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sparkindarknessWow, it's been a while since I updated. My bad, the muses just aren't co-operating. or, rather, the right ones aren't co-operating. How come the other plots all want to go forwards just when you're trying to concentrate on one? It's spite. Pure spite, I'm sure.
Anyway, Darren and Rick winging their way from the US to the UK and passing the time in their own special way :)
I think I also need to do some more worldbuilding to keep everything in their right place.
As it turned out, we didn’t actually need tickets. Why? Because we had a private jet.
Let that sink in a minute. We had a fucking private jet waiting for little ol’ us. A great big, super expensive, private jet. It was fucking HUGE - we’re not talking some fucking little biplane that only gets off the ground with lots of hope - we’re talking a fucking jumbo jet ripped out and refitted. And it had a mini bar. And we got to skip all that normal airport shit - just arrived and out to the plane. I asked Darren if it were magic but he said it was just lots and lots of cash being splashed around. Lots and lots of cash. Hey, my guy’s loaded!
The plane also came with guards. Two lots of guards. One lot were all dressed as Matrix extras, looking through ominous mirror shades. They outnumbered the others three to one and looked ready to run in blind panic at any moment.
That was probably because of the other guards. They were a mixed group of 9. None of them really had the Camaalis ‘look’ (Camaalis aren’t born, they’re fucking cloned, I’m sure of it) but they stood in little clusters of 3 all around the plane. As we came closer they actually all bowed to us, fucking bowed! This was so cool. Well, they bowed to Darren and Liam anyway. Was still fucking cool, anyway.
Two people stepped out from the crowd of bodyguards. One was Nikolai, the shaman gave us a nod. I wondered if he was still pissed at me. Probably. Next to him was a woman who had been stamped out of the Camaalis mold (and why do they all look alike? It’s eerie and freaky). Short, with long super-unnatural black hair she’d pulled back into a tight pony tail – well, it looked like it would have been tight but had just lost a fight with a hurricane. She was all thin and bony, all sharp planes and angles. I’d put her age around 40 but Darren always says you can’t judge with Camaalis because they had magical Oil of Olay or some crap like that. Her dark sapphire eyes had crows feet at the corners, though. She was introduced as Siobhan as we were ushered onto the plane by bowing lackies – I can’t believe it, my guy has lackies!
Everyone seemed to be making a point of getting on the plane without saying anything - we all just kind of hung around at the bottom of the ramp giving the Concord menacing looks. I think it’s the equivalent of shoving the other kids on the playground to make it clear we’re not being forced out - we want to, yeah, fuck you, we’re doing this because we want to, shove, shove. glare. Yeah, I almost started laughing at them - I mean, the two most powerful magical organisations in the world, two groups who could probably end the world or at least turn a large part of it into Rwanda or something and they still act like kids squabbling at school. It’s probably a great sociological observation or something. Hey, the world is controlled by sulky-children with super-powers; we all fine with that?
Then we got on the plane. Whoa, edit that statement. The word is controlled by sulky-children with super powers and a shit load of money. This plane was incredible. It had furniture - real antique looking fucking expensive furniture. It had a fucking kitchen and bedrooms - seriously, who has bedrooms on a plane? And a library. I kid you not, it has a fucking library. Let me say that again, this plane has a library. And 3 different coffee machines?! Oh gods they’re perfect. I hurried over to drool over the purveyors of caffeinated goodness.
“There are several million pounds worth of antiques and electronics on this plane and he hones in on the coffee machine?” Siobahn asked - she had exactly the same ‘what the fuck?’ expression as Darren used.
“He has an almost unholy need for coffee. If any of you had wanted to distract him when you were trying to kill me all you needed to do was give him the deeds to his own Starbucks.” Darren answered drily. Actually really fucking cold. And that was nothing compared to the really awkward silence that followed. I guess Ms Manners doesn’t cover how you make idle small talk with family members who tried to kill you.
“So, can I help myself or do you have a barista?” I said, trying vainly to poke a hole in the icy silence.
“Barrister? You need a lawyer to pour your coffee?” Nikolai asked, helping me chip at the ice.
“What? No, y;know coffee making person? Starbucks? C’mon, everyone in the 21st century knows what a barista is!” I protested breaking a piece off the espresso machine. Oops, was it supposed to do that?
