Flash Fiction Fills (Take 30) Part Two
Apr. 11th, 2012 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Two more flash fiction, once again, longer than the average flash fiction. Please enjoy.
For yamitoyoru
Prompt: KyouyaxTwins, sexy times, Kids of 88s “Just a Little Bit”
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club. Warnings for implied threesome and a little groping.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Alex/Wesley, “Earthquake,” the Used
Universe: A Thousand Words, a different interpretation of their reconciliation. Not canon. Warnings for angst, slash.
a/n: Much, much more ficcage to come. Updates. Oneshots. Smut, smut, smut. Flash fics. The works.
Hope you enjoyed!
For yamitoyoru
Prompt: KyouyaxTwins, sexy times, Kids of 88s “Just a Little Bit”
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club. Warnings for implied threesome and a little groping.
“He looks stressed,” Kaoru says, or purrs rather.
“He always looks stressed,” Hikaru corrects.
The twins slink into the room in concert and Kyouya feels his hackles rise. He hunches a bit closer to his laptop, trying to ignore their distracting presence. It's a futile effort, but if he can at least finish this page of calculations, he can allow himself to be distracted.
“We should fix that,” Kaoru says.
“What do you propose we do?” Hikaru asks.
Kyouya catches their reflection in the corner of his laptop screen. He's hyper-aware, prepared for the moment they pounce. Investment options waver in front of him.
“I have something in mind.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Kaoru chuckles, throaty and enticing. “Follow my lead.”
Hands land on either of Kyouya's shoulders in stereo, thumbs brushing the tender skin of his neck before the caresses slide down his arms. A subtle weight leans down on both sides of him, trapping him between the Hitachiin twins.
“You're working too hard, we think,” Kaoru says into Kyouya's left ear, mouthing the soft shell and sending a telltale shiver down Kyouya's spine.
“You should take a break,” Hikaru adds, his lips tracing a scorching path down the sensitive lines of Kyouya's throat. “Come join us.”
Kyouya stares with great intent at his computer screen and the blinking cursor. “I have work to do.”
Hikaru's hand slides around, fingers nimbly undoing button after button on his shirt. “You have time enough to take a break, don't you?”
“Of course he does,” Kaoru purrs, tongue warm and wet on Kyouya's ear. “After all, a pair of bored twins is a pair of dangerous twins.”
Hmm, Kaoru does make a point.
Kyouya hits the button to save and suspend his work. “I can spare ten minutes,” he says, and removes his glasses, folding them onto the table. “Better make it worth my while.”
Kaoru's hand settles over Kyouya's groin, fingers kneading the rigid flesh. “Don't we always?”
Hikaru snorts amusement. “Ignore him, Kaoru. He's trying to pretend he's not affected.” He nuzzles against Kyouya's right ear, free hand drifting down to Kyouya's belt and zipper. “Even though we've got him right where we want him.”
Kyouya smirks. “We'll see about that,” he promises, and gives himself up to their lusty advances. It's hardly a battle.
“He always looks stressed,” Hikaru corrects.
The twins slink into the room in concert and Kyouya feels his hackles rise. He hunches a bit closer to his laptop, trying to ignore their distracting presence. It's a futile effort, but if he can at least finish this page of calculations, he can allow himself to be distracted.
“We should fix that,” Kaoru says.
“What do you propose we do?” Hikaru asks.
Kyouya catches their reflection in the corner of his laptop screen. He's hyper-aware, prepared for the moment they pounce. Investment options waver in front of him.
“I have something in mind.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Kaoru chuckles, throaty and enticing. “Follow my lead.”
Hands land on either of Kyouya's shoulders in stereo, thumbs brushing the tender skin of his neck before the caresses slide down his arms. A subtle weight leans down on both sides of him, trapping him between the Hitachiin twins.
“You're working too hard, we think,” Kaoru says into Kyouya's left ear, mouthing the soft shell and sending a telltale shiver down Kyouya's spine.
“You should take a break,” Hikaru adds, his lips tracing a scorching path down the sensitive lines of Kyouya's throat. “Come join us.”
Kyouya stares with great intent at his computer screen and the blinking cursor. “I have work to do.”
Hikaru's hand slides around, fingers nimbly undoing button after button on his shirt. “You have time enough to take a break, don't you?”
