Flash Fiction Fills Take 36 (Part Two)
Oct. 28th, 2012 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Two more flash fiction for your reading enjoyment, with only one left to go. All grammatical mistakes are mine and mine alone!
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Lady Crysan and Sleet, “think of it as a reward for a job well done.”
Universe: War of the Animum, pre-Darkness Descends. Not-quite-canon. NSFW
For camfield
Prompt: SoraxRiku, My feet can't find purchase, my eyes see only blurs. Everything I am is nothing without you, because now only you make my body more than a corpse with strings attached.
Fandom: post-Kingdom Hearts II. FLUFF.
a/n: Porn and fluff. lol. Sometimes I don't know what drugs my muses are taking. *grins*
Hope you enjoyed! Got one more flash fic to go and it's stumping me. Heh. Plus I got distracted by writing some Transformers pronz so, yeah, we'll see.
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Lady Crysan and Sleet, “think of it as a reward for a job well done.”
Universe: War of the Animum, pre-Darkness Descends. Not-quite-canon. NSFW
The scarf winds around his arms, from above his elbows to his wrists, scratches at his skin. His shoulders are locked in place, his arms bound behind him. He's on his knees, the wood floor rigid and unyielding. He's naked, but the heat flushing through him ensures that he's not cold. Not anymore.
The chill that dances down his spine, however, has nothing to do with cold.
Lady Crysan stands above him, painted lips curved in a smile, two fingers tapping against her bottom lip. “You can consider this a reward,” she purrs at him, her free hand dropping down and patting over his hair, only to slide around and cup his face. “Except that it benefits me as well because you are quite the arousing sight on your knees. No wonder you have acquired such a benefactor.”
Sleet licks his lips. “I don't feel very rewarded,” he retorts, because he's on his knees, he's all tied up, he's getting harder by the minute, but she's hardly touched him and there's a distinct feeling that she's following a script she hasn't deigned to share.
“That's because I've only just begun.” She grips his chin, turning his head from side to side as though examining it. “I do not think you realize Sleet, that you and Frost are playing a dangerous game. I also suspect that no one's taught you the rules.”
His eyes narrow. “I don't know what you mean.”
Lady Crysan chuckles lightly. “Of course you don't.” One finger dips down, caressing his throat. “But I'll be sure to explain it in small words. Now, your word is 'duvet.' Repeat it.”
What in Aesir's name is she talking about? Sleet didn't come here for a grammar lesson. “Word?”
Her hand slides away from his face and she crouches, putting them at near eye-level, her head tilting to the side. “For the times when it becomes too much,” Crysan clarifies, though it still doesn't make a lick of sense to Sleet. Her hand ventures toward him again, dragging down his bare chest, abdomen, and finally, cupping the hard heat of him. “For when I've gone too far, when you want more than for me to stop.”
A strangled moan escapes Sleet's lips at her touch, his length eager for the smallest bit of stimulation. It doesn't ease his confusion. Stop? Why would he want her to stop?
Lady Crysan sighs, for once not a sound of indulgence but one of disappointment. “Submission is more than pain and taking whatever Frost gives you,” she says, and gives his cock a slow squeeze that makes him gasp and look straight into her eyes. “It's trust. It's pleasure. It's reveling in what makes you feel alive.”
Sleet swallows thickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “O-okay,” he replies, surprising himself with the stammer.
“I suspect you still don't understand me,” Crysan says, squeezing his length in slow intervals, pulling a steady stream of precome from the tip. “But that is fine. I appear to have plenty of time to teach you and you do make such a willing student.”
A strangled noise bursts from Sleet's throat, his arms jerking at his restraints but only in response to the pleasure wreaking his frame. “If--” He cuts off, swallowing again, and rolls his eyes back toward Crysan. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her thumb flicks over the tip of his cock, making his hips lurch forward. “Now, your word is 'duvet' and this...” She smiles, slow and calculating. “This is lesson one.”
The chill that dances down his spine, however, has nothing to do with cold.
Lady Crysan stands above him, painted lips curved in a smile, two fingers tapping against her bottom lip. “You can consider this a reward,” she purrs at him, her free hand dropping down and patting over his hair, only to slide around and cup his face. “Except that it benefits me as well because you are quite the arousing sight on your knees. No wonder you have acquired such a benefactor.”
