Men and Boys Snippet
Name: Will and Danny
Fandom: None; original
Series: Men and Boys (NaNoWriMo '09)
Rating: NC-17?
Word Count: 2,391
Summary: Half fluff, half smut. Will is a politician (specifically an education minister) and Danny is a twat of a model. 0:) This is set in future-fascist England.
Being Will Taylor’s boyfriend had been good, but being Will Taylor’s ex-boyfriend could actually be even better if you knew how to play your cards right. Tonight was... well, tonight was better than usual. The restaurant, the drinks, and the candlelight; he knew he’d made a mistake, and he knew that he didn’t really deserve any of this, but... oh, God, it was hard not to want it. Will lived an amazing life - of course, that wasn’t what Danny sought after. Materialistic as he seemed, it really was Will that he missed and not his ridiculously well-decked apartment. He watched him as he sipped at his red wine and noticed he was being watched, pretty smile twitching onto his blushing face behind the rim of the glass. God, he was beautiful. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but nobody was. This was about as good as you could get without dating some twat of a model.
Danny was, of course, a model, and lots of people seemed to think he was quite the twat, in his own words; still, Will seemed to like him well enough. Will wouldn’t have dumped him if it hadn’t been for that one night of infidelity, which he’d known was a mistake even at the time. Danny had a thing for aesthetics, though, and drunk boys were hard to resist... still, he regretted it. He had regretted it at the time - or rather straight afterwards, not during; that’d require slightly more of a fixed moral centre than Danny could honestly claim to have - and he still regretted it now. The fact that this was so obvious was probably the reason that Will was sitting opposite him now. Will wasn’t a fool for love, even if he got pretty infatuated, and he wasn’t about to be mucked around.
Danny didn’t plan on trying to muck him around. Not again.
He was even fascinating when he talked about his politics. Before he’d met Will, Danny had thought that there could be nothing quite as boring as hearing ministers and MPs and politicians and even just opinionated drunkards talk about the government and how they were attempting to move England forward, but something about Will’s passion for making things good and better inspired interest in him, and he hung off the man’s every word. Only Will could make this talk about parliament anything other than monotonous and boring. Only Will could consume him like this.
“I’d at least like to start making steps towards united education before they chuck me out for being too rebellious,” he said, and admittedly Danny didn’t know what he was talking about, because he hadn’t really been listening. He grinned.
“Yeah.”
“Is that all you have to say to my belief in re-forging the England in which it’s not illegal to have mixed-race schools, Danny? Really?”
Despite the quirked eyebrow and the disdainful tone, however, he wasn’t being serious. Far from it; really, he was probably expecting the second half of the response. Maybe that was why he leaned forward slightly as he adjusted his collar, which didn’t need to be adjusted.
“All this talk...” Danny said, speaking quietly so that the other man had to lean forward slightly more in order to hear. “All this talk. Just... shut up, OK?”
The grin on his face indicated that he wasn’t being malicious, however, and the kiss confirmed it. This was the picture that would appear on the front page of the national newspapers tomorrow; this romantic scene that would be twisted until it became unnatural, scandalous and wrong. Really, it’s just a touch of the lips, flecked with promise; it’s actually a very innocent kiss, or at least it is on the surface. Well, suffice to say that it is in the beginning. They break apart briefly to move their glasses of wine, and then somewhere on the timeline Danny’s hand drifts up so that his fingertips gently graze the surface of Will’s perfect skin. Lips begin to choose to move aggressively rather than drift passively by; they’re in their own little world. Really, they should be. They’re in a booth designed for guests who preferred or indeed needed a little more privacy, but the paparazzi are cleverer than this. Will and Danny’s kiss doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to the hidden camera in the photographer’s bag. It belongs to Peter Huntley’s advisors. It belongs to the world.
