The Right Thing
This is a parallel story arc/alternate season ending branching from Goodbye, Stranger and including canon plot elements up through the rest of the season.
Chapter 3 does not even begin to compare to the finale, but how can it? That shit was heart-obliterating perfection.
★destiel ★dean/cas ★fanfiction ★spn ★like seriously how can i like my writing after such a great finale? ★also ★heh heh ★angel!sam ★tagged
The Right Thing
This is a parallel story arc/alternate season ending branching from Goodbye, Stranger and including canon plot elements up through the rest of the season (intended to include the upcoming finale, barring the finale does not shit the bed).
Summary: Castiel chooses between Heaven and Earth and finds himself back at the Winchesters’ doorstep trying, like always, to do the right thing.
Already cranked out a new chapter, now with Dean/Cas shower sex!
★destiel ★dean/cas ★fanfiction ★spn ★tagged
Fellow Steve/Russell whores
I wrote this thing. It’s a rushed meh-ish thing, but it’s a thing.
★rulin ★newedge ★newedgington ★steve newlin ★russell edgington ★true blood ★fanfic ★poooooooooorn! yay porn! ★kind of ★i had to keep it classy ★i adore russell ★tagged
This crap, part 2.
Three years had been a long time to not see his stranger again, but when he did, Tatsuo knew it was him the moment he spotted him. It was early, yet, and the bar below the venue was already serving. He had no makeup on and if any fans were there pre-gaming for the night, they didn’t recognize him, or didn’t appear to. He felt fidgety and strange, his nerves had been winding tight around his fingers and at the back of his neck like strangling little coils of anxiety for months now, but they didn’t stop, they didn’t take a moment to let their guard down. If they did, they would fall very fast and very hard, they were sure of it. The music business was like using a magic carpet to cross an endless abyss—you never stopped the incantation, you hardly slept for fear the spell would wear off.
The stranger didn’t look so different, still in his black clothes that seemed somehow too long for an already tall man. His gloves were black this time and leather, covering only half of his hands, and his hat was more of a mourning veil, obscuring what part of his face his hair did not. Sliding into the stool beside him, or more, adjacent to him, as the stranger sat at the corner, Tatsuo ordered a beer. He was sure this guy wouldn’t have remembered him, but he thought surely he didn’t look so different now than he did on the train back then. Not in just a t-shirt and jeans, no makeup or jewelry, his black nail polish chipping off. He saw that same scared seventeen year old in the mirror way too often lately, anyhow.
He had hardly made it through half a beer before he felt tipsy enough to rudely ask, “What’s with the veil?”
The stranger gave three short chuckles, soft, ducking his head down, bringing the butt of his cigarette under the edge of the veil again to pull at it, letting out a blue-grey stream of smoke. It was those same bowed lips, to be certain, and when he spoke, that very same voice, so familiar. “I’m mourning a friend.”
Tatsuo made an “oh” with his mouth and didn’t know what to say for a moment. Finally he said “Sorry,” like that would matter, like it was relevant. Nothing else seemed much better.
The stranger shook his head. “It’s all right. It was his time.”
“Cancer?” Tatsuo blurted out, chugging his beer now because he realized there was a show that evening and he always got nervous, always, he was never any calmer the next show than he had been the one before.
The stranger’s bowed lips pulled up. “Experiment.”
★tagged ★i guess i will call it libra ★tatsuxtatsu ★idk still what in the fuck is going on with this ★but i love the idea that he held a funeral service during a show for tattoo ★so i decided surely he killed him too
Yeah, I dunno, I’ll figure it out as I go…
Finally felt inspired to write again. Like I couldn’t not write. I guess this is where I actually start to put “multi-chapter fanfiction” on my Tumblr????!!!! Whatever, have fun, I think I’m calling this Stifle. Or Shofu. You come up with a title. Here’s the first bit.
