Flash Fiction #15
Aug. 29th, 2013 07:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonFor 
cancer69heart
Prompt: AlcaeusxJanus, “No Scrub,” TLC
Universe: The Requiem of Janus. NSFW. Warning for unwelcome touches, swift justice, and some m/m erotica
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Jayar/Seiji, backseat, NSFW
Jayar and Seiji are from my original fiction Fallen Angel, Fallen God and this features light kink and slashy smut. NSFW.
He thanks the gods that Jayar is wise enough to have tinted windows.
“Wise? My sweet, don't you think I planned this?” Jayar asks, his breath a warm and wet puff across Seiji's bare cock. His palms are flat and smooth on the inside of Seiji's bare thighs, stroking in all the ways that make Seiji shudder.
Damn. Seiji hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
“I should have known,” he growls, and jerks as Jayar's tongue touches the tip of his cock, lapping up a pearly drop. “You're such a damn pervert.”
Jayar chuckles, and mercifully says nothing, instead dragging Seiji's cock into his mouth and swirling his tongue skillfully around the rigid shaft. Seiji bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out – he knows Jayar wants to hear it, all the reason to keep himself quiet – and bucks into Jayar's mouth. Let the bastard choke on him.
Except that Jayar doesn't. He never does. He just takes Seiji deeper, swallows around the sensitive head and makes Seiji shout despite attempts to be silent.
Seiji's hands find purchase in Jayar's blond hair, messing up the carefully ordered strands, but Jayer doesn't complain. His eyes darken as they roll toward Seiji in encouragement, dark with arousal and warm with affection. His fingers stroke Seiji's thighs, before one hand cups Seiji's balls, rolling them in talented fingers.
The heat in Seiji's belly twists in an unholy tangle. He feels exposed like this, open and bare, with Jayar between his legs and his knees over Jayar's shoulders, pants nowhere in sight. He's doubly thankful that the windows are tinted, and he curses the traffic jam that gave Jayar ideas. They don't have time for this, except they do now. Traffic hasn't moved in the past twenty minutes, it's not likely to move anytime soon.
Poor Gerard in the front seat. There's a privacy window, just as tinted as the others, but Gerard has to know what his employer is doing. It's probably not the first time. Jayar's a pervert like that. Seiji feels his cheeks heat. A whore, just a whore.
And then Jayar drags his teeth lightly down the length of Seiji's cock and he can't stop the whimper that pours from his lips. Can't stop the way his fingers clench in blond hair and he bucks into Jayar's mouth. Can't stop the pleasure that buzzes down his spine, makes his balls tighten, makes him bite his lower lip to bleeding. Can't stop himself from coming way too soon, pouring down Jayar's throat as he laps up every drop.
Jayar's tongue laps over his cock, dragging out Seiji's pleasure. He looks too damn smug, lips curled in self-satisfaction when he pulls back, and he leans forward, capturing Seiji's lips in a kiss that carries the bitterness of his own come. Damn perverted bastard.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Alex/Wesley, “Earthquake,” the Used
Universe: A Thousand Words, a different interpretation of their reconciliation. Not canon. Warnings for angst, slash.
a/n: Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
cancer69heart Prompt: AlcaeusxJanus, “No Scrub,” TLC
Universe: The Requiem of Janus. NSFW. Warning for unwelcome touches, swift justice, and some m/m erotica
Janus clenches his teeth. He despises these meetings, loathing them with every fabric of his existence. His only consolation is that they only occur four times a year, so he only has to suffer every three months. But being in the proximity of a lecherous bastard like Duke Ornwal even once a year is too much for Janus.
The hand beneath the table hasn't learned from the last time Janus stabbed a fork into it. In fact, it seems even more determined despite the pain. Perhaps Duke Ornwal is a masochist. The thought makes Janus' already unsettled belly churn unpleasantly.
It's not good manners or politics for Janus to set Duke Ornwal on fire, but he would love to do so right now. And damn the consequences.
Lord Ukire is talking, but Janus doesn't hear a word, his every thought focused on the unwelcome hand resting on his knee. It would almost be innocent, if not for the slow and steady slide upward, fingers a near-caress on the insides of his thigh as Duke Ornwal molests with no shame. Knowing he can get away with it because Janus doesn't dare set him afire without being accused of treason.
He can, however, cause great discomfort without maiming or death. Janus lifts his wine glass and takes a long sip of it. Both to disguise his expression and to help burn away the disgust of Ornwal's touch.
