Ephemeral
Title: Ephemeral
Author: Tas (tasyfa)
Fandom: Green Day RPS - Billie Joe Armstrong/Mike Dirnt
Characters: Billie/Mike
Prompt: 2: Cross-Dressing for the 50kinkyways challenge ( My kink prompt table.)
Word Count: 100
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own only the words; the people own themselves and the events are fictitious.
Author's Notes: Inspired by a bit of an old fan letter that Billie Joe wrote: Maybe Mike will move to Russia and become a cowboy. Tré just might join the circus this year. And as for me? I'm thinking about being a Middle Eastern Belly Dancer. Whatever happens, it should make for some damn fine new songs. Or in this case, for some damn fine other stuff. ;-D (Letter: page 1, page 2.)
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A gossamer flutter as hips twitch, once, twice, and then the music starts, a sensual Eastern beat, and impatient twitches become undulation, pelvis moving in smooth circles that set diaphanous fabric swirling.
"You're not really built for that," Mike observes, but he can't tear his eyes away from the strip of belly bared above the soft gathers of material, tiny black tattoos glimmering with sweat.
"I know." Billie's motion changes, hips thrusting viciously like he's onstage and suddenly Mike's the one who's moving, crashing to his knees to mouth hot flesh and make his lover's body dance to his rhythm.
Author: Tas (tasyfa)
Fandom: Green Day RPS - Billie Joe Armstrong/Mike Dirnt
Characters: Billie/Mike
Prompt: 2: Cross-Dressing for the 50kinkyways challenge ( My kink prompt table.)
Word Count: 100
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own only the words; the people own themselves and the events are fictitious.
Author's Notes: Inspired by a bit of an old fan letter that Billie Joe wrote: Maybe Mike will move to Russia and become a cowboy. Tré just might join the circus this year. And as for me? I'm thinking about being a Middle Eastern Belly Dancer. Whatever happens, it should make for some damn fine new songs. Or in this case, for some damn fine other stuff. ;-D (Letter: page 1, page 2.)
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A gossamer flutter as hips twitch, once, twice, and then the music starts, a sensual Eastern beat, and impatient twitches become undulation, pelvis moving in smooth circles that set diaphanous fabric swirling.
"You're not really built for that," Mike observes, but he can't tear his eyes away from the strip of belly bared above the soft gathers of material, tiny black tattoos glimmering with sweat.
"I know." Billie's motion changes, hips thrusting viciously like he's onstage and suddenly Mike's the one who's moving, crashing to his knees to mouth hot flesh and make his lover's body dance to his rhythm.