His heels bobbed up and down, feet rocking up onto the balls, back and forth, bouncing, nervous, excited, scared. In all honestly, he was so fucking terrified his throat was dry and chugging down the soda he’d bought at the train station starting out from home wasn’t helping. He could smell his own sweat, forming cold under his arms, dampening his baggy black t-shirt. It looked too new to be rock’n’roll. Everyone would know he was a fraud. He’d bought it with his last paycheck from his parents’ salon, his last time sweeping up hair off the floor of the same shop he’d been sweeping since he was old enough to properly do the job. They’d finally started paying him when he turned fourteen and he’d been squirreling away the money, ready to leave, to get out.
On the train now, he thought what a fool he’d been to curse their names while he’d stared out his bedroom window, ignoring his brothers and their video games, pressing the headphones over his ears tighter. Ah, ah, how Atsushi’s voice had carried him away like wings, had lifted him up and sent him sailing away, just away, somewhere else. Now he thought of that feeling as the sensation of falling and it added to the queasy anxious pulse of his pattering heart. He missed home and he still smelled like his mother’s cooking. What a sham…
★tagged ★tatsuxtatsu ★??? ★idk
And sometimes I say really gay shit about Kyo…
I realized I feel really good recently. Mentally, physically… I feel good about myself. I’ve waxed poetic and perhaps given too much credit to him with it, but you’ve all I’m sure seen and perhaps rolled your eyes at me in reverie over how intensely I was affected watching Kyo self-harm in Denver.
I feel, today, like the thing inside me he strangled (see: tag, “gay shit” for explanation of this particular description) has finally died.
Perhaps this is temporary. It usually is. Maybe in a week it will come back with its zombified corpse dragging twisted limbs and its eyes filmed over and tell me I’m a piece of shit and maybe I’ll believe it, but right now, I’ll forget where it’s even buried. I’ve always had such mixed feelings about Kyo. It’s hard to form much of an opinion on a man that purposefully supplies misinformation about his own character. But regardless of his potential for being abrasive or dismissive or unappreciative or whatever I may have sensed from in the past and felt put off by, that moment will always shine bright and frightening and I will never be able to see him as anything less than a powerful performer that called up something out of a strange, muddled murk and throttled the hissing mess inside of me.
★wowza ★a post about kyo that doesn't mention his current health ★kyo is a demon assassin ★gay shit ★noted ★tagged ★if you think this all sounds crazy just keep scrolling ★i can't talk about kyo as a performer without touching a little out of this world ★i mean come on honestly
Today’s installment of: gay porn.
I’ll be nice this time and stick it behind a cut.
★tagged ★porn ★yukke/seek ★that went fast ★it's a little b'aaaaaaaaaaaaw ★but you know
He flexed his hands and felt the rope stretch ever so slightly, just enough to tease him and let him know it would give, but not enough for him to become free. He supposed that was best. He’d agreed to this. The liquor was wearing off, but he’d said yes so it would happen. He couldn’t back down now.
Miya shifted up onto his toes, his knees starting to hurt against the hardwood of Ao’s bedroom floor. He was beginning think this was dumb and would ruin everything and that it was weird enough that he was tied up and naked in his mentor’s bedroom and then Ao came in wearing tight pink briefs and smoking a cigarette, sacheting his hips, unlaced purple Doc Martens on his feet, and he thought that of all the things that would be weird between Ao, sex probably wasn’t one of them. Saying no would have likely been much more detrimental than if this all went down sourly.
Ao wound his hips in figure eights to the music playing far too loud on low-power speakers, mangled to low-fidelity mush, from the kitchen, sinking down until he was on his hands and knees, crawling over to Miya. He seemed in his own little world, somehow, humming and moving, tipping Miya’s head up and pecking his mouth before pressing the other’s face to his chest as if he had breasts to smother him in. Miya thought it was odd but then he was choking on Calvin Klein and Ao’s mustache was scratching at one of his nipples and he realized it felt really fucking good. He hadn’t expected that. He thought it would be a chore, like masturbating to go to sleep. But it felt fucking good. The way Ao smelled delicately feminine without Miya being able to mistake that this was a man on top of him, gnawing at his nipples and getting his dick hard, the feeling of facial hair scraping his skin, even the hot feeling of a rigid cock under the soft cotton material of his briefs when he pressed forward enough to try and get Miya to return the treatment on his own chest, it all felt good.
