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dracoqueen22a/n: Do you know what's not conducive to writing porn? A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad head cold/sinus infection. Blargh. Nevertheless, I pushed through the nasty nonsense to produce three pieces of flash fiction. All of these are NSFW, remember, as it was a porny Flash Fiction Friday. Be warned!
For dellessa
Prompt: ProwlxThundercracker, “Are you surprised?”
Fandom: Transformers, G1/Bayverse amalgam. Warnings for plug n' play porn, bit of roughness/kink, mechslash
For cptnsuz
Prompt: Youkai!Hakkai/Sanzo, vines
Fandom: Saiyuki. Warnings for bondage, some dominance play, slash, implied oral, potentially religiously offensive?
For hockeyiris
Prompt: Maes/Roy, knives
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist. Warnings for slash, knifeplay, bit of bloodplay, definitely dominance play
a/n: Well, I hope those got your engines revving. They were quite fun to write. And now, I away to fight the good fight against mucus and try and pound out the rest of these flash fiction.
Feedback is always welcome!
For dellessa
Prompt: ProwlxThundercracker, “Are you surprised?”
Fandom: Transformers, G1/Bayverse amalgam. Warnings for plug n' play porn, bit of roughness/kink, mechslash
Prowl hisses, pleasure streaking through his system and surging across the link to Thundercracker, deepening the strength of the loop. His grip on the Seeker's right wing tightens, applying pressure to delicate sensors.
Decepticon red optics flare brighter and Thundercracker's claws dig deeper between plates of Prowl's armor. “Oh? You enjoyed that?” The deep purr of Thundercracker's vocalizer thrums over Prowl's plating, making it vibrate in a very pleasing way.
Prowl chuckles darkly, his free hand finding a hydraulic line in Thundercracker's hip and stroking it. The arc of electricity racing over the Seeker's blue plating is a perfect testament to the desire Thundercracker transmits through their hardline connection.
“Are you surprised?” Prowl asks, backing Thundercracker into the door, where his wings make a noticeable clatter against the smooth metal. Anyone passing by could have heard the noise, though they wouldn't know what made it. “Surprised that we Autobots are not what you expected?”
“I already knew that.” Thundercracker grabs Prowl's shoulder, hooking a claw in a strut beneath the armor and tugging him closer, their chestplates colliding with another arc of visible energy. “I should have guessed you would like it a little... rough however.”
Prowl smirks and dips his helm, running his glossa over the cables in Thundercracker's neck, eliciting another tell-tale shiver. “Why's that?” he asks.
Vents kicking on with a loud whirr, Thundercracker tugs again at a sensory bundle, drawing a sharp pulse of pleasure-pain that makes Prowl's systems surge with heat. “The humans have a saying.”
“Oh?” Honestly, Prowl hadn't realized Thundercracker played that much attention to the humans and their culture. The Decepticons had always appeared to disdain nearly everything associated with 'those flesh creatures'. Unless, of course, it suits Megatron's evil plan of the day.
Thundercracker pushes more pleasure through their link, bombarding Prowl's emotional centers with the intense feelings. It's all Prowl can do to hold back from an impending overload. “Watch out for the quiet ones,” the Seeker recites with an almost evil chuckle.
Prowl's hand shifts from Thundercracker's hips to the glass of his cockpit, stroking the glass with the edge of his fingers so that it creates a jarring vibration, sure to resonate through the Seeker's entire chassis. “Hmm. An apt statement, wouldn't you think?”
A wordless growl of appreciation is all the answer Thundercracker can give as he crashes into a tangible overload, dragging an overheated Prowl along for the ride.
Decepticon red optics flare brighter and Thundercracker's claws dig deeper between plates of Prowl's armor. “Oh? You enjoyed that?” The deep purr of Thundercracker's vocalizer thrums over Prowl's plating, making it vibrate in a very pleasing way.
Prowl chuckles darkly, his free hand finding a hydraulic line in Thundercracker's hip and stroking it. The arc of electricity racing over the Seeker's blue plating is a perfect testament to the desire Thundercracker transmits through their hardline connection.
“Are you surprised?” Prowl asks, backing Thundercracker into the door, where his wings make a noticeable clatter against the smooth metal. Anyone passing by could have heard the noise, though they wouldn't know what made it. “Surprised that we Autobots are not what you expected?”
“I already knew that.” Thundercracker grabs Prowl's shoulder, hooking a claw in a strut beneath the armor and tugging him closer, their chestplates colliding with another arc of visible energy. “I should have guessed you would like it a little... rough however.”
Prowl smirks and dips his helm, running his glossa over the cables in Thundercracker's neck, eliciting another tell-tale shiver. “Why's that?” he asks.
Vents kicking on with a loud whirr, Thundercracker tugs again at a sensory bundle, drawing a sharp pulse of pleasure-pain that makes Prowl's systems surge with heat. “The humans have a saying.”
