Flash Fiction #7
May. 7th, 2012 01:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonFor azardarkstar
Prompt: Ambiguous, Azriel and Kieran
Universe: Infinity's End. Warnings: m/m romance
The door clicked, followed by the sound of barely audible footsteps and Azriel knew he wasn’t alone. Then again, he was hardly ever alone these days. While Orion and Manah didn’t cling to him like say, Quetz to Gale, they were a constant presence. Though they had nothing on the other who was a constant, if not welcome attachment at his side.
“You look tired,” Kieran murmured, coming to a stop just behind where Azriel was perched at his own desk, staring blankly at sheets of paperwork spread across the well-shaped wood.
“These are tiring times,” Azriel said, and let himself briefly rest, hand tapping a nonsense rhythm with the end of his quill.
“Indeed,” Kieran agreed, and leaned over his shoulder, grey eyes searching the documents that were scattered in a seemingly random order over the desk.
They were of various importance. Azriel had practically memorized them already. Some were directly related to Paragon, others belonged to his duties in Grayshire. Yet here, on the desk, they mingled.
“You should get some rest,” Kieran said, dismissing the work in front of Azriel so easily, as he often did. “You’re just one man.”
A short, bitter laugh left Azriel’s lips before he could stop it. “I know that all too well,” he muttered, and leaned back in his seat, feeling the muscles in his back tighten and pull uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat here, hunched over these papers, but obviously, his body wasn’t too happy with him.
Strong, skilled hands chose that moment to plant on his shoulders, fingers digging into sore muscles and providing some much needed relief. Azriel’s eyes slid closed, a low rumble echoing in his throat.
“Good?”
“Of course,” Azriel said, and let some of his stress and tension fade away as his muscles melted into liquid warmth under Kieran’s skilled hands.
If the rest of Paragon learned that Kieran was so very good at this, the scientist would be mobbed every day. Luckily, however, only Azriel was privy to this knowledge and he hoarded it jealously.
It wouldn’t do for the rest of the Theravada to know just how valuable Kieran was, tendency to destroy the lab and make poisonous tea aside. Such were truths Azriel wanted to keep to himself.
“You look tired,” Kieran murmured, coming to a stop just behind where Azriel was perched at his own desk, staring blankly at sheets of paperwork spread across the well-shaped wood.
“These are tiring times,” Azriel said, and let himself briefly rest, hand tapping a nonsense rhythm with the end of his quill.
“Indeed,” Kieran agreed, and leaned over his shoulder, grey eyes searching the documents that were scattered in a seemingly random order over the desk.
They were of various importance. Azriel had practically memorized them already. Some were directly related to Paragon, others belonged to his duties in Grayshire. Yet here, on the desk, they mingled.
“You should get some rest,” Kieran said, dismissing the work in front of Azriel so easily, as he often did. “You’re just one man.”
A short, bitter laugh left Azriel’s lips before he could stop it. “I know that all too well,” he muttered, and leaned back in his seat, feeling the muscles in his back tighten and pull uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat here, hunched over these papers, but obviously, his body wasn’t too happy with him.
Strong, skilled hands chose that moment to plant on his shoulders, fingers digging into sore muscles and providing some much needed relief. Azriel’s eyes slid closed, a low rumble echoing in his throat.
“Good?”
“Of course,” Azriel said, and let some of his stress and tension fade away as his muscles melted into liquid warmth under Kieran’s skilled hands.
If the rest of Paragon learned that Kieran was so very good at this, the scientist would be mobbed every day. Luckily, however, only Azriel was privy to this knowledge and he hoarded it jealously.
It wouldn’t do for the rest of the Theravada to know just how valuable Kieran was, tendency to destroy the lab and make poisonous tea aside. Such were truths Azriel wanted to keep to himself.
For azardarkstar
Prompt: Infinity's End, Gale realizes Azriel leads the rebellion
Universe: Infinity's End, Break of Day. Warnings: spoilers for Edge of Tomorrow.
“He's going to be fine, Gale,” Azriel said, looking as though he wanted to pat Gale's hand out of comfort and thinking better of it. Thinking, perhaps, that it was no longer his place to act so familiar.
