VM fic: Bruises (Duncan/Logan) PG-13
Boy, it feels like I've been posting a lot. Hmm...
Title: Bruises
Author: Shealynn
Rating: PG-13 (sexual situations, violence)
Pairings: Duncan/Logan
Warnings: SLASH! angst
Length: 3 related drabbles of 100 words each
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I'm just borrowing and enjoying.
Summary: Sometimes the fighting is like sex.
Sometimes the sex is like fighting.
Author’s Notes: Written for several_ways, challenge #2: Several Ways to Make Love
Sometimes the fighting is like sex-like now, when it's really heating up and Duncan can hear Logan's breath rasping through his teeth.
When Duncan slams him up against the lockers Logan gives a sharp sound, a cross between a groan and a cry, like he does when he's about to come.
When they grapple Logan's breath is hot on Duncan's neck and his hands scrabble over Duncan's shoulders; Duncan suddenly can't remember if he's supposed to use lips or fists to fight back.
It takes a blow to his jaw and the sharp tang of blood to remind him.
Sometimes the sex is like fighting.
Logan bites his shoulder until he cries out, and they roll over one another in a slick battle for dominance. Fingers grab his hip too hard, leaving bruises.
Their kisses are hard and bloody with unspoken emotion, and Duncan gasps wordlessly when Logan presses him into the floor with a weight that feels like anger but isn't.
There's nothing sweet about what they do, nothing gentle in the sweat they share and the sharpness of teeth and digging fingers they use on each other.
But it makes him feel alive, and that's what matters.
The bruise on his hip has faded to a mottled purple, the one on his jaw to a sickly green. His fingers trace over them absently when he's alone and he closes his eyes as he recalls the memories embedded in those gentle, teasing aches.
It's almost painful to watch the memories fade with the bruises, even though he knows they'll be replaced.
He doesn't know how, yet, but ultimately, it doesn't matter: the blunt force of fists and the sharpness of sex are equally welcome.
They both give him the same comfort, both mean the same thing.
You're mine.
Title: Bruises
Author: Shealynn
Rating: PG-13 (sexual situations, violence)
Pairings: Duncan/Logan
Warnings: SLASH! angst
Length: 3 related drabbles of 100 words each
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I'm just borrowing and enjoying.
Summary: Sometimes the fighting is like sex.
Sometimes the sex is like fighting.
Author’s Notes: Written for several_ways, challenge #2: Several Ways to Make Love
Sometimes the fighting is like sex-like now, when it's really heating up and Duncan can hear Logan's breath rasping through his teeth.
When Duncan slams him up against the lockers Logan gives a sharp sound, a cross between a groan and a cry, like he does when he's about to come.
When they grapple Logan's breath is hot on Duncan's neck and his hands scrabble over Duncan's shoulders; Duncan suddenly can't remember if he's supposed to use lips or fists to fight back.
It takes a blow to his jaw and the sharp tang of blood to remind him.
Sometimes the sex is like fighting.
Logan bites his shoulder until he cries out, and they roll over one another in a slick battle for dominance. Fingers grab his hip too hard, leaving bruises.
Their kisses are hard and bloody with unspoken emotion, and Duncan gasps wordlessly when Logan presses him into the floor with a weight that feels like anger but isn't.
There's nothing sweet about what they do, nothing gentle in the sweat they share and the sharpness of teeth and digging fingers they use on each other.
But it makes him feel alive, and that's what matters.
The bruise on his hip has faded to a mottled purple, the one on his jaw to a sickly green. His fingers trace over them absently when he's alone and he closes his eyes as he recalls the memories embedded in those gentle, teasing aches.
It's almost painful to watch the memories fade with the bruises, even though he knows they'll be replaced.
He doesn't know how, yet, but ultimately, it doesn't matter: the blunt force of fists and the sharpness of sex are equally welcome.
They both give him the same comfort, both mean the same thing.
You're mine.