"Whimper Oui". Wow, Captcha.
anonymous
June 18 2009, 06:36:36 UTC
Canada/America
Hard BDSM--at America's request. Alfred gets tired of micromanaging the world's affairs (as best he can, anyway) and really likes to relinquish control completely in private. The catch is, he only feels safe doing that around someone who he knows would never abuse that power outside the bedroom. The only person he knows like that is Matthew.
Bonus if you can show a progression from Matthew being nervous/awkward about it to, down the road, really getting into it (leather, flogging, denied orgasms, the whole deal). In his mind, suddenly nothing's hotter than America begging and submitting--because nobody else gets to see him like that.
Under (Part 1/?)
anonymous
June 28 2009, 05:29:21 UTC
Here's the first part--it's still WIP
It starts in a bar.
It starts over beer on a sticky wooden bar with old, split leather barstools sometime past midnight.
It starts with Alfred sidling up to him, all brass and swagger, crowding. It’s written in the subtle press of denim thigh to denim thigh, the heavy careless forearm weighing on his shoulder, the billion megawatt smile burning his retinas.
This is the beginning of every bet, of every dare between them over the centuries.
The request, because, for once that’s what it is-even if it sounds like a demand coming from his smirking mouth-is, however, entirely different.
The stock first response is, “Are you high?” It sounds strangled tonight, caught up in his dry throat.
The stock negation is an easy laugh, a drawling “No.The next lines are not nearly so familiar; “No-I’m… no. No, you’re not trussing me up for some sick fantasy.” There’s a quaver in his voice, but he likes to think he sounds firm enough
( ... )
Under (Part 2/?)
anonymous
June 30 2009, 02:13:00 UTC
“The deal is this-you’ll have control. Complete control.”
He meant sex. Sex. With him.
Matthew runs his hands through his hair, and sighs explosively. It isn’t as though the thought hasn’t crossed his mind before, and even in the distant past, when they were barely more than children sometimes they’d experiment, sometimes they’d touch-but that was forever ago, and really they were more like estranged siblings than lovers now-an old, deep relationship, but all business and old loyalty.
“I don’t want to have to think, talk, make you do anything.”
That shouldn’t flatter him as much as it does. The idea of being the leader for once, of having the power to do anything, make Alfred do anything… it shouldn’t have him scrolling through an online catalogue of gags at one in the morning. Latex, silicone. Harness. Bit.
He shouldn’t be picturing Alfred’s proud frame straining against restraints too strong for even him.
He shouldn’t wonder what Alfred’s face would look like, dancing between ecstasy and agony.
Re: Under (Part 2/?)
anonymous
June 30 2009, 12:59:41 UTC
Just. Yes.
I love the way America sounds too good to be real, how you're using TV sayings and infomercial patter to describe him. It's deeply effective - all that fake, contrasted with how real the situation, and his request, is.
Re: Under (Part 2/?)
anonymous
June 30 2009, 21:12:16 UTC
:D that's just it--America's such a faker, it's become part of his personality. He can't ask for something so compromising in any evenhanded, honest kind of way. He needs the brass and bravado to mask the very real fear he he has of his own dark desires!!
I only hope I do the dynamic between him and Matt justice.
Under (Part 3/?)
anonymous
July 1 2009, 02:30:58 UTC
The first time they try, it’s in a tacky motel room (smell of old cigarette smoke, late-80s décor, ashtrays in ashtrays and long, ratty beige carpet) in a border town so nondescript that it could belong to either one of them. The invitation is by text message, because in person would be too awkward, over the phone would be too weird, and he tends to ramble in e-mails. Text is kind of tacky, but the brevity suits the situation. He arrives first, so he has time to fidget. He smoothes the sheets needlessly, chases a fat fly out the window, watches said fly circle a lamp outside doggedly, and splurges on a shot of scotch from the tepid mini-bar.
When Alfred arrives, a little dusty from the drive on the Harley, he’s quiet, and instantly Matthew is lost. There’s a moment of impasse; he’s waiting on Al to speak and Al is not speaking. Al’s not speaking, hovering a few steps in from the doorway, because he’s waiting for him. Deferring
( ... )
Under (Part 4a/?)
anonymous
July 1 2009, 16:21:40 UTC
Alfred is inexorable, inevitable. He’s the black hole, whirlpool, magnet-he’s gravity.
He’s also determined to get what he wants when he decides he wants it.
So he shows up at Matthew’s office before lunch the next day, looking all business, presumably to ask about upping softwood exports or something. Matthew’s not ready to see him.
Humiliation is new for him, at least in this arena. This is new shame, doing what comes naturally, what’s always worked before, and having it ruin the act entirely. He’s no Francis, but he’s no virgin either, and he’s always done just fine as a lover. This is new inadequacy, the implication that he doesn’t measure up to Alfred’s expectations-Alfred’s needs
( ... )
Under (Part 4b/?)
anonymous
July 1 2009, 16:24:59 UTC
Of course he shouldn’t get a thrill out of seeing Alfred struggle to take him. Big mouth or no, Mr. Hero can’t manage to make this look easy. It was a grasping, fleeting rush of confidence that spurred him to push Alfred down to his knees, and jam his cock (which went from zero to sixty-well, four to eight-and-change, really-in record time) past those gluttonous lips. Thank heavens for small miracles.