Unaware, they finish their meal and catch a taxi back to Will’s apartment, which is big, luxurious... and yes - finally - private. The pretence of coffee doesn’t last for very long. Nobody wants coffee. Nobody wants the cold, marble surface of the counter that Will is gently pressed against, kiss continuing in this more closed of arenas, for any purpose other than that which it is currently performing. Lips claim each other in turn, then nip back their authority once it’s been taken from them; Danny’s hands move to Will’s belt and picks it, thief-like, before pulling it gently away and dropping it to the floor where the metal lands with a clunk against the marble. Metal and marble - strong and practical and strong and beautiful respectively. That’s Will and Danny, alright; the symbolism is lost on the latter, however. To him it only means he has access to the join between the trousers and the shirt; the latter of which he tugs up so that it’s free of the boundary, and slips his hands underneath to meet with the warming, soft flesh beneath. For the moment, he is content with the light hum of Will’s consent and, yes, pleasure; a hum that soon becomes a light groan as the hands move back to the trousers and unbutton them.
His voice blows gently against Danny’s bottom lip. “Not... here.”
“Why not?”
“Just... not here, Danny. Somewhere else.”
“Alright,” he says gently, understanding; there’s something in Will that demands not to be treated like an offhand fling. He wants to be somewhere comfortable - he wants to make love, not shag. Alright, there can be a bit of shagging involved too; but he wants affection. What he wants is security, and for some reason his bed a symbol of that for him. Danny doesn’t mind. Danny would follow him to the ends of the earth, even carry him there; he knows this now. He wishes he’d known it when he’d been trying to resist temptation not long ago, because somehow he knows it’d have been easier if he’d understood his own feelings. No matter. He could fix Will - he could fix them. If any justice still remained in this most volatile and disapproving of worlds, then they’d stay fixed.
Connected all the way to the bedroom - by hands, mouths, noses and even eyes, which smouldered and burned with passion and intensity - they seemed to reach it after an age after a lot of blundering and trying; and sometimes missing. “God, Will, I’m sorry.”
“I know; I know.”
They need not apologise so much as breathe. Danny heads straight for Will’s trousers again, and this time is met with no resistance. He undoes the button and pauses before the zip to take Will’s face in both hands and kiss him possessively, a gesture which is returned by the placing of Will’s hands on the small of Danny’s back. They haven’t slept together in weeks, but somehow Will still knows what the slight wriggling means, and pulls Danny’s shirt up over his head before he continues with the zip and allows the trousers to fall. They resume kissing as Will steps out of his trousers, and fall to the bed without seeming to care that neither of them are completely undressed yet. What does it matter? They’re in no hurry. It’s a sign that they’re serious, and it means more to Will than he’s ready to communicate - or even capable of communicating - at the moment.
Danny is, in a word, stunning. There’s something in his puppy-dog eyes, sculpted chest and caramel skin that intoxicates Will - maybe that’s why he feels so dizzy. Maybe it’s because all the blood is rushing away from his head to go elsewhere... Will isn’t really a sex person so much as a relationships person, but that doesn’t mean he want Danny in his entirety; right here and right now. He doesn’t think of it like that. He thinks of it as combining. Maybe he’d like to think of it as symbolic, but in truth it isn’t really. It’s primitive, animalistic, lustful and distinctly sexual. Of course, it’s underlined with the real feelings he has for Danny, but it’s also much more instinctive than that. “Trousers,” he demands, and after a great deal of wriggling he has them in his hands; they don’t stay there long before they’re slumped in a pile on the floor, and his shirt buttons are popping in their attempt to catch him up. Midway through undoing them, Danny moves forward urgently to meet Will’s lips again and they kiss, endlessly.
Just kissing until the end of time wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, not if it meant kissing like this, with hands and eyes and skin. Danny wants to devour every second of Will he’s missed, and time is ticking onwards ever faster. Soon just kissing becomes harder and harder, and eventually Will can’t resist any further. His hands slip underneath the waistband of Danny’s boxers, causing shivers at the contrast of the warm flesh of his buttocks and his cold hands. It’s a delicious sort of shiver; one that Will wants to kiss right up and kiss it up he does, moving from Danny’s collarbone back up to his lips with tiny pecks. “I’ve missed you.”