“The height of ridiculous pretension. Gods preserve me from people who try to make coffee a fashion statement.” Darren poured on the scorn as only he could.
“Whoa, excuse me?” I yelped as Nikolai clipped the coffee machine back together and got it working. “We’re on a plane carrying, what was it, millions of pounds of antiques and electronics - you so don’t get to bitch about anyone else’s pretensions!”
“We’re Camaalis,” Siobahn murmured as she reclined on an expensive looking love seat. “we can bitch about everything.”
“You know, I’m just going to stop talking to you people.” I announced dramatically.
“A good plan.” Darren growled icily. He got up and walked towards one of the doors at the end of the plane. “It’s a long flight. I intend to rest while I can.” With that he walked into one of the bedrooms without a backward glance. Oh dear, I smelled issues. I trailed after him preparing to shovel emotional baggage.
He was laid on the bed fully clothed with his eyes closed when I came in. he didn’t open his eyes even when I closed the door loudly enough for him to hear (and that was kind of hard since it had a rubber seal or something, probably to stop it swinging in turbulence).
I cluing to the bed as the plane started to move, gritting my teeth and hanging on as it lumbered it’s way into sky. I closed my eyes for a little while and tried to mentally repeat all those aerodynamic laws, trying to resist the urge to reach out to the spirits of the plane. It didn’t really help but it passed the time until we were off the ground and gently climbing. Darren didn’t even twitch. Well, I didn’t think he did, hard to tell when you’re trying to convince yourself that several tons of metal can fly.
I finally sat down unsteadily next to Darren. “So, how are you feeling?” I croaked.
“I’m fine.” His voice was completely emotionless. Oh fuck, angst time.
“Really? Y’know, I’m going to contact Websters to update their definitions. I mean, NO-ONE says they’re ‘fine’ unless they’re actually fucking terrible and falling apart into several little messy pieces?” I mused happily.
“I’m fine.” He repeated, exactly the same.
“Nah, you’re not.” I rambled on merrily. “You’re going back to meet your psycho family who have spent the last few years trying to kill you and the years before that torturing you. Oh and there‘s a big nasty Sorcerer out there who you are expected to fight and probably counts you as public enemy number one. You’re not fine. Because being fine would be pretty fucking stupid.”
“I’m fine.” he said.
“Ok, well, I suppose it could be worse. We could be going to see my family.” I continued on.
He cracked one eye and looked at me oddly, but didn’t say anything. I went on as if I hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, see they wanted you dead but everyone who has ever known my parents wants them dead.” I rambled on happily.
“Don’t be foolish.” His voice had leaden weights in it.
“No, seriously, I mean my folks are waaaay worse. Sure, your family has it in for you, but my family is the cause of psychotics. People who have only heard of them want them dead. Everyone who has ever met them. My friends. You. All want them dead - that’s pretty bad isn’t it?”
He opened both eyes and sighed. “The fact I want them dead is no indication of evil. I want your next door neighbour, your landlord, your mechanic and the entire state of Georgia to be dead.”
I threw myself down on the bed next to him, making him groan irritably. “You already killed my landlord, my neighbour’s cool you just don’t like his music. And one guy - count them, one guy, from Georgia short changed you. Let it go.”
“No, they are on my grudge list. I will carry this grudge into the grave and the afterlife until vengeance is mine.” Aha! Emotion - smugness, but still emotion.
“Y’know, we could really compact your grudge list if we just edited it down to ‘everyone in the world except Rick.’ Think of it, a huge tome the size of the Bible reduced to a sentence of genocidal intention. All good.” I grinned and prodded him.
“Hey,” he twisted round to finally look at me. “What makes you think you’re not on my grudge list?”
“Nuh-uh, I’m not on your genocidal grudge list because then you wouldn’t get any.” I hugged him and slid my hands down for a quick, skillful grope, ignoring him smacking me. “I’m more on your ‘destroy slowly and painfully over the course of years’ list.”
“Oh...” he frowned. “What were we talking about”
“Well, you were falling apart as your childhood issues ripped you into itty bitty pieces and I was trying to distract you from you angst sulk.” I said.
“Oh.” he frowned again, ruffling a hand through my hair. “Very well done.”
“I know, I rock at therapy.” I grinned and amused myself toying with the buttons on his silk shirt. “Hey, we have a bed, we’re in a plane. Want to join the mile high club?”
