![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hoosierbitchThis morning I made a horrific Facebook faux pas. I thought someone had said something really rude about a friend of mine, when in fact it was a joke that I had misunderstood. Aaand I sent a message to the person that I thought was being rude, and was as polite as I could manage to be, given that I thought they'd just been an asshat all over my wall. And it wouldn't be such a big deal - I've sent them an apology already - except that said person is gossipy, whiny, overly-dramatic, and a professor in my department.
*dies*
God, I feel like such a douchebag. I don't even want to know how big the repercussions of this are going to be.
OKAY BUT WAIT. Instead of sinking into misery, and digging myself a hole to bury my head in (I've got a very handy shovel), I am going to think clearly about this: their comment, if it had meant what I thought it meant, would have warranted the reaction that I had. I didn't say anything rude, but I was honest about how inappropriate I thought it was. Once I realized my mistake, I sent a very apologetic and conciliatory email explaining the situation. I was (to quote the book "The Four Agreements," which is part of my attempt to be less crazy in my head) "impeccable with my word."
And, in an attempt to "not take it personally," especially since this faculty person hasn't even replied yet, I'm going to stop assuming that she's going to turn into a fire-breathing dragon and crucify me. I'm not her, I don't know what's going on in her head, I am only in control of my own life. And I am going to share porn, take a shower, pack a lunch, and hit up the library like a mad mofo.
[insert segue here], HAVE SOME PORN! I was looking over my LJ and realized I haven't posted any WC fic (with the exception of the Chicago Round Robin!) since January 1st. So I collected all my prompt fills from the past months, realized they add up to 7.5k, and decided that I should split it into a couple of different posts. Today I'mma share some porny pieces! My little way of wishing y'all a better Sunday than I am currently having.
fic: easy
rating: r
pairing: neal/peter
prompt: competitive kissing
originally posted here, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan 's first prompt fest!
*
"I'm not going to break," Neal says, when Peter cups his face carefully with one of his big hands, leaning in painfully slowly. He's been staring at Neal's mouth for weeks. Getting hard whenever Neal bit his lips or licked them. The day Neal had worn chapstick had been embarrassing for everyone in the office. And he - he doesn't want to screw this up.
"I don't know," Peter replies with a raised eyebrow. "It's been a while. Are you sure you haven't lost your touch?"
Neal looks outraged. "You - how dare you impugn my skills - "
Neal gasps when Peter kisses him. A sharp inhale as Peter presses their lips together, a rush of breath past his mouth, cool against the heat of his tongue as he licks at Neal's bottom lip.
He keeps his hand on Neal's cheek, tilting his head just a bit to the right, the tips of his fingers brushing against Neal's hair and the sensitive skin of his ear. Neal moans when Peter takes a step forward, pressing him back against the wall.
Neal's lips are soft. The chapstick at work, probably. His movements are tentative. Peter laughs softly, running his hand through his hair, and Neal growls.
"Insult my skills," he says, and then his hands are on Peter's arms, flipping them around, and he attacks Peter's mouth, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue sinuous and insistent in his mouth.
Fuck. Neal really is good at this. He's getting hard, fast, with Neal sucking at his tongue and rubbing lazily against his thigh.
"Fine," Peter gasps, pulling back to breathe. "You haven't lost your touch." He can feel Neal's lips twist into a smirk. "But kissing? Kissing's easy. Blowjobs, on the other hand..."
fic: give me miles and miles of mountains (and i will ask for the sea)
rating: nc-17
pairing: peter/neal
notes: written forelrhiarhodan's Five Acts Meme (originally posted here). The kinks I used were "Skin" and "Dirty Talk." The title is taken from a Damien Rice song.
*
"You sloppy fucking whore."
Neal didn't even flinch. He was too busy fucking himself with three fingers, lube dripping down his thighs, cockring keeping him right on the edge. He let Neal take care of his immediate needs - getting fucked, hard - and set about amusing himself.