“Not as much as I’ve missed you.”
Neither of them care if it’s pantomime affection. It’s sincere, and whether they sound silly or not, it feels sincere too, and that’s all that matters really. Well, maybe the sex matters too. It’d be difficult for them not to be interested by that at the moment, with Will’s hands easing Danny’s boxers - plain white, not that anybody cares right now - down past the curve of his bottom, cock springing free from its cruel confines. Oh, very cruel. Will’s hand palms gently over the head of Danny’s manhood, earning a soft hiss; naturally, it doesn’t distract him for very long, and in a few moments’ time he paws at Will’s hand to move it away so that he can mutter, “Yours are still on,” and tug at them, more urgently than Will had gently slid the other man’s off, and throwing them with even less grace at the wall.
“Well, they were a second ago.”
“Shh, git...”
Will doesn’t have much chance to fall silent by himself, however, as his mouth is covered with desperate lips and a hand just as desperate takes firm hold of his cock. “God,” is the first word that falls from his mouth as Danny’s parts from his for a breather, and inspires a grin in both of them before they meet again. Danny’s hand moves slowly, stroking life into Will’s lonely body - and make no mistake, he has been lonely since they last parted. It makes tonight feel even warmer. Something tells him he won’t feel this way anymore; not now. He doesn’t care to question it. “Mm, Danny...”
Finally in a state of mind that reminds him he wants to reciprocate, his own hand moves down towards Danny, grip tantalisingly loose; Danny reprimands him with a light nip to the inside of the neck, moan giving away that it’s more pleasurable than he’s letting on. Still, it’s not what he wants. “Just... just... more, Will, please... fuck...”
In the end, however, it’s not Will that gives more. Danny remembers the way it has always been, and reaches down to get the tube of lubricant from Will’s bedside drawer. Of course he knows exactly where it is, and it’s cool on his trembling fingers as he squeezes some out and spreads it over his fingers, deliberately taking his time as he watches Will’s eyes flutter shut, waiting for the imminent breach which he braces himself for, lifting himself slightly so that Danny can reach behind and prepare him, gently as always. “Danny...” he begs, lashes flickering up and down slightly, like a candle. He’s about to go out. “Oh, God, Danny...”
Another finger and his head tips back, opening his neck up for butterfly kisses and Danny’s adoring tongue, tracing hieroglyphs and stars and valleys onto Will’s pale skin. He has never felt so naked, or so secure. Maybe it’s because he’s never felt so wanted, either. Hot, damp breath against his skin ignites something inside him, and he arches lightly towards Danny’s hand, longing. Humming in anticipation, he waits for Danny to finish with his torture, and soon enough the fingers retreat, gentle kisses soothing the flushing flesh of Will’s neck and ears. “You’re beautiful.”
“Mm, no...”
“Yes...” It’s a correction, not an uncontrollable hiss - though it could be mistaken for the latter, as he says it at the same time as he slicks his cock with lubricant, planting yet more kisses on his partner’s skin once he’s finished. “You are,” he asserts, pausing for a moment before they continue, hand gently tipping Will’s head up to meet his lips again, despite the panting. “You are.”
“You’re deluded. But...”
“But?”
“But I love you.”
All the lustful gasps and profanities in the world couldn’t sound better than this; all the wet kisses and moans in the world couldn’t mean more. “Oh, Will...” Love had been there between them before he’d gotten drunk and slept with someone else - damn it all, because he hadn’t even wanted to, really - but they’d never said it. It had never been the time. Now, however... well, now was definitely the time. “I love you too. So much.”
The kisses eventually dissolve into sex, and it’s amazing; face-to-face, heart-to-heart, intense, affectionate - sobbing, calling out, coming heavily and breathlessly and then sleeping together for the first time in far too long. It’s a good thing that they’re in Will’s penthouse apartment, high in the air where the press can’t reach the highs they’re climbing to and no neighbours can hear the cries they give as they get there, hands clasped together and eyes fluttering; the breeze of first sex.
