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This is a fanfic story. Genre: harry_potter Chapter 1 This is a Harry Potter fanfic set in a totally different AU. If this book does not appeal to you, simply click away. Any hate comments will be removed. Before I write this, I'm going to explain certain things so nothing gets confusing during the book. If I missed anything, I'll add it in the AN at the end of said chapter. "Ponies" are, in fact, humans but have been bred to be treated like ponies. They can understand human speech, but it is rare for any of them to speak it, as they would never have been taught how to. They would have just been taught to understand the language to make everything simpler. "Ponies" are a normal thing; it's not a kink in the AU. It's normal. You're either a pony or a human. For size reference and aging to make it more understandable and workable for me, when the "foal" is born, they will be about the size of a three-year-old child, not a newborn baby. At the age of one, they will be the size of a five-year-old, at two, an eight-year-old, and at three, a thirteen-year-old. Then they will not get much bigger, rather than another inch or two. Height depends on how big their parents are. The "ponies" do not require the food a human does; they can eat oats, fruit, veg, and hay and be able to survive. A stallion will be a horse without a cock cage. A gelding will have a cock cage at all times. And a mare will be a female horse. All the human characters in this book will still be wizards and witches, but it will not be the main focus, and magic will be rarely used unless I feel it needs to be. Severus paced back and forth in front of his desk, his stable busy with the ponies being trained and cared for by his stable hands. He was expecting a new pony, but the trailer was late with delivering him, thus making Severus stressed. Severus had bought the pony on the agreement that if things didn't work out, the said pony would be put down. He stopped pacing when his head stable hire walked into his office. "May I have a word?" Tom said as he strode further into the office, taking a seat. "I suppose," Severus replied, moving behind his desk but remaining standing. "How can I be of help?" he asked the male. "The new pony... I am...," Tom paused for a moment, deciding on his next words. "I'm not sure exactly where to stable him. We know he's dangerous, but I do not want to isolate him." Severus sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I suggested next to Draco. His stall will be at the far end of the barn, but he will have company still." Tom nodded before he stood up, heading towards the door. "I hope you are right about this, Severus. You could be taking on a hopeless case." With that, Tom left the office, leaving Severus to his own thoughts. It was another three hours before the truck and trailer pulled up the stone driveway. Severus was stood outside, a green lead rope in hand, four inches of it made of chain, the other six inches made of rope. It was normally used for bolshy ponies that need a little extra control when handling. Once the truck had stopped, and a middle-aged woman climbed out, walking to the ramp, she started to unlock it. "I'd be careful with this one, Severus. It took us three hours to get the damn beast on the box. Nightmare, he was!" she said quickly, and as soon as the ramp hit the floor, the woman scuttled away. "Thank you for the warning, Molly," Severus replied. It only took him a matter of seconds before he was walking up the ramp and into the box. At the back, tied to the ring, was the three-year-old colt, his eyes covered with a thick blindfold blocking any light that was able to enter the box. His foot impatiently stamped against the floor. The colt's body was tense, almost as if he was ready to kick out at the nearest person, which Severus knew if the colt was given a chance, he would kick him. He slowly walked towards him, quietly attaching his lead rope to the colt's bridle, and he just had time to clip the one that attached him to the wall before the colt took off, pulling back with force to free himself. Another twenty minutes of the colt kicking and squealing before Severus managed to pry it out of the box. Stable hands paused from their jobs to watch the sudden noise as the frail creature stumbled down the ramp and onto the stone path. Severus winced as the colt spun and kicked him directly in the shin, but he still didn't loosen his grip on the rope. "Walk," he said calmly, and he lightly tugged on the rope, making the colt stumble forward. The colt was quickly walked into his stall, before Severus secured him to the wall with his lead rope. "It'll make it easier," he explained to Tom as he walked back outside to Molly. "Do you have his papers?" Molly quickly handed them over, looking over Severus' shoulder to try and get a glimpse of the colt. "You're either stupid or brave; that colt is ruined," she said, turning away and climbing back into the truck, driving away. Severus' eyes scanned the papers