Okay, so this is worth all the bullshit. Alfred’s got a nice mouth, he decides. Al’s got just-right lips to keep the teeth away from his skin, eager tongue to take him close to the edge within moments, and sucking cheeks to make deadly-tight pressure.
But, oh.
That’s not a triumphant smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. It is not. That’s not a double-dare in his eyes, a taunting betcha can’t. Betcha won’t.
So this is a challenge-this is what Alfred’s doing.
Matthew pins him, sandwiches him between the wall and his hips (Oh, and Alfred likes that), and it isn’t long before he’s just fucking his mouth. Alfred’s still yielding,
( ... )
Hard BDSM--at America's request. Alfred gets tired of micromanaging the world's affairs (as best he can, anyway) and really likes to relinquish control completely in private. The catch is, he only feels safe doing that around someone who he knows would never abuse that power outside the bedroom. The only person he knows like that is Matthew.
Bonus if you can show a progression from Matthew being nervous/awkward about it to, down the road, really getting into it (leather, flogging, denied orgasms, the whole deal). In his mind, suddenly nothing's hotter than America begging and submitting--because nobody else gets to see him like that.
Plz, anon!
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It starts in a bar.
It starts over beer on a sticky wooden bar with old, split leather barstools sometime past midnight.
It starts with Alfred sidling up to him, all brass and swagger, crowding. It’s written in the subtle press of denim thigh to denim thigh, the heavy careless forearm weighing on his shoulder, the billion megawatt smile burning his retinas.
This is the beginning of every bet, of every dare between them over the centuries.
The request, because, for once that’s what it is-even if it sounds like a demand coming from his smirking mouth-is, however, entirely different.
The stock first response is, “Are you high?” It sounds strangled tonight, caught up in his dry throat.
The stock negation is an easy laugh, a drawling “No.The next lines are not nearly so familiar; “No-I’m… no. No, you’re not trussing me up for some sick fantasy.” There’s a quaver in his voice, but he likes to think he sounds firm enough ( ... )
Reply
He meant sex. Sex. With him.
Matthew runs his hands through his hair, and sighs explosively. It isn’t as though the thought hasn’t crossed his mind before, and even in the distant past, when they were barely more than children sometimes they’d experiment, sometimes they’d touch-but that was forever ago, and really they were more like estranged siblings than lovers now-an old, deep relationship, but all business and old loyalty.
“I don’t want to have to think, talk, make you do anything.”
That shouldn’t flatter him as much as it does. The idea of being the leader for once, of having the power to do anything, make Alfred do anything… it shouldn’t have him scrolling through an online catalogue of gags at one in the morning. Latex, silicone. Harness. Bit.
He shouldn’t be picturing Alfred’s proud frame straining against restraints too strong for even him.
He shouldn’t wonder what Alfred’s face would look like, dancing between ecstasy and agony.
He shouldn’t-but he does.
“ ( ... )
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reCaptcha: haughty Sex. This thing is psychic, I swear.
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Thanks!!
Now that someone's watching, I'll be on my own case to finish this ASAP :)
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I love the way America sounds too good to be real, how you're using TV sayings and infomercial patter to describe him. It's deeply effective - all that fake, contrasted with how real the situation, and his request, is.
Reply
I only hope I do the dynamic between him and Matt justice.
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because if this fill is going where we talked about, oh lordy.
love you.
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This is that fic--and I'm so thankful for your help!!
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F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
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Thank you!!
Reply
When Alfred arrives, a little dusty from the drive on the Harley, he’s quiet, and instantly Matthew is lost. There’s a moment of impasse; he’s waiting on Al to speak and Al is not speaking. Al’s not speaking, hovering a few steps in from the doorway, because he’s waiting for him. Deferring ( ... )
Reply
Reply
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He’s also determined to get what he wants when he decides he wants it.
So he shows up at Matthew’s office before lunch the next day, looking all business, presumably to ask about upping softwood exports or something. Matthew’s not ready to see him.
Humiliation is new for him, at least in this arena. This is new shame, doing what comes naturally, what’s always worked before, and having it ruin the act entirely. He’s no Francis, but he’s no virgin either, and he’s always done just fine as a lover. This is new inadequacy, the implication that he doesn’t measure up to Alfred’s expectations-Alfred’s needs ( ... )
Reply
Okay, so this is worth all the bullshit. Alfred’s got a nice mouth, he decides. Al’s got just-right lips to keep the teeth away from his skin, eager tongue to take him close to the edge within moments, and sucking cheeks to make deadly-tight pressure.
But, oh.
That’s not a triumphant smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. It is not. That’s not a double-dare in his eyes, a taunting betcha can’t. Betcha won’t.
So this is a challenge-this is what Alfred’s doing.
Matthew pins him, sandwiches him between the wall and his hips (Oh, and Alfred likes that), and it isn’t long before he’s just fucking his mouth. Alfred’s still yielding, ( ... )
Reply
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