Aw, nuthin’ too special - jus’ the 2010 V8 Camaro 2SS.
She’s got uh Tremec six-speed manual transmission, Brembo brakes with four-piston aluminum calipers, uh 245 watt Boston Acoustic stereo system with nine speakers, heated leather seats, an’ with uh s-type Borla catback awn th’exhaust, she’d have uh purr like uh goddamn sabertooth tiger.
TELL ME SHE AIN’T BEAUTIFUL.
Imagine Person A of your OTP nyehing sensually in Person B’s ear.
When Ellis had been a boy, he’d wanted a horse of his own to ride to school on instead of the bus.
His grandfather had owned a horse ranch before he was born, and pictures of his mother on various mounts lingered in the photo albums his grandmother had let him pour over in his grandparents’ living room. The ranch had fallen through after a tourist had snapped his neck, and Ellis come into the world with a grandpa who dabbled in banking instead of majestic beasts. The boy’s disappointment was profound.
[Been out of the writing loop for a lil bit, here’s some wee drabbles for warm-up practice I did.]
Doing something domestic.
Ellis was once more apt to leave his clean clothes piled somewhere than put forth the effort of folding or hanging them up, but this poor habit was assuaged by Keith’s presence after the redhead moved in. The pair would make an afternoon every other week of going through the wash and sorting and folding it all to be halved between their houses. Tedious though the task was, splitting the effort and chatting their way through made the act tolerable, if not enjoyable, and Ellis rapidly abandoned former distaste for folding to instead enjoy the chore with Keith beside him, elbows-deep in dryer-heated fabrics and hangers.
Y’know yew got uh awful lottuh questions about mah breakfast drinks, miss.
Anyhow, Ah got loads of experience with m’KAWC, so Ah don’t choke none. Who th’heck chokes awn orange juice? An’ Ah ain’t much fer sharin’ drinks with anybody but Keith cus, c’mon man, cooties. An’ Ah don’t reckon he cares much, we don’t always check up awn eachothers’ blogs so he prolly ain’t even seen.
Oh-ho, Ah see wut yew think yer doin’ there, anon. Yew think yer real’ smart, askin’ me how Ah’d feel if Ah wus Overalls and Nick kept visitin’ his friends when Ah told’im no, am Ah right?
Well lookie here, man. When Keith wus jealous, wanted me tuh quit visitin’ Nick s’much, Ah told’im no. Cus Ah wusn’t doin’ uh damn thang wrong an’ that wus mah best friend who fixed me up when Ah didn’t know how tuh be mahself no more. Yew don’t ask sumbody tuh quit seein’ their best friend cus yer jealous. Yew work awn trust an’ helpin’ ‘em git along.
Tuh be honest, them lines kinduh blurred fer awhile, an’ Ah wusn’t uh real’ good friend tuh Nick. But we’re awl workin’ awn it now.
Findin’ yer soulmate’s th’most important thang yew can do in life, man. That’s th’person yer gonnuh spend th’rest uh yer days with – yer gonnuh write yer life’s story tuhgether. But yew don’t fergit th’folks who kept yew company awn th’way, an’ that’s yer friends.
Well, heck, a’course! Back when Ah wus real’ down awl th’time, Ah wudn’t really workin’ no more an’ me an’ Nick usetuh jus’ lay around bein’ sad. Ain’t no way fer nobody tuh live.
He still takes like uh million naps erryday an’ gits sore when yuh wake ‘im up, an’ he’s too old fer sleepin’ like uh baby awl goddamn day. Awl ‘e does is sleep an’ mope an’ it ain’t no good.
AnonymousKeith had been amicable in his agreement, in part because it seemed to have taken Ellis weeks – if not months – to gather the gumption to ask for it, his bashfulness and lowered eyes stoking the predator in Keith’s slow smirk and subsequent chuckle. He drank through a bottle of water before their shower, the urge to piss building quickly as they soaped up and kissed beneath the spray, Ellis dutiful in rinsing Keith off before sliding to his knees, the showerhead averted to avoid splattering him. There was still a trickle of suds on Ellis’s chest when Keith angled his dick to Ellis’s parted lips, dripping slowly down to his rigidly stiff dick, encircling the base with soap froth. “In yer mouth?” Keith asked curiously, watching Ellis’s eyes drift half-lidded over glossed gray, the younger mechanic keeping his splayed hands on the bottom of the tub as he inched closer to Keith.