His fingers twitch around the fluted glass and he watches Ornwal's own wine glass tremble. It's perilously close to the edge anyway, and rather full since Ornwal's been more focused on his unwelcome advances than his meal. Another push of magick and--
“Damn it!” Ornwal hisses as he leaps to his feet, hand vanishing from Janus' thigh as red wine spills down the front of his once-immaculate white robes.
Lord Ukire stops mid-speech. “Need you be excused, Duke Ornwal?” There's a touch of frost to his voice, his eyes glancing once to Janus – who looks perfectly innocent – and the flustered Duke.
“I'll return in a moment,” Ornwal bites out, and he leaves, much to Janus' relief.
Janus smirks behind his glass, takes a long sip of the numbing wine, and then lowers the glass. He looks up, catching Alcaeus' eyes, the guard standing just behind Ukire and watching him, no doubt knowing how Ornwal had his accident.
Janus resists the urge to lick his lips. Wine can dull the memories, but only Alcaeus can chase them away. And this thought is the one that makes the rest of the meeting bearable, especially when a disgruntled, stained Ornwal returns and keeps his unwelcome hands to himself.
The hand beneath the table hasn't learned from the last time Janus stabbed a fork into it. In fact, it seems even more determined despite the pain. Perhaps Duke Ornwal is a masochist. The thought makes Janus' already unsettled belly churn unpleasantly.
It's not good manners or politics for Janus to set Duke Ornwal on fire, but he would love to do so right now. And damn the consequences.
Lord Ukire is talking, but Janus doesn't hear a word, his every thought focused on the unwelcome hand resting on his knee. It would almost be innocent, if not for the slow and steady slide upward, fingers a near-caress on the insides of his thigh as Duke Ornwal molests with no shame. Knowing he can get away with it because Janus doesn't dare set him afire without being accused of treason.
He can, however, cause great discomfort without maiming or death. Janus lifts his wine glass and takes a long sip of it. Both to disguise his expression and to help burn away the disgust of Ornwal's touch.
His fingers twitch around the fluted glass and he watches Ornwal's own wine glass tremble. It's perilously close to the edge anyway, and rather full since Ornwal's been more focused on his unwelcome advances than his meal. Another push of magick and--
“Damn it!” Ornwal hisses as he leaps to his feet, hand vanishing from Janus' thigh as red wine spills down the front of his once-immaculate white robes.
Lord Ukire stops mid-speech. “Need you be excused, Duke Ornwal?” There's a touch of frost to his voice, his eyes glancing once to Janus – who looks perfectly innocent – and the flustered Duke.
“I'll return in a moment,” Ornwal bites out, and he leaves, much to Janus' relief.
Janus smirks behind his glass, takes a long sip of the numbing wine, and then lowers the glass. He looks up, catching Alcaeus' eyes, the guard standing just behind Ukire and watching him, no doubt knowing how Ornwal had his accident.
Janus resists the urge to lick his lips. Wine can dull the memories, but only Alcaeus can chase them away. And this thought is the one that makes the rest of the meeting bearable, especially when a disgruntled, stained Ornwal returns and keeps his unwelcome hands to himself.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Jayar/Seiji, backseat, NSFW
Jayar and Seiji are from my original fiction Fallen Angel, Fallen God and this features light kink and slashy smut. NSFW.
He thanks the gods that Jayar is wise enough to have tinted windows.
“Wise? My sweet, don't you think I planned this?” Jayar asks, his breath a warm and wet puff across Seiji's bare cock. His palms are flat and smooth on the inside of Seiji's bare thighs, stroking in all the ways that make Seiji shudder.
Damn. Seiji hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
“I should have known,” he growls, and jerks as Jayar's tongue touches the tip of his cock, lapping up a pearly drop. “You're such a damn pervert.”
Jayar chuckles, and mercifully says nothing, instead dragging Seiji's cock into his mouth and swirling his tongue skillfully around the rigid shaft. Seiji bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out – he knows Jayar wants to hear it, all the reason to keep himself quiet – and bucks into Jayar's mouth. Let the bastard choke on him.
Except that Jayar doesn't. He never does. He just takes Seiji deeper, swallows around the sensitive head and makes Seiji shout despite attempts to be silent.
Seiji's hands find purchase in Jayar's blond hair, messing up the carefully ordered strands, but Jayer doesn't complain. His eyes darken as they roll toward Seiji in encouragement, dark with arousal and warm with affection. His fingers stroke Seiji's thighs, before one hand cups Seiji's balls, rolling them in talented fingers.