Neal was the the most responsive lover he'd ever had. Moaned like he was dying every time Peter touched his cock, screamed and writhed when Peter fucked him, but even - even just soft brushes of his fingers against Neal's skin, and he'd bite his lips and close his eyes and his cock would twitch.
Neal's neck was smooth, a bit sweaty, corded tendons like roadmmaps pointing Peter from Neal's earlobe, down the slope of his shoulder, across the hard expanse of his chest. He traced the same lines over and over with the pads of his fingers, the edges of his fingernails, the tip of his tongue - until Neal's hands were both limp by his sides and he was shuddering every time Peter circled his tight little nipples.
"Four fingers now," he whispered, breath brushing against the edge of Neal's ear. Neal closed his eyes and obeyed. Hand already slick with lube, hole already trying to open, begging for more. "Think you could fist yourself, Neal?" It was the angle, more than anything else, that posed a difficulty. But Neal was flexible and always up for a challenge.
He arranged Neal on his knees, piled up pillows under his chest so that he could lean forward, and put a helping hand on Neal's wrist. Helped push Neal's hand - four fingers, the bump of his thumb, God they were so close - until Neal begged him to stop.
"My shoulder, Peter - "
An old wound from an old job that Neal wouldn't tell him about.
He put both of Neal's hands on the bed. "Don't move. I'm gonna fuck you, baby." He thrust three of his own fingers in because Neal's hole was too fucking sweet not to, pink and hungry and teasing him with every breath that Neal took. "You want my cock?"
"Yes."
"Say it," he growled, wrapping one hand in Neal's hair and pulling his body into a taut arch.
"I want your - your cock, Peter, I want it."
"What do you want me to do with it?" His chest was pressed against Neal's back, he could feel him shudder as he took in another breath.
"I want you to fuck me, hard, I want you to make it hurt, I want you to let me come, please - "
He thrust all the way in and Neal screamed. Screamed and tightened, hole like a vise around his cock, keeping him buried deep in his body.
"Too much, Peter, too - "
"Too big for you, baby?" Neal shook his head, trying to protest, but the whine building at the back of his throat was pitiful. He pulled out and Neal sagged against the pillows. "You want me to fuck you slow?"
"Yes, please, just at first, give me - "
He fucked Neal slowly. All the way out and all the way in, enough time to take a couple breaths on each stroke, until Neal was fighting against Peter's hold on his body, trying to take more. "I'm ready now, Peter, I swear I am this time - "
Peter traced his thumb around the rim of Neal's hole. Pressed against the base of his balls, tugged on the cock ring. "Beg me for it."
It took a couple more minutes, a few more long strokes of his cock, the calculated dig of his fingernails into Neal's nipples before he relented.
"Fuck me hard," he sobbed, uselessly trying to hump himself back on Peter's cock. "I want your cock inside me, want you to fuck me so hard I can't take it, don't want you to stop - never want you to stop, Peter, let me come - "
He readjusted his grip on Neal's hips and fucked the boy as hard as he could. The bed was shaking underneath them, Neal's body jolting with every thrust, hands dug tight into the mattress to keep himself from collapsing under the force of Peter's hips slapping against his ass. So pretty, so fucking pretty, smooth skin and twisting muscle underneath, desperate for Peter, for more desperate to come.
"You feel so good, so tight, I can't - I can't - "
A few more thrusts to the soundtrack of Neal sobbing his name, the sensation of Neal's body clamping down around his cock, the nuisance of Neal's hands pushing at his hips. He shoved Neal down into the mattress and got his hand on the cockring. Fucked Neal like that, bent over his body, driving into his sore hole with all of his weight, as much force as he could muster, and right before he came he undid the cock ring.
Neal went silent. Then his whole body seized, choked screams falling out of his mouth with each thrust Peter made - shooting his come deep into Neal's body, feeling it drip out of him with each spasm of his overworked body. Neal cried, and held onto Peter's hips, and came until he couldn't move. Peter thrust idly until he was finished, watched the semen dripping down Neal's thighs. Pulled out and played with it, pushing it back into Neal's hole with his fingers.
