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fellowshippers2008-09-23 08:17 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2008-09-23 08:17 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Reprendre au Début
Title: Reprendre au Début
Author: Viktoria Angelique (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
v_angelique)
Pairing: KU/VM; KU/MO/VM
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: In no way remotely approaching truth
Prompt: For that pay it forward meme a million years ago,rawiyaparand made the following request: "I would like a story, please. With boys. And kissing. And maybe a pretty girl. And then more kissing. And naughty touching. Or you could write about butterflies and daffodils."
Summary: See prompt. Add porn. Stir.
Beep
There's this butterfly garden.
It's out near that one Italian restaurant that you and Harry went to that time you were in LA. We should go next time you're in town.
But then, I might not be in town.
I don’t know.
Did you ever notice that Miranda smells really nice?
She smells kind of musky. I think it's because she doesn't shave her underarms.
Beep
Viggo's house in Idaho had a little garden out in the front, except it wasn't really a garden, because all that grew there were daffodils. Hundreds and hundreds of daffodils. Karl asked him about it once, and Viggo told him that daffodils made everyone happy. Even the most grumpy postman, the most disgruntled guest, would smile when they saw the daffodils. Viggo smiled when he saw the daffodils. Karl smiled when he and Viggo got into a wrestling match on the sidewalk and fell onto the daffodils, crushing several, but that's neither here nor there.
It was a weird sort of coincidence that they all showed up in Toronto at the same time, for three separate reasons, but nonetheless in the same city, for one night only. They walked around, and managed to stay incognito, and in the afternoon they went to see Niagara Falls because Viggo promised it was best from the Canadian side, and in the evening they found a stand that sold nothing but poutine and they shared a single serving of it, gravy and melting curds of cheese dripping from their chins. Karl hadn't been this happy in a long time, and it was only natural to want to continue the evening, to find an off-license and a bottle of wine and carry on with the party in Viggo's hotel room.
No one was drunk, really. There wasn't that excuse. Miranda had playfully lifted her foot up onto Viggo's thigh; that was how it had started. He had begun to rub Miranda's calf with his fingers, and Karl's eyes drifted to and locked in on that massage, on Viggo's strong fingers that were never quite clean but knew exactly what to do, whatever it was they were doing. And sometimes it was just a massage, occasionally it had been just a massage, even between the two of them. Despite the heat, despite the almost angry and certainly explosive creative tension that usually ended in fantastic and dirty sex, they could make it just a massage.
Tonight would not just be a massage. Karl could see it in Viggo's fingers.
"You know what that reminds me of?" Miranda said, out of the blue.
"What?" Viggo asked, with his lazy, playful smile, that feline look that make Karl's cock jump in his trousers.
"Masturbation," Miranda said clearly, watching the rhythm of his fingers. Karl nearly spit out his wine.
Well, yeah, sure, that's what he'd been thinking too, that was the teasing rhythm that he could remember all too well from the last time he had his fingers on a woman's clit – and after the baby had been born, well, it had been a while – but he wasn't going to say it. Miranda had always been brazen, though. He liked that about her. Apparently Viggo did too.
For a good minute, Karl just watched, very nearly slackjawed. He watched as Viggo's grin became more feral, as Miranda met it with her own cheerful, open smile. He watched as Viggo gently released her leg, let it slip down, stood from his chair and straddled her own. He watched as he cupped her face firmly in his hands, as he claimed her mouth as if he had a right to it, and he listened as she moaned, watched as she kissed back. He watched her writhe up, clutch his shirt, and give as good as she got, hiking her leg up on his hip, pulling his lip with her teeth. Karl's eyes dropped back down and traveled from her ankle to her thigh, exposed entirely, the skirt only just concealing what colour knickers she was wearing.
Suddenly, that was a piece of trivia Karl really wanted to know.
"Fuck," he whispered, rising from his own chair, and both of them turned and grinned at him, and he had to have them. Had to have them, now, right now, yesterday. He stalked across the room in a few short steps and grabbed Viggo by the chin, and kissed him hard. He didn't stop kissing him until Miranda was making little noises in her throat, and he could feel the movement of her leg against his own. Then he tugged Viggo up by one arm, and was about to grab Miranda as well when the little vixen sprung from her chair and shoved Karl against the wall, slamming her body into his and kissing the breath out of him, her thigh effectively rubbing him to hardness. She was little, yeah, but she wasn't so insubstantial as she looked, and fuck if that wasn't a gorgeous thing.
Though he knew it was a bad idea, he whispered "slut" against her lips with a smile to let her know that he was kidding, because he wanted to see how she'd react. What he got was a hand to the balls, squeezing so hard a few tears came to his eyes, and then a shove to his knees with both hands on his shoulders.
