fiction: hours of devours (Narnia RPS, Skandar/Will, NC17)
Title: hours of devours
Author: exitsign (girlcalledjane @ yahoo.com)
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia RPS
Character/Pairing: Skandar Keynes/William Moseley
Rating: NC17
Summary: Skandar, Will, and the recreational misuse of wardrobe items. 800 words (6/11/06)
Disclaimer: Every single word of this is a horrible, terrible, awful lying lie. This never happened, it never will, I claim nothing of the sort. No money being made, no harm intended.
Feedback: Feedback (general or con-crit) is always welcome.
Spoilers: In my head this is during filming of Prince Caspian but, my god, my head is fucked up.
Warnings: REAL PEOPLE. MALE/MALE. GRAPHIC UNDERAGE SEX. PERHAPS A BIT KINKY DUE TO THE SOCKS. DID I MENTION THE UNDERAGE BIT? REALLY.
Author's note: In for a penny, right? Might as well just make it filthy if I'm going to do it at all. I have no excuse for myself and I won't even begin to say that I have even an ounce of shame. PORN. OH, PORN, YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS ME. Thanks to carleton97 for read over. Here's to hoping the costume people see fit to put Skandar in short pants again.
- - - -
paints my taste on his face/i'm in disguise at this feast of ours/hours of devours
-- Auf der Maur, "Beast of Honor"
- - - -
Will likes it when he wears just his costume socks and shoes whenever they mess around. It turns Will on to see him propped up on his elbows and biting anxiously at his bottom lip like they've never done this before. Gets Will off to see him looking up through his lashes like he's shy or something, those stupid socks pulled up to his skinny, freckled knees and the heels of those awful shoes pressing into the edge of the mattress.
Skandar doesn't really see what the draw is meant to be, he personally thinks he looks an absolute twat, but he does it anyway, he doesn't mind. Because it gets Will all flushed and sweaty, makes his hands quick and rough and his mouth so, so wet. Because it's fucking perverse, filthy, utterly depraved.
Skandar likes depraved. He loves it, to be honest. Because it isn't normal, isn't boring, isn't so incredibly Will. Will could be so fucking boring most of the time, so proper and correct, so we mustn't, shouldn't, wouldn't you rather have some tea, Skandar? So there's something rather exciting about seeing Will's hands pushing his knees apart, eyes dark with lust and his mouth hanging open a bit, his hair a wreck from Skandar's frantic fingers. Something thrilling about watching Will's tongue slide up the inside of his thigh and Will's lips pressing a hard, closed-mouth kiss right where thigh meets body and Will's mouth slipping down over his cock.
Not that he watches much of that bit. Not that he can considering how brilliant it feels. Not that he can ever do anything but gasp and groan, pull at the sheet and let his head fall back as Will's tongue slips round the tip and presses down along the underside and teases at the slit. All sucking and sliding and slippery slick over and over until Skandar's sure he'll go mad from it before he'll ever come, until he's begging.
Will moans around his cock whenever he begs, like it's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard. Skandar can't see how it could be -- can't ever even manage to think about the completely stupid things that fall out of his mouth later without blushing and scowling, in fact. But there's no helping it, really. Not when he knows that it will get Will to suck him harder, faster, deeper, until he can't even breathe for how good it feels. Until he can't even think about anything but the tightness in his balls and rushing in his ears and the pounding in his chest and the ever-present scratch of wool socks round his calves.
Sometimes Will sucks him until he comes and sometimes Will doesn't. Sometimes Will pulls back, panting harsh and hot over his skin, and orders him to wank himself. He likes it better when Will doesn't stop, likes the way it feels to come in Will's mouth, likes it when Will swallows it, but he doesn't really mind the wanking that much. The look on Will's face when he does it is almost as good as the way his mouth feels. So he does it, untwists his fingers from the sheet beneath him or the pillow under his head and reaches down, wrapping them around his cock, still slick with Will's spit and so hard because Will always makes him so hard.
Will's fingers dig into the backs of his knees before he can even get a rhythm going, pushing his legs even further apart and then up, bending him at the middle until his arse is practically in the air, until Will can see everything, all there is to see. His face always burns later just thinking about it but it doesn't stop his gut from twisting hot at the memory of Will's face, the gleam to his eyes and the shine to his lips, the way he just stares. Stares at Skandar's face (twisted up with concentration) or his hand (fisting his cock roughly) or his arse (pale and exposed and perfectly untouched though not from lack of want) or the bands of stupid fucking socks pulled up tight just under his knees. Stares and stares and stares until Skandar is tensing up, gasping stupid and deep as he comes over his own fist, wet and warm and sticky, splattering onto his stomach and chest. Skandar doesn't know what it is that Will likes about watching him come like that, all awkward and bunched up, but he doesn't care either. Because, whatever it is, it's him -- it's Will looking at him. And that's all he's ever really wanted.
Will likes it when he wears just his costume socks and shoes whenever they mess around. Skandar secretly has a feeling that even if Will were to ask him to wear Georgie's costume he wouldn't mind.
end.
