(no subject)
Don't
Pairing(s): Angelo/Jono Ange/Jono/Frost
Rating: R
Author: selena2.0@prodigy.net
Authors Notes: Dear God I am tired. More next..day... tomorrow! Thats the word. Good goddamn. Nope, no summary here... Another shot for Daisey... Het... but not yet! ... That is SO my hypothetical hero catchphrase...
[Don’t…]
Angelo and Jono, pressed together in the dark, desperate, hungry. It must be so all-consuming, for Jono… If his telepathy wasn’t sensing a psychic presence as powerful as hers, he was as good as gone. All his attention was focused on his best friend, who was currently making short work of the black bandages at his throat. Cotton gave way to silk, silk to skin, and the boy breathed heavily as he ravaged the porcelain-pale of the flesh beneath.
Unused to warm breath, wet tongue, chapped lips, and sharp teeth, that skin prickled with gooseflesh, sending Jono into a full-body shudder; inspiring the other boy to even greater devastation. Strong, clever fingers found Jono’s fly, clawing at the slick impenetrability of the bodysuit beneath. Jono clutched his back hard enough to bruise, and
Emma stepped forward.
[No…] Jono’s eyes slid open, rolled upward, saw nothing. Angelo slid closer, insidious as a viper and just as dangerous. Jono let out a psionic moan, audible to ears both human and mutant. Shadows swallowed the white of his teachers’ clothes, the silver in the bright bits of her eyes. Any other visible traces of her were lost in the psychic cloak she threw around herself.
[We can’t… not here… Oh Ange they’ll be back…]
“Fuck ‘em…” Angelo growled. Jono’s hands were pushing at his shoulders, but he barely felt them, lost in the haze of arousal and goaded by the heat his hand found. He squeezed and the older boy gasped, yanking him close. Two thoughts warred in his mind; the thought of his best friend, heaving chest and pearl-white eyes, wet inside him, slide and burn, ache and arousal, moving against him like an animal, watching his face for pain, and
Jono on his back, legs around his waist, begging for him harder, him faster, him deeper spreadmewider yes, do it Ange I love it. He let these images burn into his mind, felt the moment Jono saw them, watched fire deepen in his friends eyes.
[But… not… here….] Jono in his hand, growing hard now, bigger; pressing out against him, easier to grasp now, easier to stroke…
“I know…”
In the shadows, Emma squirmed, eyes never leaving the two boys tangled together and heaving. So this is what you are now, Emma? The woman, the teacher, the psychic presence, mentor and mutant, knowing, understanding sense and sensation; yet wanting. Voyeur? Pedophile? She almost spat on the ground. Emma Frost does not deny herself unless the consequences of having are dire. And dire they are, in this case. This want of boy and man, this hunger for student, adolescent; it can only mean trouble. The two young men in front of her were the greatest temptation she’d faced for a long time. Her internal battle raged.
You are a grown woman, Frost, she thinks; there is the knowing. Grown… and experienced… Through many encounters much like this one, she reflected. Pleasure taken despite danger, in the midst of fear… You could make them love it; and there is the want.
Jono gasped, heaved once; gripped the back of his friends’ neck in one hand and his loose, wild hair with the other. The boy always went crazy when Jono let his hair get long… [Angelo! Fuck… Yes… No! Slow down…] Heat spreading through them, almost tangible in the air, she can see Angelo’s arm, moving steadily, and Jono’s face, twisted in a struggle against his own body.
If you knew how much that suit cost… Emma sighed, then rolled her eyes inwardly. Still an adult, hm? The suit was indeed several thousand dollars; she’d explain it later to Jono, in pounds. She’d had it tested in many conditions, including the range of heightened emotions, but she’d never gone so far as to get come on it. It might stain.
[Oh God…]
“Come on Jono…”
I thought I’d taught you better, boys… Emma shook her head, smiling to herself. They were being rather loud. And oblivious. Jono had telepathy, he really had no excuse for not sensing her there. She was broadcasting arousal at least as loudly as they were.
