Flash Fiction #14
Aug. 13th, 2012 04:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonFor mistress_pirate
Prompt: Frost/Sleet, “I think you've been spending too much time with that woman”
Universe: War of the Animum. Warnings: bondage, dom/sub
For mandalee1013
Prompt: GalexMalcolmxIone, rain
Universe: Infinity's End AU. Warnings for implied threesome
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Lady Crysan and Sleet, “think of it as a reward for a job well done.”
Universe: War of the Animum, pre-Darkness Descends. Not-quite-canon. NSFW
Prompt: Frost/Sleet, “I think you've been spending too much time with that woman”
Universe: War of the Animum. Warnings: bondage, dom/sub
“I thought that we had an understanding,” Frost says as he drags his hands down the bare back in front of him, arched due to awkward positioning but attractive all the same. “I thought that my ownership was clear.”
Sleet makes a muffled noise of protest, indignant to the last, even with the thick sailcloth stuffed in his mouth.
Frost clucks his tongue, hands dragging down the stretched length of Sleet's arms, ghosting over his shoulders, and palms sliding down the thin man's back. Sleet twitches, goosebumps prickling over his pale skin. You'd think he never got out in the sun.
“And yet, every time I leave town or so much as turn my back, you are warming the bed of someone else,” Frost chastises, admiring the warmth of Sleet's skin, the way it flushes as the younger thief gets more and more aroused.
Frost rises to his knees, covering Sleet's body with his own, enjoying the smooth slide of skin against skin, the way his cock nestles between Sleet's buttocks teasingly. He can feel Sleet trembling beneath him, heat pouring off Sleet's body in waves.
“And worse,” Frost says, his voice vibrating through his chest and against Sleet's back. “Worse that it is a woman. You told me you didn't like women. Or did you lie?”
He curls an arm around Sleet's waist, hand dragging down, lightly cupping the rigid length hanging heavy between Sleet's legs. He gives it a squeeze and a muffled whimper escapes Sleet. He makes other noises, too. Probably denial of Frost's accusations, but he also bucks up against Frost, begging for more. Eager as always. Desperate, too.
No wonder he had gone to the Woman in Frost's absence.
“No,” Frost all but purrs, his mouth tasting the back of Sleet's neck, biting the ridge of bone and mouthing his way down Sleet's spine with hot exhalations. “I suspect her femininely wiles were the least of your interest. Did she give you what you need?”
His free hand drags down Sleet's back, palms a pert buttock, thumb sliding between and circling the oil-damp bud.
“She is a poor substitute,” Frost continues, thumb pushing into clenching heat and Sleet squirms and bucks beneath him, breathing coming in sharp, eager pants.
He pulls back, releasing his hold on Sleet's cock, much to the other thief's protest, and sits on his heels. He pushes his thumb in and out, his other hand gripping Sleet's hip firmly. He watches his thumb disappear into Sleet's body, his own arousal hot and eager.
“And I think,” Frost says, “you have spending far too much time and coin on that Woman.” He refuses to speak her name. Call it a professional courtesy.
Sleet makes a noise, a whimper, pushing his ass back toward Frost eagerly. Begging to be taken, to be used.
Frost withdraws his thumb, placing both hands on Sleet's hips, pulling the younger thief toward him and stretching the bindings wrapped around Sleet's arms to their limits.
“It is time, I think, to re-establish my claim,” Frost purrs, fingers squeezing, to the edge of pain as he guides Sleet over his length, sliding into him with one smooth thrust.
A long moan escapes Sleet, muffled by the cloth, and Frost closes his eyes, struggling to control himself as ripples of heat grip his cock. So tight. So hot. Yes, this is the reason he has staked a claim. No man has ever given himself as fully as Sleet.
It is a trait of Sleet's that Frost hoards jealously. And he will not share it with anyone else, especially not that Woman.
“You are mine,” Frost says, barely above a murmur, fingers flexing on Sleet's hips. And then, he sets out to prove it.
As many times as it takes.
Sleet makes a muffled noise of protest, indignant to the last, even with the thick sailcloth stuffed in his mouth.
Frost clucks his tongue, hands dragging down the stretched length of Sleet's arms, ghosting over his shoulders, and palms sliding down the thin man's back. Sleet twitches, goosebumps prickling over his pale skin. You'd think he never got out in the sun.
