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booshslashhaven2012-03-13 06:47 pm
ideserveyou.livejournal.com) wrote in booshslashhaven2012-03-13 06:47 pm
Entry tags:
Buried Deep, part 3
Title: Buried Deep, part 3/?
Summary: Sleeping bag sexytimes. No plot
Rating: NC-17 but not drastically so
Warnings: Bring your own bucket to puke in. This is snuggly to the point of nausea
Spoilers: See Summary
Length: about 1000 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with every now and again. For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: Follows straight on from Part 2. Un-beta’d, so please point out errors. Concrit welcome: I want to get better at this. And they are going to have another go in the morning so there will be a Part 4
“Oh.” Vince moves his hand, just a little.“Oh, you do want me. You do…”
Howard gives a nervous whimper.
“It’s OK, it’s OK, I’ll go easy on you, we can take this as slow as you like.” Vince keeps on murmuring reassuring nonsense as he strokes over the mound of Howard’s hardness, cups it in his palm, teases a fingertip over the small spreading patch of wet that’s leaking through the soft fabric.
The big man is big all over. Vince feels a thrill of delighted apprehension – or perhaps it’s apprehensive delight – as he takes in the sturdy, blunt heft of him, the smooth head with its pronounced rim, the heat radiating from the swelling shaft. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into Howard’s ear, “just beautiful…”
“Can I?” Howard coughs, and tries again. “Can I touch you, too?”
Vince had almost forgotten the highly excitable state of his own bits, in the amazingness of being allowed free rein with Howard’s; but the hesitant, loving, husky question almost undoes him on the spot.
“ ’Course,” he breathes, hastily clenching everything that can be clenched, just in case. “I’m all yours.”
To give himself a breather, he moves his own exploration to more neutral territory, slipping a hand under Howard’s paisley top to enjoy the smooth expanse of Howard’s stomach on the way to fulfilling a long-held ambition to push a fingertip into his best mate’s neat navel.
As he’d always suspected, it’s a perfect fit.
Howard’s hand is on Vince’s bare thigh, hesitating at the boundary of the rather minimal animal-print pants that were the only clean ones they’d been able to find after the shower.
“Whatever you want, Howard,” Vince breathes.
“You too.” Howard is barely audible.
Slowly, cautiously, Vince works his hand under the elastic of Howard’s waistband, feeling coarse hair beneath his fingertips, damp with sweat and sort-of… crunchy.
And then there is taut soft skin, and curvy bits, and more damp. It’s all a bit crowded and squashed in there, and hard to work out what’s what, so Vince lifts the fabric to let Howard’s shaft work itself free and bob up, all eager and bouncy.
Howard makes a surprised little noise, but he doesn’t tell Vince to stop.
Instead, he moves his own hand, crossing the boundary, cupping Little Vince as though he’s something very fragile that might shatter at a touch.
Not so far from the truth, actually…
“Is that OK?” Howard sounds all quivery and breathless.
“Yeah. More than OK. Genius.”
Vince is quivery and breathless too. All it is, is his best mate resting a hand on Vince’s down-below stuff; but it’s hotter and sweeter than a Nutella pancake, more exciting than the January sales, and making him dizzier than any of Naboo’s special cupcakes ever could.
Not because Howard’s doing anything special. Just because it’s Howard doing it.
Perhaps Howard might feel something like that too, if –
Vince takes hold at the base of what he presumes is called Little Howard, although it’s nothing of the sort, encircling it with thumb and forefinger.
There is another surprised and rather happy little noise, so he carries on, stroking and kneading, trying to take in all these new sensations and hammer them into his brain so he’ll never, ever forget how it feels to touch Howard like this, even if it’s the only time he ever gets to…
Howard moans as Vince’s hand moves slowly upwards.
Such an amazing contrast between the silky-soft, delicate skin and the firm, tough core inside it. All warm and pulsing and unfamiliar and yet so very, essentially Howard; as though, if this were the only bit left, you’d be able to reconstruct the whole of the rest of the man from it, like in a sci-fi film.
