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For the last few years, there has been a lovely tradition (started by
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foxrafer and stormatdusk when they found out that shegollum had never been trick or treating) of virtual trick or treating happening on my flist. Basically, people post a picture of a door, and trick or treaters can stop by to knock on your door (leave a comment) and get a treat of some kind. It could be a ficlet, a poem, a picture. If you want to leave me a wee prompt or fandom (LOTR or otherwise), feel free. If you'd like to participate, just post a door and some instructions to lure the unwary to your lair. The more the merrier!
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Trick or treat!
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Re: Trick or treat!
Not surprisingly, the Viggo that stepped into Sean's bedroom not long after was still Aragorn-ed, which meant sweaty and a bit grubby and costumed. If the slight frown was any indication, Viggo was also moody. Not that anyone so intimate with a day's filth woudln't be. Sean supposed he could shove Viggo in the shower to freshen up and then finish dresssing. He touched Viggo's shoulder, nodded toward the bathroom. "Water's still warm for you," then gave him a swat on the ass.
Sean expected a headbutt or a return slap that accidentally dislodged the towel around his hips. He expected a smile, perhaps a soft groan. What he didn't expect was Viggo turning, shoving him against the wall, and trapping him between it and his body.
"You always go too far." Viggo growled softly. "Too far."
"Viggo, what the fuck...?" Sean pushed back, but Viggo just leaned more heavily against him. Viggo's cock, already hard, pressed against his ass.
"Arrogant. Bullheaded. Unwilling to bend." Viggo tugged sharply at the towel, dropped it to the floor.
Sean couldn't help a rush of nervous laughter. What the fuck was the bugger....? He stillled as he realized the slow, precise way Viggo spoke wasn't him at all. It was Aragorn. "Vig, listen...."
"No. You listen." Viggo shifted and, after some sharp movements that must have undone his trousers, rubbed his cock against Sean's ass. "You will bend for me."
There was no fighting the shudder that ran through Sean at Viggo's words. He didn't even bother to try, didn't resist when Viggo kicked his legs apart or when Viggo spit on his hand to slick up his cock.
When Viggo nudged his cock between Sean's cheeks, steadying it before pressing into him, Sean tensed, murmured a faint, "Don't." If Viggo heard, he didn't listen; he just groaned as he fought his way into Sean.
Sean struggled, tried to pull free or buck Viggo off as the pressure and friction and too sudden stretch made him cry out.
"You will bend for me, or I will break you." Viggo's hands gripped Sean's hips, pulled him back into his thrust.
Sean's body jerked at the flash of pain, clamped down on Viggo's cock, drawing a deep, satified groan from Viggo. Then it was Sean's turn to growl, grit his teeth. Enough of this shit. He was going to take Viggo, and....
"Bend for me." Viggo's hand closed around Sean's cock, squeezed. He laughed as Sean's hips thrust forward into his hand.
...and he was going to give the crazy fucking bugger...
Viggo started fucking Sean urgently, stroking him in time with each short, hard thrust. "Bend for me you, fucking bastard."
Sean shook his head, but Viggo kept at him until he started shuddering as the pain of Viggo's fucking blended with fierce sparks of pleasure than had him driving into Viggo's hand, pressing back into his thrusts.
Just before Sean's cock twitched, and he came in Viggo's hand, he heard Viggo's voice, dark and rough, murmur, "Bend for me, Boromir."
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I'm glad you enjoyed it so much. It was a lot of fun to write.
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Still an enjoyable read!
Cheers and screams, Eve ;)
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(Uh, I typed "beans" the first time. Wonder what that means... *g*)
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Glad you enjoyed it and sorry I too so long to thank you.
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The Vampire Goes Trick or Treating
All blood tastes sweeter
on Halloween. One good thing
about candy corn.
Will Virginia be bumble-beeing again tonight?
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Virginia's got the night off from her costume, since she was such a good girl with her photo shoot. All she has to do now is help us eat the Halloween treats. ;)
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Sean was glad he’d put his bottle of beer on the end table before flopping on the sofa when something jabbed him hard in the ass. He yelped softly, jumping up, rubbing his cheek with one hand as he bent over and felt around behind the cushion for the offending object and pulled out a paintbrush.
