secondratestar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
secondratestar) wrote2009-03-18 07:58 pm
secondratestar) wrote2009-03-18 07:58 pm
Entry tags:
Fic
Title: Life in Technicolour
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kris Boyd/Aaron Niguez
Disclaimer: Complete fabrication and total untruth.
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Simple words with a complex outcome.
A/N (1): Okay, so I decided to try out something completely different. A pairing I’ve never written and a style that I’ve never used for fic. To be honest, I was just playing about with words and technicalities to see what I came up and this is it. I’d be really grateful for any and all feedback for this, even if you don’t know/like the pairing, I’d just like to know opinions good or bad. Be brutal.
A/N (2): This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deathinacave and reima ♥, if it wasn't for their kind words and encouragement there's not a chance in hell I would have even posted this. Thank you.
You want a lift?’
Such simple words with a complex aim. An offer (gladly accepted) of friendship. A hint. A brief hint that there might be more at the end of the road.
‘Thanks.’
A smile (grateful). Rain pounding on a low windscreen, grey, dull, Scottish weather (what was that word, again?). Water droplets dripping from flattened hair onto a cold nose. Heating cranked up to full. (dreich that was it, with a ‘ch’ that sticks in the throat)
‘There’s a towel in the back if you want it.’
A stretch backwards, ear bumping shoulder (‘sorry’), smell of fabric sweet. Towel dragged over. Hair dried quickly, eyelashes rubbed dry.
‘Where do you live?’
Simple. Words. (I live everywhere. I’m living now, I don’t just stop and start and stop and start, like traffic lights, why are there so many traffic lights in Glasgow? ...He’s looking at you oddly)
‘Hamilton.’
A confused look and a shrug.
‘Okay.’
People staring into the car, not many Ferrari’s out here after all. (try not to look at them, make it a game). A present to himself wasn’t it? (For what? license back after a drink driving ban. That was it.)
‘Nice car.’
‘Thanks.’
(Pause. Should we rewind?)
‘So, you don’t drive then?’ (attempted conversation)
‘Not yet.’ (aborted conversation)
(Pause and stop.)
Comfortable silence.
Rain drops steadily onto the windscreen. The occasional squeaky creak of the wipers and the thump as they hit home. (Thump. Whoosh. Thump. Whoosh.) Eyes follow them, right to left, left to right.
‘You alright?’ Concern and a hand on the thigh answered by a nod. (fine thank you)
‘Left here.’ (right left, leftleftleftrightleft)
Indicator beep. (Tick tock. Tick. Tock.) Left.
‘Second right.’ (a little more to the side, just in there like that)
‘Here.’ A vague gesture with a lazy hand.
Scramble to remove the seatbelt. Offer to wash the towel, politely declined.
‘SOdoyouwantacoffeeoranything?’ (a walking cliché now?)
(Pause. Rewind?)
‘Yeah that would be great.’
Engine stops idling. Roar silenced. Bright red car on a dark grey street.
Doors slam shut, rush to get in. Huddled at the door, key jammed in the lock again. Breath on neck, small hairs erect. Shiver.
Empty flat: still in the moving in process. Boxes empty, boxes closed, boxes spilling over, clothes on the floor. Socks. (too many socks). X-BOX still at pause. (forgot to switch it off before training).
‘How do you take it?’ (And do I have time to pick up that innuendo I just dropped?)
‘Black, wee bit cold milk. Ta.’ (Ta?) Smile.
A nod and a curious little bow (what the fuck was that?) ‘Make yourself at home.’ (hope you have better luck with that than me).
Glance through photographs. Postcards sent from home, ‘Good Luck’ and ‘We Miss You’. Games for the console strewn under the TV (top of the range, first pay packet spending spree). Coffee cups the beginning of mould in the dregs. Gum wrappers, an empty lighter and a broken cigarette.
‘I try to quit.’ Motions at the cigarette as the cups are placed down. (and never succeed).