The heat in Seiji's belly twists in an unholy tangle. He feels exposed like this, open and bare, with Jayar between his legs and his knees over Jayar's shoulders, pants nowhere in sight. He's doubly thankful that the windows are tinted, and he curses the traffic jam that gave Jayar ideas. They don't have time for this, except they do now. Traffic hasn't moved in the past twenty minutes, it's not likely to move anytime soon.
Poor Gerard in the front seat. There's a privacy window, just as tinted as the others, but Gerard has to know what his employer is doing. It's probably not the first time. Jayar's a pervert like that. Seiji feels his cheeks heat. A whore, just a whore.
And then Jayar drags his teeth lightly down the length of Seiji's cock and he can't stop the whimper that pours from his lips. Can't stop the way his fingers clench in blond hair and he bucks into Jayar's mouth. Can't stop the pleasure that buzzes down his spine, makes his balls tighten, makes him bite his lower lip to bleeding. Can't stop himself from coming way too soon, pouring down Jayar's throat as he laps up every drop.
Jayar's tongue laps over his cock, dragging out Seiji's pleasure. He looks too damn smug, lips curled in self-satisfaction when he pulls back, and he leans forward, capturing Seiji's lips in a kiss that carries the bitterness of his own come. Damn perverted bastard.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Alex/Wesley, “Earthquake,” the Used
Universe: A Thousand Words, a different interpretation of their reconciliation. Not canon. Warnings for angst, slash.
It's a little after midnight and hardly an appropriate time for Alex to be banging on the door, but there's more than a little whiskey in his blood and he reeks of desperation. Yes, he's desperate. He's been driven to the edge and there's no turning back.
He can't do it. He can't let Wesley go. He can't let things end like this.
Somewhere down the hall, someone's dog starts barking. Probably roused by Alex's relentless knocking. He can't be bothered to care. Wesley has to wake up, he has to know.
The door slams open, Wesley glaring at him looking sleep-mussed and perfect. The words crowding on Alex's tongue instantly turn to ash and he can only stare, mute, at the half-dressed body of his former lover. Could they even be called lovers? Really? With the way Alex had always used and tossed Wesley aside as though he meant nothing?
“What do you want?” Wesley grits out, his voice a fierce growl that sends low shocks to Alex's groin, an entirely inappropriate response.
Alex swallows thickly. “Can we talk?”
Wesley's fingers tighten on the edge of the door, white-knuckled, chest heaving with heavy breaths. “It's after midnight, Alex. Some of us have to work.”
“I know.” Desperation makes him jittery, makes him anxious. “And I'm sorry. But I've waited too long already. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Please, Wesley, talk to me.”
God, he sounds pathetic. Like a bare wisp of his former self. But could the old Alex have been any better? Is his pride worth that much?
He's on the verge of dropping to his knees in the middle of the corridor, just down the hallway from where curious strangers are peering out, wondering who's causing racket at this time of night. Alex is seconds away from begging, from showing Wesley just what shell of a man's been left behind.
Wesley sags against the frame, his gaze darting to the audience they are gathering. “Get your ass in here,” he mutters, moving aside. “Before my neighbors get more of an earful.”
Alex doesn't wait to obey. He scrambles into Wesley's apartment and watches as his former lover closes and locks the door with slow, deliberate motions.
“You smell like liquor,” Wesley says, hand lingering on the dead bolt.
“Liquid courage,” Alex confesses. “If I'm going to make a fool of myself, I can at least suffer the consequences in the morning.”
Wesley turns to face him, his expression a hard mask devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms. “Why did you come here, Alex?”
He chews on his bottom lip, once again losing all carefully planned scripts. “Because I was an idiot,” Alex blurts out. “Because I was looking for something I already had and I don't want to lose the only good thing I used to have.” It sounds like nonsense in retrospect but the alcohol isn't exactly making him coherent either.
Wesley exhales audibly, his gaze falling away. “What makes now any different than before?”
“You spoiled me,” Alex admits. “You were safe. You weren't ever going to leave. Until you did.” His shoulders slump, knees feeling weak. “You're right. I have to make a choice.” His eyes feel hot, his throat thick and tight. His hands clench into unsteady fists. “I want to be with you.”