“And yet, every time I leave town or so much as turn my back, you are warming the bed of someone else,” Frost chastises, admiring the warmth of Sleet's skin, the way it flushes as the younger thief gets more and more aroused.
Frost rises to his knees, covering Sleet's body with his own, enjoying the smooth slide of skin against skin, the way his cock nestles between Sleet's buttocks teasingly. He can feel Sleet trembling beneath him, heat pouring off Sleet's body in waves.
“And worse,” Frost says, his voice vibrating through his chest and against Sleet's back. “Worse that it is a woman. You told me you didn't like women. Or did you lie?”
He curls an arm around Sleet's waist, hand dragging down, lightly cupping the rigid length hanging heavy between Sleet's legs. He gives it a squeeze and a muffled whimper escapes Sleet. He makes other noises, too. Probably denial of Frost's accusations, but he also bucks up against Frost, begging for more. Eager as always. Desperate, too.
No wonder he had gone to the Woman in Frost's absence.
“No,” Frost all but purrs, his mouth tasting the back of Sleet's neck, biting the ridge of bone and mouthing his way down Sleet's spine with hot exhalations. “I suspect her femininely wiles were the least of your interest. Did she give you what you need?”
His free hand drags down Sleet's back, palms a pert buttock, thumb sliding between and circling the oil-damp bud.
“She is a poor substitute,” Frost continues, thumb pushing into clenching heat and Sleet squirms and bucks beneath him, breathing coming in sharp, eager pants.
He pulls back, releasing his hold on Sleet's cock, much to the other thief's protest, and sits on his heels. He pushes his thumb in and out, his other hand gripping Sleet's hip firmly. He watches his thumb disappear into Sleet's body, his own arousal hot and eager.
“And I think,” Frost says, “you have spending far too much time and coin on that Woman.” He refuses to speak her name. Call it a professional courtesy.
Sleet makes a noise, a whimper, pushing his ass back toward Frost eagerly. Begging to be taken, to be used.
Frost withdraws his thumb, placing both hands on Sleet's hips, pulling the younger thief toward him and stretching the bindings wrapped around Sleet's arms to their limits.
“It is time, I think, to re-establish my claim,” Frost purrs, fingers squeezing, to the edge of pain as he guides Sleet over his length, sliding into him with one smooth thrust.
A long moan escapes Sleet, muffled by the cloth, and Frost closes his eyes, struggling to control himself as ripples of heat grip his cock. So tight. So hot. Yes, this is the reason he has staked a claim. No man has ever given himself as fully as Sleet.
It is a trait of Sleet's that Frost hoards jealously. And he will not share it with anyone else, especially not that Woman.
“You are mine,” Frost says, barely above a murmur, fingers flexing on Sleet's hips. And then, he sets out to prove it.
As many times as it takes.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: GalexMalcolmxIone, rain
Universe: Infinity's End AU. Warnings for implied threesome
“What's he doing?” Malcolm asks, voice soft. Somehow, he feels he's supposed to whisper.
Ione grabs his hand, dragging him down beside her. “Shh. You'll see.”
“But--”
“Shh!”
Malcolm clamps his lips shut and shifts his attention back to Gale. The former noble is standing out in the open, in the pouring rain, with thunder rumbling overhead and lightning streaking across the sky. He's also wearing nothing more than a breech cloth, the long, lithe lines of his pale skin a bright contrast to the emerald forest.
Gale's head is bowed, palms pressed together, fingertips pointed away from his body. His aether is pulsing in steady rise and falls, so tangible that Malcolm starts to feel himself breathing in time with it.
Without opening his eyes, Gale starts to move. A cross between a dance and a martial kata, sinuously winding his limbs in the steady rainfall.
The pulse of aether grows stronger. Malcolm feels Ione's grip tighten, watches her eyes brighten with emotion.
Gale moves slowly, to some internal song, and the rain moves with him. It flows around his body, a steadily growing stream of increasing length. It encircles him, continuing to flow, spiraling up to the sky. Gale's dancing with the rain now, that's the only word Malcolm can use to describe the haunting motions.
