withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-08-03 05:01 pm
withimpunity) wrote2008-08-03 05:01 pm
Entry tags:
rps: Addict - Christian Kane/Steve Carlson
Title: Addict
Pairing: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This is not trufax.
A/n: written for pornbattle
There’s just something about this slight edge of pain, hair being tugged away from his scalp, being able to feel every little carpet fiber digging into his knees as Chris’ cock slides down the back of his throat, so deep tears squeeze out the corners of his eyes. Steve’s fingers smear across the tattoo on Chris’ hip, tiny black outline of Texas filled in with a smattering of tan freckles. There’s just something so addictive about it.
He’s addicted to this, to Chris, like some people are addicted to ink. The brief sting of pain when Chris pulls his hair, fucks into his mouth, the bruises he leaves on the back of Steve’s neck, his hips, and sometimes on his wrists that stay there till the morning are like a drug. He likes to press his fingers to them in the morning, leaning over the sink as he brushes his teeth, Chris still bare-assed in the bed, snoring like a sonovabitch. Likes to feel that soft, muted soreness beneath his skin, feel the memories come back to him like that: Chris’s cock hot and slick in his mouth, salty and warm, Chris pushing inside, stretching him out, Chris biting down on his shoulder when he comes inside of him.
“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Chris’ thick drawl sneaks up behind him, humid morning breath spreading out across the nape of Steve’s neck as thick arms slip around his waist, glancing up at Steve’s reflection in the mirror as he presses his lips to Steve’s collarbone.
“Didn’t mean t’wake you,” Steve murmurs, words almost a whisper as the tips of Chris’ fingers skim underneath his shirt; well, Chris’ shirt, lost his last night somewhere between the kitchen and shower.
“Well you did,” Chris growls softly, hot air ghosting over the shell of Steve’s ear. “Bed’s cold without you in it. Get your ass back in there, too fucking early anyway.”
Steve shifts, hips pivoting, turning in Chris’ arms so that their lips brush. Chris still tastes like the beer they had before they fell into bed, and disgusting, stale morning breath; Steve doesn’t think about what that means, the fact that he’ll still let Chris push his tongue into his mouth, curl his own around it and suck on it, no matter how gross it is.
“C’mon,” Chris mutters, fingers hooked into Steve’s shorts, tugging on them. “Let’s finish this up in there.” He curls his fingers around Steve’s hips, presses hard at the purplish blotches he put there last night; Steve winches. “Need me to go easy on you?”
Steve shakes his head, puts his fingers over Chris’ and pushes them down into the bruise, down to the bone, feels the tingle of pain and soreness break out across his skin in goosebumps, cock hardening against Chris’ thigh. “Nuh uh,” He says, pulling Chris’ bottom lip between his teeth. “Don’t ever.”
Pairing: Christian Kane/Steve Carlson
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This is not trufax.
A/n: written for pornbattle
There’s just something about this slight edge of pain, hair being tugged away from his scalp, being able to feel every little carpet fiber digging into his knees as Chris’ cock slides down the back of his throat, so deep tears squeeze out the corners of his eyes. Steve’s fingers smear across the tattoo on Chris’ hip, tiny black outline of Texas filled in with a smattering of tan freckles. There’s just something so addictive about it.
He’s addicted to this, to Chris, like some people are addicted to ink. The brief sting of pain when Chris pulls his hair, fucks into his mouth, the bruises he leaves on the back of Steve’s neck, his hips, and sometimes on his wrists that stay there till the morning are like a drug. He likes to press his fingers to them in the morning, leaning over the sink as he brushes his teeth, Chris still bare-assed in the bed, snoring like a sonovabitch. Likes to feel that soft, muted soreness beneath his skin, feel the memories come back to him like that: Chris’s cock hot and slick in his mouth, salty and warm, Chris pushing inside, stretching him out, Chris biting down on his shoulder when he comes inside of him.
“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Chris’ thick drawl sneaks up behind him, humid morning breath spreading out across the nape of Steve’s neck as thick arms slip around his waist, glancing up at Steve’s reflection in the mirror as he presses his lips to Steve’s collarbone.
“Didn’t mean t’wake you,” Steve murmurs, words almost a whisper as the tips of Chris’ fingers skim underneath his shirt; well, Chris’ shirt, lost his last night somewhere between the kitchen and shower.
“Well you did,” Chris growls softly, hot air ghosting over the shell of Steve’s ear. “Bed’s cold without you in it. Get your ass back in there, too fucking early anyway.”
Steve shifts, hips pivoting, turning in Chris’ arms so that their lips brush. Chris still tastes like the beer they had before they fell into bed, and disgusting, stale morning breath; Steve doesn’t think about what that means, the fact that he’ll still let Chris push his tongue into his mouth, curl his own around it and suck on it, no matter how gross it is.
“C’mon,” Chris mutters, fingers hooked into Steve’s shorts, tugging on them. “Let’s finish this up in there.” He curls his fingers around Steve’s hips, presses hard at the purplish blotches he put there last night; Steve winches. “Need me to go easy on you?”
Steve shakes his head, puts his fingers over Chris’ and pushes them down into the bruise, down to the bone, feels the tingle of pain and soreness break out across his skin in goosebumps, cock hardening against Chris’ thigh. “Nuh uh,” He says, pulling Chris’ bottom lip between his teeth. “Don’t ever.”
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