a spangelly camp counselor human AU dirty short...thingie. (or: Look Ma, I Wrote Gud!)
ok, so I haven't written anything in months, and not for lack of wanting. so a few weeks ago, I begged nyghtpet to give me some kind of prompt that I could play with, something throw-away that I didn't feel pressured to get right, and she gave me human spangel, camp counselors. I eeked something out that night, but I thought it sucked, so I closed the file and forgot about it.
And just now, I was feeling kind of restless, so I opened the file for shits and giggles, expecting to cringe and getting a pleasant surprise instead. it's kinda...rough, like mental detritus all built up after a few months of abandonment, but I think I like it anyway. so yeah, beware the grammar, but the point is really porn anyway, so...*shrug*
also, I may be writing AU cw rps. *cough* I think others may have seen that coming, but I didn't
ETA: thanks to madame_meretrix for catching my councilor/counselor snafu. *snogs her*
Title: A Good Turn...Daily
Author: Mel (thatotherperv)
Pairing: Liam/Spike human AU
Rating: NC-17 or bust.
Summary: The room smelled like cedar...a clean, earthy smell that Spike was fairly certain he'd associate with dirty things for the rest of his life.
Warnings: abuse of the official boyscout slogan as a title. mysterious capitalization. furtive boytouching (is that a warning?). angst.
The room smelled like cedar. overwhelming and thick, air heavy with the clean, earthy smell that Spike was fairly certain he'd associate with dirty things for the rest of his life. musk and sweat and Liam's nipping teeth. Liam's hands, his overwarm fingers teasing along his waistband, barely stroking the baby-fine hair on the planes of his lower stomach until Spike arched and whined. Liam's palm, downright feverish when he finally gave up his game and cupped him, skin to skin, muffling Spike's response with a slick tongue.
They had to be so quiet.
Silent shudders and stuttering gasps, moans that were strained with the effort to stay hidden beneath the rhythmic whine of nocturnal life. thin walls and squeaky mattress frames and screen doors open to the sweltering heat.
This was decidedly *not* a camp-approved activity.
the bed was small. too small for one growing boy much less two, and Spike spent a good portion of his nights being pressed into the mattress by a human furnace. there were worse ways to get heat stroke, and he'd take his chances.
but he groaned with relief when Liam levered his body away and rolled him, pressing his face into the mattress and shivering when his shorts were shoved away and humid skin was exposed to the barest breeze that offered relief. A fumbling moment later and Liam's thighs were hot behind his, knee wedging Spike open, forcing him to accommodate and Liam was all over him, behind him, on top of him, against his ear, around his cock (his hand, only ever his hand). a shift of the hips and Liam was almost inside of him. almost...not really. never really. but they fit, excited thrusts training Liam's cock through the groove of his buttocks, the space between his thighs. head bumping sensitive flesh and Spike let a sound slip through, broken and hoarse, and far, far too loud.
immediately, Liam was still.
They panted in the too-hot darkness, but nothing came. no sounding of the faggot alarm, no spotlight catching them mid-fuck. Moments ticked by and their muscles eased from tetanus to tremor.
when Liam pressed a furtive kiss to his shoulder, Spike bit his lip, withholding the backchat aching to burst forth.
They hardly moved after that. Liam’s breath blew hot and erratic against his nape and Spike was pinned, bruises forming in the shape of hands and knees as Liam ground against his ass, too slow to trigger the whine of ancient bedsprings…too bloody slow to do anything other than drive Spike mad. Spike struggled, arched, goaded, but Liam refused to speed, and when his teeth sank hard into the vulnerable flesh of Spike’s neck, he froze. Froze and shuddered like prey, vertebra fragile in the grip of a predator.
A bloody Eagle Scout, but a predator no less.
That was how they inched their way towards orgasm-locked together and aching, Spike’s face pressed hard to musty camp sheets by superior force and the urge to moan. Liam didn’t touch him. The cotton was coarse against his cock, ground harshly to the rhythm of Liam’s hips, but it was Liam’s filthy moan that got him off, shuddering as his own spasms blended with those of the other boy and he was replete, come drying on both sides, back and belly.
He grimaced at the tacky separation of skin as Liam rolled away. Rolled away and over, broad back finishing a conversation they never really had, not aloud, anyway, and leaving him to blot away the wet spot that Liam never touched.
Spike groaned and stretched, eyes heavy and joints popping, and though Liam’s wretched mattress was far better than his own, those shoulders said it all.
