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ds_flashfictionThis might vaguely qualify as songfic. Don't ask me how that happened: blame it on the jetlag. Anyway, thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sihayab for giving me the green light!
O Stay Me
The first time Ray put his mouth on my erection, I very nearly came apart at the seams. I had experienced his unzipping of my trousers merely as relief, imputing no immediate ulterior motive beyond making me, and by extension us, more comfortable for what I had assumed would be another evening of what Ray charmingly calls “necking.”
I sensed the couch shifting with his weight, but my eyes were screwed shut (as though to watch him touch me were to risk the entire experience going up in smoke) and I was not expecting his boldness. Was not expecting the way his mouth would feel, surely hotter than normal (was he feverish, or was I, now that his tongue was working its way towards my scrotum and setting me alight?)
Though my mind ran John Wilbye’s lyric, which suddenly seemed not veiled in innuendo but blazingly, blindingly clear. I fall, I fall, O stay me/ dear love, with joys ye slay me…
It was the faint scrape of his barely-stubbled jaw against my thigh which made the dreamlike haze feel real, which sent me so precipitously close to the edge. In embarrassingly short order I was clutching at the edges of the couch, legs as akimbo as my partially-dressed state would allow, trying to draw enough breath to moan.
When his hands snaked somehow in to my pants, to rub along my testicles applying pressure in places I never knew were capable of erotic sensation, I tried desperately to think of something else, anything else, to bring me back from incipient climax. My breath was shallow, almost gasping, and when Ray pulled his mouth away I couldn’t help the distressed sound that escaped my lips, mortifyingly like a whimper.
“I’ve wanted to do this since day one,” Ray murmured, his mouth so close that I felt his words as puffs of breath on my wet and straining erection.
His broad, capable hands continued their manipulation and I bit my lip, hard, to keep from begging. of life your lips deprive me/ sweet, let your lips revive me…
“And now I can’t decide whether I’d rather make you come in my mouth, or with my hands so I can watch it happen.”
“Ray…” Was that my voice, almost a whine? I was greedy, pinned between the conflicting desires to listen to him talk about what he wanted to do with me and to feel him performing the acts he described.
He bent and licked, slow and insistent, at the base of my penis. I choked back a groan, ashamed of these animal sounds, of how quickly and easily he had rent my control.
“Such a pretty cock.” As if observing to himself, though surely he had to note how the organ in question twitched in his hands at the praise he
bestowed. One hand moved to stroke along my length, up and back. Desire was weakening my entire body, pooling in my limbs and my chest like mercury.
Suddenly my erection was left quivering in open air. I pushed myself up on one elbow and opened my eyes, half-panicked, to the sight of Ray -- my lover; what a thrilling word -- kneeling up between my open thighs, surveying his handiwork. His hair was mussed, his shirt un-tucked and
half-unbuttoned and wrinkled. He was quite possibly the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I wondered whether I would ever find myself able to speak of these things as apparently easily as he could, whether I would ever be able to tell him that.
When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “What’re you thinking?”
The begging words of the madrigal’s close cycled furiously around my head. Instead I managed to marshal a few words of contemporary speech. “Please. Don’t stop.”
I would have winced at my own cliché, but Ray didn’t seem to mind the phrasing: he took my plea to heart. The renewed heat of his mouth and motion of his fingers wrung my climax from me.
When my bones had re-knit themselves, I vowed silently, I would return the favour. As soon as I could move. Already my mouth tingled in anticipation. It would be my turn, then, to make him fall.
(708 words)
Note: Obviously, Fraser strikes me as the kind of guy who’d be familiar with late sixteenth-century English madrigal verse. You can find the lyrics to the song he’s humming here: http://www.shipbrook.com/jeff/wilbye.html#xiiii
sihayab for giving me the green light! O Stay Me
The first time Ray put his mouth on my erection, I very nearly came apart at the seams. I had experienced his unzipping of my trousers merely as relief, imputing no immediate ulterior motive beyond making me, and by extension us, more comfortable for what I had assumed would be another evening of what Ray charmingly calls “necking.”
I sensed the couch shifting with his weight, but my eyes were screwed shut (as though to watch him touch me were to risk the entire experience going up in smoke) and I was not expecting his boldness. Was not expecting the way his mouth would feel, surely hotter than normal (was he feverish, or was I, now that his tongue was working its way towards my scrotum and setting me alight?)
