scribblinlenore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scribblinlenore) wrote2006-12-07 03:57 pm
scribblinlenore) wrote2006-12-07 03:57 pm
Entry tags:
Let's share porny thoughts, shall we?
I feel restless. (Note mood icon.) I've shot through my to-do list:
--Complete work that I'm actually being paid for. Check. (Although in the interest of full disclosure, it's not like there was that much of it to begin with.)
--Meet today's Mistletoe storywriting goal. Check. (Actually I shot way past it and finished most of tomorrow's, and now I'm utterly burned out on writing for the day.)
--Write tomorrow's holiday fluff. Check. (I did this on the train this morning, which is strangely conducive to fluff.)
--Get Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks. Check.
--Quell rage at how ridiculously expensive Peppermint Mocha is. Check. Mostly.
--Beg people on LJ to come out and play with me. That's what I'm working on now!
I was thinking we could share porny thoughts. There are so many porntastic shows that people are watching on my flist. Let's discuss the smutty possibilities!
I'll go first. So, I woke up this morning thinking about the Petrelli brothers (from Heroes, for those who don't watch the show) in very graphic detail, and I liked it. Okay? I liked it! Here's specifically what was on my mind.
So we know that Peter's on a mission to save the world, and Nathan's got a martyr thing going with the big-brother-to-the-rescue routine, and it only stands to reason that there will be times in the future when Peter goes off like a zealot and get banged up, and Nathan will come get him and take him home and lets out this big sigh, "So, I guess I'm stuck taking care of you again." Oh, Nathan! How you protest too much.
I imagine Peter all dirty, with cuts and bruises, and blood smeared on him. Nothing major, but he could use some loving kindness to help get cleaned up. This is their fucked up dynamic, Peter in trouble and Nathan to the rescue, the only way they know how to cling to each other in a family where appearances were more important than actual affection. Neither of them can quite remember when it turned sexual.
On the surface, everything is practical, brotherly when they get to Peter's apartment. Nathan calls Peter a slob and picks up some of the clothes he's left thrown on the floor. Peter tells him to stop that and asks if he wants a beer. "Let's take care of you first," Nathan tells him. He gets out the antiseptic--he knows where Peter keeps it--and cleans up Peter's cuts and tells him not to be a baby when he complains that it stings. "Some of these could use bandaids, but you might want a shower first." Pragmatic, that's our Nathan.
All the while the knowledge of where this is really leading is sizzling beneath the surface.
Nathan turns his head, and Peter takes off his clothes, and gets in the shower. And Nathan hesitates. He thinks, "Maybe this time I won't." But he does. He always does. Peter startles when Nathan gets in the shower with him. Even though he knows what's coming, he's never quite prepared. "Thought you could use some help," Nathan mutters against the back of his neck, and he feels Peter's reaction to his breath on his skin, instantaneous and unmistakable. He soaps up his hands and moves them over his brother's body, arms and chest and legs and belly, almost like he's just being helpful, because they walk that line, oh how they walk that line. And he's getting hard, and Peter is hard, and Nathan is pushing his cock against his brother's ass, and finally he moves his hand to where they both want it. Peter cries out, because he knows it's coming, and it's still, always, a surprise. Peter's reaction sets Nathan off, it always does, and he whirls him around, and Peter almost loses his footing on the wet porcelain, and Nathan catches him and grabs holds and kisses like he's starvingdyingfallingdesperate.
They end up in Peter's bed, thrashing, kissing, pulling at each other, still wet from the shower, soaking the sheets. Nathan gets Peter on his back, this is always the same too. Nathan needs to fuck him, and he needs to see him, and Peter wonders if there's something wrong with him that he's always so willing, eager even, to give it up to his brother. But then, Nathan starts to kiss down his body, and Peter pushes up on one elbow to watch, and Nathan goes down on him, and Peter realizes, Nathan's giving it up to him, too. Nathan with his crisp white suits and his political carefulness and his bottomless ambition is the same Nathan who now has his lips parted wide around his brother's cock. Peter owns Nathan just as much as Nathan owns him.
By the time Nathan pulls the bottle of lubricant from the bedside drawer (it's always there, waiting), everything else has been burned away but need, and Nathan doesn't hesitate to slick his cock, press wet fingers into his brother's ass, and Peter is nothing but certain when he spreads his legs and cants his hips and knots his fists in the sheets as his brother enters him. Their fucking is that rarest of all fucking, fierce but not brief, and when they both finally come, they have nothing left, they are nothing. Nathan falls asleep, passes out really, in the wreck of his brother's bed.
The morning is possibly the most surprising of all. If Peter had ever tried to imagine before they were actually fucking how his brother would react in the aftermath, he would have bet anything that Nathan would leap out of bed and pull on his clothes and start throwing up denial like a concrete wall between them. He never would have pictured tenderness, the way Nathan kisses him, strokes his hair, touches his face before he reluctantly gets up to go. Denial will set it in later, a gradual process, as they get far away enough from this moment to believe it won't happen again. Or at least to pretend to believe that.
"Take care of yourself," is the last thing Nathan says before the door closes behind him, and there's not even any irony in it.
At least, not that Peter notices.