Sleet licks his lips. “I don't feel very rewarded,” he retorts, because he's on his knees, he's all tied up, he's getting harder by the minute, but she's hardly touched him and there's a distinct feeling that she's following a script she hasn't deigned to share.
“That's because I've only just begun.” She grips his chin, turning his head from side to side as though examining it. “I do not think you realize Sleet, that you and Frost are playing a dangerous game. I also suspect that no one's taught you the rules.”
His eyes narrow. “I don't know what you mean.”
Lady Crysan chuckles lightly. “Of course you don't.” One finger dips down, caressing his throat. “But I'll be sure to explain it in small words. Now, your word is 'duvet.' Repeat it.”
What in Aesir's name is she talking about? Sleet didn't come here for a grammar lesson. “Word?”
Her hand slides away from his face and she crouches, putting them at near eye-level, her head tilting to the side. “For the times when it becomes too much,” Crysan clarifies, though it still doesn't make a lick of sense to Sleet. Her hand ventures toward him again, dragging down his bare chest, abdomen, and finally, cupping the hard heat of him. “For when I've gone too far, when you want more than for me to stop.”
A strangled moan escapes Sleet's lips at her touch, his length eager for the smallest bit of stimulation. It doesn't ease his confusion. Stop? Why would he want her to stop?
Lady Crysan sighs, for once not a sound of indulgence but one of disappointment. “Submission is more than pain and taking whatever Frost gives you,” she says, and gives his cock a slow squeeze that makes him gasp and look straight into her eyes. “It's trust. It's pleasure. It's reveling in what makes you feel alive.”
Sleet swallows thickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “O-okay,” he replies, surprising himself with the stammer.
“I suspect you still don't understand me,” Crysan says, squeezing his length in slow intervals, pulling a steady stream of precome from the tip. “But that is fine. I appear to have plenty of time to teach you and you do make such a willing student.”
A strangled noise bursts from Sleet's throat, his arms jerking at his restraints but only in response to the pleasure wreaking his frame. “If--” He cuts off, swallowing again, and rolls his eyes back toward Crysan. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her thumb flicks over the tip of his cock, making his hips lurch forward. “Now, your word is 'duvet' and this...” She smiles, slow and calculating. “This is lesson one.”
For camfield
Prompt: SoraxRiku, My feet can't find purchase, my eyes see only blurs. Everything I am is nothing without you, because now only you make my body more than a corpse with strings attached.
Fandom: post-Kingdom Hearts II. FLUFF.
In the dark, anything is possible. Without sight, dreams are endless. He can close his eyes, and pretend that when he opens them, his world is whatever he imagines it to be.
The dark is seductive. Tempting. Irresistible.
It's dangerous. And it still doesn't give him what he always wants.
Riku isn't sure what he was looking for, by the end. He isn't certain what he thought he would find when he stepped into that black abyss. He just remembers his heart thudding with so much hope and sadness all at once. He remembers wishing for Sora to be with him, while all the moment glad that his best friend was not.
Used.
In a way, he and Sora are both being used by their so-called destinies, their fates as masters of their respective keyblades. Riku feels even more so, a piece of destiny picked up and cast aside when he balked in the face of it.
The darkness seemed so inviting. So different from the bright, blue sky reflecting in Sora's eyes. It seemed to match better with the turmoil in Riku's heart.
But when Riku opened his eyes, none of his imaginings were there. The void was as empty as it had always been, and nothing was for the better. The power was nothing more than his own weakness, as flat and stale as a bottle of soda left open in the summer heat.
It all meant nothing without Sora next to him.
Clawing his way free of that intoxicating darkness had taken every ounce of willpower and strength that Riku possessed. He wondered if he would survive the journey more times than he can count. He worried that even if he did emerge, it wouldn't matter.
Sora would hate him. He had that right. And Riku knew that a thousand apologies wouldn't suffice.
Except that Sora had forgiven him, without Riku even having to speak. Apologies hadn't been necessary and Riku hadn't even been able to voice his gratitude.
Standing here, now, watching his lover and best friend peacefully enjoy a Saturday afternoon, Riku finds it hard to believe they'd gone through so much. They hadn't emerged unscathed, but they weren't broken either.
It seems like a miracle. Yet another something he can't quite put into words. Though he intends to try, over and over until he gets it right.
“Sora?”
“Hmm?” Sora looks up from his book, end of his mangled pen tapping against his lower lip. He never could stop chewing on writing utensils.
A smile curves Riku's lips. “I love you,” he says. “Just thought you should know.”