Fandom: None; original
Series: Men and Boys (NaNoWriMo '09)
Rating: NC-17?
Word Count: 2,391
Summary: Half fluff, half smut. Will is a politician (specifically an education minister) and Danny is a twat of a model. 0:) This is set in future-fascist England.
Being Will Taylor’s boyfriend had been good, but being Will Taylor’s ex-boyfriend could actually be even better if you knew how to play your cards right. Tonight was... well, tonight was better than usual. The restaurant, the drinks, and the candlelight; he knew he’d made a mistake, and he knew that he didn’t really deserve any of this, but... oh, God, it was hard not to want it. Will lived an amazing life - of course, that wasn’t what Danny sought after. Materialistic as he seemed, it really was Will that he missed and not his ridiculously well-decked apartment. He watched him as he sipped at his red wine and noticed he was being watched, pretty smile twitching onto his blushing face behind the rim of the glass. God, he was beautiful. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but nobody was. This was about as good as you could get without dating some twat of a model.
Danny was, of course, a model, and lots of people seemed to think he was quite the twat, in his own words; still, Will seemed to like him well enough. Will wouldn’t have dumped him if it hadn’t been for that one night of infidelity, which he’d known was a mistake even at the time. Danny had a thing for aesthetics, though, and drunk boys were hard to resist... still, he regretted it. He had regretted it at the time - or rather straight afterwards, not during; that’d require slightly more of a fixed moral centre than Danny could honestly claim to have - and he still regretted it now. The fact that this was so obvious was probably the reason that Will was sitting opposite him now. Will wasn’t a fool for love, even if he got pretty infatuated, and he wasn’t about to be mucked around.
Danny didn’t plan on trying to muck him around. Not again.
He was even fascinating when he talked about his politics. Before he’d met Will, Danny had thought that there could be nothing quite as boring as hearing ministers and MPs and politicians and even just opinionated drunkards talk about the government and how they were attempting to move England forward, but something about Will’s passion for making things good and better inspired interest in him, and he hung off the man’s every word. Only Will could make this talk about parliament anything other than monotonous and boring. Only Will could consume him like this.
“I’d at least like to start making steps towards united education before they chuck me out for being too rebellious,” he said, and admittedly Danny didn’t know what he was talking about, because he hadn’t really been listening. He grinned.
“Yeah.”
“Is that all you have to say to my belief in re-forging the England in which it’s not illegal to have mixed-race schools, Danny? Really?”
Despite the quirked eyebrow and the disdainful tone, however, he wasn’t being serious. Far from it; really, he was probably expecting the second half of the response. Maybe that was why he leaned forward slightly as he adjusted his collar, which didn’t need to be adjusted.
“All this talk...” Danny said, speaking quietly so that the other man had to lean forward slightly more in order to hear. “All this talk. Just... shut up, OK?”
The grin on his face indicated that he wasn’t being malicious, however, and the kiss confirmed it. This was the picture that would appear on the front page of the national newspapers tomorrow; this romantic scene that would be twisted until it became unnatural, scandalous and wrong. Really, it’s just a touch of the lips, flecked with promise; it’s actually a very innocent kiss, or at least it is on the surface. Well, suffice to say that it is in the beginning. They break apart briefly to move their glasses of wine, and then somewhere on the timeline Danny’s hand drifts up so that his fingertips gently graze the surface of Will’s perfect skin. Lips begin to choose to move aggressively rather than drift passively by; they’re in their own little world. Really, they should be. They’re in a booth designed for guests who preferred or indeed needed a little more privacy, but the paparazzi are cleverer than this. Will and Danny’s kiss doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to the hidden camera in the photographer’s bag. It belongs to Peter Huntley’s advisors. It belongs to the world.