Gale's muscles shift and flex beneath his pale skin. The falling rain twines about him as though it has a life of his own, and the edges of his body take on an ethereal glow. Malcolm feels a wash of heat twist in his belly.
“It's a training exercise. Something Quetz taught him,” Ione murmurs. “I call it rain dancing.” She pauses, squeezing Malcolm's hand again. “Beautiful, isn't he?”
Malcolm's heart is hammering in his chest. His mouth is dry, unable to form anything other than a croaked, “Yeah.”
“And the best part,” Ione adds in a more mischievous tone this time. “Is that by the time he's done, all he wants is to pin me to the nearest surface and ravish me thoroughly.” She grins. “And now, you too, I'll bet.”
Malcolm's aether gives a vibration of anticipation. He can't wait. But as he's already heart, watching is half the fun. And the more he watches, the hotter he gets. Gale isn't going to know what hit him.
Ione grabs his hand, dragging him down beside her. “Shh. You'll see.”
“But--”
“Shh!”
Malcolm clamps his lips shut and shifts his attention back to Gale. The former noble is standing out in the open, in the pouring rain, with thunder rumbling overhead and lightning streaking across the sky. He's also wearing nothing more than a breech cloth, the long, lithe lines of his pale skin a bright contrast to the emerald forest.
Gale's head is bowed, palms pressed together, fingertips pointed away from his body. His aether is pulsing in steady rise and falls, so tangible that Malcolm starts to feel himself breathing in time with it.
Without opening his eyes, Gale starts to move. A cross between a dance and a martial kata, sinuously winding his limbs in the steady rainfall.
The pulse of aether grows stronger. Malcolm feels Ione's grip tighten, watches her eyes brighten with emotion.
Gale moves slowly, to some internal song, and the rain moves with him. It flows around his body, a steadily growing stream of increasing length. It encircles him, continuing to flow, spiraling up to the sky. Gale's dancing with the rain now, that's the only word Malcolm can use to describe the haunting motions.
Gale's muscles shift and flex beneath his pale skin. The falling rain twines about him as though it has a life of his own, and the edges of his body take on an ethereal glow. Malcolm feels a wash of heat twist in his belly.
“It's a training exercise. Something Quetz taught him,” Ione murmurs. “I call it rain dancing.” She pauses, squeezing Malcolm's hand again. “Beautiful, isn't he?”
Malcolm's heart is hammering in his chest. His mouth is dry, unable to form anything other than a croaked, “Yeah.”
“And the best part,” Ione adds in a more mischievous tone this time. “Is that by the time he's done, all he wants is to pin me to the nearest surface and ravish me thoroughly.” She grins. “And now, you too, I'll bet.”
Malcolm's aether gives a vibration of anticipation. He can't wait. But as he's already heart, watching is half the fun. And the more he watches, the hotter he gets. Gale isn't going to know what hit him.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Lady Crysan and Sleet, “think of it as a reward for a job well done.”
Universe: War of the Animum, pre-Darkness Descends. Not-quite-canon. NSFW
The scarf winds around his arms, from above his elbows to his wrists, scratches at his skin. His shoulders are locked in place, his arms bound behind him. He's on his knees, the wood floor rigid and unyielding. He's naked, but the heat flushing through him ensures that he's not cold. Not anymore.
The chill that dances down his spine, however, has nothing to do with cold.
Lady Crysan stands above him, painted lips curved in a smile, two fingers tapping against her bottom lip. “You can consider this a reward,” she purrs at him, her free hand dropping down and patting over his hair, only to slide around and cup his face. “Except that it benefits me as well because you are quite the arousing sight on your knees. No wonder you have acquired such a benefactor.”
Sleet licks his lips. “I don't feel very rewarded,” he retorts, because he's on his knees, he's all tied up, he's getting harder by the minute, but she's hardly touched him and there's a distinct feeling that she's following a script she hasn't deigned to share.
“That's because I've only just begun.” She grips his chin, turning his head from side to side as though examining it. “I do not think you realize Sleet, that you and Frost are playing a dangerous game. I also suspect that no one's taught you the rules.”
His eyes narrow. “I don't know what you mean.”
Lady Crysan chuckles lightly. “Of course you don't.” One finger dips down, caressing his throat. “But I'll be sure to explain it in small words. Now, your word is 'duvet.' Repeat it.”