Miya opened his mouth and closed his eyes and sucked on a tit and liked that Ao was filled out, maybe even a little fat. There was a time when he’d been putting on greedy, big streaks of black makeup that Ao had been consuming a lot of things that weren’t food, but now he asked people to dinner instead of the bar and he’d put on quite a bit of weight. Seeing him nearly nude, Miya decided it was rather attractive, tugging at a nipple with his teeth and feeling like he had accomplished something when Ao yanked him back and was panting loudly. Miya looked up at him and Ao gave him a toothy grin, tongue caught between his teeth. His hands squeezed at Miya’s dick too hard and the younger man let out a small wail. Ao seemed to enjoy the response and squeezed a little longer before he stood up and kicked off his boots, wiggling out of his underwear.
Miya stared, half skittish and half intrigued, at Ao’s chubby, average length cock. The other wrapped his hand around it and jerked off idly as he went about the room, gathering lubricant and condoms, a small toy, and some hand towels. Coming back to Miya, he got on his knees in front of his long-time student and yanked his legs out from under him, stretching them out in front so that he was sitting on his ass instead of his heels. Miya’s head hit the wall behind him and he cursed and Ao clicked his tongue, tsking, rubbing at his cheek in apology. Miya managed to find something of a comfortable position and watched Ao work the slim toy into himself, covered in lube, glad at least Ao had not tried to convince him to be the one with anything up his ass.
Ao got down on his elbows and arched his back sensually, sucking Miya without any pretenses. Miya jumped, not having expected the sudden advance, letting out a moan that was as startled as it was pleasured. Ao laughed around his cock and sucked him until he was sloppy wet and felt like he was going to cum any second. Ao crawled backwards and gyrated his hips while he was on his knees. Miya could see that sitting up had given him headspin along with the liquor. He weaved slightly and then righted himself, reaching between his legs and pushing the toy in and out in a wanton manner that made Miya think he had forgotten he was there. At first watching him was unappealing. Anal sex had always sort of been something he did with girlfriends that were drunk, and sex with men only when he was the one with a goldfish brain swimming around in an aquarium of alcohol. But the more he looked on to Ao pleasuring himself, the more he thought about his cock in the other, instead.
Miya’s dick started to take control, shifting power southward and dismissing all inclinations of future guilt or shame or awkwardness. It thought about immediate heat, tightness, of Ao’s weight in his lap and more teeth on his nipples. He thought about smelling Calvin Klein and most of all about cumming and so by the time Ao had removed the toy and was crawling over to him and rolling a condom onto Miya, he was still hard as a fucking rock.
Ao had always only been shy enough about his sexuality, both by preference of partners and frequency of encounters, to not get his ass kicked. It was no surprise to Miya when he slid down over him and let out a loud, shameless moan. He, himself, let slide a small grunt, shifting a bit against the wall, trying to find some kind of leverage to thrust up should he need to. Ao gave him little need, however. He was moving immediately, fast and deliberate, fucking Miya like it was punishment. He rode hard and rubbed his hands all over Miya’s chest and shoulders, making lewd, filthy comments about how he loved his young body, about how hard his boy-cock was for him, how he knew he wanted it bad, anyway, and then he was laughing and Miya was laughing, and then they were both moaning and fucking again.
Miya leaned in and rubbed his beard against Ao’s neck and Ao growled like a wild beast, grinding down over Miya’s cock like he was trying to break his pelvis. Miya’s bony ass wasn’t much cushion and he pushed back up, bracing his weight down onto the knuckles of his bound hands. They kept fucking. Miya’s knuckles and wrists were fucking killing him, but he planted his feet down and put his weight on them and pushed up and up as Ao thrusted himself down, down, driving Miya deeper.
Ao was getting louder and louder and leaned in closer to Miya, the other feeling the older man’s soft body pressed to his chest and then pain. Ao was biting the piss out of him. But then his hands were free. Somehow his hands were free, it seemed to have happened too quickly for Ao to have done it, but he didn’t question it and grabbed onto Ao’s love handles. When Ao started grinding his dick against Miya’s stomach, it didn’t take long for him to cum, and that’s when Miya pushed Ao to the floor and fucked him hard until he had finished, too.