Besides, he needed his rest. Counselor O’Connor would be teaching his troop to make lanyards at the crack of bloody dawn, or ride a zipline or carve tiny stock cars. Or some such wholesome thing.
And just now, I was feeling kind of restless, so I opened the file for shits and giggles, expecting to cringe and getting a pleasant surprise instead. it's kinda...rough, like mental detritus all built up after a few months of abandonment, but I think I like it anyway. so yeah, beware the grammar, but the point is really porn anyway, so...*shrug*
also, I may be writing AU cw rps. *cough* I think others may have seen that coming, but I didn't
ETA: thanks to madame_meretrix for catching my councilor/counselor snafu. *snogs her*
Title: A Good Turn...Daily
Author: Mel (thatotherperv)
Pairing: Liam/Spike human AU
Rating: NC-17 or bust.
Summary: The room smelled like cedar...a clean, earthy smell that Spike was fairly certain he'd associate with dirty things for the rest of his life.
Warnings: abuse of the official boyscout slogan as a title. mysterious capitalization. furtive boytouching (is that a warning?). angst.
The room smelled like cedar. overwhelming and thick, air heavy with the clean, earthy smell that Spike was fairly certain he'd associate with dirty things for the rest of his life. musk and sweat and Liam's nipping teeth. Liam's hands, his overwarm fingers teasing along his waistband, barely stroking the baby-fine hair on the planes of his lower stomach until Spike arched and whined. Liam's palm, downright feverish when he finally gave up his game and cupped him, skin to skin, muffling Spike's response with a slick tongue.
They had to be so quiet.
Silent shudders and stuttering gasps, moans that were strained with the effort to stay hidden beneath the rhythmic whine of nocturnal life. thin walls and squeaky mattress frames and screen doors open to the sweltering heat.
This was decidedly *not* a camp-approved activity.
the bed was small. too small for one growing boy much less two, and Spike spent a good portion of his nights being pressed into the mattress by a human furnace. there were worse ways to get heat stroke, and he'd take his chances.
but he groaned with relief when Liam levered his body away and rolled him, pressing his face into the mattress and shivering when his shorts were shoved away and humid skin was exposed to the barest breeze that offered relief. A fumbling moment later and Liam's thighs were hot behind his, knee wedging Spike open, forcing him to accommodate and Liam was all over him, behind him, on top of him, against his ear, around his cock (his hand, only ever his hand). a shift of the hips and Liam was almost inside of him. almost...not really. never really. but they fit, excited thrusts training Liam's cock through the groove of his buttocks, the space between his thighs. head bumping sensitive flesh and Spike let a sound slip through, broken and hoarse, and far, far too loud.
immediately, Liam was still.
They panted in the too-hot darkness, but nothing came. no sounding of the faggot alarm, no spotlight catching them mid-fuck. Moments ticked by and their muscles eased from tetanus to tremor.
when Liam pressed a furtive kiss to his shoulder, Spike bit his lip, withholding the backchat aching to burst forth.
They hardly moved after that. Liam’s breath blew hot and erratic against his nape and Spike was pinned, bruises forming in the shape of hands and knees as Liam ground against his ass, too slow to trigger the whine of ancient bedsprings…too bloody slow to do anything other than drive Spike mad. Spike struggled, arched, goaded, but Liam refused to speed, and when his teeth sank hard into the vulnerable flesh of Spike’s neck, he froze. Froze and shuddered like prey, vertebra fragile in the grip of a predator.
A bloody Eagle Scout, but a predator no less.
That was how they inched their way towards orgasm-locked together and aching, Spike’s face pressed hard to musty camp sheets by superior force and the urge to moan. Liam didn’t touch him. The cotton was coarse against his cock, ground harshly to the rhythm of Liam’s hips, but it was Liam’s filthy moan that got him off, shuddering as his own spasms blended with those of the other boy and he was replete, come drying on both sides, back and belly.
He grimaced at the tacky separation of skin as Liam rolled away. Rolled away and over, broad back finishing a conversation they never really had, not aloud, anyway, and leaving him to blot away the wet spot that Liam never touched.
Spike groaned and stretched, eyes heavy and joints popping, and though Liam’s wretched mattress was far better than his own, those shoulders said it all.
Besides, he needed his rest. Counselor O’Connor would be teaching his troop to make lanyards at the crack of bloody dawn, or ride a zipline or carve tiny stock cars. Or some such wholesome thing.