“Oh?” Honestly, Prowl hadn't realized Thundercracker played that much attention to the humans and their culture. The Decepticons had always appeared to disdain nearly everything associated with 'those flesh creatures'. Unless, of course, it suits Megatron's evil plan of the day.
Thundercracker pushes more pleasure through their link, bombarding Prowl's emotional centers with the intense feelings. It's all Prowl can do to hold back from an impending overload. “Watch out for the quiet ones,” the Seeker recites with an almost evil chuckle.
Prowl's hand shifts from Thundercracker's hips to the glass of his cockpit, stroking the glass with the edge of his fingers so that it creates a jarring vibration, sure to resonate through the Seeker's entire chassis. “Hmm. An apt statement, wouldn't you think?”
A wordless growl of appreciation is all the answer Thundercracker can give as he crashes into a tangible overload, dragging an overheated Prowl along for the ride.
For cptnsuz
Prompt: Youkai!Hakkai/Sanzo, vines
Fandom: Saiyuki. Warnings for bondage, some dominance play, slash, implied oral, potentially religiously offensive?
He has a Sanzo trapped in his vines.
Hakkai smirks, lips peeling back over his fanged teeth.
He has the most powerful human wound in his vines. Nude. Bound. Gagged. Helpless.
Those purple eyes are glaring ocular fire.
Arousal skitters down Hakkai's spine. His cock fills with blood and he drops a hand, curling clawed fingers around himself carefully. He gives himself a few languid strokes as he prowls around the bound Sanzo.
He admires the way his vines dimple the pale flesh. A few pinpricks of blood here and there have been drawn, highlighting thin, silvery scars. Delicious. Hakkai licks his lips.
Where to begin?
Sanzo growls as though demanding he get started. Hah. Sanzo's not the one in charge right now, is he?
Hakkai strokes himself again, squeezing out a drop of precome before he makes himself stop. No need to end the festivities early, yes? And it would be such a shame to waste this feast.
He watches as Sanzo puts forth a token struggle. The vines get tighter; Hakkai can feel them pressing into Sanzo's skin. He can feel the priest's pulse through his vines, a steady throb of arousal. Sanzo's visibly hard, too, and Hakkai drops into a crouch over him. He lightly drags the pad of his finger over Sanzo's rigid length.
Sanzo's hips buck upward, a lusty moan vibrating in his throat.
Hakkai chuckles, gripping Sanzo's cock and squeezing it. Sanzo arches, straining against the vines, delicious in his need. His arousal is a thick, heady musk to Hakkai's senses. He inhales deeply, feeling his own pulse throb in time with Sanzo's.
Hakkai adjusts his crouch, leaning over Sanzo's cock and exhaling heated breath over the seeping head. A twitch of his fingers and a thinner, more supple vine snakes over, curling also around Sanzo's length. Wisely, this one is devoid of torns, but the pressure it applies to Sanzo's cock makes the priest moan again, sweat now blanketing his pale, pale skin.
He twists within his confines, desperate for more. And Hakkai, pleased by the show the priest has given him, chooses to oblige. He opens his mouth and let his tongue slide out, lapping at Sanzo's cock, preparing to take him deep. Who's the god now?
Hakkai smirks, lips peeling back over his fanged teeth.
He has the most powerful human wound in his vines. Nude. Bound. Gagged. Helpless.
Those purple eyes are glaring ocular fire.
Arousal skitters down Hakkai's spine. His cock fills with blood and he drops a hand, curling clawed fingers around himself carefully. He gives himself a few languid strokes as he prowls around the bound Sanzo.
He admires the way his vines dimple the pale flesh. A few pinpricks of blood here and there have been drawn, highlighting thin, silvery scars. Delicious. Hakkai licks his lips.
Where to begin?
Sanzo growls as though demanding he get started. Hah. Sanzo's not the one in charge right now, is he?
Hakkai strokes himself again, squeezing out a drop of precome before he makes himself stop. No need to end the festivities early, yes? And it would be such a shame to waste this feast.
He watches as Sanzo puts forth a token struggle. The vines get tighter; Hakkai can feel them pressing into Sanzo's skin. He can feel the priest's pulse through his vines, a steady throb of arousal. Sanzo's visibly hard, too, and Hakkai drops into a crouch over him. He lightly drags the pad of his finger over Sanzo's rigid length.
Sanzo's hips buck upward, a lusty moan vibrating in his throat.
Hakkai chuckles, gripping Sanzo's cock and squeezing it. Sanzo arches, straining against the vines, delicious in his need. His arousal is a thick, heady musk to Hakkai's senses. He inhales deeply, feeling his own pulse throb in time with Sanzo's.
Hakkai adjusts his crouch, leaning over Sanzo's cock and exhaling heated breath over the seeping head. A twitch of his fingers and a thinner, more supple vine snakes over, curling also around Sanzo's length. Wisely, this one is devoid of torns, but the pressure it applies to Sanzo's cock makes the priest moan again, sweat now blanketing his pale, pale skin.