The sweaty heap they found themselves in once the afterglow had cleared was drunk-kiss moist and a little too hot to stay together. Miya pulled out and threw the condom away. Ao started cleaning up. He caught his breath and cleared his throat, sitting down on his bed and lighting a cigarette, reaching to wag Miya’s chin between thumb and forefinger fondly when the other came over to grab his pants. “Thanks,” he offered in a hoarse voice, smiling, pushing his small, round, wire-rimmed glasses back onto his face.
Miya didn’t know what to say so he shrugged. Ao shrugged back and Miya sat down and they both smoked in silence, finding the wall they had just fucked against very interesting for several minutes. Ao was the one to get up first, tugging on a robe and tying it closed around his hips. “I’ve got rehearsals early, so I’m gonna have to kick you out.” It was something he’d told Miya before when they were just playing cards or getting stoned. It felt rude now like it hadn’t then and Miya tried not to feel offended or weird or anything. He got up and pulled on the rest of his clothes, nodding, following Ao to the door.
“Call me?” he asked, hopefully, making sure he still had his keys and phone in his pockets. Ao stepped back and gave him a softening smile that helped Miya relax from the odd tingling sensation of uncertainly and slight shame he had in his penis just then, thinking about what they had just done. He was an adult, it shouldn’t have mattered. He could handle this. Ao’s smile helped it be a little easier to not over-analyze.
“Sure. Don’t get mugged.” Leaning in, Ao kissed Miya like he always did before his favorite junior left, and Miya kissed him back for a half-second before stepping out into the hall. The door closed and Miya found his way to the train station by luck of memory and having taken the trip plenty of times. Something about standing up, walking, knowing he’d done something that could have ended stupidly, it made him feel drunk all over again. He sagged down onto a bench as he waited for his train. No, he supposed sex wasn’t something weird to have between he and Ao. Even if it was, weird was good. Weird was Ao. Miya scratched at his phantom-tingling dick and tried to smile as he smelled Calvin Klein wafting off his skin. He guessed it had actually been a pretty good night.
★miya/ao ★otp ★i'm so serious ★gay dad ★tagged ★this is not a crack pairing istg ★ao could get it
★tagged ★gay shit ★personal and stuff ★noted ★on the subject of kyo's self-harm in denver
How I deal with depression.
It occurred to me that since I cannot always actively help others, perhaps sharing my battle tactics might be of some assistance.
It is poignant to note that I have had a ten year+ history of depression, both clinical and situational that has roots in family issues, deaths, being ostracized, gender dysphoria, etc… I have had a lot of therapy and pharmacetical assistance in the past, I have attempted suicide and been briefly institutionalized, and my level of depression in the past five years has not been at the level that it was previously. However, in the last six months, I have had repeated and frequent suicidal thoughts, experiences bordering on delusional, and engaged in acts of self-harm. Here’s how I keep my head above water.
★max's guide to keeping your shit together ★how to be a functioning hot mess ★as opposed to a dead one ★tagged ★noted
Kojo, please don’t die.
The childish, round face often so sweet and shy was warped by lust into a mask of dominance and non-negotiable sexuality. Miya stopped struggling, even if his initial attempts had been half-hearted, anyway, after a few minutes. Ryo’s eyes looked like a wild thing ready to use the excuse of its feral nature to get away with something violent. Miya personally hoped that the most pain involved had been the initial thrust, that first push into him—Ryo was thicker than anyone might have guessed, but Miya wasn’t exactly a novice in such things—but he supposed as long as it still felt this good, he could take a little roughing up.
Ryo never progressed to an act of violence, however. The power of fucking Miya was enough. The dominance of having the other beneath him, to feel strong to hold him down, to feel the bones of his wrists kiss together when he squeezed, it was enough. Miya spread his legs because he wasn’t about to pretend like it didn’t feel fucking good to have Ryo on top of him and neither of them thought about how they had been fighting over some stupid bullshit before they’d wound up on the floor kissing. One of those things, Miya guessed later, finding his lighter under the kitchen counter. All the tension of being friends, of being Ryo’s mentor of sorts, it had broken up into hot embers of lust, transformed as the air hit it, into raw passion and a stunning lack of denial and they’d just… started fucking.