in his hand. "Severus, a word," Tom didn't sound too pleased, and Severus could guess why. "Of course," Severus replied, walking into his office, taking a seat before motioning for Tom to do the same. Tom shut the door before sitting down. "You said misunderstood, not a freaking psycho, Sev! How the hell are you going to explain that when Albus comes over next week for the competitions? You can't have a psycho pony around when kids are here!" Tom almost screamed. "I am aware. I am hoping we can get him somewhat calm before the competition," Severus said slowly. "Do you know who the sire and dam are, Tom?" he asked as he opened the colt's papers on his desk. Tom shook his head. "No, I never asked," he replied. "James and Lily Potter," Severus said. "But their colt is only three... the advert said he was broken two years ago...," Tom let the words trail off. "They broke a one-year-old?" he asked, almost for confirmation. "He was. I did some digging; he was broken by the Dursleys. Not a pleasant farm. He's been there for the past three years as a work horse. He's probably only seen whips, nothing else," Severus explained. "What's his name?" Tom asked. "He's passported as 'The Boy Who Lived,' but his stall name is Harry," Severus replied. Chapter 2 Harry's foot hit the floor under him, and it felt different from what he was used to. The floor wasn't hard; it felt soft under his hoofboot. He tossed his head, shifting to the side, and knew he'd never get free from the ring on the wall, but he could always try, right? His body went still at the sound of footsteps, and he dreaded to think what was going to happen. He hated the fact that he couldn't see. He needed to see to kick whoever had dragged him out of the damn trailer. He knew he'd at least got one kick, but he doubted he'd get anymore. Severus leaned against the door of the stall, watching the new colt's movement, although there was none. He was still. He sighed as he slowly unlocked the door, walking into the stall, nodding to Tom, who had come from the vet room with a syringe in hand. It wasn't long before Tom had injected Harry's left thigh with a sedative, thus making the colt kick out, almost hitting his target. If Tom hadn't skillfully side-stepped away from the colt's legs, he would have been hit. "None of that," Severus said, his voice calm, as he watched the drug take effect. Within five minutes, they had moved the sedated colt into the vet room, strapped onto the examination table. Severus slowly undid the blindfold before he and Tom set to work on checking the colt over, now that they could both get a good look at him. Everything was seen. Almost every inch of the colt's body was covered in bruises, cuts, or scars. Not a single part of his body was unmarked. "Gelding this one?" Tom asked as he set to work cleaning the cuts out. "Not yet. I want to see how he fares. He deserves a chance like the rest," Severus replied, his thumb running across the colt's lower lip, his eyes scanning his face before he lightly pulled the bridle off Harry's face. Severus inwardly winced as the barb-wired 'bit' fell from the colt's mouth. "Some bit," he mumbled, as he tossed the bridle onto the floor, working on cleaning Harry's mouth from the cut he had sustained from the bit. "Luna!" Severus shouted, as he started to undo the straps that held Harry to the table. "Could you get me a size 1 hackamore and size 4 hoof boots? Also, when you have time later, would you put together a size 1 bridle with a four-inch rubber bit, a thin one?" Severus said, as the blonde-haired female scurried away to do his bidding. She returned a few moments later with the hackamore and hoof boots. Harry woke up suddenly, his heart beating fast in his chest. He quickly looked around his stall. He wasn't with the Dursleys anymore. That much was clear. He slowly stumbled to his feet, the soft shavings under his hoofboots a pleasant surprise. He shook his head. The stall was a decent size; he had plenty of room to walk around. He could see a water dispenser in the corner, and a food bucket that hung on the wall was near the door. He was glad the blindfold had been removed. He hated being deprived of his sight. His body tensed as a tall man walked to his stall door. The male's long black hair was straight, and it reached down to his shoulders. "Morning, Harry. Are you ready to start training?" Severus said, as Harry darted to the back of his stall in fear. Chapter 3 Harry shifted nervously at the back of his stall as Severus slowly unlocked the stall door, emptying a bucket of oats, apples, and pears into his feeding bucket. "I'll give you an hour or so to eat, then we can start your evaluation," he explained to the colt, as he left the stall, leaving Harry to eye the food. He was hungry, but did he want to risk the food being drugged? Severus sighed and left him to his own devices as he went to watch Tom train his personal stallion. Tom stood in the middle of the sand arena. The sun was just beginning to rise, and he wanted to work the stallion before the