Ode to a Dragon [nc17]
In constant progress during the evening of December 11, 2008. Porn to follow the cut, because porn makes everything better.
1.
Ryan reclined on Michael's bed, arms laced under his head and toes wiggling. He was naked in every sense of the word but the most literal--since there was a giant red bow wrapped around his very hard, very able, cock.
Michael stood in the doorway and exhaled.
"Tell me I'm not the best fucking present, like, ever." Ryan broke into a smile and it crinkled his nose and almost closed his eyes. In the lit Baltimore night through Michael's bedroom windows Ryan's bare skin glowed.
Michael put a foot on Herman's head and guided his dog back out the door before closing it on his face.
2.
The bow and attached ribbon are velvet, real velvet, soft enough to feel nearly slippery. Wet. The fabric slides through Michael's fingers like water. Slithers across Ryan's stomach, pulled by its own weight down to drip onto the white sheets where it puddles. Pools.
3.
The sheets are cool, windows worth more than most could afford still not enough to keep out the Baltimore winter. The chill makes everything sharper and goosebumps follow Michael's fingers over Ryan's skin like soldiers coming to frenzied attention.
Outside the snow falls softly, ignorant of the way Michael's mouth copies its lazy descent. Ryan's lips. Soft skin inside his elbow. The stubble of hair that marks the spot just under his navel.
Michael stretches across Ryan like the snow stretches across asphalt streets and concrete buildings.
4.
Door is closed.
Closed. Shouldn't be closed. Why is it closed?
He scratches scratches scratches but it is hard to hear scratching over moaning. Circling he sits. Drapes chin on paws. Moaning is no fun.
5.
Ryan arched off the bed in a tangle of sheets. "Herman wants in," he gasped, trying to laugh too and mostly failing in breathlessness.
Michael bit the soft inside of Ryan's thigh and then licked across the white dents that his teeth left behind. "He'll survive." He sucked bruises to the surface of tanned skin, deep purple. Ryan's hips hitched. His toes curled down and wrinkled fabric.
Ryan laughed when Michael's tongue trailed over the instep of his foot. His toes spread, and then curled again.
6.
1.
Ryan reclined on Michael's bed, arms laced under his head and toes wiggling. He was naked in every sense of the word but the most literal--since there was a giant red bow wrapped around his very hard, very able, cock.
Michael stood in the doorway and exhaled.
"Tell me I'm not the best fucking present, like, ever." Ryan broke into a smile and it crinkled his nose and almost closed his eyes. In the lit Baltimore night through Michael's bedroom windows Ryan's bare skin glowed.
Michael put a foot on Herman's head and guided his dog back out the door before closing it on his face.
2.
The bow and attached ribbon are velvet, real velvet, soft enough to feel nearly slippery. Wet. The fabric slides through Michael's fingers like water. Slithers across Ryan's stomach, pulled by its own weight down to drip onto the white sheets where it puddles. Pools.
3.
The sheets are cool, windows worth more than most could afford still not enough to keep out the Baltimore winter. The chill makes everything sharper and goosebumps follow Michael's fingers over Ryan's skin like soldiers coming to frenzied attention.
Outside the snow falls softly, ignorant of the way Michael's mouth copies its lazy descent. Ryan's lips. Soft skin inside his elbow. The stubble of hair that marks the spot just under his navel.
Michael stretches across Ryan like the snow stretches across asphalt streets and concrete buildings.
4.
Door is closed.
Closed. Shouldn't be closed. Why is it closed?
He scratches scratches scratches but it is hard to hear scratching over moaning. Circling he sits. Drapes chin on paws. Moaning is no fun.
5.
Ryan arched off the bed in a tangle of sheets. "Herman wants in," he gasped, trying to laugh too and mostly failing in breathlessness.
Michael bit the soft inside of Ryan's thigh and then licked across the white dents that his teeth left behind. "He'll survive." He sucked bruises to the surface of tanned skin, deep purple. Ryan's hips hitched. His toes curled down and wrinkled fabric.
Ryan laughed when Michael's tongue trailed over the instep of his foot. His toes spread, and then curled again.
6.