It was a little strange at first that Ryo had taken the initiative of the dominant partner, but as soon as his slim fingers had found their slick way into Miya, the older musician gave up pretending like it should have been the other way around and sucked the drummer off while the fingers worked him open.
Now Miya was making what he knew could only be described as slut noises, but Ryo had his mouth fixed onto his nipple and a hand around his cock and was ramming into him like they were the last two people on earth and hoping that rubbing two bits of life together would prove fruitful. Half a dumb thought about peaches and cream buzzed through his head before he was cumming, his ass clenching around Ryo who only fucked him harder and he threw his head back, smacking it against the tile of the kitchen floor, his thick tuft of mullet cushioning him from knocking himself silly.
On instinct, Miya gripped at Ryo’s shoulders as the other finished and he realized they hadn’t used a condom. Oh well. Fuck it. Ryo pulled out and Miya felt a sticky line of cum leak from him and his arms didn’t seem to allow him to let go of the other, pulling Ryo against him. The other didn’t resist, resting his weight against Miya on the floor, panting, shaking, still tense like that wild thing in his eyes, but beginning to unwind, the pressure slowly releasing. Miya found himself lazily playing with Ryo’s hair. “Um,” he said dumbly, wetting his mouth. “That…”
“Shut the fuck up.” Ryo grumbled and rubbed his nose against Miya’s shoulder, hugging him. “It’s whatever. We’ll figure it out later. Just shut the fuck up and let me cuddle you.”
Miya chuckled, and it hurt, the laugh jarring his shoulder blades against the hard tile. “Well all right. But can we cuddle in a bed or on a couch or something? I’m dyin’ down here.”
Ryo pushed himself up on his hands and looked down at Miya, the boyishness back in his eyes with the blush that colored his face. He nodded and pulled himself together, giving Miya a hand and leading him to the couch where they fit together against the cushions. Miya didn’t mind. The warmth was nice and the drunken feeling from the orgasm made him want to feel close to someone. He’d pretend later that it didn’t help that it was with Ryo when either of them cared to play the fucked up game of denial, if they ever did. He’d played the game before. It was part of being gay in their business, in their country. You acted like you’d slipped up, like you’d both been drugged. Never attraction. Never lust. Never intent. Certainly never love. Sometimes truth wandered in between the sheets with lovers but those moments were as rare as winter lilies.
Ryo’s fingers tracked down the valley of Miya’s back and Miya was half asleep by then. “Are you mad at me?” Ryo asked.
Miya hummed and sighed. “No, I’m not mad. Are you mad at me?”
Ryo hestitated. “I don’t think so… can I fuck you again?”
The older man laughed this time, a gravelly sounding thing. “Now?”
Ryo shook his head. “Later. I mean, like, indefinitely. Can I fuck you, can we fuck?”
“Like a thing?”
“Yeah, a thing.”
Miya knew this did not mean that the denial and usual script would remain absent. For now he supposed they could both remain optimistic to something that wasn’t bullshit, something that would work without being coated in the disapproval of social expectation and cultural misunderstanding. His eyes had been shut for a long while and he was very warm cupped up against Ryo. “Sure, we can be a thing.”
Ryo seemed content with that. His hands rested at the small of Miya’s back and the heater kicked on. In the hum of it, in the warmth of each other and the air rolling out of the vent over the couch, the thing fell asleep.
★miya/ryo ★porn-gamesh ★tagged ★shit i write for people i rabbu
This is weirdo murder porn. Violence should be pretty obviously present. Deal or skip.
“God, I’m so fucking hard…” Tatsurou wrung his hands compulsively, shivering from the cold, looking out the slightly fogged glass of the darkened phone booth, his tall form hunched. Gara glanced down and saw that indeed his lover’s cock was proudly rigid, pressing against the front of his jeans. He wanted to reach over and rub it but they had other things to think about just now. The man would be coming back soon and both of them were more eager to kill than to fuck.