“You're drunk,” Wesley says, dismissive, and shakes his head. “You can crash on the couch tonight, but tomorrow, you have to go.”
Alex lurches forward, into Wesley's path, feeling like he's scrabbling at the edge of a cliff. “It's not the alcohol!” he says, voice almost a growl. “I know what I'm saying!”
Wesley stares at him, searching his face as though he can detect lies and deceit just by gazing into Alex's eyes. “I don't know if I can believe you, Alex.”
“Don't make that decision now then.” It's a risk, but he's going to take it. Alex reaches, laying his hand on Wesley's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I mean it.”
Silence descends, heavy and telling. Alex waits on pins and needles, breath caught in his throat.
Wesley exhales. “Sleep on the couch,” he says, but he unfolds his arms, his tone softening. “We'll talk in the morning. You don't have to leave.”
Alex nearly collapses out of relief. “Whatever you want.” He's going to prove it. He's going to make Wesley see. Whatever it takes.
He can't do it. He can't let Wesley go. He can't let things end like this.
Somewhere down the hall, someone's dog starts barking. Probably roused by Alex's relentless knocking. He can't be bothered to care. Wesley has to wake up, he has to know.
The door slams open, Wesley glaring at him looking sleep-mussed and perfect. The words crowding on Alex's tongue instantly turn to ash and he can only stare, mute, at the half-dressed body of his former lover. Could they even be called lovers? Really? With the way Alex had always used and tossed Wesley aside as though he meant nothing?
“What do you want?” Wesley grits out, his voice a fierce growl that sends low shocks to Alex's groin, an entirely inappropriate response.
Alex swallows thickly. “Can we talk?”
Wesley's fingers tighten on the edge of the door, white-knuckled, chest heaving with heavy breaths. “It's after midnight, Alex. Some of us have to work.”
“I know.” Desperation makes him jittery, makes him anxious. “And I'm sorry. But I've waited too long already. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Please, Wesley, talk to me.”
God, he sounds pathetic. Like a bare wisp of his former self. But could the old Alex have been any better? Is his pride worth that much?
He's on the verge of dropping to his knees in the middle of the corridor, just down the hallway from where curious strangers are peering out, wondering who's causing racket at this time of night. Alex is seconds away from begging, from showing Wesley just what shell of a man's been left behind.
Wesley sags against the frame, his gaze darting to the audience they are gathering. “Get your ass in here,” he mutters, moving aside. “Before my neighbors get more of an earful.”
Alex doesn't wait to obey. He scrambles into Wesley's apartment and watches as his former lover closes and locks the door with slow, deliberate motions.
“You smell like liquor,” Wesley says, hand lingering on the dead bolt.
“Liquid courage,” Alex confesses. “If I'm going to make a fool of myself, I can at least suffer the consequences in the morning.”
Wesley turns to face him, his expression a hard mask devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms. “Why did you come here, Alex?”
He chews on his bottom lip, once again losing all carefully planned scripts. “Because I was an idiot,” Alex blurts out. “Because I was looking for something I already had and I don't want to lose the only good thing I used to have.” It sounds like nonsense in retrospect but the alcohol isn't exactly making him coherent either.
Wesley exhales audibly, his gaze falling away. “What makes now any different than before?”
“You spoiled me,” Alex admits. “You were safe. You weren't ever going to leave. Until you did.” His shoulders slump, knees feeling weak. “You're right. I have to make a choice.” His eyes feel hot, his throat thick and tight. His hands clench into unsteady fists. “I want to be with you.”
“You're drunk,” Wesley says, dismissive, and shakes his head. “You can crash on the couch tonight, but tomorrow, you have to go.”
Alex lurches forward, into Wesley's path, feeling like he's scrabbling at the edge of a cliff. “It's not the alcohol!” he says, voice almost a growl. “I know what I'm saying!”
Wesley stares at him, searching his face as though he can detect lies and deceit just by gazing into Alex's eyes. “I don't know if I can believe you, Alex.”
“Don't make that decision now then.” It's a risk, but he's going to take it. Alex reaches, laying his hand on Wesley's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I mean it.”
Silence descends, heavy and telling. Alex waits on pins and needles, breath caught in his throat.
Wesley exhales. “Sleep on the couch,” he says, but he unfolds his arms, his tone softening. “We'll talk in the morning. You don't have to leave.”
Alex nearly collapses out of relief. “Whatever you want.” He's going to prove it. He's going to make Wesley see. Whatever it takes.
a/n: Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
