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onepieceyaoi100Title: Headcase
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 297
Pairing: Lucci/Paulie
Topic: emotion
He's bent you over your own sawhorse; your ass is in the air, old beer sour in your mouth. He’s behind you, inside you, everywhere. Trousers around your ankles, that damned pigeon cooing somewhere overhead, but when his hand finally closes tight around your balls and you come, there’s no sound but his breathing and your strangled curses.
This is how it won't happen. Didn't happen. But how about
Up against a half-built wall, his voice (his voice, his) in your ear, “I told you not to come back here.”
His cock splits you open, spit only, and fuck it hurts but you don’t care, won’t care because he’s fucking you hard and deep, so far up you, you can feel his cock in your damn throat. And now you’re coming, your dick untouched by any hand, his or yours. Bucking back against him, shooting your load all over sun-hot stone and, “Fuck, yes, now,” as he laughs low and mean, his come slicking your hole.
No, that’s not right. Maybe
On your back underneath him, knees around your ears. His fingers press against your hole, slide into you, and you’re choking on your spit, the air, his name. Then he's leaning down, leaning over you, shutting you up with his mouth, and that’s even better.
Fingers slide in. They pull back out, and it’s his cock and his tongue pushing into you, fucking into your mouth and ass, screwing deep. Screwing you.
God, you’re screwed.
That wasn’t then. This won’t be now.
Your hand's around your cock, your fingers in your ass and you can’t see the ceiling, white-blind and coming, coming, “Lucci!”
Semen on your fingers, his name in your mouth. You touch a finger to your tongue, tasting both together, and it's bitter. Bitter twice.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 297
Pairing: Lucci/Paulie
Topic: emotion
He's bent you over your own sawhorse; your ass is in the air, old beer sour in your mouth. He’s behind you, inside you, everywhere. Trousers around your ankles, that damned pigeon cooing somewhere overhead, but when his hand finally closes tight around your balls and you come, there’s no sound but his breathing and your strangled curses.
This is how it won't happen. Didn't happen. But how about
Up against a half-built wall, his voice (his voice, his) in your ear, “I told you not to come back here.”
His cock splits you open, spit only, and fuck it hurts but you don’t care, won’t care because he’s fucking you hard and deep, so far up you, you can feel his cock in your damn throat. And now you’re coming, your dick untouched by any hand, his or yours. Bucking back against him, shooting your load all over sun-hot stone and, “Fuck, yes, now,” as he laughs low and mean, his come slicking your hole.
No, that’s not right. Maybe
On your back underneath him, knees around your ears. His fingers press against your hole, slide into you, and you’re choking on your spit, the air, his name. Then he's leaning down, leaning over you, shutting you up with his mouth, and that’s even better.
Fingers slide in. They pull back out, and it’s his cock and his tongue pushing into you, fucking into your mouth and ass, screwing deep. Screwing you.
God, you’re screwed.
That wasn’t then. This won’t be now.
Your hand's around your cock, your fingers in your ass and you can’t see the ceiling, white-blind and coming, coming, “Lucci!”
Semen on your fingers, his name in your mouth. You touch a finger to your tongue, tasting both together, and it's bitter. Bitter twice.
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