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fictionaluntruthsTitle: Whispered Like Promises.
Fandom: Stigma.
Warnings: Age differences.
Characters/couples: Stork/Tit.
Summary: And some nights, before either of them is actually asleep, Tit asks about Stork's scars. The new ones.
Rating: NC17.
Notes: ... I am so easy for kinkmemes.
「Minekura Kazuya Kink Meme」
Whispered Like Promises.
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
"My Skin", Natalie Merchant
And some nights, before either of them is actually asleep, Tit moves and rolls over on top of him, his weight slight on Stork's thighs, sets his hands on Stork's chest.
Do they hurt, Stork? Tit asks, and his fingers move over the skin of his chest carefully, whisper-like despite the roughness on his hands, reaching for the new-old scars, the ones Stalk gave him as a goodbye. There's some light coming from the window, just enough that Stork can see the shape of Tit's face, the shadows playing over his shoulders and chest, where he can guess the old bullet-wound that Tit doesn't talk about and Stork never asks.
Tit's fingers find the bullet scars easily, long used to this. Stork likes closing his eyes as well once he makes sure that Tit is really there, all long limbs and the careful pout of his mouth that remains from his childhood, though Tit's no longer a child. With his eyes closed, Stork moves his hands to Tit's thighs, and his fingertips find the soft skin beneath Tit's shorts, rubbing gently.
Not anymore, Stork tells him, but Tit still moves, slides over, his fingers spreading over Stork's chest, blond hair brushing his chest before he feels Tit's lips moving, searching, and Stork sighs like a storm when Tit's mouth finds the scars, when he traces them gently not with fingers but with his tongue, as if Tit could just erase them like this if he could.
Stork doesn't ask about Tit's scars, knows that Tit doesn't like that. He avoids touching the blunt scar down Tit's side as he moves his hand to take off Tit's shirt, and Tit lets go of him just enough so that Stork can shimmy down both their shorts, Tit's lean weight pressing him against the mattress, the creaking of it an old song that only recently has grown comforting to Stork.
Stork, Tit mutters, and Stork resists the urge to see if Tit's eyes are open or not. He knows the violet blue of them by memory and there is no need to focus on that when Tit's mouth is always changing, when Stork can lean forward and bump his nose against Tit's chin, tilting his head to find his mouth, sucking his tongue and nibbling at his lips, when he can hear the way Tit moans.
And Tit pushes against him, hard against his thigh, the weight of his balls on his thigh and Stork resists the urge to open his eyes to see the way pleasure must look on Tit's face, the way he'd tighten his face, his lips open. He kisses Tit's throat, moves his hands down his back, and he grabs at Tit's ass to grind against him, moving one leg to hook around Tit's waist, and when Tit comes and collapses on top of him, panting, it doesn't take much more than hearing Tit's amazed 'Stork' for him to finish as well.
You'd tell me, right? Tit asks sometimes, after he cleans them both, when the only light is the one that comes from Stork's cigarette, a bright red-and-gold point of nothing as he smokes. If they hurt? You'd tell me, right, Stork?
Tit's fingers move over his chest, and one of them settles over his heart, over the thump-thump-thump of it that exists only for Tit, only for this warmth.
Yeah, he says, taking another drag of the cigarrette.
He doesn't need the light to know that Tit smiles.
Fandom: Stigma.
Warnings: Age differences.
Characters/couples: Stork/Tit.
Summary: And some nights, before either of them is actually asleep, Tit asks about Stork's scars. The new ones.
Rating: NC17.
Notes: ... I am so easy for kinkmemes.
Whispered Like Promises.
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
"My Skin", Natalie Merchant
And some nights, before either of them is actually asleep, Tit moves and rolls over on top of him, his weight slight on Stork's thighs, sets his hands on Stork's chest.
Do they hurt, Stork? Tit asks, and his fingers move over the skin of his chest carefully, whisper-like despite the roughness on his hands, reaching for the new-old scars, the ones Stalk gave him as a goodbye. There's some light coming from the window, just enough that Stork can see the shape of Tit's face, the shadows playing over his shoulders and chest, where he can guess the old bullet-wound that Tit doesn't talk about and Stork never asks.
Tit's fingers find the bullet scars easily, long used to this. Stork likes closing his eyes as well once he makes sure that Tit is really there, all long limbs and the careful pout of his mouth that remains from his childhood, though Tit's no longer a child. With his eyes closed, Stork moves his hands to Tit's thighs, and his fingertips find the soft skin beneath Tit's shorts, rubbing gently.
Not anymore, Stork tells him, but Tit still moves, slides over, his fingers spreading over Stork's chest, blond hair brushing his chest before he feels Tit's lips moving, searching, and Stork sighs like a storm when Tit's mouth finds the scars, when he traces them gently not with fingers but with his tongue, as if Tit could just erase them like this if he could.
Stork doesn't ask about Tit's scars, knows that Tit doesn't like that. He avoids touching the blunt scar down Tit's side as he moves his hand to take off Tit's shirt, and Tit lets go of him just enough so that Stork can shimmy down both their shorts, Tit's lean weight pressing him against the mattress, the creaking of it an old song that only recently has grown comforting to Stork.
Stork, Tit mutters, and Stork resists the urge to see if Tit's eyes are open or not. He knows the violet blue of them by memory and there is no need to focus on that when Tit's mouth is always changing, when Stork can lean forward and bump his nose against Tit's chin, tilting his head to find his mouth, sucking his tongue and nibbling at his lips, when he can hear the way Tit moans.
And Tit pushes against him, hard against his thigh, the weight of his balls on his thigh and Stork resists the urge to open his eyes to see the way pleasure must look on Tit's face, the way he'd tighten his face, his lips open. He kisses Tit's throat, moves his hands down his back, and he grabs at Tit's ass to grind against him, moving one leg to hook around Tit's waist, and when Tit comes and collapses on top of him, panting, it doesn't take much more than hearing Tit's amazed 'Stork' for him to finish as well.
You'd tell me, right? Tit asks sometimes, after he cleans them both, when the only light is the one that comes from Stork's cigarette, a bright red-and-gold point of nothing as he smokes. If they hurt? You'd tell me, right, Stork?
Tit's fingers move over his chest, and one of them settles over his heart, over the thump-thump-thump of it that exists only for Tit, only for this warmth.
Yeah, he says, taking another drag of the cigarrette.
He doesn't need the light to know that Tit smiles.
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