“Viggo.” Sean muttered his lover’s name softly as he tossed the brush on the coffee table. Bugger was a menace. He turned to sit before pausing, glancing at the cushion and sighing heavily as he pulled it up. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he pulled the others off, retrieving from under and behind them no less than about thirty dollars worth of assorted Yank and Kiwi coins and bills, a tube of lip balm, two packs of gum, a comb, half a dozen pebbles of various shapes and colors, and the cell phone Viggo swore he lost a month ago.
Silly fucking bugger.
Sean had the cushions back on the sofa and was reaching behind the last one, trying to extract something when the silly fucking bugger in question came into the room.
“What are you doing?”
Sean groaned softly as he snagged his prize, straightening as he spoke Viggo’s name and gestured at the sofa. “Sofa?”
Viggo’s eyes widened a little, then he swallowed, nodded as he undid his jeans, pushing them off his hips as he draped himself over the arm of the sofa, offering himself to Sean.
What the bloody hell? Sean shook his head, went to put the last item he pulled from the sofa with the rest of the hoard, then blinked as he realized it was lube. He blinked, then laughed softly as he gave Viggo a long looking over. Viggo squirmed, and hiis keys slithered out of his jeans pocket and slipped behind one of the cushions.
Sean smiled. Mystery solved.
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*knockknock* Helloooooo? *tentatively pushes on door* Is there anyone home? *whimper* Why is it so dark in here? ...Aaah! Did anyone else hear that? That-- that squeaking? ^_~
I'm dressed as an Angel of the Lord (and Thursdays).
Hit me with your best shot. *G*
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Zeus threw his head back and screamed as his hips thrust up hard into empty air and he came hard. The plug stretching him wide still buzzed eagerly in his ass, and even without it, he knew he’d be hard again soon. He blinked sweat from his eyes as he felt Lucifer fit a band of metal snugly around the base of his cock. “Wha--?”
He yelped as Lucifer bent his cock back to snap another ring attached to the first closed just under the head of his cock. He made a soft sound, rocked his hips. “What are you doing to me?”
Lucifer’s smile was slow and dark as sin. “Oh, I think you have a pretty good idea. Or you soon will.” He reached down, moaned softly as he stroked his own hard cock.
The buzzing of the plug in Zeus’s ass made his cock, twitch, try to harden, but he stayed soft, a knot of frustration beginning to build just under the ring around the base of his shaft. He shook his head. “No. You can’t do this.”
“Oh, but I can.” Lucifer let his hands fall to his sides, taunting Zeus with his erection. “If you want to be hard, you have to work for it.”
Zeus bared his teeth, growled as he fought the cuffs that bound his wrists to his sides.
“Not like that.” Lucifer laughed. “You won’t get free until you’ve come. And you won’t be able to come until you can get it up.”
When the cuffs holding Zeus’s wrists opened, he reached for this cock, yelping at pulling his fingers back at the flash of pain. He glared at Lucifer.
“Surely, you didn’t think it would be that easy?” Lucifer nodded toward a table that Zeus knew was just the right height for fucking. “Up.” As Zeus climbed up, Lucifer added. “Kneel. Legs apart.”
Zeus knelt facing his tormentor, legs slightly parted before he reconsidered, sliding them apart until his thighs trembled at the stretch. Invisible bonds slipped into place at his ankles and behind his knees to hold him in place. A black velvet bag dropped heavily on the table near Zeus.
“Put them on.”
Zeus opened the bag. His eyes widened as he saw the contents, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”
Lucifer laughed. “I can wait a long time.” He smiled cruelly. “I wonder what centuries of stimulation without any hope of an erection, any chance of release, would do to you.”
Zeus swallowed heavily, bowed his head. After a time, he reached into the bag, pulled out a weighted clamp. Pale blue flickers of lighting played over the metal and make his skin tingle. He held it, trembling, and whispered, “I can’t.”
He wasn’t sure how much time passed in silence before he pinched the clamp open. He held it that way for what felt like a long time before he tugged at the loose skin of his scrotum, pulling it away from his balls before clipping the clamp to it. His body convulsed as the clamp bit into him, sent fingers of electricity over his balls. The weight tugged down on his skin. He slumped, trembling and sweated, and whimpered as Lucifer murmured, “Only eleven more to go.”
Zeus was pale, shaking uncontrollably and more spent than he’d ever felt before, as he fastened the last clamp. After several tries, he managed a rough, “Please…,” as he canted his hips toward Lucifer. “Please. Take it off.” He started thrusting urgently, his body jerking and twisting as each movement made the clamps swing and pull. “Take it off.”
