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fellowshippers2002-10-01 03:11 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/nixxie_/) wrote in fellowshippers2002-10-01 03:11 pm
RPS Fic: Dark nights - Wanker, NC17, Craig/his thoughts
(Re-worked a little, posting on LJ for the first time)
Title: Dark nights - Wanker
Author: Nixxie
Pairing: Craig/his thoughts
Rating: NC 17
Archive: Beyond the fellowship and anywhere else that asks nicely.
E-mail address for feedback: nix@nixxe.co.uk
Disclaimers: Don’t own him, or his good right hand! Dunno if he’s ever done this…but then if he hasn’t he probably would’ve exploded by now!
Brief Summary: Craig’s thoughts whilst wanking…well, just read on to find out who he thinks about.
Craig stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the sky, black with few stars and more clouds. He’d come here camping tonight, not planned, just…the woods were calling him, and he had to get out. So he did. And here he was, blanket and sleeping bag under him, and night sky above.
His mind wandered to the last few weeks of filming, Helm’s deep was finally over, a rest now before filming began anew. It’d been tiring, but he’d met so many new people, made so many new friends old and young. New faces and bodies, he’d had the opportunity to appreciate some of those bodies in close detail, and others he just longed for.
He stood quickly and pulled all his clothes off, his body suddenly feeling very hot in the night air. This wood was secluded enough not to worry about nocturnal visitors. He lay back down, one hand under his head, the other lazily stroking his forming erection, just thinking, picturing bodies and faces.
Orli. Craig smiled, why was this always the first face that came to mind? So fresh and energetic, the epitome of youthful vigour, so much to give and so many to give it to. Craig’s thoughts were of fumblings in deserted sets and quite corners of clubs and pubs, Orlando was thoughts of vodka and cigarettes, of shaving razors and spicy cologne, of colour-blind shirts and delight and enjoyment. Craig felt his now hard erection twitch in appreciation of such mental ramblings.
Karl. Dark and well formed, vigorous with stamina to match, thoughts of Karl were filled with white sheets and morning coffee, pressured kisses and steady hands trailing over firm skin. Karl was knowing smiles at late script run-throughs and trying to concentrate on the road on the way home. Karl was white T-shirts and black trousers, and lips and kisses over heated skin. Craig changed the angle of his wrist, eyes now shut, deep in thought. His hand slowed as the next face popped into his head.
Billy. Billy was laughter and shared pints and trembling neediness. Billy made him think of going out to see plays and talking for hours of lines and pace. He was scotch and jokes and blowjobs in toilets. He was trailers and wardrobes in make-up and stolen bliss in hidden spaces. Craig’s hand now covered hot hard skin, pace fast and frantic. A moan escaped Craig’s mouth into the night air as he thought of the next face, that of Viggo.
Viggo was open spaces and the smell of leaves and being pressed into hard bark and once under a waterfall in rainy splendour. Viggo was foreign mutterings as essence flowed, Viggo was forceful and demanding and giving and delicate. He was impulsive behaviour but sorrowful remembering. He was inky fingers and spirit coated hands, he was forest floors and bleak moors and sand and salt and tangy flavoured. Craig brought his hand up to his face and licked his palm, tasting himself on it. The hand returned to his now aching need, pace faster and eyes screwed shut as the next face filled closed lids.
Harry. Thoughts of Harry were hard and fast and trembling knees and carpet burns and aching wrists. Harry was dark nights and passion filled showers. He was bedposts and port and skin on fire. Harry was knots and sure fingers and wet patches. He made Craig ache with remembered kisses through the night, needing release but having to ask. Harry was thorough and absolute and demanding. Craig pumped harder now, his thumb pressing onto leaking tip, sensations raging.
And then he thought of one untouched, one seemingly unobtainable but wanting. Elijah. Thoughts of Elijah were tender and longing. Staring upon him unseen and seeing others do the same. Elijah was sharp and appetising, open smiles and hidden glimpses. And young. Craig’s other hand trailed down his chest to abdomen and thighs, coming to a stop cupping balls, massaging whilst wrist found angles anew and pumped harder, pace faster, thumb flicking over as brown curls and cheeky grins filled his thoughts. Elijah, not so naïve and unsure as people thought, older than his years, a flirty teaser, only having to ask once to receive, but never getting asked in return. Craig thought of times he wished he’d asked, times he’d hoped and dreamed of blue eyes. His skin slapped harder and harder as shining light eyes filled his mind, that did it, every time.
He groaned loud as hot juices escaped, jumped and fell onto shuddering skin. A long held breath escaped and heartbeat resumed as hands stilled.
Those eyes seemed to seep into Craig’s thoughts too often these days, he craved to see them closer, see them open after solid sleep, see them close as lips found each other. Craig’s mind flitted to new scenes to film as his hand found stickiness and brought it to lips, sucking greedily. New scenes, more new people, new faces to know. And maybe, just maybe he’d find the courage to ask an old friend, an old soul stuck in a new body.