“Do you ever stop thinking about sex?” He groaned, falling back. He didn’t move my hands from his buttons though - I‘m getting very good at unfastening these in record time.
“Sometimes... but when you’re around my mind always seems to come back to it.” I pushed his shoulders down on the bed and began licking and nibbling my way up his neck. “Is it my fault you’re unbelievably hot?”
He smiled and closed his eyes. I took it for an invitation to pull off his shirt and start to work on his trousers. Of course, the fucking things were so tight that I had to virtually peel them off him. How come he can wear something this tight and look stylish but I always look like a rent boy? Don’t answer that. For all his bitching he came out of his trousers hard and ready - actually throbbing in fact.
I lowered my head to that promise in from of me and gently teased him with my tongue, concentrating mainly on the low, loose balls beneath. I rolled them as gently as I could since Darren was very very sensitive there. Even with that feather light touch he writhed and wiggled on the bed. He moved like he was trying to bury his shoulder blades through the mattress and his face was twisted like he couldn’t tell whether it felt fucking brilliant or whether it just fucking hurt. Maybe both, Darren’s kind of wired that way - one of the many many things I love about him so much.
I licked up to the firm shaft of him, much heavier strokes as I pulled him almost roughly into my mouth. Oh yes, ymmy. I moved my head up and down, fast and strong sucking almost as hard as I could over him. He started making low noises under his breath - Fuck, I don’t have the vocabulary to describe them. If you can combine a whine and a growl and a moan and add a lot of heavy breathing? Then you get this noise. It’s a good noise, trust me. It’s a noise that gets me hot just hearing it. It’s a noise that should be recorded and sold to the impotent around the world! Who needs fucking Viagra? Get a tape and you’ll be fucking like bunnies on speed in no time.
It was certainly enough for me. I flipped him over onto his stomach so quickly that the love growl of sheer fucking (tm) yelped upwards in protest.
I slapped him - not hard. Well, not that hard, though that hand print is fucking sexy. Really fucking sexy. He growled again - more a protest growl than the fucking growl of sex, but a guy takes what he can. I shimmied out of my jeans in record time (and when Darren’s making the fucking sexy growl of good fuckness, then I can leap out of my tight jeans faster than a cheap stripped and rip off her thong) with one hand (what, you don’t practice stripping one handed? It’s an essential fucking skill - or an essential skill for fucking anyway) while lubing him up perfectly with the other (what, you don’t carry pocket lube either? What kind of amateur are you? Who knows when you’ll find a convenient wall to push your guy up against!)
All lubed up, I lined myself up and eased myself slowly and gently inside him. His growl of protest turned back into the fucking growl of good fuckness. Oh yes. I pushed myself all the way in, getting hotter by the second as he wiggled under me - and damn, can Darren fucking wiggle just perfectly. I eased myself slowly out to push gently back in again, easing in to make more room, trying not to pant with impatience and just start ramming home like a fucking rutting animal.
Of course, I may be impatient, but I’ve still got way more fucking patience than Darren ever had. I jerked and caught my breath as he suddenly rammed his hips up so fast that he banged almost painfully against my balls (see? There’s a REASON why I tie this guy down. Well, there are several reasons, but this is definitely in the top ten. And yes, I can find ten fucking reasons to tie him up, thank you.) His growl turned into a roar - and I don’t know if it’s pain or pleasure or maybe both. yeah, it’s definitely fucking both - fuck, I love how Darren is wired, he’s just perfect for me.
I can take a hint, I don’t need it in writing. Even as his wriggling turned to writhing I began pounding into him as fast and hard as I could. His roar was just lost in panting and gasping and groaning - shit it was so sexy - his hands clawed madly at the bed since they couldn’t reach me. Time and place just disappeared, whether we were a mile up in the sky or still curled up in our flat in New York it was all lost to the sound of pounding flesh, his wonderful fucking noises and my heavy breathing. We went at it so fast and so hard that I don’t think we lasted long, but it felt like an eternity of bodies pounding against each other so hard I didn’t know if it hurt or now - fuck, I love endorphins.
He buried his face into the pillows, but I still heard him scream as he came. His muscles tensed and I threw back my head as the convulsions rocked him with me still bent deep inside him. A few short, hard thrusts and I was coming right there along with him, pushed over the edge as I always am by the fucking feel of him when the orgasm rocks through him. Fuck, we go together so perfectly. Fuck, it feel so good to be inside him. Fuck, it feels so perfect to feel him under me or over me or just to feel his hot, sweaty skin pressed against me. Just fuck. It’s perfect. Totally perfect.