Lucifer made a low appreciative sound, the knuckles of his fingers white where they gripped the base of his own cock. The ring under Zeus’s cockhead sprang open just as a cord of leather wrapped tightly around the base of his balls. His cock hardened instantly, twitched as he thrust harder, fought to come. But the cords wound around the base of his cock then laced themselves back and forth snugly around the length of his shaft until it was hidden by a mesh of black leather.
“No...” The word was little more than a soft whimper.
“If you thought this was hard, wait until you see what you need to do before I let you come.”
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Wash glanced up at the arc of faintly greenish luminescent jelly that Zoe was holding gingerly between two fingertips.
"Ummm... Well, it's sorta..." Wash combed his fingers through his hair. "See, Inara and I were shopping, and...." He blinked as the thing twitched, curled in on itself.
Zoe arched an eyebrow. "Hoban, tell me this is not alive."
Wash groaned softly. It was never a good sign when Zoe used his real name. "It's a sex toy." Unless Inara was having one over on him. And he didn't think it was alive, but somehow, I don't think so, didn't seem like a smart response.
"It's a...what?" Zoe held the thing up, studying it as it squirmed and pulsed. "What are you supposed to do with it?"
"Well..." Wash shrugged, blushed. "I'm not sure. She had an...appointment, and I didn't really have a chance to ask her."
"I see." Zoe sat on the bed next to Wash. "So now Inara knows that plastic dinosaurs aren't the only things you collect, hmm?"
Wash turned more fully toward Zoe, slipped an arm around her waist. "It's not my fault you make me think dirty thoughts." He nuzzled her stomach through her shirt.
Zoe's fingers slipped through his hair, traced his ear, his jaw, his lips. She laughed softly. "I think you were plenty perverse before we met."
Wash kissed Zoe's fingertips, winked at her. "Maybe. Just a little. On weekends and holidays."
"Uh huh." Zoe chuckled, picked the toy up off the bed. "Take off your clothes."
"What? Me?" Wash sat up, wet his lips at the predatory gleam in his wife's eyes. "Why...me?"
Zoe ran her fingers down the toy, watching it ripple and twitch at her touch. She smiled wickedly. "Because I have some ideas about what I can do with it."
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It wasn't until she'd spoken with Harper that Teresa understood. She hadn't expected her simple, "We must talk about Richard," to make Harper blush and stammer and confess to a litany of sins particular to soldiers who spent too long away from a woman's touch.
Teresa supposed that Harper's words should have driven her to tears or a rage. From the way Harper flinched when she felt color warming her cheeks, he was clearly expecting it. She might have even managed some colorful curses worthy of Richard himself if she wasn't so distracted by the thought of Harper seeing to her Richard's needs.
Fortunately for her, Harper was more easily won over by her words than Richard. How could he argue when she said Richard needed time to relax between battles, needed rest to keep his edge? How could he deny his responsibility to see to Richard's needs, the same duty that drove them together in the first place? Before Harper agreed with her request of him, she knew she had him. She saw it in the mixture of guilt and need in Harper's eyes.
That night, as Richard undressed her, she felt her skin tingle more than usual, felt a hotter rush of pleasure when he spread her legs to taste her. As Richard's tongue circled and rubbed and thrust, Teresa didn't bother to hold back the eager sounds he coaxed from her. If her movements were more urgent, her cries more desperate, Richard didn't seem to notice.
Richard moved up her body, kissing her as he slid into her heat. She curled her fingers around the back of his neck as she tasted herself on his lips. Her legs wrapped around his waist to hold him against her. To hold him while Harper slipped out of the shadows in the corner of the room, crossed to the bed, and pressed two slick fingers into Richard.
Even though she was expecting it, Teresa almost lost her hold on Richard as he jerked. If Harper hadn't leaned over him to pin Richard against her, he'd have gotten loose. As it was, the string of curses he spat out were nearly enough to make her call the whole thing to a halt. But then, something happened. Richard's body tensed, his hips pressed deeper into her as he gasped.
"There we go, sir. Feels good, doesn't it?"
Richard could deny all he wanted, but Teresa could see the need in his eyes, could feel each shudder run through him at Harper's touch. When she tightened around Richard, she felt his cock twitch as he whined. "Oh god, fuck me."