Quick scurry, picking up yesterday’s debris, yesterday’s underwear. Thrown in a box. (box.box.box)
‘Aaron...’ (thats...my name) ‘just leave it mate. Calm down’
Relax onto the couch.
A Smile exchanged. Breath exhaled. ‘So...’
Energy.
Slammed cup on table. ‘I...need to piss.’ (whydidItellhimthat?).
Another odd look over the brim of a cup. Another nod. (a dumb relationship founded purely on smiles and nods).
Quickly shut bathroom door. Heart hammering. Blush spreading upwards from still damp collar. Clothes pulled off piled haphazard on the laundry basket. Naked. Bodily fluid expelled. Dive through old clothes, grey sweatpants deemed suitable. No shirt.
Back.
‘You...’ (gulp?) ‘You okay?’ (why so concerned?)
A nod and a smile. Bend over and pick up the cup. Still boiling hot. He watches an Adam’s apple bobbing as thick strong liquid is swallowed and lips are licked. Legs are crossed.
‘So, uh...’
Smiles. Shy.
(Pause)
Standing suddenly.
‘I better go.’ (sosoon? Is Coffee break over?)
‘Wait!’
(Hope) ‘Yeah?’
(nowornevernowornevernowornever)
Room crossed. Easy. Sway to hips, pants hanging low. (‘You’re a filthy little bitch, Niguez’). Hand on shoulder. Light. Almost imperceptible incline of the neck, sniff. Inhale. Hands, untrembling, so cold on a flushed cheek. Kiss to the side of the mouth. Taste (coffee). Inhale scent (new leather and rainclouds).
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Hands touch chest. Warm body through chilled fabric. Collarbones explored by adventurous fingertips. Lips against lips. Softly. Just a touch.
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Fingertips drag down to experiment with hard nipples. Exhaled breath, hot on flushed cheek (smells bittersweet). Tongue flicks along jaw. Coarse stubble: Man. Lips suck on lip: Boy.
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Tight body pressed to hard body. Calloused hands grip elbows and pull them in. (he pulls in). Lips kiss back. Suddenly hungry for him (sugar and peppermint). Tongue meets tongue and for a moment it’s weird
(isthishappening?).
Bolder.
Hands grip belt loops, grip hips, grip sweat. Index the brave underneath. Under denim, under cotton, against skin. Grind.
(fuckheshard)
Shiver.
Lips taking charge kiss baby-smooth-jawlines. Strong hands rest briefly on something-like-delicate hips. Pulling them in. Grabbing an arsecheek in either hand. Whimper spurs him on.
(fucki’mhard).
Not unnoticed. One hand reaches round. Palms over pants. Mouth falls open. Hips buck into fingers.
‘ohfuckohfuckohfuck’
A chuckle. Deep from over there.
(isaidthatoutloud?)
Bolder.
Shirt pulled over head, belt undone, shoes kicked off. Seconds wasted. Breathing hard, cocks heavy. A grunted mumbled messy line of words
‘needwantcrave...fuck.’ emphasis on the ‘k’. Breathed but not said.
Hot mouth, sloppy kisses along shoulder blades, hands pulling at pants tugging them down. Naked. Blush spreading. Shiver through cold. Through lust. He stands back and looks.
Just
Looks
.
Eyes clouded. The change noticeable.
(stopstaringstartdoing). Something. Fucking anything. Now. Short breaths. Loud sighs.
Silent words heard like a yell in a darkened room. Kneels before him. Knees bent and hands together as though in prayer. Four eyes meet through two perspectives. Hand on thigh. Hand on balls. Hand on head. Hand on Shoulder.
Consumed. Hot. Wet. Teeth, Tongue and with Lips pursed. Ravished. Worshiped. Youth, lust, need all too much. Spilled and swallowed just like that.
Knees weak, supported only by two strong hands gripping two usually strong thighs, crotch against shortshort hair, spent cock resting against cheek. Hands on broad shoulders, weakly clutching. A Kiss On The Thigh.
‘Fuck’ emphasis on the ‘u’.