Sora, too, smiles, his eyes sparkling with that familiar humor. “I've always known,” he replies, wriggling the pen at him.
Sometimes, Riku supposes, things really are that simple.
“Breakfast for dinner?” Riku offers, trying not to let the warmth pooling in his belly translate to a stupid, silly grin on his face.
“I'll make the pancakes,” Sora agrees, his gaze slowly shifting back to his book as the pen starts up a rhythm against his lower lip once more. “Just let me finish this chapter and I'll be right there.”
His attempts fail. Riku knows he looks like a moron, standing there, grinning dopily. He shakes his head to hide the burn in his cheeks and turns out of the doorway.
“Riku?”
He pauses, glancing back into the room, where Sora's looking up at him again. “Next time, I'll take your hand.”
His heart leaps into his throat. “There's not going to be a next time,” Riku replies, insides wriggling in such ways he can't define. “Never again,” he adds, with fierce promise.
Sora smiles again. "Knew that, too."
Definitely can't hide his goofy grin this time. Heat flushes Riku from head to toe and he heads to the kitchen with a bounce in his step. Breakfast for dinner it is.
The dark is seductive. Tempting. Irresistible.
It's dangerous. And it still doesn't give him what he always wants.
Riku isn't sure what he was looking for, by the end. He isn't certain what he thought he would find when he stepped into that black abyss. He just remembers his heart thudding with so much hope and sadness all at once. He remembers wishing for Sora to be with him, while all the moment glad that his best friend was not.
Used.
In a way, he and Sora are both being used by their so-called destinies, their fates as masters of their respective keyblades. Riku feels even more so, a piece of destiny picked up and cast aside when he balked in the face of it.
The darkness seemed so inviting. So different from the bright, blue sky reflecting in Sora's eyes. It seemed to match better with the turmoil in Riku's heart.
But when Riku opened his eyes, none of his imaginings were there. The void was as empty as it had always been, and nothing was for the better. The power was nothing more than his own weakness, as flat and stale as a bottle of soda left open in the summer heat.
It all meant nothing without Sora next to him.
Clawing his way free of that intoxicating darkness had taken every ounce of willpower and strength that Riku possessed. He wondered if he would survive the journey more times than he can count. He worried that even if he did emerge, it wouldn't matter.
Sora would hate him. He had that right. And Riku knew that a thousand apologies wouldn't suffice.
Except that Sora had forgiven him, without Riku even having to speak. Apologies hadn't been necessary and Riku hadn't even been able to voice his gratitude.
Standing here, now, watching his lover and best friend peacefully enjoy a Saturday afternoon, Riku finds it hard to believe they'd gone through so much. They hadn't emerged unscathed, but they weren't broken either.
It seems like a miracle. Yet another something he can't quite put into words. Though he intends to try, over and over until he gets it right.
“Sora?”
“Hmm?” Sora looks up from his book, end of his mangled pen tapping against his lower lip. He never could stop chewing on writing utensils.
A smile curves Riku's lips. “I love you,” he says. “Just thought you should know.”
Sora, too, smiles, his eyes sparkling with that familiar humor. “I've always known,” he replies, wriggling the pen at him.
Sometimes, Riku supposes, things really are that simple.
“Breakfast for dinner?” Riku offers, trying not to let the warmth pooling in his belly translate to a stupid, silly grin on his face.
“I'll make the pancakes,” Sora agrees, his gaze slowly shifting back to his book as the pen starts up a rhythm against his lower lip once more. “Just let me finish this chapter and I'll be right there.”
His attempts fail. Riku knows he looks like a moron, standing there, grinning dopily. He shakes his head to hide the burn in his cheeks and turns out of the doorway.
“Riku?”
He pauses, glancing back into the room, where Sora's looking up at him again. “Next time, I'll take your hand.”
His heart leaps into his throat. “There's not going to be a next time,” Riku replies, insides wriggling in such ways he can't define. “Never again,” he adds, with fierce promise.
Sora smiles again. "Knew that, too."
Definitely can't hide his goofy grin this time. Heat flushes Riku from head to toe and he heads to the kitchen with a bounce in his step. Breakfast for dinner it is.
a/n: Porn and fluff. lol. Sometimes I don't know what drugs my muses are taking. *grins*
Hope you enjoyed! Got one more flash fic to go and it's stumping me. Heh. Plus I got distracted by writing some Transformers pronz so, yeah, we'll see.