The words tumbled out of Richard's mouth, raw and ragged. Harper groaned at them. Teresa pulled Richard down, brushed her lips across his, then glanced at Harper over his shoulder. "Do it," she said, kissing Richard deeply before he could protest or she could change her mind. She held Richard tight as he shivered at Harper's long, slow slide in. Richard's hips shifted, nudging deeper into her, rocking back into Harper.
Harper groaned softly as Richard started moving, his hands running along Richard's side, steadying him as he moved more urgently. Teresa felt desire tighten in her belly, then shiver through her as she relized the control Richard never fully let go when he was with her was slipping, and it was delicious.
Release rushed through Teresa twice before she felt Richard spill inside her and then again as he lay sprawled over her while Harper rode him hard. Even though Richard was spent, she felt his cock twitch feebly before Harper finished. She was grateful Harper sprawled beside her on the bed, since Richard was heavy enough on his own.
Slowly, gently, Teresa carded her fingers through Richard's hair. She looked over at Harper, who smiled, brushed his lips across her cheek. No words were needed, not just yet, but soon. Soon, they all needed to talk.
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Sorry I fail at timely feedback.
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*knock knock*
*door opens to reveal a young woman man in a well-fitted three-piece pinstripe suit, looking a little haggard, slight Welsh accent, cup of perfectly brewed coffee in one hand and stun-gun in the other.
"Trick *raises the stun gun* or Treat *raises the coffee*, ma'am?"
*snicker* Undead!coffeking!Ianto Jones, at your service (ignore the slight hips and the boobs and... *giggle*)
~Kris
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Sean paused as he stepped into the kitchen, his mouth dropping open as he looked around the room.
“Viggo!”
Viggo leaned over the island, which was filled with little cubes of pound cake and a frightful number of small paper cups with ladybugs and daisies on them and various colored liquids in them.
“What the fucking hell is all this…?” Sean gestured, taking in Viggo and the island. “This…?”
“Tea.” Viggo beamed, grinning like a maniac as he lifted a piece of pound cake skewered on a toothpick, impaled as all its fellows were, and offered it to Sean.
“Tea?”
Viggo nodded. “I know you like a good cup, hmm? So I found this place online that has all these different kinds of teas. Natural ones and flavored ones and herbal ones. All kinds.” When Sean made no move to take the cake, Viggo ate it, put the toothpick on the countertop. “And you can get them and mix them to make more flavors.” He held up a cup of a dark reddish tea. “This is strawberry mixed with birthday cake to make a sort of strawberry short cake. Try it.”
Sean backed up a handful of steps until he hit the wall. “No. Absolutely not. No fucking way, Viggo.”
“But…” Viggo’s smile faded.
Sean pointed an accusatory finger at Viggo. “The last time I tried one of your fucking teas, I nearly shat my trousers.” Viggo tried to disguise a laugh with a cough. “Twice.”
“The box…” Viggo cleared his throat, grinned like a bloody lunatic. “The box said it was a cleansing tea. What did you except?”
“I don’t expect some bloody tea to keep my arse glued to the fucking toilet all day, Vig.” Sean made a disgusted sound. “Fucks sake.”
Viggo came closer. “This isn’t the same kind of tea, Sean.” He sniffed at the liquid, then held the cup out to Sean. “And it smells really good.”
Sean breathed in, his nose wrinkling as he blinked at Viggo. “That’s not tea. It’s a fucking liquid cupcake.”
“It’s good.” Viggo offered Sean the cup. “Try it.”
Sean took the cup, eyeing first its contents, then Viggo, suspiciously.
“It’s good.” Viggo nodded. “I’ve been sampling.”
“Sampling?” Sean sniffed again at the tea.
“Yeah. And no shitting.” Viggo turned around, bending over slightly to show Sean the well-worn and obviously shitless jeans clinging to his ass.
Sean wet his lips appreciatively. Viggo did have a great ass. Bloke could forgive a lot of crazy for an ass like that. Even cupcake tea. Tipping his head back, Sean drained the cup dry.
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Thanks so much, my dear--I needed a little something today, and this was the perfect thing. I'm grinning madly and giggling, and that helps my spirits immensely!
*hugs tight*
~Kris
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Thank you again!
~Kris
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In the morning, Nikolai would blame the vodka, blame the indulgence he never followed to excess for leaning into Kirill’s touch instead of slipping away from it, but he knew the vodka was not to at fault. He was. A man in his position didn’t survive, didn’t thrive, without discipline and control. That was why, some nights, he ached for Alec’s touch. Alec who could make him lose control, who could strip it away, layer by layer, and leave him wrecked and deeply sated.