Hands travel upwards to loop around a slender waist, holding. Not letting go. Kisses trail through neatly trimmed pubic hair, to soft downy treasure trail to the barely there hairs of a honey-coloured chest.
Legs now with feeling stand back, bumping against the couch, falling. He falls too. Smiles. Less a grin. Softer.
Jeans barely hanging onto hips, belt almost entirely through the loops, cock straining against soft-white-cotton-boxers thrust through the open fly of dirty-distressed-designer-denim. Small hands push down, cock released with a soft ‘thwack’ against not-so-rock-hard belly.
Stares disguised as a look. Nerves return as boldness is lost. Tentative fingertips on a tender head. A Kiss On The Cheek.
‘Have you...with a...’ Two voices spoke as one.
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Do you...Are you...’
Liquid brown eyes begged and screamed yes, a pull by both hands onto the other to reinforce his need, drawing him in. Young legs, young thighs, clamped down on either side of a firm waist.
A whisper ‘okay’ and a nuzzle to the jaw. Tongue pressed on the pulse point of a fevered neck.
Hot hand between sweat-slicked thighs. Tongue thick and flat across one nipple then the other. Path downwards leaving snail-silver spit trails on almondsweet skin. Crotch nibbled. Legs spread.
(Itrustyou)
Tongue now sharp. Pointing, probing. Muscles tensed, belly tight.
‘Shh...’ Thighs stroked. Rough thumb, soft circles.
(ohmyfuckinggod)
‘You okay?’
A nod and an attempted smile.
‘Do you have...’
(brainfoggedjustfuckingdoit)
‘Bathroom.’ Croak.
Kiss and Alone.
Naked shame. Hands cover. Body turned.
‘Don’t...’ Returned with a present of a kiss to the temple. ‘You’re fuckin’ beautiful...’ Shared blush. Shared smile.
Licked, nipped, claimed thighs.
One.
(fuck)
Soft belly skin stroked. Sigh.
Two.
(fuckfuck)
Cushion covers gripped. Bold thumb imprints.
Three.
(fuckfuckfuck)
Knuckles bit.
‘Ready?’
(no)
‘Yes..fuck...yes.’ Hissed not spoken.
Condom on. Jaw kissed. Legs spread further.
Pushed in. Pushed out.
(shitshitshit)
Breath mingled (peppermint and coffee, sugar and rainclouds). Words stuck. Knees clamped. Shoulders squeezed.
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
(fuck...sore...fuck...sosogood)
Collarbone nipped. Hair smelt. Ankles hooked.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
(Pause. Stop...)
Neck kissed. Chests heave. Sweat mixed.
(Go)
(harderfastermore)
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
Hips guided. Fingernails mark and scratch. Nipples rubbed.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
(a little more to the side, just in there, just like that)
Bodies read. Interpreted.
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
Spot hit.
‘Fuck!’ emphasis on the ‘f’
Nonsense words. Stream of consciousness. Shoulder bit.
Hard.
Spine stroked and thighs useless. Forehead kissed. Eyes closed. Hair played with.
Sleepy smile, meets a sleepy smile and the unasked question is answered with the smallest of nods. A nod with the brief hint that there might be something more.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kris Boyd/Aaron Niguez
Disclaimer: Complete fabrication and total untruth.
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Simple words with a complex outcome.
A/N (1): Okay, so I decided to try out something completely different. A pairing I’ve never written and a style that I’ve never used for fic. To be honest, I was just playing about with words and technicalities to see what I came up and this is it. I’d be really grateful for any and all feedback for this, even if you don’t know/like the pairing, I’d just like to know opinions good or bad. Be brutal.
A/N (2): This is for
deathinacave and reima ♥, if it wasn't for their kind words and encouragement there's not a chance in hell I would have even posted this. Thank you.You want a lift?’
Such simple words with a complex aim. An offer (gladly accepted) of friendship. A hint. A brief hint that there might be more at the end of the road.
‘Thanks.’
