Hey does anybody remember Eerie, Indiana?
Yes? Good for you. Guess what... I wrote gay porn for it!
Oy.
Well, at least I tried.
Written for Porn Battle VII
This is my very porniest fic to date. Please keep that in mind.
For those who are curious, this is Marshall/Dash
It's color black or tawny
Disclaimer - I don not own these characters. I am poor. Damn it.
“Get off me.” Marshall’s voice is low and breathless, which is all due to landing hard on his back while diving to escape a rampaging yale, of all things. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact of Dash having landed on top of him after his own dive, and remaining there heavy and warm, and yet to move.
Dash’s eyes move from where they had been scanning the horizon for any sign of the yale and it’s very, very sharp horns returning, to meet Marshall’s. Marshall takes a deep breath and it has nothing to do with the fact of Dash’s pupils being blown wide, almost entirely black, and everything to do with the continued need for oxygen.
Then Dash grins.
“You really want me to get off, Mars?”
His voice is low and gravelly, and oh God, this is not the time for him to remember the last time he heard Dash’s voice that way. Not the time to remember how they’d been last night, after planning and sniping all day, on how to catch the fucking yale. How after they’d banged out the details, Dash had pulled him to the bedroom so Marshall could bang him. How Dash had pulled him down, put his lips to Marshall’s ear and between kissing the shell and biting and sucking the lobe, how he’d growled faster, and harder, and fuck yes into Marshall’s ear as Marshall had fucked him hard and deep and slick.
Marshall takes a deep breath, and pushes at Dash’s shoulders. “Yes.”
Dash knocks his hands away easily, leans down, grabs Marshall hair and kisses him. With teeth. Marshall kisses back, sticks his tongue in Dash’s mouth, sucks hard on Dash’s tongue in his. He’s panting and breathless when they break the kiss, and hard as fucking diamond. He is also still on his back in Old Mr. Laughlin’s bushes, and it’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning.
“Dash. We have to get out of the bushes, and catch the yale.”
Dash pouts, and Marshall wishes he had a camera because without photographic proof Dash will deny the very idea that his can form the expression. Still, he levers himself up and off of Marshall, and Marshall clambers to his own feet. He takes one more long look at Dash, and turns in the last direction he saw the yale running.
“You realize that tonight I’m not putting out right? You have just turned down all possible sex for a twenty-four hour period to chase a frickin’ horse with horns.”
Marshall turns around, still running, and grins, “Liar.”
His last thing he sees before rounding the corner is Dash flipping him off. Marshall laughs.
Thank you for your time. Please remember that feedback is a wonderful thing, as is concrit. Flames are not.
Oy.
Well, at least I tried.
Written for Porn Battle VII
This is my very porniest fic to date. Please keep that in mind.
For those who are curious, this is Marshall/Dash
It's color black or tawny
Disclaimer - I don not own these characters. I am poor. Damn it.
“Get off me.” Marshall’s voice is low and breathless, which is all due to landing hard on his back while diving to escape a rampaging yale, of all things. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact of Dash having landed on top of him after his own dive, and remaining there heavy and warm, and yet to move.
Dash’s eyes move from where they had been scanning the horizon for any sign of the yale and it’s very, very sharp horns returning, to meet Marshall’s. Marshall takes a deep breath and it has nothing to do with the fact of Dash’s pupils being blown wide, almost entirely black, and everything to do with the continued need for oxygen.
Then Dash grins.
“You really want me to get off, Mars?”
His voice is low and gravelly, and oh God, this is not the time for him to remember the last time he heard Dash’s voice that way. Not the time to remember how they’d been last night, after planning and sniping all day, on how to catch the fucking yale. How after they’d banged out the details, Dash had pulled him to the bedroom so Marshall could bang him. How Dash had pulled him down, put his lips to Marshall’s ear and between kissing the shell and biting and sucking the lobe, how he’d growled faster, and harder, and fuck yes into Marshall’s ear as Marshall had fucked him hard and deep and slick.
Marshall takes a deep breath, and pushes at Dash’s shoulders. “Yes.”
Dash knocks his hands away easily, leans down, grabs Marshall hair and kisses him. With teeth. Marshall kisses back, sticks his tongue in Dash’s mouth, sucks hard on Dash’s tongue in his. He’s panting and breathless when they break the kiss, and hard as fucking diamond. He is also still on his back in Old Mr. Laughlin’s bushes, and it’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning.
“Dash. We have to get out of the bushes, and catch the yale.”
Dash pouts, and Marshall wishes he had a camera because without photographic proof Dash will deny the very idea that his can form the expression. Still, he levers himself up and off of Marshall, and Marshall clambers to his own feet. He takes one more long look at Dash, and turns in the last direction he saw the yale running.
“You realize that tonight I’m not putting out right? You have just turned down all possible sex for a twenty-four hour period to chase a frickin’ horse with horns.”
Marshall turns around, still running, and grins, “Liar.”
His last thing he sees before rounding the corner is Dash flipping him off. Marshall laughs.
Thank you for your time. Please remember that feedback is a wonderful thing, as is concrit. Flames are not.