[FICTION] Whipping Boy
Fandom: Firefly/Gundam Wing
Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Prompt: Spanking, Quatre tops
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Completely unfinished. I keep going back to edit it, and I think I just end up making it worse the more I work at it. There are a couple chunks I cut out completely toward the beginning just getting them into bed, and then at the end because every time I write Quatre lubing Simon up it just sounds. Really weird to me and I don't know how to fix it yet, but I'm working on it. Mostly just trying to find a balance between too vague and not vague enough. So. Here's what I've got if you want to tell me what it's missing and what you want to see; then I'll have a better idea of what direction to go in to make it better.
He was tied up with old shirts, face down on the bed with just enough slack to raise himself up on his knees and forearms. Simon thought absently about the need for it, even tugged a little at the turtleneck on his right wrist
Wasn't part of a relationship the occasional indulgence of your partner's preferences in bed? Simon was sure he'd read it somewhere, though he couldn't place it in his current position. He couldn't even place Quatre, standing somewhere in the room. Somewhere behind him, maybe to the side, but the shuffle of his bare feet on the carpet didn't give away if he was to the left or the right.
The first hit got him biting his lip to keep his urge to shout down to an uncomfortable groan. By the third strike, his ji- ba was hard and the groaning around his bottom lip was for entirely different and, for Simon, slightly embarrassing reasons.
He hadn't expected indulging Quatre with this would be enjoyable.
By the sixth his arms and legs were aching with the effort made to keep from shifting forward and away from the belt--or down to press his cock against the bed and use whatever friction he could find there--and at the ninth, Simon started trying to recall every time he'd worn the olive turtleneck tied to his right wrist in an effort to keep his hips from dropping down to the mattress.
He lost count at ten when he let his head fall, looked back at Quatre between his spread legs and saw the silhouette of his own cock against the pale of Quatre's thigh; saw how his free hand worked his own ji ba as he watched and swung the belt again. Without the count, he gave up trying to keep his body still and dropped his face down against the bed, moaning, "Cào dàn," into the sheets and rocked forward and away, then inexorably back again and into the next blow.
Between what could have been eleven and fifteen, the belt came down faster; falling just as Simon's hips moved forward and then again when they pushed back.
Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Prompt: Spanking, Quatre tops
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Completely unfinished. I keep going back to edit it, and I think I just end up making it worse the more I work at it. There are a couple chunks I cut out completely toward the beginning just getting them into bed, and then at the end because every time I write Quatre lubing Simon up it just sounds. Really weird to me and I don't know how to fix it yet, but I'm working on it. Mostly just trying to find a balance between too vague and not vague enough. So. Here's what I've got if you want to tell me what it's missing and what you want to see; then I'll have a better idea of what direction to go in to make it better.
He was tied up with old shirts, face down on the bed with just enough slack to raise himself up on his knees and forearms. Simon thought absently about the need for it, even tugged a little at the turtleneck on his right wrist
Wasn't part of a relationship the occasional indulgence of your partner's preferences in bed? Simon was sure he'd read it somewhere, though he couldn't place it in his current position. He couldn't even place Quatre, standing somewhere in the room. Somewhere behind him, maybe to the side, but the shuffle of his bare feet on the carpet didn't give away if he was to the left or the right.
The first hit got him biting his lip to keep his urge to shout down to an uncomfortable groan. By the third strike, his ji- ba was hard and the groaning around his bottom lip was for entirely different and, for Simon, slightly embarrassing reasons.
He hadn't expected indulging Quatre with this would be enjoyable.
By the sixth his arms and legs were aching with the effort made to keep from shifting forward and away from the belt--or down to press his cock against the bed and use whatever friction he could find there--and at the ninth, Simon started trying to recall every time he'd worn the olive turtleneck tied to his right wrist in an effort to keep his hips from dropping down to the mattress.
He lost count at ten when he let his head fall, looked back at Quatre between his spread legs and saw the silhouette of his own cock against the pale of Quatre's thigh; saw how his free hand worked his own ji ba as he watched and swung the belt again. Without the count, he gave up trying to keep his body still and dropped his face down against the bed, moaning, "Cào dàn," into the sheets and rocked forward and away, then inexorably back again and into the next blow.
Between what could have been eleven and fifteen, the belt came down faster; falling just as Simon's hips moved forward and then again when they pushed back.