"Yes," she agreed, tugging her skirt up and her knickers down – navy blue, well, now he knew – before grabbing the back of his head and pushing his nose into the wet heat of her. "You are."
It had been a while, but he was dizzy with the thrill of it, with the sharp scent he had always loved and the chance to taste a woman he'd maybe never considered quite fully before that message on his answering machine. He started with the divide between her labia, long slow licks, barely penetrating, tasting her juices and not even minding the way she rubbed her clit against his nose. That was fine. Karl liked dirty. He didn't have compunctions about sex; he just liked to fuck.
Soon enough, Viggo got tired of watching, and he stood with his boots on either side of Karl's legs, pressing himself against the back of Karl's head – and yeah, that was new, but he was okay with this angle, okay with being stuck between them. As being stuck goes, he decided, this was not a bad situation on the whole.
"Dirty fucking slut," Miranda muttered, and he'd go with it because it turned her on, but it was a little of the other as well, a little bit of "fuck yeah" as Viggo gripped his shoulders hard and Miranda gripped his head and he felt his muscles start to relax, his body start to give in to direction.
After a minute, he could hear them kissing above him – sloppy, wet kissing that made him grow even harder and wish he could look up from this position. He couldn't, so he imagined it, and that was almost as good. It was another minute before Miranda pulled back, and Viggo tugged him to his feet and kissed him full on the mouth, clearly not bothered by the state of his face.
"I want him to fuck you," Miranda purred in Karl's ear. "And I want you to eat me out while he's doing it and if you're good, you can keep going and then you can fuck me after he comes." Viggo had to grab Karl's shoulders with both hands for support.
"Gorgeous," Miranda whispered, grabbing a fistful of Karl's hair and tugging his head back onto her shoulder as he still slumped slightly against Viggo, taking a big 'ole bite out of his neck. He cried out, and his vision blurred slightly, and Viggo held him fast, not letting him drop. When she let go Viggo guided him to the bed, and he searched drunkenly for Viggo's lips, sighing into the kiss, letting himself be manipulated and stripped and laid out for them.
Viggo retrieved the lube from a suitcase and knelt on the bed to prepare him, and Miranda stood at the corner of it and propped one small foot up on the mattress, her hand rubbing slowly so that Karl could see the light brown hair of her mound, neatly trimmed, and her peach-gloss fingernails. He moaned at the breach of a rougher, stronger finger, slick with lube and twisting up inside him, and he lost the ability to concentrate and let his eyes fall shut, his hands reaching up for the headboard. He wished for the ornate woodwork of Viggo's bed, for something to really grab onto, but settled for the plain slab of laminate and turned his hands to grip the top edge of it, his forearms flexing as if he were going for a chin-up.
"Sweet," Viggo mumbled. Two fingers. A moan from Miranda. Karl tipped his chin up, reaching, and when he opened his eyes Miranda's slim hand was on Viggo's chest, not letting him tip forward. There was the hint of protest in his eyes – Karl's lover, his protector, and his heart surged for a moment with things unsaid and unseen and revealed now only tangentially through Miranda's fantasy – and then Viggo relented and Miranda crawled up on the mattress instead, catching Karl's lips as Viggo's fingers worked mechanically, as Karl spread his legs and dug into the duvet with his toes.
"Fucking natural at it," Miranda whispered against his lips. He was fully submerged in the weight of what she imagined him to be and he let himself, because this was dangerous and new and most of all temporary, an orbitless free-float that he would attempt because he knew gravity would inevitably return. He played the part well, seeking out her lips, opening up, warm and pliant. When Viggo pronounced him ready, he let himself be rolled sideways onto his front, and she sat on the pillows like a throne and he rested his chin upon them and licked her in intense little flicks, smelling and tasting the change in her arousal and knowing she'd be ready for something harder now. Indeed, she moaned her approval, and snickered at his yelp, the unrestrained cry as Viggo entered him.
Viggo grunted and shifted his hips a little to adjust, lifted Karl's to correct the angle and then pressed into Karl's skin just a bit harder with his fingers, calibrating a centre. Karl moaned for him, licked for her, nibbled slightly and felt the tug in his hair and then the whimper that oh yes, this was a very good thing.
Her hips began to rock and he flattened his tongue to accommodate the motion, losing precision but maintaining pressure. Viggo fucked him relentlessly, and there was tension and a short panting breath behind him that Karl zeroed in on, that kept him from being completely weightless but did not quite rise to discomfort. Viggo was okay. If he weren't, Karl would know. He trusted that.