"Say thank you," he admonished.
"Thank you," Neal whimpered, as Peter twisted three of his fingers into his greedy hole and started all over again.
*
Feedback is loved and adored!
*dies*
God, I feel like such a douchebag. I don't even want to know how big the repercussions of this are going to be.
OKAY BUT WAIT. Instead of sinking into misery, and digging myself a hole to bury my head in (I've got a very handy shovel), I am going to think clearly about this: their comment, if it had meant what I thought it meant, would have warranted the reaction that I had. I didn't say anything rude, but I was honest about how inappropriate I thought it was. Once I realized my mistake, I sent a very apologetic and conciliatory email explaining the situation. I was (to quote the book "The Four Agreements," which is part of my attempt to be less crazy in my head) "impeccable with my word."
And, in an attempt to "not take it personally," especially since this faculty person hasn't even replied yet, I'm going to stop assuming that she's going to turn into a fire-breathing dragon and crucify me. I'm not her, I don't know what's going on in her head, I am only in control of my own life. And I am going to share porn, take a shower, pack a lunch, and hit up the library like a mad mofo.
[insert segue here], HAVE SOME PORN! I was looking over my LJ and realized I haven't posted any WC fic (with the exception of the Chicago Round Robin!) since January 1st. So I collected all my prompt fills from the past months, realized they add up to 7.5k, and decided that I should split it into a couple of different posts. Today I'mma share some porny pieces! My little way of wishing y'all a better Sunday than I am currently having.
fic: easy
rating: r
pairing: neal/peter
prompt: competitive kissing
originally posted here, for
elrhiarhodan 's first prompt fest!*
"I'm not going to break," Neal says, when Peter cups his face carefully with one of his big hands, leaning in painfully slowly. He's been staring at Neal's mouth for weeks. Getting hard whenever Neal bit his lips or licked them. The day Neal had worn chapstick had been embarrassing for everyone in the office. And he - he doesn't want to screw this up.
"I don't know," Peter replies with a raised eyebrow. "It's been a while. Are you sure you haven't lost your touch?"
Neal looks outraged. "You - how dare you impugn my skills - "
Neal gasps when Peter kisses him. A sharp inhale as Peter presses their lips together, a rush of breath past his mouth, cool against the heat of his tongue as he licks at Neal's bottom lip.
He keeps his hand on Neal's cheek, tilting his head just a bit to the right, the tips of his fingers brushing against Neal's hair and the sensitive skin of his ear. Neal moans when Peter takes a step forward, pressing him back against the wall.
Neal's lips are soft. The chapstick at work, probably. His movements are tentative. Peter laughs softly, running his hand through his hair, and Neal growls.
"Insult my skills," he says, and then his hands are on Peter's arms, flipping them around, and he attacks Peter's mouth, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue sinuous and insistent in his mouth.
Fuck. Neal really is good at this. He's getting hard, fast, with Neal sucking at his tongue and rubbing lazily against his thigh.
"Fine," Peter gasps, pulling back to breathe. "You haven't lost your touch." He can feel Neal's lips twist into a smirk. "But kissing? Kissing's easy. Blowjobs, on the other hand..."
fic: give me miles and miles of mountains (and i will ask for the sea)
rating: nc-17
pairing: peter/neal
notes: written for
elrhiarhodan's Five Acts Meme (originally posted here). The kinks I used were "Skin" and "Dirty Talk." The title is taken from a Damien Rice song. *
"You sloppy fucking whore."
Neal didn't even flinch. He was too busy fucking himself with three fingers, lube dripping down his thighs, cockring keeping him right on the edge. He let Neal take care of his immediate needs - getting fucked, hard - and set about amusing himself.
Neal was the the most responsive lover he'd ever had. Moaned like he was dying every time Peter touched his cock, screamed and writhed when Peter fucked him, but even - even just soft brushes of his fingers against Neal's skin, and he'd bite his lips and close his eyes and his cock would twitch.
