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Nov. 6th, 2002 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceWell, I wrote some of 'The Price You Pay' today. I'm now up to 12 pages, although, admittedly, it's disjointed as hell. Write in a linear fashion? why no, what *does* that mean? {g}
On the other writing front, I also ended up doing two off-the-cuff bits for the BSG slash list. The first was in response to a query as to whether I could supply enough chocolate sauce for Apollo and Starbuck to play with (which is a bizarrely normal statement for that list). In answer to the question, they got:
Oh, more than enough. More than enough to spread over Apollo's hard nipples. More than enough for Starbuck's tongue to tease at the edge of his lips, wanting, needing, begging, to taste. And the world around them melts away when his lips touch Apollo's skin. Lips slick with chocolate, with a hint of salt and musk under it. Just enough of a hint to want more, to need more. And Starbuck's tongue can't stop licking, caressing. And he's not sure if the moan is his or Apollo's, but it has to be Apollo's because his mouth is still on Apollo's flesh. Only they feel so close, so together that surely Apollo's moan *is* his moan, Apollo's pleasure his pleasure. And if the world ended at this moment Starbuck wouldn't care, still wouldn't be able to move his lips from Apollo's sweat and chocolate sheened skin, still wouldn't be able to stop kissing, to stop worshipping the man with him. If the world ended at this moment Starbuck wouldn't care, because he's already found heaven, and nothing can take that away from him...
~
The second snip was in response to someone commenting that they wouldn't mind hearing more about the boys' adventure with the chocolate sauce:
You mean hearing about how Starbuck sits back on his haunches, waiting, watching. Watching how a single trail of chocolate works its way down Apollo's stomach. Watching how it works its way over taut flesh and straining muscles, before finally losing it in the nest of curls above Apollo's quiescent cock. And that's when he can't wait anymore. When he has to move, when his entire body is itching with the nearness of Apollo, with his scent, his heat. And he's kneeling in front of Apollo now, soft fingers dancing up trembling thighs, wanting to touch, wanting to quench the inferno raging inside of him. The inferno that only gets hotter with each touch, with each look. The inferno that engulfs him as he leans forward, tongue darting out, because he *has* to taste, can't stop himself. And he knows that this is addiction, knows that he craves the taste with every inch of him. But if Apollo's his drug, then he wants to fly high without ever coming down. And he's getting bolder now, tongue moving in long strokes, moving over the expanding column, feeling the flesh harden in his mouth.
"'Buck."
And the name's a whisper on the wind, a plea in the night, a companion to the fingers tangling in his hair. He reaches out, steadying himself, feeling the legs beneath his hands shiver, vibrations running through them into him.
"Please."
But Apollo needn't plead because he'll give this willingly. Will give anything, everything. Would gratefully be consumed by this man if only it meant never leaving him. Suction harder now, teeth running lightly over heated steel.
"Oh, gods."
Fingers tightening their hold, pulling at his hair, the slight pain a welcome accompaniment to the motion of his mouth. And his fingers dig into Apollo's thighs, leaving their own mark as surely as Apollo's is branded on him, in him. Morphine running through his veins, pure and needed, the only way to be satisfied. Sucking harder, biting, nibbling, knowing Apollo's wants as easily as he knows his own. Feels it building, knows its coming, welcoming it, wanting it. Fingers gripping at his hair with a single thrust into his mouth. And he swallows Apollo's essence as easily as the air swallows Apollo's scream. Life-giving, life-affirming, as the harsh grip softens to a near pet, fingers running through his hair. Leaning back, he lets the soft flesh slip from his mouth as the hands move from his hair to his arms, pulling him up. Green gaze meeting his, soft, sated.
"I love you."
And Starbuck smiles.
~
It was only when I'd finished it that I realised I hadn't really mentioned the choclate sauce much {g}
On the other writing front, I also ended up doing two off-the-cuff bits for the BSG slash list. The first was in response to a query as to whether I could supply enough chocolate sauce for Apollo and Starbuck to play with (which is a bizarrely normal statement for that list). In answer to the question, they got:
Oh, more than enough. More than enough to spread over Apollo's hard nipples. More than enough for Starbuck's tongue to tease at the edge of his lips, wanting, needing, begging, to taste. And the world around them melts away when his lips touch Apollo's skin. Lips slick with chocolate, with a hint of salt and musk under it. Just enough of a hint to want more, to need more. And Starbuck's tongue can't stop licking, caressing. And he's not sure if the moan is his or Apollo's, but it has to be Apollo's because his mouth is still on Apollo's flesh. Only they feel so close, so together that surely Apollo's moan *is* his moan, Apollo's pleasure his pleasure. And if the world ended at this moment Starbuck wouldn't care, still wouldn't be able to move his lips from Apollo's sweat and chocolate sheened skin, still wouldn't be able to stop kissing, to stop worshipping the man with him. If the world ended at this moment Starbuck wouldn't care, because he's already found heaven, and nothing can take that away from him...
~
The second snip was in response to someone commenting that they wouldn't mind hearing more about the boys' adventure with the chocolate sauce:
You mean hearing about how Starbuck sits back on his haunches, waiting, watching. Watching how a single trail of chocolate works its way down Apollo's stomach. Watching how it works its way over taut flesh and straining muscles, before finally losing it in the nest of curls above Apollo's quiescent cock. And that's when he can't wait anymore. When he has to move, when his entire body is itching with the nearness of Apollo, with his scent, his heat. And he's kneeling in front of Apollo now, soft fingers dancing up trembling thighs, wanting to touch, wanting to quench the inferno raging inside of him. The inferno that only gets hotter with each touch, with each look. The inferno that engulfs him as he leans forward, tongue darting out, because he *has* to taste, can't stop himself. And he knows that this is addiction, knows that he craves the taste with every inch of him. But if Apollo's his drug, then he wants to fly high without ever coming down. And he's getting bolder now, tongue moving in long strokes, moving over the expanding column, feeling the flesh harden in his mouth.
"'Buck."
And the name's a whisper on the wind, a plea in the night, a companion to the fingers tangling in his hair. He reaches out, steadying himself, feeling the legs beneath his hands shiver, vibrations running through them into him.
"Please."
But Apollo needn't plead because he'll give this willingly. Will give anything, everything. Would gratefully be consumed by this man if only it meant never leaving him. Suction harder now, teeth running lightly over heated steel.
"Oh, gods."
Fingers tightening their hold, pulling at his hair, the slight pain a welcome accompaniment to the motion of his mouth. And his fingers dig into Apollo's thighs, leaving their own mark as surely as Apollo's is branded on him, in him. Morphine running through his veins, pure and needed, the only way to be satisfied. Sucking harder, biting, nibbling, knowing Apollo's wants as easily as he knows his own. Feels it building, knows its coming, welcoming it, wanting it. Fingers gripping at his hair with a single thrust into his mouth. And he swallows Apollo's essence as easily as the air swallows Apollo's scream. Life-giving, life-affirming, as the harsh grip softens to a near pet, fingers running through his hair. Leaning back, he lets the soft flesh slip from his mouth as the hands move from his hair to his arms, pulling him up. Green gaze meeting his, soft, sated.
"I love you."
And Starbuck smiles.
~
It was only when I'd finished it that I realised I hadn't really mentioned the choclate sauce much {g}