Unaware, they finish their meal and catch a taxi back to Will’s apartment, which is big, luxurious... and yes - finally - private. The pretence of coffee doesn’t last for very long. Nobody wants coffee. Nobody wants the cold, marble surface of the counter that Will is gently pressed against, kiss continuing in this more closed of arenas, for any purpose other than that which it is currently performing. Lips claim each other in turn, then nip back their authority once it’s been taken from them; Danny’s hands move to Will’s belt and picks it, thief-like, before pulling it gently away and dropping it to the floor where the metal lands with a clunk against the marble. Metal and marble - strong and practical and strong and beautiful respectively. That’s Will and Danny, alright; the symbolism is lost on the latter, however. To him it only means he has access to the join between the trousers and the shirt; the latter of which he tugs up so that it’s free of the boundary, and slips his hands underneath to meet with the warming, soft flesh beneath. For the moment, he is content with the light hum of Will’s consent and, yes, pleasure; a hum that soon becomes a light groan as the hands move back to the trousers and unbutton them.
His voice blows gently against Danny’s bottom lip. “Not... here.”
“Why not?”
“Just... not here, Danny. Somewhere else.”
“Alright,” he says gently, understanding; there’s something in Will that demands not to be treated like an offhand fling. He wants to be somewhere comfortable - he wants to make love, not shag. Alright, there can be a bit of shagging involved too; but he wants affection. What he wants is security, and for some reason his bed a symbol of that for him. Danny doesn’t mind. Danny would follow him to the ends of the earth, even carry him there; he knows this now. He wishes he’d known it when he’d been trying to resist temptation not long ago, because somehow he knows it’d have been easier if he’d understood his own feelings. No matter. He could fix Will - he could fix them. If any justice still remained in this most volatile and disapproving of worlds, then they’d stay fixed.
Connected all the way to the bedroom - by hands, mouths, noses and even eyes, which smouldered and burned with passion and intensity - they seemed to reach it after an age after a lot of blundering and trying; and sometimes missing. “God, Will, I’m sorry.”
“I know; I know.”
They need not apologise so much as breathe. Danny heads straight for Will’s trousers again, and this time is met with no resistance. He undoes the button and pauses before the zip to take Will’s face in both hands and kiss him possessively, a gesture which is returned by the placing of Will’s hands on the small of Danny’s back. They haven’t slept together in weeks, but somehow Will still knows what the slight wriggling means, and pulls Danny’s shirt up over his head before he continues with the zip and allows the trousers to fall. They resume kissing as Will steps out of his trousers, and fall to the bed without seeming to care that neither of them are completely undressed yet. What does it matter? They’re in no hurry. It’s a sign that they’re serious, and it means more to Will than he’s ready to communicate - or even capable of communicating - at the moment.
Danny is, in a word, stunning. There’s something in his puppy-dog eyes, sculpted chest and caramel skin that intoxicates Will - maybe that’s why he feels so dizzy. Maybe it’s because all the blood is rushing away from his head to go elsewhere... Will isn’t really a sex person so much as a relationships person, but that doesn’t mean he want Danny in his entirety; right here and right now. He doesn’t think of it like that. He thinks of it as combining. Maybe he’d like to think of it as symbolic, but in truth it isn’t really. It’s primitive, animalistic, lustful and distinctly sexual. Of course, it’s underlined with the real feelings he has for Danny, but it’s also much more instinctive than that. “Trousers,” he demands, and after a great deal of wriggling he has them in his hands; they don’t stay there long before they’re slumped in a pile on the floor, and his shirt buttons are popping in their attempt to catch him up. Midway through undoing them, Danny moves forward urgently to meet Will’s lips again and they kiss, endlessly.
Just kissing until the end of time wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, not if it meant kissing like this, with hands and eyes and skin. Danny wants to devour every second of Will he’s missed, and time is ticking onwards ever faster. Soon just kissing becomes harder and harder, and eventually Will can’t resist any further. His hands slip underneath the waistband of Danny’s boxers, causing shivers at the contrast of the warm flesh of his buttocks and his cold hands. It’s a delicious sort of shiver; one that Will wants to kiss right up and kiss it up he does, moving from Danny’s collarbone back up to his lips with tiny pecks. “I’ve missed you.”