Gale inclined his head, eyes roaming over the bandages that swathed half his cousin's face. His own hands were still covered in blood, and he knew it stained his robes. Some of it wasn't even Sabriel's. He'd killed a lot of people in rescuing Sabriel. He could never go back.
To be honest, Gale didn't want to return. There was nothing left for him in Grayshire.
“Thank you,” Gale said and opened his mouth to add more, but faltered. There were too many questions; he didn't even know where to begin.
He looked up at the man who had once been his tutor, who Gale could have never expected to meet here, in the headquarters of the rebellion. A man that Sabriel trusted with his life and Gale had always considered a close friend.
“You never told me,” Gale said quietly, the logical side of him understanding the need for secrecy, while the child-side of him who'd seen Azriel as a surrogate older brother was hurt by the hidden truths.
Azriel exhaled softly, leaning forward. “I wasn't certain you were ready to hear it. I didn't know if you would recognize why I was doing this.”
“I know it now,” Gale retorted bitterly, looking down at his own hands, the blood and soot that turned his pale skin a garish shade. “I will not return.”
“That is to be expected,” Azriel said, with a soft smile. “You're welcome to stay here, Gale. Join us, even, if you'd like. We turn away no one.”
“Even the former head of the house Arlen?” Gale asked, but there was a touch of bitter humor to his words. If anything, he was the sort that Azriel's band of rebels should despise.
Brown eyes softened. “To us, you will be Gale,” he said, and this time he did reach out, one hand squeezing Gale's shoulder. A warm motion that comforted Gale more than he could voice aloud.
Gale looked at his cousin again, wishing he'd seen the truth sooner if only to spare Sabriel pain and the loss of his eye. “I know things,” Gale replied quietly, his hands forming into fists. “I've just been waiting. For a sign, maybe. I don't know. But I think I've found it now.” He lifted his eyes to Azriel. “I'll join you.”
Gale inclined his head, eyes roaming over the bandages that swathed half his cousin's face. His own hands were still covered in blood, and he knew it stained his robes. Some of it wasn't even Sabriel's. He'd killed a lot of people in rescuing Sabriel. He could never go back.
To be honest, Gale didn't want to return. There was nothing left for him in Grayshire.
“Thank you,” Gale said and opened his mouth to add more, but faltered. There were too many questions; he didn't even know where to begin.
He looked up at the man who had once been his tutor, who Gale could have never expected to meet here, in the headquarters of the rebellion. A man that Sabriel trusted with his life and Gale had always considered a close friend.
“You never told me,” Gale said quietly, the logical side of him understanding the need for secrecy, while the child-side of him who'd seen Azriel as a surrogate older brother was hurt by the hidden truths.
Azriel exhaled softly, leaning forward. “I wasn't certain you were ready to hear it. I didn't know if you would recognize why I was doing this.”
“I know it now,” Gale retorted bitterly, looking down at his own hands, the blood and soot that turned his pale skin a garish shade. “I will not return.”
“That is to be expected,” Azriel said, with a soft smile. “You're welcome to stay here, Gale. Join us, even, if you'd like. We turn away no one.”
“Even the former head of the house Arlen?” Gale asked, but there was a touch of bitter humor to his words. If anything, he was the sort that Azriel's band of rebels should despise.
Brown eyes softened. “To us, you will be Gale,” he said, and this time he did reach out, one hand squeezing Gale's shoulder. A warm motion that comforted Gale more than he could voice aloud.
Gale looked at his cousin again, wishing he'd seen the truth sooner if only to spare Sabriel pain and the loss of his eye. “I know things,” Gale replied quietly, his hands forming into fists. “I've just been waiting. For a sign, maybe. I don't know. But I think I've found it now.” He lifted his eyes to Azriel. “I'll join you.”
For: xcrimsontear89x
Prompt: Frost/Sleet
Universe: War of the Animum. Warnings: m/m erotica
They don't often wake up in bed together. Frost is usually one to make sure of that, but he feels like being indulgent so instead of slipping away during the night, he allows himself to linger in heat, surrounded by the musk of sex and Sleet's own unique scent. An intriguing mix of citrus and cloves that never fails to make Frost salivate.
It's early enough that Frost can still escape with Sleet none the wiser, but he has no desires to do so. Not when Sleet is lying here, nude and marked up, so unaware of the danger he's in.