A smile (grateful). Rain pounding on a low windscreen, grey, dull, Scottish weather (what was that word, again?). Water droplets dripping from flattened hair onto a cold nose. Heating cranked up to full. (dreich that was it, with a ‘ch’ that sticks in the throat)
‘There’s a towel in the back if you want it.’
A stretch backwards, ear bumping shoulder (‘sorry’), smell of fabric sweet. Towel dragged over. Hair dried quickly, eyelashes rubbed dry.
‘Where do you live?’
Simple. Words. (I live everywhere. I’m living now, I don’t just stop and start and stop and start, like traffic lights, why are there so many traffic lights in Glasgow? ...He’s looking at you oddly)
‘Hamilton.’
A confused look and a shrug.
‘Okay.’
People staring into the car, not many Ferrari’s out here after all. (try not to look at them, make it a game). A present to himself wasn’t it? (For what? license back after a drink driving ban. That was it.)
‘Nice car.’
‘Thanks.’
(Pause. Should we rewind?)
‘So, you don’t drive then?’ (attempted conversation)
‘Not yet.’ (aborted conversation)
(Pause and stop.)
Comfortable silence.
Rain drops steadily onto the windscreen. The occasional squeaky creak of the wipers and the thump as they hit home. (Thump. Whoosh. Thump. Whoosh.) Eyes follow them, right to left, left to right.
‘You alright?’ Concern and a hand on the thigh answered by a nod. (fine thank you)
‘Left here.’ (right left, leftleftleftrightleft)
Indicator beep. (Tick tock. Tick. Tock.) Left.
‘Second right.’ (a little more to the side, just in there like that)
‘Here.’ A vague gesture with a lazy hand.
Scramble to remove the seatbelt. Offer to wash the towel, politely declined.
‘SOdoyouwantacoffeeoranything?’ (a walking cliché now?)
(Pause. Rewind?)
‘Yeah that would be great.’
Engine stops idling. Roar silenced. Bright red car on a dark grey street.
Doors slam shut, rush to get in. Huddled at the door, key jammed in the lock again. Breath on neck, small hairs erect. Shiver.
Empty flat: still in the moving in process. Boxes empty, boxes closed, boxes spilling over, clothes on the floor. Socks. (too many socks). X-BOX still at pause. (forgot to switch it off before training).
‘How do you take it?’ (And do I have time to pick up that innuendo I just dropped?)
‘Black, wee bit cold milk. Ta.’ (Ta?) Smile.
A nod and a curious little bow (what the fuck was that?) ‘Make yourself at home.’ (hope you have better luck with that than me).
Glance through photographs. Postcards sent from home, ‘Good Luck’ and ‘We Miss You’. Games for the console strewn under the TV (top of the range, first pay packet spending spree). Coffee cups the beginning of mould in the dregs. Gum wrappers, an empty lighter and a broken cigarette.
‘I try to quit.’ Motions at the cigarette as the cups are placed down. (and never succeed).
Quick scurry, picking up yesterday’s debris, yesterday’s underwear. Thrown in a box. (box.box.box)
‘Aaron...’ (thats...my name) ‘just leave it mate. Calm down’
Relax onto the couch.
A Smile exchanged. Breath exhaled. ‘So...’
Energy.
Slammed cup on table. ‘I...need to piss.’ (whydidItellhimthat?).
Another odd look over the brim of a cup. Another nod. (a dumb relationship founded purely on smiles and nods).
Quickly shut bathroom door. Heart hammering. Blush spreading upwards from still damp collar. Clothes pulled off piled haphazard on the laundry basket. Naked. Bodily fluid expelled. Dive through old clothes, grey sweatpants deemed suitable. No shirt.
Back.
‘You...’ (gulp?) ‘You okay?’ (why so concerned?)
A nod and a smile. Bend over and pick up the cup. Still boiling hot. He watches an Adam’s apple bobbing as thick strong liquid is swallowed and lips are licked. Legs are crossed.
‘So, uh...’
Smiles. Shy.