“Not as much as I’ve missed you.”
Neither of them care if it’s pantomime affection. It’s sincere, and whether they sound silly or not, it feels sincere too, and that’s all that matters really. Well, maybe the sex matters too. It’d be difficult for them not to be interested by that at the moment, with Will’s hands easing Danny’s boxers - plain white, not that anybody cares right now - down past the curve of his bottom, cock springing free from its cruel confines. Oh, very cruel. Will’s hand palms gently over the head of Danny’s manhood, earning a soft hiss; naturally, it doesn’t distract him for very long, and in a few moments’ time he paws at Will’s hand to move it away so that he can mutter, “Yours are still on,” and tug at them, more urgently than Will had gently slid the other man’s off, and throwing them with even less grace at the wall.
“Well, they were a second ago.”
“Shh, git...”
Will doesn’t have much chance to fall silent by himself, however, as his mouth is covered with desperate lips and a hand just as desperate takes firm hold of his cock. “God,” is the first word that falls from his mouth as Danny’s parts from his for a breather, and inspires a grin in both of them before they meet again. Danny’s hand moves slowly, stroking life into Will’s lonely body - and make no mistake, he has been lonely since they last parted. It makes tonight feel even warmer. Something tells him he won’t feel this way anymore; not now. He doesn’t care to question it. “Mm, Danny...”
Finally in a state of mind that reminds him he wants to reciprocate, his own hand moves down towards Danny, grip tantalisingly loose; Danny reprimands him with a light nip to the inside of the neck, moan giving away that it’s more pleasurable than he’s letting on. Still, it’s not what he wants. “Just... just... more, Will, please... fuck...”
In the end, however, it’s not Will that gives more. Danny remembers the way it has always been, and reaches down to get the tube of lubricant from Will’s bedside drawer. Of course he knows exactly where it is, and it’s cool on his trembling fingers as he squeezes some out and spreads it over his fingers, deliberately taking his time as he watches Will’s eyes flutter shut, waiting for the imminent breach which he braces himself for, lifting himself slightly so that Danny can reach behind and prepare him, gently as always. “Danny...” he begs, lashes flickering up and down slightly, like a candle. He’s about to go out. “Oh, God, Danny...”
Another finger and his head tips back, opening his neck up for butterfly kisses and Danny’s adoring tongue, tracing hieroglyphs and stars and valleys onto Will’s pale skin. He has never felt so naked, or so secure. Maybe it’s because he’s never felt so wanted, either. Hot, damp breath against his skin ignites something inside him, and he arches lightly towards Danny’s hand, longing. Humming in anticipation, he waits for Danny to finish with his torture, and soon enough the fingers retreat, gentle kisses soothing the flushing flesh of Will’s neck and ears. “You’re beautiful.”
“Mm, no...”
“Yes...” It’s a correction, not an uncontrollable hiss - though it could be mistaken for the latter, as he says it at the same time as he slicks his cock with lubricant, planting yet more kisses on his partner’s skin once he’s finished. “You are,” he asserts, pausing for a moment before they continue, hand gently tipping Will’s head up to meet his lips again, despite the panting. “You are.”
“You’re deluded. But...”
“But?”
“But I love you.”
All the lustful gasps and profanities in the world couldn’t sound better than this; all the wet kisses and moans in the world couldn’t mean more. “Oh, Will...” Love had been there between them before he’d gotten drunk and slept with someone else - damn it all, because he hadn’t even wanted to, really - but they’d never said it. It had never been the time. Now, however... well, now was definitely the time. “I love you too. So much.”
The kisses eventually dissolve into sex, and it’s amazing; face-to-face, heart-to-heart, intense, affectionate - sobbing, calling out, coming heavily and breathlessly and then sleeping together for the first time in far too long. It’s a good thing that they’re in Will’s penthouse apartment, high in the air where the press can’t reach the highs they’re climbing to and no neighbours can hear the cries they give as they get there, hands clasped together and eyes fluttering; the breeze of first sex.