Tatsurou pulled his hair up out of his face, twisting it up into a bun, his elbows knocking the inside of the cramped booth. It was slightly warmer inside it than outside, where the wind was tearing down the alleys like it wanted to mug any shivering street-goers, rob them of every bit of warmth, down to the core of their bones, the very center of their hearts. Gara’s fingers felt numb, but he knew his hold on the knife would not falter. He pressed his face against the glass and waited, counting the man’s footsteps as he passed, collar hiding his face to keep out the cold, and then he casually pushed the door of the booth open and stepped out onto the pavement. His shoes were thin-soled, made to be as close to barefoot as shoes would allow. They kept his steps all but silent and Tatsurou was light as a feather behind him, just as quiet. All it took was for their prey to step out of the wind into an alley to light a cigarette and one of Tatsurou’s long arms caught him around the neck and Gara’s knobby knee went behind one of the man’s own.
They dragged him back behind a pile of boxes discarded from a restaurant and Tatsurou sat all his weight onto the man’s chest, shoving an apple from his pocket into the open mouth to keep him from screaming. Then he pinched his nose and waited for that panicked look, to feel the muscles of the chest below him trying to suck in air that would not come. And just before it looked as though the eyes might cloud over, he let go, was nearly bucked off the chest from that great, savior breath, before Gara started in with the knife. Hot pools of blood soaked through Tatsurou’s jeans and Gara carved diligently around hip bones while his lover stifled the already muffled screams of the man below them. He left the flaccid, sad cock covered. That was of no interest to either of them. He simply traced the skin of the stomach in sharp steel, peeling layers back until the twin peaks breached the fleshy surface. There was not always reason to their madness; they simply wanted to kill. It was like a lazy round of mutual masturbation, an experimental, atypical act of pleasure done for the pleasure itself but neglegent of the methods to achieve it.
The smell of blood had Tatsurou on edge and he pressed a thumb into the corner of one of the man’s eyes, which still had focus, still found his own in pleading now and again, still conscious. Tatsurou’s thumb sank slowly back into the cavity and pushed the eye aside, carefully plucking it out. Strange how easy it was. He pulled until the hard little sticky orb had come free of its nerves and he closed his fingers around it to see if it would pop. It didn’t. He threw it towards a dumpster farther down the alley.
Gara, content to have freed Mt. Pelvis from its shroud of meat and skin, crouched behind his lover and looked down into the stricken but not yet dead face of their victim. His bloody hand found Tatsurou’s cock through his jeans to discover without disappointment that it was still rock hard. With the other hand, he gave his lover the knife. “Finish him off if you want. I can go warm up the car for you… lay myself out in the back seat…”
Tatsurou let out a loud, primal sound of lust, taking the knife and turning to kiss Gara’s bloodied face. “Oh do. That sounds wonderful.” He gave his lover a sweet smile set in the middle of a crazed face and Gara set off in silence through the dark to their car which sat alone in a small, secluded lot at the center of a block of shops. It didn’t take much more to kill the man. The blade sank down through his throat and the wet, bubbling hiss of a last breath nearly had Tatsurou at his peak before he could even get back to Gara. He collected himself, however, and dragged the body towards one of the dumpsters, chucking it in and covering it over with other bags. He then surveyed where they had made the kill and kicked dirt and dragged boxes to conceal it for a time. They never went too much out of their way to cover kills. It was the idea of relaxed calm that they felt made them uncaught. Nervousness led to fuck ups.
He found a spigot along the alley dripping lazily and cleaned his hands half-heartedly, rubbing them against his coat to keep them warm, hurrying through the maze of shop-backs to their car, purring softly in its place. He pulled at the door handle and it swung open, Gara curled up in the back seat, bare and bloody. Tatsurou made a soft sound through his nose of approval and confirmed expectations, climbing carefully in, fitting his long body into the back seat with his lover, closing the door behind him. There was thick black blood under Gara’s nails, smeared dried brown blood on his shins, sticking the sparse hair on his legs down to the skin. There was red blood, still sticky and wet, around his wrists, red smears on his chest, crimson splatters garnishing his angular face and dark eyes. Tatsurou started tugging off his own clothes and Gara laughed, pushing lotion-coated fingers into himself as he watched his lanky lover fight to get undressed in the cramped space.