Neal's neck was smooth, a bit sweaty, corded tendons like roadmmaps pointing Peter from Neal's earlobe, down the slope of his shoulder, across the hard expanse of his chest. He traced the same lines over and over with the pads of his fingers, the edges of his fingernails, the tip of his tongue - until Neal's hands were both limp by his sides and he was shuddering every time Peter circled his tight little nipples.
"Four fingers now," he whispered, breath brushing against the edge of Neal's ear. Neal closed his eyes and obeyed. Hand already slick with lube, hole already trying to open, begging for more. "Think you could fist yourself, Neal?" It was the angle, more than anything else, that posed a difficulty. But Neal was flexible and always up for a challenge.
He arranged Neal on his knees, piled up pillows under his chest so that he could lean forward, and put a helping hand on Neal's wrist. Helped push Neal's hand - four fingers, the bump of his thumb, God they were so close - until Neal begged him to stop.
"My shoulder, Peter - "
An old wound from an old job that Neal wouldn't tell him about.
He put both of Neal's hands on the bed. "Don't move. I'm gonna fuck you, baby." He thrust three of his own fingers in because Neal's hole was too fucking sweet not to, pink and hungry and teasing him with every breath that Neal took. "You want my cock?"
"Yes."
"Say it," he growled, wrapping one hand in Neal's hair and pulling his body into a taut arch.
"I want your - your cock, Peter, I want it."
"What do you want me to do with it?" His chest was pressed against Neal's back, he could feel him shudder as he took in another breath.
"I want you to fuck me, hard, I want you to make it hurt, I want you to let me come, please - "
He thrust all the way in and Neal screamed. Screamed and tightened, hole like a vise around his cock, keeping him buried deep in his body.
"Too much, Peter, too - "
"Too big for you, baby?" Neal shook his head, trying to protest, but the whine building at the back of his throat was pitiful. He pulled out and Neal sagged against the pillows. "You want me to fuck you slow?"
"Yes, please, just at first, give me - "
He fucked Neal slowly. All the way out and all the way in, enough time to take a couple breaths on each stroke, until Neal was fighting against Peter's hold on his body, trying to take more. "I'm ready now, Peter, I swear I am this time - "
Peter traced his thumb around the rim of Neal's hole. Pressed against the base of his balls, tugged on the cock ring. "Beg me for it."
It took a couple more minutes, a few more long strokes of his cock, the calculated dig of his fingernails into Neal's nipples before he relented.
"Fuck me hard," he sobbed, uselessly trying to hump himself back on Peter's cock. "I want your cock inside me, want you to fuck me so hard I can't take it, don't want you to stop - never want you to stop, Peter, let me come - "
He readjusted his grip on Neal's hips and fucked the boy as hard as he could. The bed was shaking underneath them, Neal's body jolting with every thrust, hands dug tight into the mattress to keep himself from collapsing under the force of Peter's hips slapping against his ass. So pretty, so fucking pretty, smooth skin and twisting muscle underneath, desperate for Peter, for more desperate to come.
"You feel so good, so tight, I can't - I can't - "
A few more thrusts to the soundtrack of Neal sobbing his name, the sensation of Neal's body clamping down around his cock, the nuisance of Neal's hands pushing at his hips. He shoved Neal down into the mattress and got his hand on the cockring. Fucked Neal like that, bent over his body, driving into his sore hole with all of his weight, as much force as he could muster, and right before he came he undid the cock ring.
Neal went silent. Then his whole body seized, choked screams falling out of his mouth with each thrust Peter made - shooting his come deep into Neal's body, feeling it drip out of him with each spasm of his overworked body. Neal cried, and held onto Peter's hips, and came until he couldn't move. Peter thrust idly until he was finished, watched the semen dripping down Neal's thighs. Pulled out and played with it, pushing it back into Neal's hole with his fingers.
"Say thank you," he admonished.
"Thank you," Neal whimpered, as Peter twisted three of his fingers into his greedy hole and started all over again.
*
Feedback is loved and adored!