Rocking chairs, balconies, and underwear, oh my!

So, the other night I needed a little kick in the ass to do some writing, and I tweeted a request for prompts. I got three! So, Annette, Tkegl, and TwilightJems, these are for you.

Rocking Chair

The creaking floorboards were a gentle counterpoint to the soft slap of their skin. Their sounds were deep, guttural. Feet pressed against the floor with urgency, sending the rocking chair into a paroxysm of motion that mirrored their own. Loud cries swallowed by hot mouths followed, and then quiet, as the chair slowed, they slowed, and only the gentle “crick, crick” remained.

(From @annetteinoz - rocking chair)

Last Night On The Patio

The crackle of the paper reaches my ears, before the acrid tendril of smoke wafts into my nose. Spinning around, I see the burning, red tip of a cigarette flare, illuminating the silhouette of a strong, male jaw. Then a low, gravelly voice asks, “Not to be rude, but why are you naked on my balcony?”

Before I can react, whether it be to answer or try to cover myself, the owner of the voice leans forward; his face moves into the light, the movement of his black clad legs settling on either side of the chaise lounge, registering only by the reflection of light off the leather encasing them, and pale hands, float above black sleeves as elbows rest on knees.

“I,” but the words stick in my throat as I get a good look at him. The fingers that pinch the cigarette when he takes a hit are long and graceful, and his mouth, Christ his mouth, is perfect. Full, red lips form a teasing “o” on his exhale, and wicked, green eyes regard me like I’m puzzle to put together, or take apart.

His hair is shorn, cut close to his scalp, leaving behind nothing but bristly fuzz that I want to run my hands over. I want to feel the prickle-tickle of that dark hair along my palm and against my cheek. His eyes drop, and they’re roving over my entire body, and even if I was dressed, I’d feel naked under his gaze.

I like it.

My body agrees, reacting to him in traitorous ways.

I see his lip quirk up in a smirk, and when his eyes reach mine once more, I see that an eyebrow has mimicked his mouth, and his regard is both amused and heated. He takes a final hit off his cigarette, and I watch as his thumb and middle finger pinch together, before flicking the butt, the burning stub creating an arc of red light as it flies over the railing and out into the night.

He moves quickly, and in a moment he’s standing in front of me. I should be mortified. I should be trying to cover myself. Instead, I’m staring at him and my breath speeds up. He’s all lithe grace and dangerous lines, and his skin is pale, ethereal almost against the canvas of his all black clothing. Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist, and he carries himself like a predator, feline and almost threatening as he cocks his head. He places his hands on the railing, one on either side of me, caging me. He is mere inches from me, and I feel all the more naked in contrast to his fully clothed body.

“You didn’t answer the question.” Muffled shouting from the unit upstairs floats down, and he smiles at me. “A quick escape out the window? Errant wife? Angry husband got home too early?”

His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, glossing them.

I finally break my gaze from that mouth that I want to feel on my skin, and shake my head as I look up at him. “Errant husband. Angry wife,” I reply.

His lips stretch into a wicked smile and he leans forward. I’m pressed against the railing, there’s nowhere else to go, nowhere I want to go. He dips his head and runs his nose along my neck, before nuzzling my jaw, scratching himself along the stubble there like the great cat he resembles. “Lucky me,” he chuckles against my skin.

Lucky me. I think as his hands move over, then around, and finally in my body. Lucky me. As his mouth robs me of any coherent thoughts.

(from @TwilightJems - Not to be rude, but what are you doing naked on my balcony?)

Fuck the Pancakes

I stand unnoticed in the doorway of the kitchen, and watch as he makes breakfast. He dances as he cooks, his pert ass wiggling while he flips the pancakes; the ties of the apron falling down his bare back, swaying with the beat of whatever song is playing on his iPod.

Not everyone can pull off pink and white striped boxer briefs, but he can. They mold to his ass just right, and when he turns around and I remove that travesty of an apron from him—a picture of a rooster with the word “tease” next to it—I’ll see the lovely way those pink and white stripes cup his cock, the real one.

Grinning I watch as he moves to the sink, gripping the edge and writhing against it, until finally he pretends like he’s fucking the damn thing, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. With a small shriek he spins around, his hand clutching the spatula like it’s a weapon.

“Damn it! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

I grin as I push off of the door jamb and walk toward him, my hand rubbing my hard on through my pajama bottoms.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he says, waggling his finger. “I’m making breakfast!”

I don’t say anything as I lean in and kiss him. He kisses me lightly, then tries to pull away, but I grip his neck tight and kiss him harder. My hand moves to the ties of the apron, and then it’s slipping down, over his slim hips, pooling at his feet on the floor.

He breaks off from our kiss. “But . . . but, breakfast,” he pants.

“Later,” I tell him. “I don’t want to eat pancakes right now.” I drop to my knees and nuzzle his cock through those pink and white stripes. I glance at him and he is staring down at me, his gaze dark and wild, and I swipe my tongue over his tip, which is now pushing out over the top of his waistband.

