Fic: Clothing
E-mail: the_smooth_one910@hotmail.com
Rating: R.
Warnings: There be porn, there be angst, there be boy-on-boy angsty porn.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairings: Elijah/?
Summary: A series of unexpected questions


When getting dressed, you didn’t think this would happen, did you? When you went in your closet, and wondered aloud what you could wear that was semi-clean, you didn’t stop to consider that they would end up torn off your body, did you?

No. When Billy came and picked you up, you hadn’t anticipated how you were going to spend your night, did you? You hadn’t realized that when I wasn’t in the car, that I would be arriving later, that you’d end up like this, bent over my lap, my tongue running along your spine, did you?

No. When you and Billy got there, you hadn’t even wondered if you would end up going home alone that night, did you? You didn’t care much, you were just happy to be there with your friends, your mates, your fellow hobbits. The thought hadn’t even occurred to you that within twenty minutes of arriving, you’d be up against a wall, did it? It didn’t even occur to you that within thirty minutes, you’d be begging me to slam into you, to fill you, to completely push my way into your entire being, did it?

No. When you began this day, you didn’t think you’d be finishing out the night pinned underneath me, your nails clawing its way down my back, howling, did you? You hadn’t even suspected that you would end up breathless well into the morning, that you’d be fucked and fucked and fucked until you couldn’t come anymore, did you? It hadn’t seemed likely that you, little Lijah Wood, with your brilliant eyes and your aw-shucks way of walking, would end up begging and writhing for me to pinch you so hard you bruise, grab you so roughly you cry, to bite your nipples so hard they bleed, did it?

No. And when you wake up the next morning, you won’t be expecting me to be gone, will you? You won’t be expecting me, sweet little Dommie, bestest mate in the world, to have utterly left you alone, to have not left a note or breakfast or wake you up with little butterfly kisses, will you? You won’t be expecting that you’re alone, and all you have left of last night are your tattered, ripped clothing, will you?

No.


How many hobbits can we fit in a bed?
This ain't floating my boat!
Home, Jones!


©Violet Sunburn is a product of ©HER MAJESTY PRODUCTIONS, 2000-03