Suddenly the ceiling seemed to become the floor. I had time to yell before I hit the wall, really hard. A second later Darren collapsed on top of me dragging a net of covers with him. I staggered, trying to pull myself free when everything seemed to list to the left and we were rolling down the carpet and getting carpet burns and bruises in some really painful places. One of the draws by the side of the bed slid off its hinges and landed on my legs, a sharp corner digging into my leg and winding Darren. He glared through a thick veil of black hair that seemed to have tied us together.
“Siobahn!” He screamed furiously, while I tried to unentangle us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I heard Liam laugh through the door. “What? It was just turbulence!”
“You have a weather witch on the plane! We. Do. Not. Get. TURBULENCE!” Darren screamed back, his eyes had sheened with black. I heard them both laugh again, and a clink of glasses. I had to chuckle, really. Completely involuntary, it’s hard to get pissed when you’ve just had great sex.
“Remind me why I stopped killing my relatives?” Darren growled, pulling the sheets around him sulkily. I grinned and hugged him, enjoying the afterglow.
Anyway, Darren and Rick winging their way from the US to the UK and passing the time in their own special way :)
I think I also need to do some more worldbuilding to keep everything in their right place.
As it turned out, we didn’t actually need tickets. Why? Because we had a private jet.
Let that sink in a minute. We had a fucking private jet waiting for little ol’ us. A great big, super expensive, private jet. It was fucking HUGE - we’re not talking some fucking little biplane that only gets off the ground with lots of hope - we’re talking a fucking jumbo jet ripped out and refitted. And it had a mini bar. And we got to skip all that normal airport shit - just arrived and out to the plane. I asked Darren if it were magic but he said it was just lots and lots of cash being splashed around. Lots and lots of cash. Hey, my guy’s loaded!
The plane also came with guards. Two lots of guards. One lot were all dressed as Matrix extras, looking through ominous mirror shades. They outnumbered the others three to one and looked ready to run in blind panic at any moment.
That was probably because of the other guards. They were a mixed group of 9. None of them really had the Camaalis ‘look’ (Camaalis aren’t born, they’re fucking cloned, I’m sure of it) but they stood in little clusters of 3 all around the plane. As we came closer they actually all bowed to us, fucking bowed! This was so cool. Well, they bowed to Darren and Liam anyway. Was still fucking cool, anyway.
Two people stepped out from the crowd of bodyguards. One was Nikolai, the shaman gave us a nod. I wondered if he was still pissed at me. Probably. Next to him was a woman who had been stamped out of the Camaalis mold (and why do they all look alike? It’s eerie and freaky). Short, with long super-unnatural black hair she’d pulled back into a tight pony tail – well, it looked like it would have been tight but had just lost a fight with a hurricane. She was all thin and bony, all sharp planes and angles. I’d put her age around 40 but Darren always says you can’t judge with Camaalis because they had magical Oil of Olay or some crap like that. Her dark sapphire eyes had crows feet at the corners, though. She was introduced as Siobhan as we were ushered onto the plane by bowing lackies – I can’t believe it, my guy has lackies!
Everyone seemed to be making a point of getting on the plane without saying anything - we all just kind of hung around at the bottom of the ramp giving the Concord menacing looks. I think it’s the equivalent of shoving the other kids on the playground to make it clear we’re not being forced out - we want to, yeah, fuck you, we’re doing this because we want to, shove, shove. glare. Yeah, I almost started laughing at them - I mean, the two most powerful magical organisations in the world, two groups who could probably end the world or at least turn a large part of it into Rwanda or something and they still act like kids squabbling at school. It’s probably a great sociological observation or something. Hey, the world is controlled by sulky-children with super-powers; we all fine with that?
Then we got on the plane. Whoa, edit that statement. The word is controlled by sulky-children with super powers and a shit load of money. This plane was incredible. It had furniture - real antique looking fucking expensive furniture. It had a fucking kitchen and bedrooms - seriously, who has bedrooms on a plane? And a library. I kid you not, it has a fucking library. Let me say that again, this plane has a library. And 3 different coffee machines?! Oh gods they’re perfect. I hurried over to drool over the purveyors of caffeinated goodness.