“Awn mah face, too,” Ellis mumbled thickly, his voice an aroused rasp, “In mah hair –”
The first of the gold-tinged splatter caught Ellis across his plush lower lip, piss dribbling down his chin and subsequently in his open mouth as he tipped his head up; the heat poured across his face, running in rivets across his features and – ask requested – soaking some of his hair. The scent was strong and immediate, sharp like butter and salt and stinging like ammonia, and Ellis shuddered softly as he fisted his cock. Keith pressed the head of his flaccid dick to El’s mouth as the drizzle lessened, allowing the brunette to swallow down his piss with noisy, reverent gulps, his tongue chasing the very last pungent drop from the slit with a whimper for the loss.
“Fuck,” Ellis gasped with feeling, writhing into his fingers as he panted, still licking at Keith’s dick as piss rolled down the sides of his face from his hair, “Fuck, Christ, yeah. Fuck mah mouth.”
Intrigued by the loss of coherent sentences so quickly from his partner, Keith allowed Ellis to swallow him down again, the redhead curling his fingers in El’s curls to hold him in place as he fucked his slack lips. Ellis gulped and choked and looked absolutely wrecked for it, wrists coming up to cross behind his back to show his submission as Keith’s thickening dick hit the back of his throat and Ellis’s eyes teared where they lifted to watch him in awe.
Piss rolled down the younger Georgian’s temple, and impulsively, Keith reached down and smeared it over his fingers, tucking the digits into El’s mouth alongside his cock. Ellis whined loudly for it, shuddering as his now untouched cock spattered precum on the bottom of the tub, and sucked at the wide wedge of his mouthful with nothing but red-faced eagerness and worship.
When Ellis was fifteen, he watched the towers crumble on the news and thought, “damn, that looks cool!” until the footage began to show the stunned, soot-covered faces of survivors who’d been blocks away and barely escaped with their lives. Horror began to curl its fingers tight in his gut as he watched people fall, their outlines mere specks against a sky of smoke and fire as they flung themselves to the angels to escape the oppressive heat and toppling structure. When Ellis was fifteen, he’d clutched Heather in his arms listened to her sob as trembling voices filled the television and the radio, devastated families asking why as politicians struggled not to break under the weight of confusion and sadness as they addressed their people. When Ellis was fifteen, and the truth had unfurled in the days following 9/11, he’d watched Heather wash her face of tears and uncertainty and tell the mirror she would join the military and hunt down the people who had brought this to her country.
When Ellis was twenty-six, he called his exgirlfriend to find her back home for the first time since the apocalypse, her last tour over and her fiancé’s murmurs in the background. She’d been home a few months and Ellis could hear the hardness in her voice as she described going back overseas after the green flu had been smoked out, how her job hadn’t been over and it had been baffling to fight men again when she’d been fighting monsters on home soil. Men driven by passion and faith instead of illness and violence; and yet, she said, the wars had felt the same. Protecting people against a force she’d never understand.
“It ain’t over,” Heather said softly, and Ellis could hear the quietest hint of the tears she’d said goodbye to over a decade before, “It’ll never be over.”
Because as they spoke, the television was still playing the memorial footage; families were still recounting their losses, remembering fathers who’d kissed their children goodbye and perished in the fall, girlfriends who’d made one last call as they ran down the stairs and prayed aloud to their partners, passersby who’d been caught in the falling debris just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The memories were still haunting. Terrible things had happened years later, and yet, it was the betrayal of men against men that made the act so terrible compared to the green flu; it was that there was no brain-eroding virus to cause the hijackers to take lives, no animalistic drive for violence that had led to the slaughter of thousands. Thousands who would never come back regardless of the vengeance sought in their name.
In weeks, it would be the third anniversary of the green flu and all its suffering, but today, Ellis sat and listened to the second greatest tragedy in American history, and mourned.
[It’s been so long, and there are still no words.]
[This ended up more blowjob appetite than centering on cum, oops]
Though Ellis had never been with another man before Keith and had no intention of experimenting with others now – and thus had nothing to compare to – he felt that Keith had not only a fantastic dick but rather tasty cum.
His dick didn’t curve much when erect, and its only blemish was the thick patch of a circumcision scar beneath the head, branching out into a series of fine veins that pulsed along the underside. He was just pale enough naturally that his dick took on a ruddy hue when erect, based by a thatch of dark red pubic hair that Ellis often nuzzled into when deep-throating his length. Because of the redhead’s meat and potatoes styled diet, his cum was thick and salty, dense enough to choke Ellis if he didn’t swallow his load quickly. Its bitter aftertaste was a lot like the soy sauce they often doused their sushi with.