“Of course he does,” Kaoru purrs, tongue warm and wet on Kyouya's ear. “After all, a pair of bored twins is a pair of dangerous twins.”
Hmm, Kaoru does make a point.
Kyouya hits the button to save and suspend his work. “I can spare ten minutes,” he says, and removes his glasses, folding them onto the table. “Better make it worth my while.”
Kaoru's hand settles over Kyouya's groin, fingers kneading the rigid flesh. “Don't we always?”
Hikaru snorts amusement. “Ignore him, Kaoru. He's trying to pretend he's not affected.” He nuzzles against Kyouya's right ear, free hand drifting down to Kyouya's belt and zipper. “Even though we've got him right where we want him.”
Kyouya smirks. “We'll see about that,” he promises, and gives himself up to their lusty advances. It's hardly a battle.
For mandalee1013
Prompt: Alex/Wesley, “Earthquake,” the Used
Universe: A Thousand Words, a different interpretation of their reconciliation. Not canon. Warnings for angst, slash.
It's a little after midnight and hardly an appropriate time for Alex to be banging on the door, but there's more than a little whiskey in his blood and he reeks of desperation. Yes, he's desperate. He's been driven to the edge and there's no turning back.
He can't do it. He can't let Wesley go. He can't let things end like this.
Somewhere down the hall, someone's dog starts barking. Probably roused by Alex's relentless knocking. He can't be bothered to care. Wesley has to wake up, he has to know.
The door slams open, Wesley glaring at him looking sleep-mussed and perfect. The words crowding on Alex's tongue instantly turn to ash and he can only stare, mute, at the half-dressed body of his former lover. Could they even be called lovers? Really? With the way Alex had always used and tossed Wesley aside as though he meant nothing?
“What do you want?” Wesley grits out, his voice a fierce growl that sends low shocks to Alex's groin, an entirely inappropriate response.
Alex swallows thickly. “Can we talk?”
Wesley's fingers tighten on the edge of the door, white-knuckled, chest heaving with heavy breaths. “It's after midnight, Alex. Some of us have to work.”
“I know.” Desperation makes him jittery, makes him anxious. “And I'm sorry. But I've waited too long already. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Please, Wesley, talk to me.”
God, he sounds pathetic. Like a bare wisp of his former self. But could the old Alex have been any better? Is his pride worth that much?
He's on the verge of dropping to his knees in the middle of the corridor, just down the hallway from where curious strangers are peering out, wondering who's causing racket at this time of night. Alex is seconds away from begging, from showing Wesley just what shell of a man's been left behind.
Wesley sags against the frame, his gaze darting to the audience they are gathering. “Get your ass in here,” he mutters, moving aside. “Before my neighbors get more of an earful.”
Alex doesn't wait to obey. He scrambles into Wesley's apartment and watches as his former lover closes and locks the door with slow, deliberate motions.
“You smell like liquor,” Wesley says, hand lingering on the dead bolt.
“Liquid courage,” Alex confesses. “If I'm going to make a fool of myself, I can at least suffer the consequences in the morning.”
Wesley turns to face him, his expression a hard mask devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms. “Why did you come here, Alex?”
He chews on his bottom lip, once again losing all carefully planned scripts. “Because I was an idiot,” Alex blurts out. “Because I was looking for something I already had and I don't want to lose the only good thing I used to have.” It sounds like nonsense in retrospect but the alcohol isn't exactly making him coherent either.
Wesley exhales audibly, his gaze falling away. “What makes now any different than before?”
“You spoiled me,” Alex admits. “You were safe. You weren't ever going to leave. Until you did.” His shoulders slump, knees feeling weak. “You're right. I have to make a choice.” His eyes feel hot, his throat thick and tight. His hands clench into unsteady fists. “I want to be with you.”
“You're drunk,” Wesley says, dismissive, and shakes his head. “You can crash on the couch tonight, but tomorrow, you have to go.”
Alex lurches forward, into Wesley's path, feeling like he's scrabbling at the edge of a cliff. “It's not the alcohol!” he says, voice almost a growl. “I know what I'm saying!”
Wesley stares at him, searching his face as though he can detect lies and deceit just by gazing into Alex's eyes. “I don't know if I can believe you, Alex.”