“There are several million pounds worth of antiques and electronics on this plane and he hones in on the coffee machine?” Siobahn asked - she had exactly the same ‘what the fuck?’ expression as Darren used.
“He has an almost unholy need for coffee. If any of you had wanted to distract him when you were trying to kill me all you needed to do was give him the deeds to his own Starbucks.” Darren answered drily. Actually really fucking cold. And that was nothing compared to the really awkward silence that followed. I guess Ms Manners doesn’t cover how you make idle small talk with family members who tried to kill you.
“So, can I help myself or do you have a barista?” I said, trying vainly to poke a hole in the icy silence.
“Barrister? You need a lawyer to pour your coffee?” Nikolai asked, helping me chip at the ice.
“What? No, y;know coffee making person? Starbucks? C’mon, everyone in the 21st century knows what a barista is!” I protested breaking a piece off the espresso machine. Oops, was it supposed to do that?
“The height of ridiculous pretension. Gods preserve me from people who try to make coffee a fashion statement.” Darren poured on the scorn as only he could.
“Whoa, excuse me?” I yelped as Nikolai clipped the coffee machine back together and got it working. “We’re on a plane carrying, what was it, millions of pounds of antiques and electronics - you so don’t get to bitch about anyone else’s pretensions!”
“We’re Camaalis,” Siobahn murmured as she reclined on an expensive looking love seat. “we can bitch about everything.”
“You know, I’m just going to stop talking to you people.” I announced dramatically.
“A good plan.” Darren growled icily. He got up and walked towards one of the doors at the end of the plane. “It’s a long flight. I intend to rest while I can.” With that he walked into one of the bedrooms without a backward glance. Oh dear, I smelled issues. I trailed after him preparing to shovel emotional baggage.
He was laid on the bed fully clothed with his eyes closed when I came in. he didn’t open his eyes even when I closed the door loudly enough for him to hear (and that was kind of hard since it had a rubber seal or something, probably to stop it swinging in turbulence).
I cluing to the bed as the plane started to move, gritting my teeth and hanging on as it lumbered it’s way into sky. I closed my eyes for a little while and tried to mentally repeat all those aerodynamic laws, trying to resist the urge to reach out to the spirits of the plane. It didn’t really help but it passed the time until we were off the ground and gently climbing. Darren didn’t even twitch. Well, I didn’t think he did, hard to tell when you’re trying to convince yourself that several tons of metal can fly.
I finally sat down unsteadily next to Darren. “So, how are you feeling?” I croaked.
“I’m fine.” His voice was completely emotionless. Oh fuck, angst time.
“Really? Y’know, I’m going to contact Websters to update their definitions. I mean, NO-ONE says they’re ‘fine’ unless they’re actually fucking terrible and falling apart into several little messy pieces?” I mused happily.
“I’m fine.” He repeated, exactly the same.
“Nah, you’re not.” I rambled on merrily. “You’re going back to meet your psycho family who have spent the last few years trying to kill you and the years before that torturing you. Oh and there‘s a big nasty Sorcerer out there who you are expected to fight and probably counts you as public enemy number one. You’re not fine. Because being fine would be pretty fucking stupid.”
“I’m fine.” he said.
“Ok, well, I suppose it could be worse. We could be going to see my family.” I continued on.
He cracked one eye and looked at me oddly, but didn’t say anything. I went on as if I hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah, see they wanted you dead but everyone who has ever known my parents wants them dead.” I rambled on happily.
“Don’t be foolish.” His voice had leaden weights in it.
“No, seriously, I mean my folks are waaaay worse. Sure, your family has it in for you, but my family is the cause of psychotics. People who have only heard of them want them dead. Everyone who has ever met them. My friends. You. All want them dead - that’s pretty bad isn’t it?”
He opened both eyes and sighed. “The fact I want them dead is no indication of evil. I want your next door neighbour, your landlord, your mechanic and the entire state of Georgia to be dead.”
I threw myself down on the bed next to him, making him groan irritably. “You already killed my landlord, my neighbour’s cool you just don’t like his music. And one guy - count them, one guy, from Georgia short changed you. Let it go.”
“No, they are on my grudge list. I will carry this grudge into the grave and the afterlife until vengeance is mine.” Aha! Emotion - smugness, but still emotion.