When Miranda came, Viggo wasn't nearly done, and frankly Karl's tongue could have used a rest, but he didn't stop because he wanted to come. He wanted to come rather badly, in fact, and Miranda's message had been clear. So he lapped gently at her, avoiding direct pressure, and let himself be subsumed by the familiar rhythm of Viggo in his arse, knowing a moment before he came that it was coming, that he was coming, the nuances of that jerk and that little hitch in Viggo's breath long-since memorised. He hummed and moaned with his nose in Miranda's pubic hair, and the muffled sound still resonated and Viggo grunted as he came, though much more reserved than usual.
"Mmm," Miranda hummed, stretching her arms lazily above her head and tilting her pelvis up against Karl's face, letting her hand fall to his hair and stroking gently. "Good boy. You may fuck me now," she declared with a little smirk.
He nodded and knelt up, let Viggo slip out of him, but still he glanced back, raising his eyebrows. Viggo smiled and leaned forward and kissed him hard, gripping the back of his neck. Karl teetered slightly and then found his balance, breathing a sigh of relief into Viggo's lips. Later. Yours. Yours.
Viggo smiled his understanding, gave Karl's neck a last squeeze, and turned him, into Miranda, into the waiting heat of her. Karl groaned as Viggo's fingers rolled the condom on, and he pressed his face into her neck as he drove slowly forward. One hand supported her lower back, the other hand groped blindly for Viggo's, and they held hands on the pillow as he fucked her, eyes closed, mouth open, whimpering his pleasure.
"Lovely," Miranda murmured, and when Karl looked she was touching Viggo's face, smiling at him and then at Karl, looking between the two of them, almost maternal. So she was witness to a secret – if not the two of them, the content of the two of them, the strength of it. But Viggo was not bothered, he could see, and neither was he, and she was good and sweet and her cunt was a lovely thing, hot and wet and clenching. He came with a groan and kissed her chastely, then reached for Viggo, let himself be pulled into the other man's embrace and cradled and made love to, in the way of a kiss, in the way things can be said without saying.
That was the nature of things.
Beep
I was thinking about your dick Sunday night.
I had my fingers up my ass on the back porch and there was a full moon. There was a bird in that birch tree, too. I think it was a mourning dove.
I miss you. Call me. I'll make toast.
Beep
Author: Viktoria Angelique (
v_angelique)Pairing: KU/VM; KU/MO/VM
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: In no way remotely approaching truth
Prompt: For that pay it forward meme a million years ago,
rawiyaparand made the following request: "I would like a story, please. With boys. And kissing. And maybe a pretty girl. And then more kissing. And naughty touching. Or you could write about butterflies and daffodils."Summary: See prompt. Add porn. Stir.
Beep
There's this butterfly garden.
It's out near that one Italian restaurant that you and Harry went to that time you were in LA. We should go next time you're in town.
But then, I might not be in town.
I don’t know.
Did you ever notice that Miranda smells really nice?
She smells kind of musky. I think it's because she doesn't shave her underarms.
Beep
Viggo's house in Idaho had a little garden out in the front, except it wasn't really a garden, because all that grew there were daffodils. Hundreds and hundreds of daffodils. Karl asked him about it once, and Viggo told him that daffodils made everyone happy. Even the most grumpy postman, the most disgruntled guest, would smile when they saw the daffodils. Viggo smiled when he saw the daffodils. Karl smiled when he and Viggo got into a wrestling match on the sidewalk and fell onto the daffodils, crushing several, but that's neither here nor there.
It was a weird sort of coincidence that they all showed up in Toronto at the same time, for three separate reasons, but nonetheless in the same city, for one night only. They walked around, and managed to stay incognito, and in the afternoon they went to see Niagara Falls because Viggo promised it was best from the Canadian side, and in the evening they found a stand that sold nothing but poutine and they shared a single serving of it, gravy and melting curds of cheese dripping from their chins. Karl hadn't been this happy in a long time, and it was only natural to want to continue the evening, to find an off-license and a bottle of wine and carry on with the party in Viggo's hotel room.
No one was drunk, really. There wasn't that excuse. Miranda had playfully lifted her foot up onto Viggo's thigh; that was how it had started. He had begun to rub Miranda's calf with his fingers, and Karl's eyes drifted to and locked in on that massage, on Viggo's strong fingers that were never quite clean but knew exactly what to do, whatever it was they were doing. And sometimes it was just a massage, occasionally it had been just a massage, even between the two of them. Despite the heat, despite the almost angry and certainly explosive creative tension that usually ended in fantastic and dirty sex, they could make it just a massage.
