Say Cheese
Rating: R
Word Count: ~600
Prompt: 054: Crack!Pairing
Pairing: The Cheese Man/Cheese
Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.
AN: Tyrimmus - Macedonian for ‘the one who loves cheese.’ If you send people with straightjackets, have then take me to ‘Normal’ Verse - that institution looked better than most. I also made Crack!Art for it.
Both were made for still_grrr and posted there
Award winner - details here.
Soft evening sunlight slanted its way across his living room, and he once again found himself pacing, running a damp palm over his bald, perspiring pate, unwilling to give in to the siren song singing its way through his senses.
Hands clenched, he stopped and turned to face the kitchen. “I will not!” His declaration echoed in the enclosed space, no one but himself to absorb it.
Sitting on the couch, he grabbed the remote and began flicking through channels, begging something to catch his attention: a bullet entered a man’s side in graphic detail and slow motion; click; a blond with humongous breasts ran down a beach in a tight red swim suit; click; a woman jumped on the back of a man, screaming and hitting at his head while a talk show host made little authentic attempt to get her down; click; a naked man kissed a similarly unclad woman, who held him locked in the cradle of her thighs; click; a college student made a fumbling yet incorrect attempt to answer which great-grandson of Heracles had been a king.
“Tyrimmus,” the bald man said in disgust, turning off the television. A glance at the coffee table did little to calm his racing pulse - travel guides for Wisconsin, southwest England, and northern France held pride of place, glossy pages bookmarked to readily open to views of deep orange temptations, luscious pale yellow bricks, and rich creaminess barely contained by powdery rinds.
“Not yet, not yet, not yet,” he chanted. “I can hold off, wait just a bit longer, and then I’ll be okay - then I won’t have to …” He stood to pace again.
In the silence of his home, the purring hum of the refrigerator kicked on, adding a seductive bass note to the sweet singing coming from within it.
He stopped suddenly, turning to face the kitchen.
Mouth dry, he walked jerkily forward, hands trembling.
The refrigerated rush of air a delicious contrast to his heated face, he knew such delights were only beginning. The plate awaited him, prepared that morning, virginal slices displayed in a row of diamonds. The plastic wrap crinkled delicately under his fingertips as he stripped away its layer of protection.
Slowly, so slowly, he lifted the first two pieces of cheese and placed them on his head. A tease, a bit of foreplay, they molded to his scalp as he stood frozen by the sensation. He moaned.
After long moments, he burst into action, hands clawing furiously at the buttons of his shirt, ripping in their haste and intensity. Grabbing two more slices by their corners, he held them up and wiggled them before his face, saying, “Oh, you flirty minxes!” Quickly, he laid them across his chest, their initial tingle of cold sending shivers through his pebbled nipples before morphing into gooey warmth.
The opening to his trousers soon gaped, and again two slices were chosen to kiss his burning flesh, the wonderful rich scent of the cheese rising as it warmed to mix with the smell of his own musk.
He fell to his knees, panting, deliciousness coursing the nerves of his spine, the singing surging through his synapses.
As he completed, the cheese’s melting warmth wrapping him in bliss, he cried out, as he always did, “Wear me, cheese! Wear me! I want you to wear me!”
Afterward, he lay on the linoleum in a daze waiting for his breathing to normalize, eventually rolling his head towards the beautifully humming refrigerator as a sigh whispered from his lips to say, “Cheeeeessseee.”
Word Count: ~600
Prompt: 054: Crack!Pairing
Pairing: The Cheese Man/Cheese
Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.
AN: Tyrimmus - Macedonian for ‘the one who loves cheese.’ If you send people with straightjackets, have then take me to ‘Normal’ Verse - that institution looked better than most. I also made Crack!Art for it.
Both were made for still_grrr and posted there
Award winner - details here.
Soft evening sunlight slanted its way across his living room, and he once again found himself pacing, running a damp palm over his bald, perspiring pate, unwilling to give in to the siren song singing its way through his senses.
Hands clenched, he stopped and turned to face the kitchen. “I will not!” His declaration echoed in the enclosed space, no one but himself to absorb it.
Sitting on the couch, he grabbed the remote and began flicking through channels, begging something to catch his attention: a bullet entered a man’s side in graphic detail and slow motion; click; a blond with humongous breasts ran down a beach in a tight red swim suit; click; a woman jumped on the back of a man, screaming and hitting at his head while a talk show host made little authentic attempt to get her down; click; a naked man kissed a similarly unclad woman, who held him locked in the cradle of her thighs; click; a college student made a fumbling yet incorrect attempt to answer which great-grandson of Heracles had been a king.
“Tyrimmus,” the bald man said in disgust, turning off the television. A glance at the coffee table did little to calm his racing pulse - travel guides for Wisconsin, southwest England, and northern France held pride of place, glossy pages bookmarked to readily open to views of deep orange temptations, luscious pale yellow bricks, and rich creaminess barely contained by powdery rinds.
“Not yet, not yet, not yet,” he chanted. “I can hold off, wait just a bit longer, and then I’ll be okay - then I won’t have to …” He stood to pace again.
In the silence of his home, the purring hum of the refrigerator kicked on, adding a seductive bass note to the sweet singing coming from within it.
He stopped suddenly, turning to face the kitchen.
Mouth dry, he walked jerkily forward, hands trembling.
The refrigerated rush of air a delicious contrast to his heated face, he knew such delights were only beginning. The plate awaited him, prepared that morning, virginal slices displayed in a row of diamonds. The plastic wrap crinkled delicately under his fingertips as he stripped away its layer of protection.
Slowly, so slowly, he lifted the first two pieces of cheese and placed them on his head. A tease, a bit of foreplay, they molded to his scalp as he stood frozen by the sensation. He moaned.
After long moments, he burst into action, hands clawing furiously at the buttons of his shirt, ripping in their haste and intensity. Grabbing two more slices by their corners, he held them up and wiggled them before his face, saying, “Oh, you flirty minxes!” Quickly, he laid them across his chest, their initial tingle of cold sending shivers through his pebbled nipples before morphing into gooey warmth.
The opening to his trousers soon gaped, and again two slices were chosen to kiss his burning flesh, the wonderful rich scent of the cheese rising as it warmed to mix with the smell of his own musk.
He fell to his knees, panting, deliciousness coursing the nerves of his spine, the singing surging through his synapses.
As he completed, the cheese’s melting warmth wrapping him in bliss, he cried out, as he always did, “Wear me, cheese! Wear me! I want you to wear me!”
Afterward, he lay on the linoleum in a daze waiting for his breathing to normalize, eventually rolling his head towards the beautifully humming refrigerator as a sigh whispered from his lips to say, “Cheeeeessseee.”