“Y’know, we could really compact your grudge list if we just edited it down to ‘everyone in the world except Rick.’ Think of it, a huge tome the size of the Bible reduced to a sentence of genocidal intention. All good.” I grinned and prodded him.
“Hey,” he twisted round to finally look at me. “What makes you think you’re not on my grudge list?”
“Nuh-uh, I’m not on your genocidal grudge list because then you wouldn’t get any.” I hugged him and slid my hands down for a quick, skillful grope, ignoring him smacking me. “I’m more on your ‘destroy slowly and painfully over the course of years’ list.”
“Oh...” he frowned. “What were we talking about”
“Well, you were falling apart as your childhood issues ripped you into itty bitty pieces and I was trying to distract you from you angst sulk.” I said.
“Oh.” he frowned again, ruffling a hand through my hair. “Very well done.”
“I know, I rock at therapy.” I grinned and amused myself toying with the buttons on his silk shirt. “Hey, we have a bed, we’re in a plane. Want to join the mile high club?”
“Do you ever stop thinking about sex?” He groaned, falling back. He didn’t move my hands from his buttons though - I‘m getting very good at unfastening these in record time.
“Sometimes... but when you’re around my mind always seems to come back to it.” I pushed his shoulders down on the bed and began licking and nibbling my way up his neck. “Is it my fault you’re unbelievably hot?”
He smiled and closed his eyes. I took it for an invitation to pull off his shirt and start to work on his trousers. Of course, the fucking things were so tight that I had to virtually peel them off him. How come he can wear something this tight and look stylish but I always look like a rent boy? Don’t answer that. For all his bitching he came out of his trousers hard and ready - actually throbbing in fact.
I lowered my head to that promise in from of me and gently teased him with my tongue, concentrating mainly on the low, loose balls beneath. I rolled them as gently as I could since Darren was very very sensitive there. Even with that feather light touch he writhed and wiggled on the bed. He moved like he was trying to bury his shoulder blades through the mattress and his face was twisted like he couldn’t tell whether it felt fucking brilliant or whether it just fucking hurt. Maybe both, Darren’s kind of wired that way - one of the many many things I love about him so much.
I licked up to the firm shaft of him, much heavier strokes as I pulled him almost roughly into my mouth. Oh yes, ymmy. I moved my head up and down, fast and strong sucking almost as hard as I could over him. He started making low noises under his breath - Fuck, I don’t have the vocabulary to describe them. If you can combine a whine and a growl and a moan and add a lot of heavy breathing? Then you get this noise. It’s a good noise, trust me. It’s a noise that gets me hot just hearing it. It’s a noise that should be recorded and sold to the impotent around the world! Who needs fucking Viagra? Get a tape and you’ll be fucking like bunnies on speed in no time.
It was certainly enough for me. I flipped him over onto his stomach so quickly that the love growl of sheer fucking (tm) yelped upwards in protest.
I slapped him - not hard. Well, not that hard, though that hand print is fucking sexy. Really fucking sexy. He growled again - more a protest growl than the fucking growl of sex, but a guy takes what he can. I shimmied out of my jeans in record time (and when Darren’s making the fucking sexy growl of good fuckness, then I can leap out of my tight jeans faster than a cheap stripped and rip off her thong) with one hand (what, you don’t practice stripping one handed? It’s an essential fucking skill - or an essential skill for fucking anyway) while lubing him up perfectly with the other (what, you don’t carry pocket lube either? What kind of amateur are you? Who knows when you’ll find a convenient wall to push your guy up against!)
All lubed up, I lined myself up and eased myself slowly and gently inside him. His growl of protest turned back into the fucking growl of good fuckness. Oh yes. I pushed myself all the way in, getting hotter by the second as he wiggled under me - and damn, can Darren fucking wiggle just perfectly. I eased myself slowly out to push gently back in again, easing in to make more room, trying not to pant with impatience and just start ramming home like a fucking rutting animal.
Of course, I may be impatient, but I’ve still got way more fucking patience than Darren ever had. I jerked and caught my breath as he suddenly rammed his hips up so fast that he banged almost painfully against my balls (see? There’s a REASON why I tie this guy down. Well, there are several reasons, but this is definitely in the top ten. And yes, I can find ten fucking reasons to tie him up, thank you.) His growl turned into a roar - and I don’t know if it’s pain or pleasure or maybe both. yeah, it’s definitely fucking both - fuck, I love how Darren is wired, he’s just perfect for me.