Tonight would not just be a massage. Karl could see it in Viggo's fingers.
"You know what that reminds me of?" Miranda said, out of the blue.
"What?" Viggo asked, with his lazy, playful smile, that feline look that make Karl's cock jump in his trousers.
"Masturbation," Miranda said clearly, watching the rhythm of his fingers. Karl nearly spit out his wine.
Well, yeah, sure, that's what he'd been thinking too, that was the teasing rhythm that he could remember all too well from the last time he had his fingers on a woman's clit – and after the baby had been born, well, it had been a while – but he wasn't going to say it. Miranda had always been brazen, though. He liked that about her. Apparently Viggo did too.
For a good minute, Karl just watched, very nearly slackjawed. He watched as Viggo's grin became more feral, as Miranda met it with her own cheerful, open smile. He watched as Viggo gently released her leg, let it slip down, stood from his chair and straddled her own. He watched as he cupped her face firmly in his hands, as he claimed her mouth as if he had a right to it, and he listened as she moaned, watched as she kissed back. He watched her writhe up, clutch his shirt, and give as good as she got, hiking her leg up on his hip, pulling his lip with her teeth. Karl's eyes dropped back down and traveled from her ankle to her thigh, exposed entirely, the skirt only just concealing what colour knickers she was wearing.
Suddenly, that was a piece of trivia Karl really wanted to know.
"Fuck," he whispered, rising from his own chair, and both of them turned and grinned at him, and he had to have them. Had to have them, now, right now, yesterday. He stalked across the room in a few short steps and grabbed Viggo by the chin, and kissed him hard. He didn't stop kissing him until Miranda was making little noises in her throat, and he could feel the movement of her leg against his own. Then he tugged Viggo up by one arm, and was about to grab Miranda as well when the little vixen sprung from her chair and shoved Karl against the wall, slamming her body into his and kissing the breath out of him, her thigh effectively rubbing him to hardness. She was little, yeah, but she wasn't so insubstantial as she looked, and fuck if that wasn't a gorgeous thing.
Though he knew it was a bad idea, he whispered "slut" against her lips with a smile to let her know that he was kidding, because he wanted to see how she'd react. What he got was a hand to the balls, squeezing so hard a few tears came to his eyes, and then a shove to his knees with both hands on his shoulders.
"Yes," she agreed, tugging her skirt up and her knickers down – navy blue, well, now he knew – before grabbing the back of his head and pushing his nose into the wet heat of her. "You are."
It had been a while, but he was dizzy with the thrill of it, with the sharp scent he had always loved and the chance to taste a woman he'd maybe never considered quite fully before that message on his answering machine. He started with the divide between her labia, long slow licks, barely penetrating, tasting her juices and not even minding the way she rubbed her clit against his nose. That was fine. Karl liked dirty. He didn't have compunctions about sex; he just liked to fuck.
Soon enough, Viggo got tired of watching, and he stood with his boots on either side of Karl's legs, pressing himself against the back of Karl's head – and yeah, that was new, but he was okay with this angle, okay with being stuck between them. As being stuck goes, he decided, this was not a bad situation on the whole.
"Dirty fucking slut," Miranda muttered, and he'd go with it because it turned her on, but it was a little of the other as well, a little bit of "fuck yeah" as Viggo gripped his shoulders hard and Miranda gripped his head and he felt his muscles start to relax, his body start to give in to direction.
After a minute, he could hear them kissing above him – sloppy, wet kissing that made him grow even harder and wish he could look up from this position. He couldn't, so he imagined it, and that was almost as good. It was another minute before Miranda pulled back, and Viggo tugged him to his feet and kissed him full on the mouth, clearly not bothered by the state of his face.
"I want him to fuck you," Miranda purred in Karl's ear. "And I want you to eat me out while he's doing it and if you're good, you can keep going and then you can fuck me after he comes." Viggo had to grab Karl's shoulders with both hands for support.
"Gorgeous," Miranda whispered, grabbing a fistful of Karl's hair and tugging his head back onto her shoulder as he still slumped slightly against Viggo, taking a big 'ole bite out of his neck. He cried out, and his vision blurred slightly, and Viggo held him fast, not letting him drop. When she let go Viggo guided him to the bed, and he searched drunkenly for Viggo's lips, sighing into the kiss, letting himself be manipulated and stripped and laid out for them.
