The Dark Is Rising: Will Stanton/Bran Davies, five senses: taste
Title: Unguarded
Author/Artist: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Theme: Taste
Rating: NC17
Being an Old One didn't help much in the grand scheme of things. When Bran pinned him down, looking down at him with his bright eyes, Will didn't really know what to do. He was thankful that Bran fumbled as much as he did, and even more grateful when Bran breathlessly reassured him that yeah, his da was already out and far away. It felt like there was too much to do, too much to process -- the skin of Bran's neck, pale and arched under his mouth's assault, tasted of soap, mostly, with a hint of salt from sweat, that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Bran's mouth tasted like a thousand things, mostly toothpaste.
Moving down Bran's body, kissing at his chest, pausing to tease at a nipple -- there was something delicious about the way he writhed a little, impatient and overeager, his eyes bright, his hands touching, holding, restless and wanting. Brighter than his eyes, though, was the thought Will had -- he's mine, forever, even if it wasn't entirely true.
He'd never done this before, and he was nervous -- his hands on Bran's hips faltered just a little as he leaned in, taking Bran's cock into his mouth, and his heart was hammering. But... it was Bran, the Bran he knew and -- and loved. He couldn't feel too insecure with that. And then there were the sounds Bran was making, moans and little stifled breathy noises and Will's name, and Bran's fingers restlessly running through his hair, Bran arching up under his hands, wanting more.
Will didn't like the taste of Bran's come much, too salty-bitter, but he didn't spit it out, just swallowed quickly and wiped his mouth hastily, making a note to brush his teeth as soon as possible. Bran looked up at him, eyes wild, hair more dishevelled now, his smile unguarded and just a little smug.
Will couldn't bear the thought of losing Bran, of losing this. Somehow, he told himself, he'd figure it out so he didn't have to. For the moment, though -- there were things to be done: touching and tasting, listening to Bran's moans, watching him flush and squirm again, and laying close afterwards, smelling soap and shampoo and sweat.
Author/Artist: shanaqui/edenbound (ficjournal)
Theme: Taste
Rating: NC17
Being an Old One didn't help much in the grand scheme of things. When Bran pinned him down, looking down at him with his bright eyes, Will didn't really know what to do. He was thankful that Bran fumbled as much as he did, and even more grateful when Bran breathlessly reassured him that yeah, his da was already out and far away. It felt like there was too much to do, too much to process -- the skin of Bran's neck, pale and arched under his mouth's assault, tasted of soap, mostly, with a hint of salt from sweat, that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Bran's mouth tasted like a thousand things, mostly toothpaste.
Moving down Bran's body, kissing at his chest, pausing to tease at a nipple -- there was something delicious about the way he writhed a little, impatient and overeager, his eyes bright, his hands touching, holding, restless and wanting. Brighter than his eyes, though, was the thought Will had -- he's mine, forever, even if it wasn't entirely true.
He'd never done this before, and he was nervous -- his hands on Bran's hips faltered just a little as he leaned in, taking Bran's cock into his mouth, and his heart was hammering. But... it was Bran, the Bran he knew and -- and loved. He couldn't feel too insecure with that. And then there were the sounds Bran was making, moans and little stifled breathy noises and Will's name, and Bran's fingers restlessly running through his hair, Bran arching up under his hands, wanting more.
Will didn't like the taste of Bran's come much, too salty-bitter, but he didn't spit it out, just swallowed quickly and wiped his mouth hastily, making a note to brush his teeth as soon as possible. Bran looked up at him, eyes wild, hair more dishevelled now, his smile unguarded and just a little smug.
Will couldn't bear the thought of losing Bran, of losing this. Somehow, he told himself, he'd figure it out so he didn't have to. For the moment, though -- there were things to be done: touching and tasting, listening to Bran's moans, watching him flush and squirm again, and laying close afterwards, smelling soap and shampoo and sweat.