Though my mind ran John Wilbye’s lyric, which suddenly seemed not veiled in innuendo but blazingly, blindingly clear. I fall, I fall, O stay me/ dear love, with joys ye slay me…
It was the faint scrape of his barely-stubbled jaw against my thigh which made the dreamlike haze feel real, which sent me so precipitously close to the edge. In embarrassingly short order I was clutching at the edges of the couch, legs as akimbo as my partially-dressed state would allow, trying to draw enough breath to moan.
When his hands snaked somehow in to my pants, to rub along my testicles applying pressure in places I never knew were capable of erotic sensation, I tried desperately to think of something else, anything else, to bring me back from incipient climax. My breath was shallow, almost gasping, and when Ray pulled his mouth away I couldn’t help the distressed sound that escaped my lips, mortifyingly like a whimper.
“I’ve wanted to do this since day one,” Ray murmured, his mouth so close that I felt his words as puffs of breath on my wet and straining erection.
His broad, capable hands continued their manipulation and I bit my lip, hard, to keep from begging. of life your lips deprive me/ sweet, let your lips revive me…
“And now I can’t decide whether I’d rather make you come in my mouth, or with my hands so I can watch it happen.”
“Ray…” Was that my voice, almost a whine? I was greedy, pinned between the conflicting desires to listen to him talk about what he wanted to do with me and to feel him performing the acts he described.
He bent and licked, slow and insistent, at the base of my penis. I choked back a groan, ashamed of these animal sounds, of how quickly and easily he had rent my control.
“Such a pretty cock.” As if observing to himself, though surely he had to note how the organ in question twitched in his hands at the praise he
bestowed. One hand moved to stroke along my length, up and back. Desire was weakening my entire body, pooling in my limbs and my chest like mercury.
Suddenly my erection was left quivering in open air. I pushed myself up on one elbow and opened my eyes, half-panicked, to the sight of Ray -- my lover; what a thrilling word -- kneeling up between my open thighs, surveying his handiwork. His hair was mussed, his shirt un-tucked and
half-unbuttoned and wrinkled. He was quite possibly the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I wondered whether I would ever find myself able to speak of these things as apparently easily as he could, whether I would ever be able to tell him that.
When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “What’re you thinking?”
The begging words of the madrigal’s close cycled furiously around my head. Instead I managed to marshal a few words of contemporary speech. “Please. Don’t stop.”
I would have winced at my own cliché, but Ray didn’t seem to mind the phrasing: he took my plea to heart. The renewed heat of his mouth and motion of his fingers wrung my climax from me.
When my bones had re-knit themselves, I vowed silently, I would return the favour. As soon as I could move. Already my mouth tingled in anticipation. It would be my turn, then, to make him fall.
(708 words)
Note: Obviously, Fraser strikes me as the kind of guy who’d be familiar with late sixteenth-century English madrigal verse. You can find the lyrics to the song he’s humming here: http://www.shipbrook.com/jeff/wilbye.html#xiiii
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 02:51 pm (UTC)Nice way to start the day-thanks.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 06:15 pm (UTC)The lovely and talented
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 03:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 04:26 pm (UTC)And let's not even go there with the poet Sir John Suckling.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 04:27 pm (UTC)Thy prose doth rock, in ev'ry way.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:03 pm (UTC)Y'know, this could be fun. ;>
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:13 pm (UTC)(Or as Ray might say -- You rock!!)
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:17 pm (UTC)Lovely Fraser voice in this, and very hot, too!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 05:32 pm (UTC)It works beautifully.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 07:10 pm (UTC)The begging words of the madrigal's close cycled furiously around my head. Instead I managed to marshal a few words of contemporary speech. “Please. Don't stop.”
He ought to be proud he managed to talk at all under the circumstances!
no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 04:43 am (UTC)His broad, capable hands continued their manipulation and I bit my lip, hard, to keep from begging. of life your lips deprive me/ sweet, let your lips revive me . . .
I think I was begging, here, too.*g*
no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 07:43 pm (UTC)And Fraser's probably the only character in fandom that would believably be quoting madrigals while having sex.
I loved that.
no subject
Date: 2003-09-06 12:25 am (UTC)A think of beauty.