(Pause)
Standing suddenly.
‘I better go.’ (sosoon? Is Coffee break over?)
‘Wait!’
(Hope) ‘Yeah?’
(nowornevernowornevernowornever)
Room crossed. Easy. Sway to hips, pants hanging low. (‘You’re a filthy little bitch, Niguez’). Hand on shoulder. Light. Almost imperceptible incline of the neck, sniff. Inhale. Hands, untrembling, so cold on a flushed cheek. Kiss to the side of the mouth. Taste (coffee). Inhale scent (new leather and rainclouds).
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Hands touch chest. Warm body through chilled fabric. Collarbones explored by adventurous fingertips. Lips against lips. Softly. Just a touch.
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Fingertips drag down to experiment with hard nipples. Exhaled breath, hot on flushed cheek (smells bittersweet). Tongue flicks along jaw. Coarse stubble: Man. Lips suck on lip: Boy.
(he didn’t pull back).
Bolder.
Tight body pressed to hard body. Calloused hands grip elbows and pull them in. (he pulls in). Lips kiss back. Suddenly hungry for him (sugar and peppermint). Tongue meets tongue and for a moment it’s weird
(isthishappening?).
Bolder.
Hands grip belt loops, grip hips, grip sweat. Index the brave underneath. Under denim, under cotton, against skin. Grind.
(fuckheshard)
Shiver.
Lips taking charge kiss baby-smooth-jawlines. Strong hands rest briefly on something-like-delicate hips. Pulling them in. Grabbing an arsecheek in either hand. Whimper spurs him on.
(fucki’mhard).
Not unnoticed. One hand reaches round. Palms over pants. Mouth falls open. Hips buck into fingers.
‘ohfuckohfuckohfuck’
A chuckle. Deep from over there.
(isaidthatoutloud?)
Bolder.
Shirt pulled over head, belt undone, shoes kicked off. Seconds wasted. Breathing hard, cocks heavy. A grunted mumbled messy line of words
‘needwantcrave...fuck.’ emphasis on the ‘k’. Breathed but not said.
Hot mouth, sloppy kisses along shoulder blades, hands pulling at pants tugging them down. Naked. Blush spreading. Shiver through cold. Through lust. He stands back and looks.
Just
Looks
.
Eyes clouded. The change noticeable.
(stopstaringstartdoing). Something. Fucking anything. Now. Short breaths. Loud sighs.
Silent words heard like a yell in a darkened room. Kneels before him. Knees bent and hands together as though in prayer. Four eyes meet through two perspectives. Hand on thigh. Hand on balls. Hand on head. Hand on Shoulder.
Consumed. Hot. Wet. Teeth, Tongue and with Lips pursed. Ravished. Worshiped. Youth, lust, need all too much. Spilled and swallowed just like that.
Knees weak, supported only by two strong hands gripping two usually strong thighs, crotch against shortshort hair, spent cock resting against cheek. Hands on broad shoulders, weakly clutching. A Kiss On The Thigh.
‘Fuck’ emphasis on the ‘u’.
Hands travel upwards to loop around a slender waist, holding. Not letting go. Kisses trail through neatly trimmed pubic hair, to soft downy treasure trail to the barely there hairs of a honey-coloured chest.
Legs now with feeling stand back, bumping against the couch, falling. He falls too. Smiles. Less a grin. Softer.
Jeans barely hanging onto hips, belt almost entirely through the loops, cock straining against soft-white-cotton-boxers thrust through the open fly of dirty-distressed-designer-denim. Small hands push down, cock released with a soft ‘thwack’ against not-so-rock-hard belly.
Stares disguised as a look. Nerves return as boldness is lost. Tentative fingertips on a tender head. A Kiss On The Cheek.
‘Have you...with a...’ Two voices spoke as one.
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Do you...Are you...’
Liquid brown eyes begged and screamed yes, a pull by both hands onto the other to reinforce his need, drawing him in. Young legs, young thighs, clamped down on either side of a firm waist.