Vince’s fingers bump against the ridge around Howard’s tip.
And Howard is coming.
“Vince – let go – I can’t, I can’t stop it…”
Vince hangs on, helping Howard to ride it out, feeling him spilling warm and wet all over Vince’s hand and seemingly everywhere else too.
Howard cries Vince’s name again, and suddenly Vince is utterly undone.
This never happens. Vince Noir never loses it and comes in his underwear. Never.
But it’s happening now.
“Howard – don’t let go – ’m’coming too…”
And to Howard’s credit, he keeps his hand there as Vince thrusts desperately into it, shaken through and through by the hardest climax he can ever remember having.
The world goes dark and blurry for a bit; somebody is sobbing quietly.
Vince holds Howard close, and withdraws his sticky hand carefully.
“Good thing I didn’t finish all the tissues.” His voice has gone all wobbly. Bit like the rest of him. He cleans off the worst of the sticky, and dries Howard’s tears and then his own.
Howard fidgets uncomfortably in his damp trousers. “We should – ”
“In a minute, big man. That was… pretty intense, yeah? Give yourself a spot of recovery time.”
“OK.” Howard rests his head on Vince’s shoulder. Vince nuzzles into his hair, wondering how he could ever have doubted that this was his Howard.
All he had to do was to crawl into Howard’s sleeping bag. Not go out in the rain like an idiot and start grave-digging.
“Oh, blast,” Howard murmurs.
“Whass’ matter?” Vince still has a mouthful of hair.
“I don’t have any more dry pyjamas.”
“Oh, good,” Vince says, and giggles. “Neither do I.”
Summary: Sleeping bag sexytimes. No plot
Rating: NC-17 but not drastically so
Warnings: Bring your own bucket to puke in. This is snuggly to the point of nausea
Spoilers: See Summary
Length: about 1000 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with every now and again. For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: Follows straight on from Part 2. Un-beta’d, so please point out errors. Concrit welcome: I want to get better at this. And they are going to have another go in the morning so there will be a Part 4
“Oh.” Vince moves his hand, just a little.“Oh, you do want me. You do…”
Howard gives a nervous whimper.
“It’s OK, it’s OK, I’ll go easy on you, we can take this as slow as you like.” Vince keeps on murmuring reassuring nonsense as he strokes over the mound of Howard’s hardness, cups it in his palm, teases a fingertip over the small spreading patch of wet that’s leaking through the soft fabric.
The big man is big all over. Vince feels a thrill of delighted apprehension – or perhaps it’s apprehensive delight – as he takes in the sturdy, blunt heft of him, the smooth head with its pronounced rim, the heat radiating from the swelling shaft. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into Howard’s ear, “just beautiful…”
“Can I?” Howard coughs, and tries again. “Can I touch you, too?”
Vince had almost forgotten the highly excitable state of his own bits, in the amazingness of being allowed free rein with Howard’s; but the hesitant, loving, husky question almost undoes him on the spot.
“ ’Course,” he breathes, hastily clenching everything that can be clenched, just in case. “I’m all yours.”
To give himself a breather, he moves his own exploration to more neutral territory, slipping a hand under Howard’s paisley top to enjoy the smooth expanse of Howard’s stomach on the way to fulfilling a long-held ambition to push a fingertip into his best mate’s neat navel.
As he’d always suspected, it’s a perfect fit.
Howard’s hand is on Vince’s bare thigh, hesitating at the boundary of the rather minimal animal-print pants that were the only clean ones they’d been able to find after the shower.
“Whatever you want, Howard,” Vince breathes.
“You too.” Howard is barely audible.
Slowly, cautiously, Vince works his hand under the elastic of Howard’s waistband, feeling coarse hair beneath his fingertips, damp with sweat and sort-of… crunchy.
And then there is taut soft skin, and curvy bits, and more damp. It’s all a bit crowded and squashed in there, and hard to work out what’s what, so Vince lifts the fabric to let Howard’s shaft work itself free and bob up, all eager and bouncy.