A button flew off from the cuff of Tatusrou’s blood-damp shirt before he was free of all clothing. And then, it was a frenzy. Like sharks feeding. More hurried and ravenous than the kill.
Tatsurou tasted blood when he kissed Gara and had no idea whose it was. He left bruises on his lover’s hips as he pushed into him and thrust again and again, madly fucking him against the door, kissing him breathless, driven only madder by the claws down his back and the teeth at his shoulder. Gara hardly made a noise but Tatsurou knew by the pain he was inflicting on him that he was enjoying it terribly. It was always when Gara hurt him that he knew his lover liked it the most. The leather seats felt sticky with sweat and blood and Tatsurou knew they were really have to be careful cleaning when they got home, that though they played it cool, they had to stay diligent. Carelessness was just as shakey-handed as a nervous mind.
For now, he didn’t care about how bloody they both were, that he would likely have to dye his jeans if he wanted to wear them again without advertising the dark, large stains of blood not his own on them. At that moment he only cared that he was cramming his cock into Gara over and over and that it felt fucking amazing and that Gara’s sweat had made the splatters of blood thin out along his shoulder and he could fingerpaint on his lover’s skin in blood and that was what he was doing when he finally came, back stiff as a post, vision going all wobbly and hazed as that sharp, thin line somewhere inside him snapped and it all came rushing out.
His afterglow was set on fire by Gara’s hand in his hair, yanking his head around and ordering him not to stop, that he was so close, that he’d fucking kill him if he stopped. Tatsurou didn’t stop. He braced his feet down against the floor, his knees aching from the edge of the seat, and he kept fucking Gara’s thin body until he felt it tremble apart in his hands and felt his hot, thick cum between them and for a tiny moment saw absolute bliss bubble up under the mask of Gara’s features.
The windows were steamed thick. The one flickering street lamp was like a distant faerie glow and the blood was all blue and black in the strange light, orange and silver against their sweat. Gara went limp and one hanging hand found a towel tucked under the driver’s seat of the car. He pushed it at Tatsurou and some time later they found themselves something close to clean. It was quiet except for their breaths, slowly evening out to normal again. Gara tugged back on his clothes and crawled into the front seat. Tatsurou stayed in the back, naked.
Gara turned the stereo on very low to a local radio station and cleared the windows, backing out of the space and driving towards their apartment. After several minutes, while sitting at a light, Tatsurou grabbed the back of Gara’s seat and hauled himself forward to kiss his lover’s cheek. “We should have more dates like this, baby. Tonight was nice.”
Gara chuckled hoarsely, pressing his toe against the accelerator as the light changed. “Of course. I’m glad you liked it. It’s nice we can do things together.”
Tatsurou purred and pulled his long hair from it’s bun to fall against his bare back, nuzzling his wide nose against Gara’s hollowed cheek. “Play together, stay together, right?”
Another laugh from the thinner man driving. “Absolutely.”
★tagged ★gara/tatsu ★murder pooooornnnnn ★*shrug* ★i've gotten kind of rusty
A preview of my next book. Have fun guessing if there was any influence on it by other things I post here.
★tagged ★lol just enjoy this ★i am not even kidding in the slightest ★i mean i'm laughing but i'm totally serious about this ★it will happen
It’s not articulated the way I wanted but I’m tired and working tomorrow and it is my bedtime, so glean some kind of enjoyment out of it if you can.
★tagged ★dakota porn ★seek/yukke ★this is terbs ★oh well ★to sleep i go ★bdsm
Max. 24. Boy. Audio engineer. अहिंसा. Pagan. Writer. Queer. Photographer. Fan of: メリー, MUCC, Dir en grey, Kiyoharu, cali≠gari, Poppy Z. Brite. Loves: music, tea, nature, yoga, wit, art, Doctor Who, Supernatural. Not so fond of: trivial bullshit. Past: fog of clinical depression, crippling anxiety, no self-worth. Present: transitive power of the universe. Future: completely fucking liberated. Follow if you like, unfollow if you don't. Sometimes NSFW (*＾ω＾*)ノ☆
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