With neon eyes.
Title: Dark nights - Wanker
Author: Nixxie
Pairing: Craig/his thoughts
Rating: NC 17
Archive: Beyond the fellowship and anywhere else that asks nicely.
E-mail address for feedback: nix@nixxe.co.uk
Disclaimers: Don’t own him, or his good right hand! Dunno if he’s ever done this…but then if he hasn’t he probably would’ve exploded by now!
Brief Summary: Craig’s thoughts whilst wanking…well, just read on to find out who he thinks about.
Craig stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the sky, black with few stars and more clouds. He’d come here camping tonight, not planned, just…the woods were calling him, and he had to get out. So he did. And here he was, blanket and sleeping bag under him, and night sky above.
His mind wandered to the last few weeks of filming, Helm’s deep was finally over, a rest now before filming began anew. It’d been tiring, but he’d met so many new people, made so many new friends old and young. New faces and bodies, he’d had the opportunity to appreciate some of those bodies in close detail, and others he just longed for.
He stood quickly and pulled all his clothes off, his body suddenly feeling very hot in the night air. This wood was secluded enough not to worry about nocturnal visitors. He lay back down, one hand under his head, the other lazily stroking his forming erection, just thinking, picturing bodies and faces.
Orli. Craig smiled, why was this always the first face that came to mind? So fresh and energetic, the epitome of youthful vigour, so much to give and so many to give it to. Craig’s thoughts were of fumblings in deserted sets and quite corners of clubs and pubs, Orlando was thoughts of vodka and cigarettes, of shaving razors and spicy cologne, of colour-blind shirts and delight and enjoyment. Craig felt his now hard erection twitch in appreciation of such mental ramblings.
Karl. Dark and well formed, vigorous with stamina to match, thoughts of Karl were filled with white sheets and morning coffee, pressured kisses and steady hands trailing over firm skin. Karl was knowing smiles at late script run-throughs and trying to concentrate on the road on the way home. Karl was white T-shirts and black trousers, and lips and kisses over heated skin. Craig changed the angle of his wrist, eyes now shut, deep in thought. His hand slowed as the next face popped into his head.
Billy. Billy was laughter and shared pints and trembling neediness. Billy made him think of going out to see plays and talking for hours of lines and pace. He was scotch and jokes and blowjobs in toilets. He was trailers and wardrobes in make-up and stolen bliss in hidden spaces. Craig’s hand now covered hot hard skin, pace fast and frantic. A moan escaped Craig’s mouth into the night air as he thought of the next face, that of Viggo.
Viggo was open spaces and the smell of leaves and being pressed into hard bark and once under a waterfall in rainy splendour. Viggo was foreign mutterings as essence flowed, Viggo was forceful and demanding and giving and delicate. He was impulsive behaviour but sorrowful remembering. He was inky fingers and spirit coated hands, he was forest floors and bleak moors and sand and salt and tangy flavoured. Craig brought his hand up to his face and licked his palm, tasting himself on it. The hand returned to his now aching need, pace faster and eyes screwed shut as the next face filled closed lids.
Harry. Thoughts of Harry were hard and fast and trembling knees and carpet burns and aching wrists. Harry was dark nights and passion filled showers. He was bedposts and port and skin on fire. Harry was knots and sure fingers and wet patches. He made Craig ache with remembered kisses through the night, needing release but having to ask. Harry was thorough and absolute and demanding. Craig pumped harder now, his thumb pressing onto leaking tip, sensations raging.
And then he thought of one untouched, one seemingly unobtainable but wanting. Elijah. Thoughts of Elijah were tender and longing. Staring upon him unseen and seeing others do the same. Elijah was sharp and appetising, open smiles and hidden glimpses. And young. Craig’s other hand trailed down his chest to abdomen and thighs, coming to a stop cupping balls, massaging whilst wrist found angles anew and pumped harder, pace faster, thumb flicking over as brown curls and cheeky grins filled his thoughts. Elijah, not so naïve and unsure as people thought, older than his years, a flirty teaser, only having to ask once to receive, but never getting asked in return. Craig thought of times he wished he’d asked, times he’d hoped and dreamed of blue eyes. His skin slapped harder and harder as shining light eyes filled his mind, that did it, every time.
He groaned loud as hot juices escaped, jumped and fell onto shuddering skin. A long held breath escaped and heartbeat resumed as hands stilled.
Those eyes seemed to seep into Craig’s thoughts too often these days, he craved to see them closer, see them open after solid sleep, see them close as lips found each other. Craig’s mind flitted to new scenes to film as his hand found stickiness and brought it to lips, sucking greedily. New scenes, more new people, new faces to know. And maybe, just maybe he’d find the courage to ask an old friend, an old soul stuck in a new body.
With neon eyes.