He twists within his confines, desperate for more. And Hakkai, pleased by the show the priest has given him, chooses to oblige. He opens his mouth and let his tongue slide out, lapping at Sanzo's cock, preparing to take him deep. Who's the god now?
For hockeyiris
Prompt: Maes/Roy, knives
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist. Warnings for slash, knifeplay, bit of bloodplay, definitely dominance play
The anticipation makes him shiver. He's hard as a rock and has been since the second Maes stared at him and asked in that low growl of his 'do you trust me?'.
Those key words make Roy's mouth go dry. Make his pulse leap as he nods mutely, no need for words. And when Maes leaves the room to get what he needs, Roy undresses with careless haste. He tosses his clothes to the floor, leaving them in crumpled heaps, and sprawls on top of the bedcovers, limbs to the four corners.
At first, Maes had to tie him down, for Roy's own safety. His control has improved since then, making the bindings superfluous. Roy waits, cock throbbing, eyes locked on the door, fingers curling and uncurling out of anticipation.
He hears Maes' boots on the stairs. A shadow in the doorway before Maes appears in full military dress, the sight of which makes Roy's breath hitch. He all but exudes power and confidence. A whine builds in Roy's throat but he swallows it down.
Maes' gaze sweeps Roy over from head to toe, bearing a smirk made of sin and flicking one of his knives across his fingers. “Eager?”
“Always,” Roy rasps with brutal honesty.
Maes slips further into the room, still twirling the knife, the sharpened metal catching glints from the low light.
Roy lifts his arms, holding them above his head, wrists crossed. He doesn't ask what made Maes need it this time. He knows this dark side Gracia can never see. And it is Roy's pleasure to give Maes what he needs.
The bed dips as Maes sits next to him, plants one hand on the bed on Roy's side opposite to where he sits. The flaps of his coat brushes Roy's bare abdomen as he leans over. Maes' free hand toys with his knife, dragging out the moment.
Roy watches, captivated by the metal's sheen, and watches with breathless anticipation as Maes reaches, the edge of the knife aiming for the sensitive and now exposed skin of Roy's underarm. So delicate and thin there. Roy quivers.
The blade touches him. He can feel the pressure. More important is the hot weight of Maes' eyes on him, watching, as Roy forces himself not to move. He keeps his eyes open, though he'd rather close them and surrender, and the first, thin cut makes his cock twitch. Precome seeps from the head, dribbling down the side of his length. Roy's breath catches.
Maes hums appreciatively. “Do you trust me?” he says again and watching the knife move again, Roy can only moan a solid 'yes'.
Those key words make Roy's mouth go dry. Make his pulse leap as he nods mutely, no need for words. And when Maes leaves the room to get what he needs, Roy undresses with careless haste. He tosses his clothes to the floor, leaving them in crumpled heaps, and sprawls on top of the bedcovers, limbs to the four corners.
At first, Maes had to tie him down, for Roy's own safety. His control has improved since then, making the bindings superfluous. Roy waits, cock throbbing, eyes locked on the door, fingers curling and uncurling out of anticipation.
He hears Maes' boots on the stairs. A shadow in the doorway before Maes appears in full military dress, the sight of which makes Roy's breath hitch. He all but exudes power and confidence. A whine builds in Roy's throat but he swallows it down.
Maes' gaze sweeps Roy over from head to toe, bearing a smirk made of sin and flicking one of his knives across his fingers. “Eager?”
“Always,” Roy rasps with brutal honesty.
Maes slips further into the room, still twirling the knife, the sharpened metal catching glints from the low light.
Roy lifts his arms, holding them above his head, wrists crossed. He doesn't ask what made Maes need it this time. He knows this dark side Gracia can never see. And it is Roy's pleasure to give Maes what he needs.
The bed dips as Maes sits next to him, plants one hand on the bed on Roy's side opposite to where he sits. The flaps of his coat brushes Roy's bare abdomen as he leans over. Maes' free hand toys with his knife, dragging out the moment.
Roy watches, captivated by the metal's sheen, and watches with breathless anticipation as Maes reaches, the edge of the knife aiming for the sensitive and now exposed skin of Roy's underarm. So delicate and thin there. Roy quivers.
The blade touches him. He can feel the pressure. More important is the hot weight of Maes' eyes on him, watching, as Roy forces himself not to move. He keeps his eyes open, though he'd rather close them and surrender, and the first, thin cut makes his cock twitch. Precome seeps from the head, dribbling down the side of his length. Roy's breath catches.
Maes hums appreciatively. “Do you trust me?” he says again and watching the knife move again, Roy can only moan a solid 'yes'.
a/n: Well, I hope those got your engines revving. They were quite fun to write. And now, I away to fight the good fight against mucus and try and pound out the rest of these flash fiction.
Feedback is always welcome!
no subject
Date: 2012-01-14 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-14 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-15 12:22 am (UTC)