Deep down, Nikolai hoped maybe Kirill could do the same. He hoped that years need would have sharpened Kirill, driven him to take, to grab for everything he’d denied himself for so long. Nikolai hoped he could shut his eyes and pretend it was Alec fucking him.
But Kirill was not Alec.
Yes, Kirill fucked Nikolai urgently, but his thrusts were frantic, desperate. Clumsy enough to send them both stumbling toward orgasm, but not skilled enough to make Nikolai’s control crumble. All the while Kirill’s fingers fumbled at Nikolai’s cock, as he whimpered softly, murmured, “Kolya. Need you, Kolya.” Little considerations, little signs of a breaking control that Alec never gave him.
That’s why Nikolai was so surprised when his balls tightened as he felt Kirill spill inside him. His cock twitched as Kirill came apart on him, and it only took a few shifts of his hips until he came in Kirill’s hand.
Nikolai’s eyes slipped closed as Kirill curled around him and drifted into a light doze as he heard his name on Kirill’s lips, felt Kirill’s cock softening inside him.
Kirill was not Alec. But maybe he was enough.
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and feel free to drop by my place, too.
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By the time Boromir was able to excuse himself from dinner and make his way to his brother’s rooms, Faramir was pacing stiffly between the bed and the fireplace. He didn’t look up when Boromir bolted the door or respond when he paused by a table to right a goblet that had tipped over and mutter, “Waste of good ale.” Boromir touched his brother’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he felt the tremors, and said, “Show me.”
Faramir nodded once, and then unlaced his breeches, pushing them off his hips and letting them fall before he knelt on the bed, bent over so that his cheek was pressed against the mattress, his ass in the air. Boromir whistled softly as he looked over the bruises and welts that marred his brother’s skin.
“He gave you a proper whipping, didn’t he?” Boromir’s words were soft, almost as soft as the brush of his fingertips over one of the welts that crossed Faramir’s ass. When his touch coaxed a low moan out of his brother, Borormir traced the mark, smiling at the shiver that ran through Faramir’s body. “Did you goad Father before?” Boromir pressed on one of the bruises. “So that he’d be harder on you?”
Faramir whimpered as his hips jerked. His back arched as his legs parted. “Please, brother…”
“You did, didn’t you?” Boromir took the lid off the bottle of salve on Faramir’s bedside table. The scent of milky herbs and clean water had become familiar enough that his cock hardened even more as he breathed it in deeply. He took his time coating his cock, smirking as he imagined the response of the good dames from the Houses of Healing at his unconventional use for one of their unguents. At least he’d but it to its proper use after he saw to Faramir’s other needs.
Boromir pushed his brother’s legs farther apart, then cupped his cheeks, spreading them and opening him. He made a soft sound of pleasure as he nudged the head of cock between Faramir’s cheeks, rubbing it teasingly against him. “You taunted him before he beat you, didn’t you?” Faramir whined, tried to press back, take Boromir inside him, but Boromir gripped his hips to hold him still. “Didn’t you?
Faramir made a strangled sound as Boromir’s fingers dug into him. “Yes.” He twisted his hips, whimpered pleasingly. “Yes…
Boromir smiled wickedly, nodded, then steadied his cock to shove hard into his brother, burying himself balls deep in a single firm thrust. He groaned deeply as Faramir choked on a cry and clenched around him.
“Fuck me.” Faramir’s words were sharp, less plea than command as he rocked his hips. He stilled only when Boromir dug his fingers into his hips.
“Don’t forget that I’m the one doing the fucking, little brother.” He demonstrated by rolling his hips, then fucking Faramir. As his thrusts lengthened, he pulled Faramir back into every one, making sure to slam into his brother’s ass as hard as he could. He knew now to keep a firm hold on Faramir’s hips, knew his brother couldn’t help trashing as he muffled his screams in the mattress. He knew it as sure as he knew that Faramir wouldn’t last long. He groaned softly as Faramir’s hips jerked and he spilled.
Sometimes Boromir worried about being so familiar, so comfortable, with his intimate knowledge of Faramir’s perversities, but not now. Not when his thrusts slowed, when he savored fucking his brother’s spent and pliant body as he waited for him to harden again.