[ANGE!] His hips slammed forward, his fingers tightened, and his hands shoved hard enough to make Angelo fall backward. The boy caught himself, snarling, and let loose a string of obscenities that impressed even Emma. Jono simply zipped his pants and looked down his nose at the other boy. Angelo, flushed and sweating, stalked towards him with violence in his eyes; a hand forward, reaching for his friends’ collar, and Jono caught the wrist. Pulled him close, held him and let him breathe, seethe, and continue to push at him, kiss him, whisper and growl in his ear. Emma thought she must glow white in the dark; the heat of her body suffusing the air around her; she thought it would float and wrap these two young lovers in its aphrodisiac heat, draw them towards her.
[Not now, love.] They stood there for a while, one breathing softly, the other humming, his wrapped energy pulsing for release, along with his trapped arousal. Angelo pulled away first, his hands sliding from collar to waistline and beyond, cupping his friend gently, never breaking their eye contact. Jono responded in kind, stepping to close the distance between them and sliding his long fingers along the waistline of Angelo’s ludicrously large pants. He traced the faded seams and frayed belt loops; the once-blue fabric now faded to the color of veins through thin, white skin. Those cool fingers dipped into the belt, slid past his hipbone and gripped the firm muscle of Angelo’s ass.
“N.. not now, eh amigo?” The boy stammered.
[Yer not wearin’ yer suit…] Jono flared slightly, and Emma’s eyes widened. Not wearing his….
“I knew we’d get left behind…” Angelo was, to Emma’s surprise, amusement, and horror, blushing slightly. “I figured…”
[Yeh were countin’ on getting’ lucky, eh?] The hand went deeper, the ropy muscles of the arm corded, made visible by thin skin and strain. Angelo’s breath caught, his belt buckle clicked, and sweat beaded on his forehead as his friends exploration continued. [Not botherin’ with underwear either, now, are yeh?] A chuckle, barely perceptible, and then Ange was the one sobbing for breath, his hands slipping on the cool leather of Jono’s jacket. His skin caught on zippers and buckles, but he scrabbled still, struggling for grounding as Jono played his sensations as others play fine instruments, hitting all the right notes with a dexterity incomprehensible to the mundane, and impossible to the unimaginative. Emma licked her lips.
And watched.
To Be Continued...
Pairing(s): Angelo/Jono Ange/Jono/Frost
Rating: R
Author: selena2.0@prodigy.net
Authors Notes: Dear God I am tired. More next..day... tomorrow! Thats the word. Good goddamn. Nope, no summary here... Another shot for Daisey... Het... but not yet! ... That is SO my hypothetical hero catchphrase...
[Don’t…]
Angelo and Jono, pressed together in the dark, desperate, hungry. It must be so all-consuming, for Jono… If his telepathy wasn’t sensing a psychic presence as powerful as hers, he was as good as gone. All his attention was focused on his best friend, who was currently making short work of the black bandages at his throat. Cotton gave way to silk, silk to skin, and the boy breathed heavily as he ravaged the porcelain-pale of the flesh beneath.
Unused to warm breath, wet tongue, chapped lips, and sharp teeth, that skin prickled with gooseflesh, sending Jono into a full-body shudder; inspiring the other boy to even greater devastation. Strong, clever fingers found Jono’s fly, clawing at the slick impenetrability of the bodysuit beneath. Jono clutched his back hard enough to bruise, and
Emma stepped forward.
[No…] Jono’s eyes slid open, rolled upward, saw nothing. Angelo slid closer, insidious as a viper and just as dangerous. Jono let out a psionic moan, audible to ears both human and mutant. Shadows swallowed the white of his teachers’ clothes, the silver in the bright bits of her eyes. Any other visible traces of her were lost in the psychic cloak she threw around herself.
[We can’t… not here… Oh Ange they’ll be back…]
“Fuck ‘em…” Angelo growled. Jono’s hands were pushing at his shoulders, but he barely felt them, lost in the haze of arousal and goaded by the heat his hand found. He squeezed and the older boy gasped, yanking him close. Two thoughts warred in his mind; the thought of his best friend, heaving chest and pearl-white eyes, wet inside him, slide and burn, ache and arousal, moving against him like an animal, watching his face for pain, and
Jono on his back, legs around his waist, begging for him harder, him faster, him deeper spreadmewider yes, do it Ange I love it. He let these images burn into his mind, felt the moment Jono saw them, watched fire deepen in his friends eyes.