Frost slowly tugs down the blanket he'd tossed over them the night before after making the conscious decision to remain. Inch by inch, Sleet's skin – paler than Frost's but still kissed by the sun – is revealed, a canvas of scars and bite marks and bruises and hickeys.
Sleet doesn't stir, not even at the onset of cooler air. He'd really worn out his toy, hadn't he? His cock stirs at the memories of last night, of turning Sleet's ass a cherry red while the younger thief all but sobbed for it. Unable to do anything more than arch and whine and beg. Utterly delicious.
Sleet is lying on his stomach, one leg curled up, one arm serving as a pillow as the other stretches out underneath the pillow Frost had acquired. It's almost cute, but more than that, it makes Frost hungry. His palm lands on Sleet's bare ass, warm to the touch. His fingers dip into the cleft, teasing over Sleet's puckered entrance.
The smaller thief shifts slightly, breathing in, but doesn't wake. Frost licks his lips, and continues to tease, sliding one finger into Sleet. He's still a little loose from last night, still slick and warm. Another finger joins the first and he can hear Sleet's breathing increase as Frost strokes him from the inside, his cock quickly filling with blood.
This, right here, is the reason why Frost is allowing himself to indulge. There's nothing quite like starting the day with a great morning fuck. He fingers Sleet for several longer minutes, until Sleet's body seems to be moving of its own accord, rocking into the thrusts of Frost's fingers. His skin is starting to flush. He'll wake at any moment.
Frost retrieves the lube, slicks himself up, and moves quickly, rolling until he blankets Sleet's body with his own and slides into the twitching entrance in one smooth thrust. There's a gasp, an arch, and then Sleet is fully awake, visible hand clutching at the mattress. He's warm and soft beneath Frost, malleable and delicious.
“Ah, Frost,” Sleet moans, and the need in his voice is rich and thick.
Frost strokes a hand down Sleet's spine as he arches like a cat. “Morning,” he says, and thrusts again, a particularly hard shove that rocks Sleet's body up the bed. The answering gasp is really all the answer Frost needs.
It's early enough that Frost can still escape with Sleet none the wiser, but he has no desires to do so. Not when Sleet is lying here, nude and marked up, so unaware of the danger he's in.
Frost slowly tugs down the blanket he'd tossed over them the night before after making the conscious decision to remain. Inch by inch, Sleet's skin – paler than Frost's but still kissed by the sun – is revealed, a canvas of scars and bite marks and bruises and hickeys.
Sleet doesn't stir, not even at the onset of cooler air. He'd really worn out his toy, hadn't he? His cock stirs at the memories of last night, of turning Sleet's ass a cherry red while the younger thief all but sobbed for it. Unable to do anything more than arch and whine and beg. Utterly delicious.
Sleet is lying on his stomach, one leg curled up, one arm serving as a pillow as the other stretches out underneath the pillow Frost had acquired. It's almost cute, but more than that, it makes Frost hungry. His palm lands on Sleet's bare ass, warm to the touch. His fingers dip into the cleft, teasing over Sleet's puckered entrance.
The smaller thief shifts slightly, breathing in, but doesn't wake. Frost licks his lips, and continues to tease, sliding one finger into Sleet. He's still a little loose from last night, still slick and warm. Another finger joins the first and he can hear Sleet's breathing increase as Frost strokes him from the inside, his cock quickly filling with blood.
This, right here, is the reason why Frost is allowing himself to indulge. There's nothing quite like starting the day with a great morning fuck. He fingers Sleet for several longer minutes, until Sleet's body seems to be moving of its own accord, rocking into the thrusts of Frost's fingers. His skin is starting to flush. He'll wake at any moment.
Frost retrieves the lube, slicks himself up, and moves quickly, rolling until he blankets Sleet's body with his own and slides into the twitching entrance in one smooth thrust. There's a gasp, an arch, and then Sleet is fully awake, visible hand clutching at the mattress. He's warm and soft beneath Frost, malleable and delicious.
“Ah, Frost,” Sleet moans, and the need in his voice is rich and thick.
Frost strokes a hand down Sleet's spine as he arches like a cat. “Morning,” he says, and thrusts again, a particularly hard shove that rocks Sleet's body up the bed. The answering gasp is really all the answer Frost needs.