Viggo retrieved the lube from a suitcase and knelt on the bed to prepare him, and Miranda stood at the corner of it and propped one small foot up on the mattress, her hand rubbing slowly so that Karl could see the light brown hair of her mound, neatly trimmed, and her peach-gloss fingernails. He moaned at the breach of a rougher, stronger finger, slick with lube and twisting up inside him, and he lost the ability to concentrate and let his eyes fall shut, his hands reaching up for the headboard. He wished for the ornate woodwork of Viggo's bed, for something to really grab onto, but settled for the plain slab of laminate and turned his hands to grip the top edge of it, his forearms flexing as if he were going for a chin-up.
"Sweet," Viggo mumbled. Two fingers. A moan from Miranda. Karl tipped his chin up, reaching, and when he opened his eyes Miranda's slim hand was on Viggo's chest, not letting him tip forward. There was the hint of protest in his eyes – Karl's lover, his protector, and his heart surged for a moment with things unsaid and unseen and revealed now only tangentially through Miranda's fantasy – and then Viggo relented and Miranda crawled up on the mattress instead, catching Karl's lips as Viggo's fingers worked mechanically, as Karl spread his legs and dug into the duvet with his toes.
"Fucking natural at it," Miranda whispered against his lips. He was fully submerged in the weight of what she imagined him to be and he let himself, because this was dangerous and new and most of all temporary, an orbitless free-float that he would attempt because he knew gravity would inevitably return. He played the part well, seeking out her lips, opening up, warm and pliant. When Viggo pronounced him ready, he let himself be rolled sideways onto his front, and she sat on the pillows like a throne and he rested his chin upon them and licked her in intense little flicks, smelling and tasting the change in her arousal and knowing she'd be ready for something harder now. Indeed, she moaned her approval, and snickered at his yelp, the unrestrained cry as Viggo entered him.
Viggo grunted and shifted his hips a little to adjust, lifted Karl's to correct the angle and then pressed into Karl's skin just a bit harder with his fingers, calibrating a centre. Karl moaned for him, licked for her, nibbled slightly and felt the tug in his hair and then the whimper that oh yes, this was a very good thing.
Her hips began to rock and he flattened his tongue to accommodate the motion, losing precision but maintaining pressure. Viggo fucked him relentlessly, and there was tension and a short panting breath behind him that Karl zeroed in on, that kept him from being completely weightless but did not quite rise to discomfort. Viggo was okay. If he weren't, Karl would know. He trusted that.
When Miranda came, Viggo wasn't nearly done, and frankly Karl's tongue could have used a rest, but he didn't stop because he wanted to come. He wanted to come rather badly, in fact, and Miranda's message had been clear. So he lapped gently at her, avoiding direct pressure, and let himself be subsumed by the familiar rhythm of Viggo in his arse, knowing a moment before he came that it was coming, that he was coming, the nuances of that jerk and that little hitch in Viggo's breath long-since memorised. He hummed and moaned with his nose in Miranda's pubic hair, and the muffled sound still resonated and Viggo grunted as he came, though much more reserved than usual.
"Mmm," Miranda hummed, stretching her arms lazily above her head and tilting her pelvis up against Karl's face, letting her hand fall to his hair and stroking gently. "Good boy. You may fuck me now," she declared with a little smirk.
He nodded and knelt up, let Viggo slip out of him, but still he glanced back, raising his eyebrows. Viggo smiled and leaned forward and kissed him hard, gripping the back of his neck. Karl teetered slightly and then found his balance, breathing a sigh of relief into Viggo's lips. Later. Yours. Yours.
Viggo smiled his understanding, gave Karl's neck a last squeeze, and turned him, into Miranda, into the waiting heat of her. Karl groaned as Viggo's fingers rolled the condom on, and he pressed his face into her neck as he drove slowly forward. One hand supported her lower back, the other hand groped blindly for Viggo's, and they held hands on the pillow as he fucked her, eyes closed, mouth open, whimpering his pleasure.
"Lovely," Miranda murmured, and when Karl looked she was touching Viggo's face, smiling at him and then at Karl, looking between the two of them, almost maternal. So she was witness to a secret – if not the two of them, the content of the two of them, the strength of it. But Viggo was not bothered, he could see, and neither was he, and she was good and sweet and her cunt was a lovely thing, hot and wet and clenching. He came with a groan and kissed her chastely, then reached for Viggo, let himself be pulled into the other man's embrace and cradled and made love to, in the way of a kiss, in the way things can be said without saying.
That was the nature of things.
Beep
I was thinking about your dick Sunday night.
I had my fingers up my ass on the back porch and there was a full moon. There was a bird in that birch tree, too. I think it was a mourning dove.
I miss you. Call me. I'll make toast.
Beep
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And Karl was very tasty filling in that sandwich!
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Oh, that was great. Very uncommon threesome--I liked it!
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