Excitement.

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Things are going pretty well for me. I've discovered I really, really enjoy writing Sherlock Fanfic (And I'm pretty good at it), I didn't spend Valentines Day curled in a corner sobbing and I've made some new LJ Flisties (*Waves to you*).

I've also been really nice to my mother lately, which is wierd. Her and I are not the ideal mother/daughter

Comments

[tawg]

Donald Duck/Jelly!Zaza

They are PERFECT for each other

[tawg]

Re: They are PERFECT for each other

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Donald nuzzled happily at the glass bowl that contained the love of his life, caressing it with one wing. He felt his beak curve into a smile when the viscous creature within seemed to twirl in delight.

“Thish ish gonna be the behst christmahs eva’!” Donald said to the bowl.

“Quite.” Replied Jelly!Zaza, who turned to look at the Christmas tree warily.

“Don’ worry Balthazhar, I can hang the decorationhs for you. Jus’ ‘ell me where you wan’ them to be put!” Donald picked up a rather large Christmas tree angel, and Jelly!Zaza seemed to turn an even paler shade of pink. The angel was a little unorthodox; he had dark black hair and wore a tan trenchcoat over a blue suit.

“Not that one!” Jelly!Zaza warbled. Donald frowned.

“Wha not?”

“Because I said so!”

Donald began to steadily turn a bright red, and his eyes became wide.

“BU’ THISH ISH MY BEST ONE!” He yelled. “AAAAHHHHHHHHRARARARARARARARARA!”

HOW ARE YOU SO PERFECT?

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Really, Liz? Really.

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John groaned. Sherlock’s hand was a warm weight on the back of his neck, pressing him down onto the box mattress. Sherlock’s free hand was pressing one long, slow stroke down his back, sliding down one side to grip at his hip, running down the muscle of his thigh.

“You like this,” Sherlock said. A statement of the obious, given that John was hard, was on his knees with his face pressed into a mattress, was begging for it with every twitch and shift of his body.

“You like the hat,” he returned.

Sherlock hummed, and small amused sound that was low and a little dirty. “That must be it,” Sherlock replied, his hand running up the inside of John’s thigh. “All of this, just for the hat.” He gripped the base of John’s cock, squeezed it. “Well deducted, Waston.”

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This might be the first time 'Cock' has appeared on my LJ.

You stole my cock-cherry. I'm rather upset.

Oh for fuck's sake...

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“It’s so boring here, all by myself.” Lucifer sounds like he’s whining, and Sam has to hold back a huff. “I mean, come on. You stopped being interesting three hours into this little mind fuck. You could at least give me something to do.”

Sam slams his book closed, glares in Lucifer’s direction and nearly says something, but Dean gives him one of those looks, and he really doesn’t feel like explaining that Lucifer is being a whiney bitch.

“I am not!” His eyes narrow. “I’m just bored. Come on, give me something to entertain myself with.”

It happens in a blink, and Sam’s really not sure what just happened, because now Cas is standing beside Lucifer with no shirt of and might be kissing fucking satan. His fingers are carding through Lucifer’s hair, pulling on it to expose his throat. Sam shifts in his seat

Re: Oh for fuck's sake...

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I need to stop assuming that everything you talk about is Porn-related. It's doing somethign to my brain.

*Sigh*

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The first hit is completely out of the blue, and John lets himself cry out. More in shock then anything else. It’s not nearly as intense as John assumed it would be but still leaves an odd tingling sensation echoing on his hip. He shifts a little (as much as he can in the leather), and moans.

That deep, amused chuckle Sherlock makes sometimes seems to vibrate through the room, and the next blow is lower, on the side of his ass, and a lot harder. He hisses into the deerstalker, which is getting stuffy.

“Sherlock…Can we take this off?”

Apparently talking was wrong, because the crop falls a third time (inner thigh) and while it hurts like fuck, it feels a little bit delicious at the same time. He’s painfully hard at this point.

The deerstalker tumbles off his face, and the crop is tilting his chin in Sherlock’s direction. Of course he’s fully dressed and smirking at John, but it’s the curious tilt of the detective’s head that really irks him. “Better?”

John doesn’t answer, and Sherlock appears pleased.

It’s going to be a long

I'm doing this *my* way, got it?

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John really is much more creative then Sherlock gives him credit for, and that leaves him with an unfamiliar feeling of surprise. Where Sherlock had used the crop for it’s original purpose, John is being much more diabolical with it.

He grazes the soft leather over select areas. The inside of his thighs, the soles of his feet, the line of his neck. Every once and awhile his dastardly blogger will rap the crop against his skin, hard, and then continue on like nothing has happened.

Sherlock does not beg. He never begs. But the crop lightly tickling his chest and then dipping down to graze the length of his rather prominent erection makes him want to

More porrrrn

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“Stop fidgeting.” John commands. Sherlock feels his body still almost immediately and inwardly curses that fucking tone of his. John’s twirling the crop between his fingers like a parade baton Sherlock sneers.

“You know, if people didn’t think you were gay before, that’ll do it.”

John grins at him. Sherlock stops sneering.

“And trying you to the bed won’t have them batting an eyelash, hmm?” John practically purrs, and Sherlock shudders. The doctor disappears into his closet for a second and comes back with something Sherlock didn’t know he owned. “Open.”
Sherlock growls and shakes his head. There is no way that is

Speechless, Liz?

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“Fuck, Sherlock.” The crop has been tossed into a corner, and Sherlock’s biting John’s shoulder while slowly grinding against the blogger’s hips. His long fingers are wrapped around John’s sore wrists and pressing them against the bed.

Sherlock’s laughing-He can feel the vibrations of it against his skin. John really can’t bring himself to care. All he can think about is how Sherlock is wearing far too many clothes and the heat between them is downright mouth-watering. He growls low in his throat and hopes it makes the right impression.

It does. Sherlock’s teeth dig in deeper and he rocks a little faster. It’s amazing how the smallest of noises can turn on this unusually aloof man, and John’s figured out which ones to use to get the right reactions. It’s manipulative and sneaky, but it fucking works. He hisses. Sherlock pulls back and starts sucking hard on the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Fuck.” He groans again.

“How articulate.” Sherlock whispers against his neck. John resists the urge to roll his eyes.