What in Aesir's name is she talking about? Sleet didn't come here for a grammar lesson. “Word?”
Her hand slides away from his face and she crouches, putting them at near eye-level, her head tilting to the side. “For the times when it becomes too much,” Crysan clarifies, though it still doesn't make a lick of sense to Sleet. Her hand ventures toward him again, dragging down his bare chest, abdomen, and finally, cupping the hard heat of him. “For when I've gone too far, when you want more than for me to stop.”
A strangled moan escapes Sleet's lips at her touch, his length eager for the smallest bit of stimulation. It doesn't ease his confusion. Stop? Why would he want her to stop?
Lady Crysan sighs, for once not a sound of indulgence but one of disappointment. “Submission is more than pain and taking whatever Frost gives you,” she says, and gives his cock a slow squeeze that makes him gasp and look straight into her eyes. “It's trust. It's pleasure. It's reveling in what makes you feel alive.”
Sleet swallows thickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “O-okay,” he replies, surprising himself with the stammer.
“I suspect you still don't understand me,” Crysan says, squeezing his length in slow intervals, pulling a steady stream of precome from the tip. “But that is fine. I appear to have plenty of time to teach you and you do make such a willing student.”
A strangled noise bursts from Sleet's throat, his arms jerking at his restraints but only in response to the pleasure wreaking his frame. “If--” He cuts off, swallowing again, and rolls his eyes back toward Crysan. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her thumb flicks over the tip of his cock, making his hips lurch forward. “Now, your word is 'duvet' and this...” She smiles, slow and calculating. “This is lesson one.”
The chill that dances down his spine, however, has nothing to do with cold.
Lady Crysan stands above him, painted lips curved in a smile, two fingers tapping against her bottom lip. “You can consider this a reward,” she purrs at him, her free hand dropping down and patting over his hair, only to slide around and cup his face. “Except that it benefits me as well because you are quite the arousing sight on your knees. No wonder you have acquired such a benefactor.”
Sleet licks his lips. “I don't feel very rewarded,” he retorts, because he's on his knees, he's all tied up, he's getting harder by the minute, but she's hardly touched him and there's a distinct feeling that she's following a script she hasn't deigned to share.
“That's because I've only just begun.” She grips his chin, turning his head from side to side as though examining it. “I do not think you realize Sleet, that you and Frost are playing a dangerous game. I also suspect that no one's taught you the rules.”
His eyes narrow. “I don't know what you mean.”
Lady Crysan chuckles lightly. “Of course you don't.” One finger dips down, caressing his throat. “But I'll be sure to explain it in small words. Now, your word is 'duvet.' Repeat it.”
What in Aesir's name is she talking about? Sleet didn't come here for a grammar lesson. “Word?”
Her hand slides away from his face and she crouches, putting them at near eye-level, her head tilting to the side. “For the times when it becomes too much,” Crysan clarifies, though it still doesn't make a lick of sense to Sleet. Her hand ventures toward him again, dragging down his bare chest, abdomen, and finally, cupping the hard heat of him. “For when I've gone too far, when you want more than for me to stop.”
A strangled moan escapes Sleet's lips at her touch, his length eager for the smallest bit of stimulation. It doesn't ease his confusion. Stop? Why would he want her to stop?
Lady Crysan sighs, for once not a sound of indulgence but one of disappointment. “Submission is more than pain and taking whatever Frost gives you,” she says, and gives his cock a slow squeeze that makes him gasp and look straight into her eyes. “It's trust. It's pleasure. It's reveling in what makes you feel alive.”
Sleet swallows thickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “O-okay,” he replies, surprising himself with the stammer.
“I suspect you still don't understand me,” Crysan says, squeezing his length in slow intervals, pulling a steady stream of precome from the tip. “But that is fine. I appear to have plenty of time to teach you and you do make such a willing student.”
A strangled noise bursts from Sleet's throat, his arms jerking at his restraints but only in response to the pleasure wreaking his frame. “If--” He cuts off, swallowing again, and rolls his eyes back toward Crysan. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her thumb flicks over the tip of his cock, making his hips lurch forward. “Now, your word is 'duvet' and this...” She smiles, slow and calculating. “This is lesson one.”