“Don't make that decision now then.” It's a risk, but he's going to take it. Alex reaches, laying his hand on Wesley's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I mean it.”
Silence descends, heavy and telling. Alex waits on pins and needles, breath caught in his throat.
Wesley exhales. “Sleep on the couch,” he says, but he unfolds his arms, his tone softening. “We'll talk in the morning. You don't have to leave.”
Alex nearly collapses out of relief. “Whatever you want.” He's going to prove it. He's going to make Wesley see. Whatever it takes.
He can't do it. He can't let Wesley go. He can't let things end like this.
Somewhere down the hall, someone's dog starts barking. Probably roused by Alex's relentless knocking. He can't be bothered to care. Wesley has to wake up, he has to know.
The door slams open, Wesley glaring at him looking sleep-mussed and perfect. The words crowding on Alex's tongue instantly turn to ash and he can only stare, mute, at the half-dressed body of his former lover. Could they even be called lovers? Really? With the way Alex had always used and tossed Wesley aside as though he meant nothing?
“What do you want?” Wesley grits out, his voice a fierce growl that sends low shocks to Alex's groin, an entirely inappropriate response.
Alex swallows thickly. “Can we talk?”
Wesley's fingers tighten on the edge of the door, white-knuckled, chest heaving with heavy breaths. “It's after midnight, Alex. Some of us have to work.”
“I know.” Desperation makes him jittery, makes him anxious. “And I'm sorry. But I've waited too long already. I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. Please, Wesley, talk to me.”
God, he sounds pathetic. Like a bare wisp of his former self. But could the old Alex have been any better? Is his pride worth that much?
He's on the verge of dropping to his knees in the middle of the corridor, just down the hallway from where curious strangers are peering out, wondering who's causing racket at this time of night. Alex is seconds away from begging, from showing Wesley just what shell of a man's been left behind.
Wesley sags against the frame, his gaze darting to the audience they are gathering. “Get your ass in here,” he mutters, moving aside. “Before my neighbors get more of an earful.”
Alex doesn't wait to obey. He scrambles into Wesley's apartment and watches as his former lover closes and locks the door with slow, deliberate motions.
“You smell like liquor,” Wesley says, hand lingering on the dead bolt.
“Liquid courage,” Alex confesses. “If I'm going to make a fool of myself, I can at least suffer the consequences in the morning.”
Wesley turns to face him, his expression a hard mask devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms. “Why did you come here, Alex?”
He chews on his bottom lip, once again losing all carefully planned scripts. “Because I was an idiot,” Alex blurts out. “Because I was looking for something I already had and I don't want to lose the only good thing I used to have.” It sounds like nonsense in retrospect but the alcohol isn't exactly making him coherent either.
Wesley exhales audibly, his gaze falling away. “What makes now any different than before?”
“You spoiled me,” Alex admits. “You were safe. You weren't ever going to leave. Until you did.” His shoulders slump, knees feeling weak. “You're right. I have to make a choice.” His eyes feel hot, his throat thick and tight. His hands clench into unsteady fists. “I want to be with you.”
“You're drunk,” Wesley says, dismissive, and shakes his head. “You can crash on the couch tonight, but tomorrow, you have to go.”
Alex lurches forward, into Wesley's path, feeling like he's scrabbling at the edge of a cliff. “It's not the alcohol!” he says, voice almost a growl. “I know what I'm saying!”
Wesley stares at him, searching his face as though he can detect lies and deceit just by gazing into Alex's eyes. “I don't know if I can believe you, Alex.”
“Don't make that decision now then.” It's a risk, but he's going to take it. Alex reaches, laying his hand on Wesley's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I mean it.”
Silence descends, heavy and telling. Alex waits on pins and needles, breath caught in his throat.
Wesley exhales. “Sleep on the couch,” he says, but he unfolds his arms, his tone softening. “We'll talk in the morning. You don't have to leave.”
Alex nearly collapses out of relief. “Whatever you want.” He's going to prove it. He's going to make Wesley see. Whatever it takes.
a/n: Much, much more ficcage to come. Updates. Oneshots. Smut, smut, smut. Flash fics. The works.
Hope you enjoyed!
