Owen flinches as though he’s been physically struck. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he imagines Elizabeth’s trusting smile. After a sluggish recover, he nods and stumbles to his feet. “H-Hunter--”
“Don’t. Just... don’t. We both knew what we were doing.” Here, Hunter allows their eyes to meet and the pain Owen glimpses is enough to stop his heart. “And we both know you can’t do this.”
There’s nothing to be said or done-- he has no right to plead for forgiveness or confess his wrongdoings. So when Owen leaves, firmly closing the door behind him, it’s without a single word.
***
Challenge: Licorice 10. Everywhere that Mary went
Extra: Sprinkles
Word Count: 1166
Rating: NC-17 (for good ol' fashion porn)
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Creation of a Multiverse.
Summary: Unable to resist and deny himself any longer, Owen pays an unannounced visit to a friend.
Notes: This takes place in October of 1984, when Owen is twenty. Hunter is a college friend of Owen's, and is nothing more than a one-shot character. He may or may not have feelings for Owen (he won't tell me), but he does care deeply for his friend. He is also one of the few out students at this particular college. If you have any questions about anything or anyone, feel free to ask.
***
There are moments, Owen knows, that while trivial and innocuous on their own, have the power to completely alter a person. They are events so unwittingly singular and particular that they reshape an entire life in an instant. From that point forward, everything changes.
Standing in front of Hunter’s dormroom, insistently pounding on the door, Owen knows that his actions in the next few minutes will determine if this is one of those moments.
There’s a muffled yell followed by a shuffling sound and then Hunter’s swinging the door open, grinning wide in the unashamed way he has. “Hey! Owen, great, I was just gonna call you. My dad sent me a few more boxes of books, if you and Eliz--”
As if he’s watching someone else, Owen shoves his way into the room and slams the door shut. He takes a few tense seconds to size up the situation before hurling himself across the room and pinning Hunter to the wall. Fisting the sweater beneath his palms, he leans in for a deep, bruising kiss. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, no gentle touches that ask permission-- just cold, hard demands.
It takes longer than he expects for Hunter to shove him away, wiping his mouth and gasping, “What the hell, man? Just-- what the hell?”
“Please,” Owen cracks out. “I can’t take it anymore.” He doesn’t bother to mask his emotions, sure that the depth of his desperation is plain as day. Stepping forward, he captures the back of Hunter’s head and roughly pulls their bodies together. As he moves to press their lips together once more, he murmurs, “Please.”
This time there’s little resistance, and after a guise of debate, Hunter reciprocates. He allows Owen to deepen the kiss, one hand on his hip while the other curls in his hair. They stay like that for some time, exploring each other’s mouths while their hands restlessly skim over firm muscles and soft skin. Little sound passes between them as they simply experience being with one another, until Owen impatiently tugs on Hunter’s sweater and loudly gasps.
They part only long enough for Hunter to end up bare-chested, slamming into one another for a sloppy, frantic kiss. Owen’s hands are flat against Hunter, absentmindedly pinching and scratching. When he lightly scrapes a fingernail across a pert nipple, the groan he receives in response is enough to drive him wild.
Owen shoves Hunter onto the bed without any notice, straddling him and breaking lip contact to suck and nip along hot, salty skin. He doesn’t bother to be cautious and marks Hunter’s neck and chest with abandon, unable to control himself in the slightest. A particularly vicious bite to the collarbone drags out a heady cry from Hunter and he snaps his hips upward, pushing their crotches together.
At that first feeling of solid, firm heat rubbing against his own erection, unbearably erotic even through layers of fabric separating them, Owen is in very real danger of coming right then and there. He digs his nails into Hunter’s chest and tosses his head back, moaning and thrusting downward to get more of that oh fuck so good sensation. Quickly becoming lost in the pleasure, he grinds their cocks together with enough force to be just this side of painful.
Hunter clamps his hands on Owen’s hips and gathers enough strength to hold him still, gasping, “Wait. Wait, just-- just hold on.”
Owen whimpers-- an actual whimper, and he’d be embarrassed about that if he still had the ability to think-- and rocks forward in a fruitless attempt to carry on. A few seconds of utter torture follow while Hunter firmly keeps Owen immobile before he hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. Then there’s a blessed hand fumbling at the front of Owen’s pants and his own zipper is pulled down and suddenly his boxers are being shoved aside and oh my fucking god.
By the time Owen is able to focus on anything other than the glorious fist that’s wrapped around him, Hunter’s managed to shove their clothes out of the way just far enough to take their cocks in his grip. The sight of Hunter working his hand over the both of them nearly causes Owen’s eyes to roll back in his head. Briefly, he thinks about contributing, reciprocating in some way, and desperately tries to think of something. But then Hunter starts thrusting again, wickedly dragging his shaft against Owen’s, and the unique feeling of skin-on-skin consumes him entirely.
In minutes they’re both hurtling toward the edge-- Hunter speeds up his strokes, deftly twisting his wrist and dragging a thumb across the tips of their cocks. Owen’s steadily leaking at this point, practically rutting into Hunter’s grasp, clutching at the bedspread as though hanging on for dear life. Hunter teases his slit, spreading the pre-come, and Owen arches and heedlessly cries out loud enough for the entire floor to hear.
It’s Hunter who finishes first. His strokes falter as he groans, jerking beneath Owen and coming hard. The sight is the single most arousing thing Owen has ever seen in real life and he wantonly continues, grinding his cock into the mess rapidly cooling on Hunter’s groin. The realization that the wet stickiness is Hunter’s come, that he’s fucking Hunter’s release, tips him over the edge and sending a powerful burst of pleasure throughout his body as he orgasms harder than he ever before.
Before even the twitching aftershocks have finished, he’s vividly aware that he has just committed the single worst act of his life. He’s disgusted, he’s revolted, he’s nauseated, and he’s nothing more than a depraved sinner-- and despite all these things, despite the sharp guilt and self-loathing, Owen has never felt anything to be so right.
He can’t stop the tears once they start, the sobs wracking his body hard enough to shake the bed. The thought that all the spiritual blood and sweat he’s poured into his own slim chance at salvation was so easily tossed away in a moment of despicable weakness cuts him like a knife. His chest feels shattered, his stomach lurches with self-hatred, and he simply cries harder because he’d give anything to do it all again.
Hunter averts his eyes from the spectacle beside him, his entire body tensing. It’s difficult to tell if he’s angry, devastated, or just exasperated until he gently murmurs, “Go home, Owen. Just... just go find Elizabeth and go home.”
Owen flinches as though he’s been physically struck. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he imagines Elizabeth’s trusting smile. After a sluggish recover, he nods and stumbles to his feet. “H-Hunter--”
“Don’t. Just... don’t. We both knew what we were doing.” Here, Hunter allows their eyes to meet and the pain Owen glimpses is enough to stop his heart. “And we both know you can’t do this.”
There’s nothing to be said or done-- he has no right to plead for forgiveness or confess his wrongdoings. So when Owen leaves, firmly closing the door behind him, it’s without a single word.
***