I can take a hint, I don’t need it in writing. Even as his wriggling turned to writhing I began pounding into him as fast and hard as I could. His roar was just lost in panting and gasping and groaning - shit it was so sexy - his hands clawed madly at the bed since they couldn’t reach me. Time and place just disappeared, whether we were a mile up in the sky or still curled up in our flat in New York it was all lost to the sound of pounding flesh, his wonderful fucking noises and my heavy breathing. We went at it so fast and so hard that I don’t think we lasted long, but it felt like an eternity of bodies pounding against each other so hard I didn’t know if it hurt or now - fuck, I love endorphins.
He buried his face into the pillows, but I still heard him scream as he came. His muscles tensed and I threw back my head as the convulsions rocked him with me still bent deep inside him. A few short, hard thrusts and I was coming right there along with him, pushed over the edge as I always am by the fucking feel of him when the orgasm rocks through him. Fuck, we go together so perfectly. Fuck, it feel so good to be inside him. Fuck, it feels so perfect to feel him under me or over me or just to feel his hot, sweaty skin pressed against me. Just fuck. It’s perfect. Totally perfect.
Suddenly the ceiling seemed to become the floor. I had time to yell before I hit the wall, really hard. A second later Darren collapsed on top of me dragging a net of covers with him. I staggered, trying to pull myself free when everything seemed to list to the left and we were rolling down the carpet and getting carpet burns and bruises in some really painful places. One of the draws by the side of the bed slid off its hinges and landed on my legs, a sharp corner digging into my leg and winding Darren. He glared through a thick veil of black hair that seemed to have tied us together.
“Siobahn!” He screamed furiously, while I tried to unentangle us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I heard Liam laugh through the door. “What? It was just turbulence!”
“You have a weather witch on the plane! We. Do. Not. Get. TURBULENCE!” Darren screamed back, his eyes had sheened with black. I heard them both laugh again, and a clink of glasses. I had to chuckle, really. Completely involuntary, it’s hard to get pissed when you’ve just had great sex.
“Remind me why I stopped killing my relatives?” Darren growled, pulling the sheets around him sulkily. I grinned and hugged him, enjoying the afterglow.
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Date: 2006-05-30 12:51 am (UTC)also, rick's utterly cracked pov and happily rambling voice is just one of those combinations that never quite fails to make me snicker, no matter what it is he's going on about.
“We’re Camaalis,” Siobahn murmured as she reclined on an expensive looking love seat. “we can bitch about everything.”
*DEAD* that's an icon, right there. if not the new and improved family motto. the seal can have hounds on it.
“The fact I want them dead is no indication of evil. I want your next door neighbour, your landlord, your mechanic and the entire state of Georgia to be dead.”
yay! kill georgia! well, alright, leave atlanta. kill the rest. *plots to figure out how to get her entire condo community on darren's grudge list*
he does rock at therapy. *patpat* granted, he's probably half the reason why people NEED therapy, but hey.
and rawr--speaking as one that also has interesting wiring--it's wonderful to find someone that appreciates it. or capitalizes on it. whatever. =D
...the internal asides are still hysterical.
and BAD family. at least there was no plane flipping during? that could have resulted in a serious injury. *wince*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-30 09:36 am (UTC)Rick is just... well, wrong but in the right place, I think. And he's good at the snickering
You are so right, that needs to be an icon. It just does - a Hounds motif as a crest with those words around.
So we spare Atlanta, but I still think I'm going to need a bigger axe for the rest. Are the amazon hordes ready?
Rick: *shines* See? I missed my calling in life - and you've got to cause trauma - it means you're always in a job then. Then again, I could just set Darren on Georgia and set up shop in Atlanta helping the survivors - hey, Darren, I got a business idea!
I like my wiring mixed :) Thankee. And you got to play with the mixed wiring, you just have to.
Rick's commentary is killing - he can break anything just by looking at it.
Yeah ouchie, that could have been bad. Bad familiy certainly needs a thwapping or 2 - but they thought it was funny
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-30 04:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-30 04:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-31 10:05 am (UTC)The crest would have to be HOUND based, like this icon.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-30 05:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-30 09:37 am (UTC)