heat got too much. He attached his lunge line to the stallion's bridle before sending him out, getting him to walk around. "Dave," he said calmly to the stallion, who was being particularly stubborn that morning. "Walk." The stallion huffed at the command before walking around the circle set out for him. Tom let him walk for a few minutes before making him trot, giving him a smack with the crop whenever he tried to slow his pace down. Severus leaned against the fence as he watched the stallion being put through its paces. He was glad he had managed to hire Tom before Albus had the chance, or he would have been left without a trainer he'd trust. He watched for a couple more minutes before going back to the stall to check on Harry. Harry had eaten; every last bit of the food was gone. He was leaned against the wall. Severus picked up his lead rope that hung on the door. "Harry," he called to the colt, waiting to see if he'd come. Harry hesitated, taking a step forward before stopping again. Severus unlocked the stall door before he walked up to the colt, clipping the lead rope to the hackamore. It was almost like Harry expected pain; he flew back as soon as the lead rope attached to his hackamore, trying to dart out of the stall, but Severus held him tight, waiting till he'd given up. Harry tossed his head, eyeing Severus warily. "I know, but the hackamore won't hurt you. I need to get your teeth checked before we try and put a bit in you again," Severus explained, before taking a few steps towards the door, giving the lead rope a small tug. But Harry still didn't move. He looked confused. "Idiots. Didn't even teach him basic manners," Severus muttered under his breath. "Walk," he said, as he tugged the rope a little. Harry huffed, but followed him out of the stall. Severus walked him out into the alley of the stall. "Stand," he waited till Harry had stopped moving, before tugging the rope once again. Harry tilted his head, before walking forward. They repeated the process a few more times before Severus was happy that the colt could be led around and stand when needed. He walked Harry to the cross-ties, tying him in place, proceeding to brush the colt down. "I'm going to put you in the pasture for the rest of the day," he explained, as he gently strapped a light green blanket on Harry. Once he was certain Harry wouldn't be attacked by the flies, he untied him, leading him towards one of the back pastures. It kept Harry away from the more confident stallions. He opened the gate, walking Harry in before letting him free. He watched as the colt galloped around the field, as soon as he was free. Not once did he look back, enjoying the freedom Severus guessed he never had. Chapter 4 Chapter Four - Attitude Problem. Severus headed down to the pasture where he had left Harry in the morning. The colt had been out for over 12 hours, but he knew he needed to get used to being left outside rather than being cooped up in a stable all day. When Severus arrived at the pasture gate, he could see Harry, dozing, under one of the trees. The colt looked exhausted. He also hadn't noticed that Sev had arrived to come and get him. Grabbing the hackamore that he had left on the fence, he climbed over the gate, and headed towards the pony. "Harry," Severus called calmly, once he was within three feet of the colt. He didn't want to sneak up on him and scare the poor thing. It only took Severus 10 minutes to get the hackamore on Harry, only because he kept moving his head whenever Snape tried to place the hackamore on him. "Head shy, are you?" he asked, more to himself. He knew the colt wouldn't answer. Once Harry was back in his stable, rug off, with a rack full of hay, and his bucket of grain, Severus shut the stall door. He smirked as Draco paced around the stall, trying to get at the younger colt. "Aren't you a little stressy, Draco?" he hummed, as he headed towards the blonde's door. He reached his hand in, as the older colt briskly walked over to him, running his hand down the other pony's side. "Maybe we could turn you two out together; you could show Harry some manners," Severus mused to himself. It was an idea, but of course, he'd have to ask Lucius first. After all, Draco was the man's prized possession. And with no wonder. The colt was bred to win, and he did. Always coming in the top three, no matter where they went. Severus ran his pale hand through his black hair before he called it a night. The stable staff would make sure Harry ate at least something, and that Draco calmed down some. Morning couldn't come soon enough for Snape; he wanted to put the colt through its paces more before the heat hit them, and it would be too hot to work any of them. He was outside Harry's stall by 5 am, the yard already bustling with people trying to get their ponies worked before they had to rush off to work. Stable hands were darting around the place, some mucking out, others grooming ponies, a few leading ponies out to the pasture, and some working ponies in the schools. The place seemed like a walking