(no subject)
[Strawberries & Cream.]
Title: Strawberries & Cream.
Author: Kathryn aka stickyhips___.
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, m’afraid.
Fandom: We Are Scientists/Maxïmo Park.
Pairing: Keith Murray/Paul Smith.
Rating: R.
Summary: I’m sure you can imagine.
Word Count: 710.
Notes: None. Haha, I can never eat strawberries & cream and keep a straight face now.
Keith wonders that if a scent will affect the way something tastes, then, is it possible for the other senses to do the same? For he is certain that the sight of Paul wearing only that fitted blue Sonic Youth t-shirt and snug black boxer shorts does. The chime of laughter besieging his ears and the intense spark of skin brushing too, can only heighten the immeasurable feeling he gets when the spoon pushes through his lips, at first the cold metal rattling against his teeth, the only thing he can taste… then, as Paul tilts the spoon, the cream hits the roof of his mouth. Heavenly. He scrapes the strawberry from the spoon, biting down on the fruit - the bittersweet crunch with a light, fluffy façade of cream. Eloquent, he is, as he eats the dessert. Paul mustn’t see him with any stray traces of said substance around his lips, nor that less-than-graceful way he normally consumes food, which could be a fatal detraction from whatever attractiveness Paul sees in him. Of course, Paul isn’t as implausibly shallow as that. Yet still, Keith feels that in the company of someone held so high in his estimations… well, anybody’s insecurities would be doomed to unravel.
Paul’s persevering with the bowl, plying the spoon with as many chunks of fruit as is possible, letting it screech as he attempts to load the instrument with more than it can cope with - more than is necessary for any one time, even. He’s not in the least bit concerned about the smidgen that escapes and drops weightily onto the sofa, mid-elevation. Paul’s thighs meet Keith’s ribcage, squeezing cosily, the tepid sensation as he leans forward to spoon-feed Keith, and- ohshit, Keith thinks, that was his cock. He glances down at the area marginally north of his own modesty, where the minimal friction - that once again appeared not to faze Paul - took place and caught him unawares. Somewhat foolish of him to stop and think that, for in his distraction he forgot the spoon and now, there’s cream on his nose. Just dandy.
Paul cackles, taking advantage of Keith’s irrational stunned state by tipping the spoon’s remaining contents into his own mouth; continuing to snigger as he does so. None of Keith’s acted grace comes with this - shameless lip licking follows, encouraging the eventual inevitable, bringing it forward. Keith laughs. His fingertips find their way to the tops of Paul’s legs, running just below his hips and over the lesser skin and muscles. Eskimo kiss. Paul blinks doubly hard, casting a veil of mock horror over his face, and the couple collapse into giggles; collapsing into one another - cream-nosed - as Paul whips the crook of his elbow over Keith’s neck and forces the man upon himself, entangling their bodies. Paul’s ankles hook around the small of Keith’s back. This time their lips meet, and what a familiarisation it is - the longing for contact mingling with the determination to prevent a single fragment of the dessert from being wasted. Their tongues roam one another’s mouths savagely, causing breaths to become harsher and more frequent. Opening his eyes for a split second, Keith clocks the bowl slipping gradually from Paul’s grip, and it’s imminence on going everywhere - something that bizarrely concerns him far more than the fact Paul’s cock is digging into him again, this time about ten times as hard, pushing into him with additional pressure. He pulls out of the kiss, bemusing Paul slightly.
“Uh…” he slurs breathlessly, staring intently at Paul’s right hand. Paul looks down, righting the bowl up at once. “…I can think of another way in which we could use that.”
It takes Paul a few moments to grasp what Keith’s getting at, before a filthy smirk is born out of nowhere, sleazily dominating his face.
“Care to demonstrate, kind sir?”
They leer at one another, Keith shifting his legs and forcing his weight down on Paul, ensuring that he’s in a fitting position to take the lead. He raises his index finger to Paul’s nose, swiping away the cream he’d put there earlier and inserts it into his mouth. Sucking it clean away, he observes Paul’s intent fixation on his hollowing cheeks and feels his self-consciousness evaporate.