[But… not… here….] Jono in his hand, growing hard now, bigger; pressing out against him, easier to grasp now, easier to stroke…
“I know…”
In the shadows, Emma squirmed, eyes never leaving the two boys tangled together and heaving. So this is what you are now, Emma? The woman, the teacher, the psychic presence, mentor and mutant, knowing, understanding sense and sensation; yet wanting. Voyeur? Pedophile? She almost spat on the ground. Emma Frost does not deny herself unless the consequences of having are dire. And dire they are, in this case. This want of boy and man, this hunger for student, adolescent; it can only mean trouble. The two young men in front of her were the greatest temptation she’d faced for a long time. Her internal battle raged.
You are a grown woman, Frost, she thinks; there is the knowing. Grown… and experienced… Through many encounters much like this one, she reflected. Pleasure taken despite danger, in the midst of fear… You could make them love it; and there is the want.
Jono gasped, heaved once; gripped the back of his friends’ neck in one hand and his loose, wild hair with the other. The boy always went crazy when Jono let his hair get long… [Angelo! Fuck… Yes… No! Slow down…] Heat spreading through them, almost tangible in the air, she can see Angelo’s arm, moving steadily, and Jono’s face, twisted in a struggle against his own body.
If you knew how much that suit cost… Emma sighed, then rolled her eyes inwardly. Still an adult, hm? The suit was indeed several thousand dollars; she’d explain it later to Jono, in pounds. She’d had it tested in many conditions, including the range of heightened emotions, but she’d never gone so far as to get come on it. It might stain.
[Oh God…]
“Come on Jono…”
I thought I’d taught you better, boys… Emma shook her head, smiling to herself. They were being rather loud. And oblivious. Jono had telepathy, he really had no excuse for not sensing her there. She was broadcasting arousal at least as loudly as they were.
[ANGE!] His hips slammed forward, his fingers tightened, and his hands shoved hard enough to make Angelo fall backward. The boy caught himself, snarling, and let loose a string of obscenities that impressed even Emma. Jono simply zipped his pants and looked down his nose at the other boy. Angelo, flushed and sweating, stalked towards him with violence in his eyes; a hand forward, reaching for his friends’ collar, and Jono caught the wrist. Pulled him close, held him and let him breathe, seethe, and continue to push at him, kiss him, whisper and growl in his ear. Emma thought she must glow white in the dark; the heat of her body suffusing the air around her; she thought it would float and wrap these two young lovers in its aphrodisiac heat, draw them towards her.
[Not now, love.] They stood there for a while, one breathing softly, the other humming, his wrapped energy pulsing for release, along with his trapped arousal. Angelo pulled away first, his hands sliding from collar to waistline and beyond, cupping his friend gently, never breaking their eye contact. Jono responded in kind, stepping to close the distance between them and sliding his long fingers along the waistline of Angelo’s ludicrously large pants. He traced the faded seams and frayed belt loops; the once-blue fabric now faded to the color of veins through thin, white skin. Those cool fingers dipped into the belt, slid past his hipbone and gripped the firm muscle of Angelo’s ass.
“N.. not now, eh amigo?” The boy stammered.
[Yer not wearin’ yer suit…] Jono flared slightly, and Emma’s eyes widened. Not wearing his….
“I knew we’d get left behind…” Angelo was, to Emma’s surprise, amusement, and horror, blushing slightly. “I figured…”
[Yeh were countin’ on getting’ lucky, eh?] The hand went deeper, the ropy muscles of the arm corded, made visible by thin skin and strain. Angelo’s breath caught, his belt buckle clicked, and sweat beaded on his forehead as his friends exploration continued. [Not botherin’ with underwear either, now, are yeh?] A chuckle, barely perceptible, and then Ange was the one sobbing for breath, his hands slipping on the cool leather of Jono’s jacket. His skin caught on zippers and buckles, but he scrabbled still, struggling for grounding as Jono played his sensations as others play fine instruments, hitting all the right notes with a dexterity incomprehensible to the mundane, and impossible to the unimaginative. Emma licked her lips.
And watched.
To Be Continued...