A whisper ‘okay’ and a nuzzle to the jaw. Tongue pressed on the pulse point of a fevered neck.
Hot hand between sweat-slicked thighs. Tongue thick and flat across one nipple then the other. Path downwards leaving snail-silver spit trails on almondsweet skin. Crotch nibbled. Legs spread.
(Itrustyou)
Tongue now sharp. Pointing, probing. Muscles tensed, belly tight.
‘Shh...’ Thighs stroked. Rough thumb, soft circles.
(ohmyfuckinggod)
‘You okay?’
A nod and an attempted smile.
‘Do you have...’
(brainfoggedjustfuckingdoit)
‘Bathroom.’ Croak.
Kiss and Alone.
Naked shame. Hands cover. Body turned.
‘Don’t...’ Returned with a present of a kiss to the temple. ‘You’re fuckin’ beautiful...’ Shared blush. Shared smile.
Licked, nipped, claimed thighs.
One.
(fuck)
Soft belly skin stroked. Sigh.
Two.
(fuckfuck)
Cushion covers gripped. Bold thumb imprints.
Three.
(fuckfuckfuck)
Knuckles bit.
‘Ready?’
(no)
‘Yes..fuck...yes.’ Hissed not spoken.
Condom on. Jaw kissed. Legs spread further.
Pushed in. Pushed out.
(shitshitshit)
Breath mingled (peppermint and coffee, sugar and rainclouds). Words stuck. Knees clamped. Shoulders squeezed.
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
(fuck...sore...fuck...sosogood)
Collarbone nipped. Hair smelt. Ankles hooked.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
(Pause. Stop...)
Neck kissed. Chests heave. Sweat mixed.
(Go)
(harderfastermore)
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
Hips guided. Fingernails mark and scratch. Nipples rubbed.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
(a little more to the side, just in there, just like that)
Bodies read. Interpreted.
Pushed forward. Pulled in.
Pulled out. Pushed back.
Spot hit.
‘Fuck!’ emphasis on the ‘f’
Nonsense words. Stream of consciousness. Shoulder bit.
Hard.
Spine stroked and thighs useless. Forehead kissed. Eyes closed. Hair played with.
Sleepy smile, meets a sleepy smile and the unasked question is answered with the smallest of nods. A nod with the brief hint that there might be something more.
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Agree with fierylies, the short sentences only brought more to the story. It's sort of like a story-telling technique, adds to the intensity.
Spot hit.
‘Fuck!’ emphasis on the ‘f’
Nonsense words. Stream of consciousness. Shoulder bit.
Hard. Loved this part.
Wouldn't mind reading more with this pairing. ;)
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I FUCKING LOVE YOU SO MUCH.
(can't write a better comment. that should show you how much i love it! & you!)
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Spine stroked and thighs useless. Forehead kissed. Eyes closed. Hair played with.
Sleepy smile, meets a sleepy smile and the unasked question is answered with the smallest of nods.
♥
write about them again, plzzzz?
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Lovely in all. :-)
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But im not gonna.
its wonderful.
Loved "Naked shame. Hands cover. Body turned"
because theres such a succinctness about it all, that this humanises it again.
PLEASE keep writing! Ive only half forgiven you for abandoning the hold you had on me with the ohter one (though I do understand, really). Dont make me start sending you things again!
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You painted a great atmosphere, like the almost surreal picture of a Ferrari in the Scottish rain, and the awkwardness between the men. The situation is real and recognisable.
Great job, dear!
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I really loved it. The style was an interesting touch, but very likeable.
Pip
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Not to mention that the thoughts in brackets went directly to my crotch, ahem.And wow, the ending. Finally, everything is as it should be, as reflected by the sentences, now complete and longer, with a wonderful, optimistic atmosphere.I love this to bits. Very very well done!
*adds to memories*
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Seriously. I've read it twice, and every time, somewhere in the middle, I had to stop and squint because the pictures in my head are so fucking realistic.
I love you. Please write more, you nailed the style!
xxxx
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