Original: Last Night: PG13
Title: Last Night
Rating: PG13+
Warning: Slash. Excessive prompts.
Word count: 466. Found and online counter, yo.
Summary: It was a bad idea. (to use so many prompts)
Dedication: Imogen. For the prompts.
Author's note: Mmyeah. I was gonna go into a bit more detail. Butno. Should probably have a higher rating too.
I knew I shouldn't have gone last night. The minute I walked in and I saw him coming down the stairs in the entry, I knew. He had a Cruiser in one hand, and a boy on the other. I quickly disappeared to get a cup from the keg and he didn't see me till later.
But when he did...
His eyes lit up like Christmas. I'd stared at him for just a moment too long and he'd felt my eyes on him, He turned and the world had gone into slow-mo, like when something epic happens in a movie.
I knew it was a bad idea but I was too far gone.
After he'd seen me I'd avoided him for the rest of the night. It wasn't until everyone decided on a mass exodus in search of midnight cheesecake from the 24/7 servo down the street that we saw each other again. He'd wormed his way through the crowd comprised almost completely of emaciated models in harlequin tights, and subtley wound his arm around my waist, with the chilly wind his arms were cold and I hadn't noticed the touch through my drunken haze. Suddenly he was just there, beside me, wrapped around me, his breath whispering onto my shoulder. Where had my shirt gone?
The clay road cracked beneath our feet.
It was 3am by the time we got back to the party. I was cold, unbelievably so, but his body still wrapped around mine, was like fire. We walked in through the open back door and bypassed the kitchen with the empty keg, the loungeroom full of the people who hadn't gone down the street, passed out while watching MTV. We made a beeline straight to one of the spare rooms. He'd lost his shirt and my pants were unbuttoned, the fly unzipped by the time the door was closed behind us.
It was a bad idea.
I was pressed against the hard wood of the door and his hands were ghosting all over my body, leaving trails of goosebumps. His lips had attatched themselves to my neck, and I moaned as he suckled the dip above my collar bone, my most sensitive spot. I lost track of time, of place, of what was happening.
I should have known better.
If you asked me what had happened last night, I couldn't tell you coherently. All I remember is his hands. His lips, his tongue. Stumbling in the dark and knocking over stacks of cds. Tripping over champagne flutes. Feet tangled in clothes, getting caught in too-hot blankets. Falling off the bed.
Waking up with a warm body wrapped around my own. Thin cotton sheets draped artfully so they just cover these bodies intertwined. Turning my head and receiving a soft kiss and a gentle, 'Morning Beautiful.'
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.
Rating: PG13+
Warning: Slash. Excessive prompts.
Word count: 466. Found and online counter, yo.
Summary: It was a bad idea. (to use so many prompts)
Dedication: Imogen. For the prompts.
Author's note: Mmyeah. I was gonna go into a bit more detail. Butno. Should probably have a higher rating too.
I knew I shouldn't have gone last night. The minute I walked in and I saw him coming down the stairs in the entry, I knew. He had a Cruiser in one hand, and a boy on the other. I quickly disappeared to get a cup from the keg and he didn't see me till later.
But when he did...
His eyes lit up like Christmas. I'd stared at him for just a moment too long and he'd felt my eyes on him, He turned and the world had gone into slow-mo, like when something epic happens in a movie.
I knew it was a bad idea but I was too far gone.
After he'd seen me I'd avoided him for the rest of the night. It wasn't until everyone decided on a mass exodus in search of midnight cheesecake from the 24/7 servo down the street that we saw each other again. He'd wormed his way through the crowd comprised almost completely of emaciated models in harlequin tights, and subtley wound his arm around my waist, with the chilly wind his arms were cold and I hadn't noticed the touch through my drunken haze. Suddenly he was just there, beside me, wrapped around me, his breath whispering onto my shoulder. Where had my shirt gone?
The clay road cracked beneath our feet.
It was 3am by the time we got back to the party. I was cold, unbelievably so, but his body still wrapped around mine, was like fire. We walked in through the open back door and bypassed the kitchen with the empty keg, the loungeroom full of the people who hadn't gone down the street, passed out while watching MTV. We made a beeline straight to one of the spare rooms. He'd lost his shirt and my pants were unbuttoned, the fly unzipped by the time the door was closed behind us.
It was a bad idea.
I was pressed against the hard wood of the door and his hands were ghosting all over my body, leaving trails of goosebumps. His lips had attatched themselves to my neck, and I moaned as he suckled the dip above my collar bone, my most sensitive spot. I lost track of time, of place, of what was happening.
I should have known better.
If you asked me what had happened last night, I couldn't tell you coherently. All I remember is his hands. His lips, his tongue. Stumbling in the dark and knocking over stacks of cds. Tripping over champagne flutes. Feet tangled in clothes, getting caught in too-hot blankets. Falling off the bed.
Waking up with a warm body wrapped around my own. Thin cotton sheets draped artfully so they just cover these bodies intertwined. Turning my head and receiving a soft kiss and a gentle, 'Morning Beautiful.'
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.