Okay, so my porny thought kind of ran off at the mouth. But yours can be briefer if you want! Any fandom! Any anything! Won't you come and play?
--Complete work that I'm actually being paid for. Check. (Although in the interest of full disclosure, it's not like there was that much of it to begin with.)
--Meet today's Mistletoe storywriting goal. Check. (Actually I shot way past it and finished most of tomorrow's, and now I'm utterly burned out on writing for the day.)
--Write tomorrow's holiday fluff. Check. (I did this on the train this morning, which is strangely conducive to fluff.)
--Get Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks. Check.
--Quell rage at how ridiculously expensive Peppermint Mocha is. Check. Mostly.
--Beg people on LJ to come out and play with me. That's what I'm working on now!
I was thinking we could share porny thoughts. There are so many porntastic shows that people are watching on my flist. Let's discuss the smutty possibilities!
I'll go first. So, I woke up this morning thinking about the Petrelli brothers (from Heroes, for those who don't watch the show) in very graphic detail, and I liked it. Okay? I liked it! Here's specifically what was on my mind.
So we know that Peter's on a mission to save the world, and Nathan's got a martyr thing going with the big-brother-to-the-rescue routine, and it only stands to reason that there will be times in the future when Peter goes off like a zealot and get banged up, and Nathan will come get him and take him home and lets out this big sigh, "So, I guess I'm stuck taking care of you again." Oh, Nathan! How you protest too much.
I imagine Peter all dirty, with cuts and bruises, and blood smeared on him. Nothing major, but he could use some loving kindness to help get cleaned up. This is their fucked up dynamic, Peter in trouble and Nathan to the rescue, the only way they know how to cling to each other in a family where appearances were more important than actual affection. Neither of them can quite remember when it turned sexual.
On the surface, everything is practical, brotherly when they get to Peter's apartment. Nathan calls Peter a slob and picks up some of the clothes he's left thrown on the floor. Peter tells him to stop that and asks if he wants a beer. "Let's take care of you first," Nathan tells him. He gets out the antiseptic--he knows where Peter keeps it--and cleans up Peter's cuts and tells him not to be a baby when he complains that it stings. "Some of these could use bandaids, but you might want a shower first." Pragmatic, that's our Nathan.
All the while the knowledge of where this is really leading is sizzling beneath the surface.
Nathan turns his head, and Peter takes off his clothes, and gets in the shower. And Nathan hesitates. He thinks, "Maybe this time I won't." But he does. He always does. Peter startles when Nathan gets in the shower with him. Even though he knows what's coming, he's never quite prepared. "Thought you could use some help," Nathan mutters against the back of his neck, and he feels Peter's reaction to his breath on his skin, instantaneous and unmistakable. He soaps up his hands and moves them over his brother's body, arms and chest and legs and belly, almost like he's just being helpful, because they walk that line, oh how they walk that line. And he's getting hard, and Peter is hard, and Nathan is pushing his cock against his brother's ass, and finally he moves his hand to where they both want it. Peter cries out, because he knows it's coming, and it's still, always, a surprise. Peter's reaction sets Nathan off, it always does, and he whirls him around, and Peter almost loses his footing on the wet porcelain, and Nathan catches him and grabs holds and kisses like he's starvingdyingfallingdesperate.
They end up in Peter's bed, thrashing, kissing, pulling at each other, still wet from the shower, soaking the sheets. Nathan gets Peter on his back, this is always the same too. Nathan needs to fuck him, and he needs to see him, and Peter wonders if there's something wrong with him that he's always so willing, eager even, to give it up to his brother. But then, Nathan starts to kiss down his body, and Peter pushes up on one elbow to watch, and Nathan goes down on him, and Peter realizes, Nathan's giving it up to him, too. Nathan with his crisp white suits and his political carefulness and his bottomless ambition is the same Nathan who now has his lips parted wide around his brother's cock. Peter owns Nathan just as much as Nathan owns him.
By the time Nathan pulls the bottle of lubricant from the bedside drawer (it's always there, waiting), everything else has been burned away but need, and Nathan doesn't hesitate to slick his cock, press wet fingers into his brother's ass, and Peter is nothing but certain when he spreads his legs and cants his hips and knots his fists in the sheets as his brother enters him. Their fucking is that rarest of all fucking, fierce but not brief, and when they both finally come, they have nothing left, they are nothing. Nathan falls asleep, passes out really, in the wreck of his brother's bed.
The morning is possibly the most surprising of all. If Peter had ever tried to imagine before they were actually fucking how his brother would react in the aftermath, he would have bet anything that Nathan would leap out of bed and pull on his clothes and start throwing up denial like a concrete wall between them. He never would have pictured tenderness, the way Nathan kisses him, strokes his hair, touches his face before he reluctantly gets up to go. Denial will set it in later, a gradual process, as they get far away enough from this moment to believe it won't happen again. Or at least to pretend to believe that.
"Take care of yourself," is the last thing Nathan says before the door closes behind him, and there's not even any irony in it.
At least, not that Peter notices.
Okay, so my porny thought kind of ran off at the mouth. But yours can be briefer if you want! Any fandom! Any anything! Won't you come and play?
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