Impromptu blowjobs were frequent in their household, particularly during long movies or video game sessions involving single player mechanics. Ellis seemed to enjoy perching himself between Keith’s knees and sucking him down noisily, content in being of service while Keith gripped his hair and either ignored the movie or struggled through to the next level on his game. His plush lips were something of a nirvana for Keith, a heaven he indulged in with groaned reverence and growled orders for more, faster, harder, helplessly in need of the velvet heat of his tongue and the trembling clutch of the top of his throat.
They were a surprise good morning, a soothing it will be okay after a difficult day, a spontaneous I love you in public; but the brunette also treated them like a meal, often following up with a beer and a contented sigh of satisfaction as he rolled his tongue along the roof of his mouth to relive the bitter tang. His appetite had not dwindled after nine long months of frequent fellatio, and as he sat on the couch afternoon after afternoon with his knees open, enjoying a post-blowjob beer, Keith marveled at the luck he had in having a boyfriend with a love of licking up every last marbled drip of cum with nothing but a smile for it.
Pardon Day is today. Its an opportunity to seek forgiveness where needed. Today is also a day to say “Pardon Me”, or Excuse Me” as appropriate. In today’s busy society, too many people race about their lives, forgetting the small courtesies.
“Go give it tuh daddy, go awn!” encouraged Ellis in a slightly higher pitch, his border collie mix giving him a thoughtful look before trotting over to the couch where his older master lay pouting. He placed the basket from his jaw onto the floor, giving its handle a nudge with his nose to draw attention to it, tail wagging hopefully.
He had chewed through another pair of boots and assembled their ruins at the door, tripping Keith up and pissing the man off so thoroughly even Ellis – who noted the dog had assumed it was okay since Keith left the shoes out – was in trouble. The redhead glanced at the basket and – in seeing the freshly baked and only slightly burnt muffins inside – smiled.
“Tell daddy how sorry we are,” Ellis said firmly, and Riggs dropped into a crouch, rolling over onto his back and playing dead with his tongue protruding just slightly from his mouth. His tail wagged. “We’re real’ sorry,” Ellis confirmed bashfully, one hand behind his head as he grinned crookedly at his lover.
“C’mere, shortcake,” Keith murmured, arm lifting in offer of cuddles on the couch, and Ellis accepted with Riggs at their feet.
Neither Rain Nor Snow Day celebrates the opening of the New York Post Office building on this day in 1914. This following inscription was inscribed on the building: ”Neither snow nor rain not heat nor gloom of night, stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
Rain splattered the dining room window in a constant, blurred rush, illuminated by the headlights of passing cars that brought with them the whoosh of tires through accumulated puddles. Ellis sat with his forehead pressed to the pane, squinting at the multicolored smear of the outside world, disappointment in the unhappy slant of his lips. “Guess it’s more rain than snow tuhday,” he noted morosely. “An’ awl we got wus junkmail.”
Now yew listen here. That muthuhfucker done beat th’hell outtuh mah best friend; Ah chased his sorry ass off cus he wus uh no good asshole, not cus Ah wanted tuh make Nick single again. Pissed me off tuh see th’guy so sad an’ sorry over awl that crap he went through with Overalls but Ah’m not sum kinduh homewrecker, man. Ah wudn’t gonnuh threaten’im over uh couple’uh fights – it wus cus he laid his hands awn’im. Ah wus pickin’ up pieces bah sendin’ his ass packin’.
Nick’s mah buddy, a’course Ah’m gonnuh be there. Ah mightuh screwed up a’fore bah not stickin’ around tuh be uh good friend but it ain’t happenin’ again.
Yew can take that shit tuh th’bank an’ cash it.
Fight Procrastination Day is today. It’s a day to get things done, a call to action.
“Tuhday’s Fight Procrastination Day,” Ellis noted during their lunch hour, perched in Keith’s lap as they enjoyed sandwiches to the chorus of rain on the garage’s roof. “Yer s’posed tuh do summin tuh celebrate.” He munched cheerfully, leaning back into his boyfriend’s chest. “Like shit we been puttin’ off.”
“We’ll do it later,” said Keith, and that was the end of that.
[ account is an ask blog for a fan interpretation of Ellis of Left4Dead2 ]
[ questions are generally answered with fic/drabbles]
[ posts are often NSFW ]
[ tags are currently under renovation ]