Author: exitsign (girlcalledjane @ yahoo.com)
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia RPS
Character/Pairing: Skandar Keynes/William Moseley
Rating: NC17
Summary: Skandar, Will, and the recreational misuse of wardrobe items. 800 words (6/11/06)
Disclaimer: Every single word of this is a horrible, terrible, awful lying lie. This never happened, it never will, I claim nothing of the sort. No money being made, no harm intended.
Feedback: Feedback (general or con-crit) is always welcome.
Spoilers: In my head this is during filming of Prince Caspian but, my god, my head is fucked up.
Warnings: REAL PEOPLE. MALE/MALE. GRAPHIC UNDERAGE SEX. PERHAPS A BIT KINKY DUE TO THE SOCKS. DID I MENTION THE UNDERAGE BIT? REALLY.
Author's note: In for a penny, right? Might as well just make it filthy if I'm going to do it at all. I have no excuse for myself and I won't even begin to say that I have even an ounce of shame. PORN. OH, PORN, YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS ME. Thanks to carleton97 for read over. Here's to hoping the costume people see fit to put Skandar in short pants again.
- - - -
paints my taste on his face/i'm in disguise at this feast of ours/hours of devours
-- Auf der Maur, "Beast of Honor"
- - - -
Will likes it when he wears just his costume socks and shoes whenever they mess around. It turns Will on to see him propped up on his elbows and biting anxiously at his bottom lip like they've never done this before. Gets Will off to see him looking up through his lashes like he's shy or something, those stupid socks pulled up to his skinny, freckled knees and the heels of those awful shoes pressing into the edge of the mattress.
Skandar doesn't really see what the draw is meant to be, he personally thinks he looks an absolute twat, but he does it anyway, he doesn't mind. Because it gets Will all flushed and sweaty, makes his hands quick and rough and his mouth so, so wet. Because it's fucking perverse, filthy, utterly depraved.
Skandar likes depraved. He loves it, to be honest. Because it isn't normal, isn't boring, isn't so incredibly Will. Will could be so fucking boring most of the time, so proper and correct, so we mustn't, shouldn't, wouldn't you rather have some tea, Skandar? So there's something rather exciting about seeing Will's hands pushing his knees apart, eyes dark with lust and his mouth hanging open a bit, his hair a wreck from Skandar's frantic fingers. Something thrilling about watching Will's tongue slide up the inside of his thigh and Will's lips pressing a hard, closed-mouth kiss right where thigh meets body and Will's mouth slipping down over his cock.
Not that he watches much of that bit. Not that he can considering how brilliant it feels. Not that he can ever do anything but gasp and groan, pull at the sheet and let his head fall back as Will's tongue slips round the tip and presses down along the underside and teases at the slit. All sucking and sliding and slippery slick over and over until Skandar's sure he'll go mad from it before he'll ever come, until he's begging.
Will moans around his cock whenever he begs, like it's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard. Skandar can't see how it could be -- can't ever even manage to think about the completely stupid things that fall out of his mouth later without blushing and scowling, in fact. But there's no helping it, really. Not when he knows that it will get Will to suck him harder, faster, deeper, until he can't even breathe for how good it feels. Until he can't even think about anything but the tightness in his balls and rushing in his ears and the pounding in his chest and the ever-present scratch of wool socks round his calves.
Sometimes Will sucks him until he comes and sometimes Will doesn't. Sometimes Will pulls back, panting harsh and hot over his skin, and orders him to wank himself. He likes it better when Will doesn't stop, likes the way it feels to come in Will's mouth, likes it when Will swallows it, but he doesn't really mind the wanking that much. The look on Will's face when he does it is almost as good as the way his mouth feels. So he does it, untwists his fingers from the sheet beneath him or the pillow under his head and reaches down, wrapping them around his cock, still slick with Will's spit and so hard because Will always makes him so hard.
Will's fingers dig into the backs of his knees before he can even get a rhythm going, pushing his legs even further apart and then up, bending him at the middle until his arse is practically in the air, until Will can see everything, all there is to see. His face always burns later just thinking about it but it doesn't stop his gut from twisting hot at the memory of Will's face, the gleam to his eyes and the shine to his lips, the way he just stares. Stares at Skandar's face (twisted up with concentration) or his hand (fisting his cock roughly) or his arse (pale and exposed and perfectly untouched though not from lack of want) or the bands of stupid fucking socks pulled up tight just under his knees. Stares and stares and stares until Skandar is tensing up, gasping stupid and deep as he comes over his own fist, wet and warm and sticky, splattering onto his stomach and chest. Skandar doesn't know what it is that Will likes about watching him come like that, all awkward and bunched up, but he doesn't care either. Because, whatever it is, it's him -- it's Will looking at him. And that's all he's ever really wanted.
Will likes it when he wears just his costume socks and shoes whenever they mess around. Skandar secretly has a feeling that even if Will were to ask him to wear Georgie's costume he wouldn't mind.
end.