Howard makes a surprised little noise, but he doesn’t tell Vince to stop.
Instead, he moves his own hand, crossing the boundary, cupping Little Vince as though he’s something very fragile that might shatter at a touch.
Not so far from the truth, actually…
“Is that OK?” Howard sounds all quivery and breathless.
“Yeah. More than OK. Genius.”
Vince is quivery and breathless too. All it is, is his best mate resting a hand on Vince’s down-below stuff; but it’s hotter and sweeter than a Nutella pancake, more exciting than the January sales, and making him dizzier than any of Naboo’s special cupcakes ever could.
Not because Howard’s doing anything special. Just because it’s Howard doing it.
Perhaps Howard might feel something like that too, if –
Vince takes hold at the base of what he presumes is called Little Howard, although it’s nothing of the sort, encircling it with thumb and forefinger.
There is another surprised and rather happy little noise, so he carries on, stroking and kneading, trying to take in all these new sensations and hammer them into his brain so he’ll never, ever forget how it feels to touch Howard like this, even if it’s the only time he ever gets to…
Howard moans as Vince’s hand moves slowly upwards.
Such an amazing contrast between the silky-soft, delicate skin and the firm, tough core inside it. All warm and pulsing and unfamiliar and yet so very, essentially Howard; as though, if this were the only bit left, you’d be able to reconstruct the whole of the rest of the man from it, like in a sci-fi film.
Vince’s fingers bump against the ridge around Howard’s tip.
And Howard is coming.
“Vince – let go – I can’t, I can’t stop it…”
Vince hangs on, helping Howard to ride it out, feeling him spilling warm and wet all over Vince’s hand and seemingly everywhere else too.
Howard cries Vince’s name again, and suddenly Vince is utterly undone.
This never happens. Vince Noir never loses it and comes in his underwear. Never.
But it’s happening now.
“Howard – don’t let go – ’m’coming too…”
And to Howard’s credit, he keeps his hand there as Vince thrusts desperately into it, shaken through and through by the hardest climax he can ever remember having.
The world goes dark and blurry for a bit; somebody is sobbing quietly.
Vince holds Howard close, and withdraws his sticky hand carefully.
“Good thing I didn’t finish all the tissues.” His voice has gone all wobbly. Bit like the rest of him. He cleans off the worst of the sticky, and dries Howard’s tears and then his own.
Howard fidgets uncomfortably in his damp trousers. “We should – ”
“In a minute, big man. That was… pretty intense, yeah? Give yourself a spot of recovery time.”
“OK.” Howard rests his head on Vince’s shoulder. Vince nuzzles into his hair, wondering how he could ever have doubted that this was his Howard.
All he had to do was to crawl into Howard’s sleeping bag. Not go out in the rain like an idiot and start grave-digging.
“Oh, blast,” Howard murmurs.
“Whass’ matter?” Vince still has a mouthful of hair.
“I don’t have any more dry pyjamas.”
“Oh, good,” Vince says, and giggles. “Neither do I.”
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So, you have a 24 hr reprieve and then I'll start up with the cane again, demanding more.
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Stay tuned for part 4. I have a whole heap of other stuff to do today so that probably means I'll have finished writing it by about lunchtime...
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*thinks naughty chocolatey moustache thoughts*
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I'm really looking forward to part 4!
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...fulfilling a long-held ambition to push a fingertip into his best mate’s neat navel.
So THAT'S why Vince always tries to touch Howard's belly. Awww.
Such an amazing contrast between the silky-soft, delicate skin and the firm, tough core inside it.
This is legitimately the best description of a penis I have ever read.
Also, tears. I, um...have kind of a thing for men crying, and...yeah.
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I find man-bits very hard - sorry, difficult - to describe, but thank you. I'm glad this worked for you.
And... yeah. I have a similar thing. As you have probably gathered by now!
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I didn't realise they'd both been crying until we got the tissues out to do the cleanup. There are ridiculous amounts of tears in this story but I do love getting them all emotional. And at least these were happy tears!