“Avec plaisir, monsieur Smith.”
Title: Strawberries & Cream.
Author: Kathryn aka stickyhips___.
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen, m’afraid.
Fandom: We Are Scientists/Maxïmo Park.
Pairing: Keith Murray/Paul Smith.
Rating: R.
Summary: I’m sure you can imagine.
Word Count: 710.
Notes: None. Haha, I can never eat strawberries & cream and keep a straight face now.
Keith wonders that if a scent will affect the way something tastes, then, is it possible for the other senses to do the same? For he is certain that the sight of Paul wearing only that fitted blue Sonic Youth t-shirt and snug black boxer shorts does. The chime of laughter besieging his ears and the intense spark of skin brushing too, can only heighten the immeasurable feeling he gets when the spoon pushes through his lips, at first the cold metal rattling against his teeth, the only thing he can taste… then, as Paul tilts the spoon, the cream hits the roof of his mouth. Heavenly. He scrapes the strawberry from the spoon, biting down on the fruit - the bittersweet crunch with a light, fluffy façade of cream. Eloquent, he is, as he eats the dessert. Paul mustn’t see him with any stray traces of said substance around his lips, nor that less-than-graceful way he normally consumes food, which could be a fatal detraction from whatever attractiveness Paul sees in him. Of course, Paul isn’t as implausibly shallow as that. Yet still, Keith feels that in the company of someone held so high in his estimations… well, anybody’s insecurities would be doomed to unravel.
Paul’s persevering with the bowl, plying the spoon with as many chunks of fruit as is possible, letting it screech as he attempts to load the instrument with more than it can cope with - more than is necessary for any one time, even. He’s not in the least bit concerned about the smidgen that escapes and drops weightily onto the sofa, mid-elevation. Paul’s thighs meet Keith’s ribcage, squeezing cosily, the tepid sensation as he leans forward to spoon-feed Keith, and- ohshit, Keith thinks, that was his cock. He glances down at the area marginally north of his own modesty, where the minimal friction - that once again appeared not to faze Paul - took place and caught him unawares. Somewhat foolish of him to stop and think that, for in his distraction he forgot the spoon and now, there’s cream on his nose. Just dandy.
Paul cackles, taking advantage of Keith’s irrational stunned state by tipping the spoon’s remaining contents into his own mouth; continuing to snigger as he does so. None of Keith’s acted grace comes with this - shameless lip licking follows, encouraging the eventual inevitable, bringing it forward. Keith laughs. His fingertips find their way to the tops of Paul’s legs, running just below his hips and over the lesser skin and muscles. Eskimo kiss. Paul blinks doubly hard, casting a veil of mock horror over his face, and the couple collapse into giggles; collapsing into one another - cream-nosed - as Paul whips the crook of his elbow over Keith’s neck and forces the man upon himself, entangling their bodies. Paul’s ankles hook around the small of Keith’s back. This time their lips meet, and what a familiarisation it is - the longing for contact mingling with the determination to prevent a single fragment of the dessert from being wasted. Their tongues roam one another’s mouths savagely, causing breaths to become harsher and more frequent. Opening his eyes for a split second, Keith clocks the bowl slipping gradually from Paul’s grip, and it’s imminence on going everywhere - something that bizarrely concerns him far more than the fact Paul’s cock is digging into him again, this time about ten times as hard, pushing into him with additional pressure. He pulls out of the kiss, bemusing Paul slightly.
“Uh…” he slurs breathlessly, staring intently at Paul’s right hand. Paul looks down, righting the bowl up at once. “…I can think of another way in which we could use that.”
It takes Paul a few moments to grasp what Keith’s getting at, before a filthy smirk is born out of nowhere, sleazily dominating his face.
“Care to demonstrate, kind sir?”
They leer at one another, Keith shifting his legs and forcing his weight down on Paul, ensuring that he’s in a fitting position to take the lead. He raises his index finger to Paul’s nose, swiping away the cream he’d put there earlier and inserts it into his mouth. Sucking it clean away, he observes Paul’s intent fixation on his hollowing cheeks and feels his self-consciousness evaporate.
“Avec plaisir, monsieur Smith.”