I grip the elastic and pull down, freeing him and without preamble, take him into my mouth. His knees buckle, and I grin as I continue to lavish his cock with my lips and mouth and tongue. I pull back and look up at him, “I think the pancakes are burning.”

He grabs my head and pushes it back down. “Fuck the pancakes.”

Yeah. Pink and white stripes.

(from @Tkegl - Not everyone can pull off pink and white striped boxer briefs.)

Hope you enjoyed those. Please let me know what you think!

Pointless Drabbles

A little while back my girl, Zigster, asked me to write her a few drabbles for her tumblr, Give Me a Word: http://drabbleme.tumblr.com I thought I'd repost them, and their prompts, here.

In the gray dawn fingers touch skin, cold then hot. Breath and mouth, shared, warmed, delighted. Muscles taut then lax, skin on skin, entwined.

Laughter, carefree, effervescent, then touch followed by taste, smiles by sighs, moans by cries, ending in touch then smiles then laughter.














Approach

They were nervous, skirting each other. Approach, retreat, then approach again. With a sigh, lips finally met, tender and soft, perfect.

Birthday Drabbles

These drabbles were originally written for Twiboy's birthday last April. I've had to repost them 'cause I couldn't edit them as I wanted.

Fiendishly

He looked up into the man’s face and found those golden eyes staring back at him, filled with want, need, desire, and no small amount of mischief. His breath caught in his throat.

Could he do this?

A fingertip grazed the inside of his thigh, barely touching him, yet he twitched in his pants and his back arched, hips seeking and needy. Apparently, yes. Yes he could do this.

Lips found their way to his neck and all reason left him.

“Oh god yes,” he breathed.

“God’s got nothing to do with it,” the man whispered. A sharp nip at his sensitive skin, and then the man chuckled fiendishly and growled, “Mine.”

Right Angle

He looked down at the lovely green eyed boy lying next to him, legs akimbo, one arm thrown above his head, bent at the elbow in a right angle.

It made him ponder geometry.

He traced a fingertip along the angles and planes of the boy’s face. He ran his tongue along the curves and circles of his chest. His hands palmed the flat surface of his stomach. His eyes drank in the muscled expanse of his legs, from their toe tips to the acute angle at their apex, until finally, his fingers closed around the circumference of the hard, nearly cylindrical entity that nestled there.

The boy’s reaction was decidedly not mathematical.

An almost lyrical litany of words and sounds spilled from the depths of the boy’s mouth, as he continued to stroke and pull and grasp until, finally, the sounds ended on a single note that, ironically, left the boy’s mouth forming a perfect circle.

Guardian

He watched them. Watched the rise and fall of their chests. Watched the tender kisses turn frenzied and needy. Watched dark skin slide against alabaster and bodies merge into one being.

Watched unruly copper hair entangle with long, straight black. Watched as their skin flushed and their pleasure grew.

He listened to them. Listened as words of love were exchanged. Listened as breath turned to pants and moans.

Listened as skin slapped against skin and wet, sucking sounds brought them pleasure. Listened as cries of ecstasy poured forth, as one boy spilled into the other.

He stroked. He touched. He felt. He exalted. He came.

He remained silent. He continued to watch.

A silent guardian. Forever watching. Forever listening. Forever alone.

Sear

Lips, tongue, fingers.
Wet, soft, grasping.
Each touch seared into his skin.

Hardness, slickness, pressure, fullness.
Slip-slide, soft stroke, deep thrust.
Each move seared into his body.

Blue eyes, green eyes, depths, shining, widening.
Tears, joy, love.
Each moment seared into his soul.

Hands, fingers, arms.
Clasping, entwining, engulfing.
Each movement seared into their beings.

Golden hair, copper hair, golden skin, pale skin.
Mingling, tangling, clenching.
Each embrace searing them together.

Heart attack

This was it. It was happening. He’d always thought it would happen violently, but instead it was a heart attack.

That had to be what he was feeling, right?

The pain. Oh god, the pain.

He hears a voice.

“Stay with me.”

The voice.

That voice.

The seductive voice. The voice that drew him to the alley. The voice that enticed him to strip and reveal himself to a stranger. The voice attached to that mouth.

That mouth.

The mouth that kissed him. The mouth that nipped and pulled and slicked his skin. The mouth that engulfed him. The mouth that sucked and licked and drew out pleasure until he was nothing but the keening wail that escaped him.

The mouth attached to that body.

That body that spun him around and pressed him to the wall. That body that caressed and spread and impaled. That body that pushed and pulled and brought ecstasy in waves.

That body that was attached to that mouth.

That mouth that peppered kisses along muscles and spine and neck.

That mouth attached to those teeth.

Those teeth which bit, and that mouth that sucked and sucked and the pleasure spiraling until . . . oh god, the pain!

An attack, but not a heart attack.

And that voice . . . that voice . . . that voice.

“Please, stay with me.”