disaster, but Severus knew it was actually his team of staff working like clockwork. They all had their separate jobs. He grabbed Harry's hackamore off the hook on the door, asking one of the stable hands for a whip to be brought for him. He quickly unlocked the stall door and walked in. For once, Harry took a few steps towards the male. Severus was shocked, but he never let it show on his face. He slowly placed the hackamore on Harry, adjusting it so it sat perfectly on the colt's face. "Come on," he said quietly, leading the colt out of the stable. Grabbing the whip that had been left by one of the stable hands, he quickly led Harry to one of the round pens. It would give the colt a guide when Severus wanted him to move, and there was no corner for the colt to run into and hide. The walls around the pen were made from oak and were roughly 10 feet high, with a 4-foot clearance before the roof. The clearance gave enough room for natural lighting while also keeping the rain and snow out during the colder months. Severus made sure the pen gate was shut and locked, making sure the colt couldn't escape. He started going through the basics: walk, stand, back up, move over, and picking Harry's legs up. Which the colt seemed to understand fairly well. "Seems those idiots trained you something," Snape muttered, taking off the hackamore. He walked into the middle of the pen, picking up the whip he had left there at the start. "Harry, walk." At first, Harry seemed like he was going to comply; he took a few small steps around before he stopped, looking towards Snape. "Walk," he repeated, this time tapping the whip on the floor. Harry quickly started to walk around the pen, shaking his head every so often to show his disagreement in the work. Severus made him walk a few laps before he asked for the trot. Harry stumbled, struggling to keep himself balanced on the sand, a surface he wasn't used to. He was used to the hard concrete under his boots, but now it was soft, and the surface moved, making his balance off. It was only when Severus asked for the canter that Harry had enough. The colt glared at the older man, running at him in an attempt to scare him. Severus stood still, tapping the colt on the chest once he was within 5 feet. "No, out," he pointed towards the left. It took a while – 10 minutes of Harry kicking, squealing, bolting, and biting – before Severus managed to get him back working again. The more they worked, the more aggressive Harry got. "I think we should call it a day," Severus muttered quietly to the colt, who was currently walking around the pen, a thin sheet of sweat covered his body, his head shaking in annoyance at the other male who was making him do something he didn't want to do. "All you're doing is making this harder for yourself," Severus crossed his arms over his chest, watching Harry walk around. He had to admit, Harry was a nice-looking pony; he could be used for breeding if his attitude problems could be sorted, and whatever else came along the way while he figured the pony out. He dropped the whip, grabbing Harry's hackamore, and walked towards the pony, slowly placing the hackamore on Harry. "I'm afraid one of the stable hands is going to have to hose you off and turn you out; I have a meeting with Dumbledore in 20 minutes." He led Harry back to the main yard, handing his lead rope over to Luna. "Make sure you have someone with you, in case he reacts badly." Luna nodded before she led Harry to one of the wash bays. Severus had been right about Harry reacting badly. It had taken three people to hold the colt just to get a hose pipe near him, and even then, they were struggling. In the end, they called it quits before they angered the already kicking colt. Harry had managed to kick two of the three people who held him, and he was looking rather smug about it. He was shocked as they led him to his pasture; he tilted his head to the side as the gate closed, before shrugging and taking off to the far side, where the shade and long grass were.

This is a short fanfic story. Genre: originals Chapter 1 Before you read, I want to state that this story may turn into a three-part series. It may end on a cliffhanger and never be finished. The first part could be the end if you choose not to read anymore. Enjoy, but read at your own risk. Elijah's bare feet padded across the cold, stone-built basement floor. His latest victim, a male, sat in the corner, held by a single rusty chain that kept him within five feet of the wall. Elijah tended to prefer males, though he didn't know why. He never really questioned it. He eyed the male, who sat shivering like a lost animal. "Don't be afraid," Elijah said quietly, a grin spreading across his face as his light blue eyes gleamed with pleasure at the thought of what was about to happen within those walls. He quickly gripped the hostage's dark brown hair, pulling him roughly to his feet. "Now, Devon, let's play a game." Devon seemed terrified, his eyes wide with fear, as if his life was on the line – which, in fact, it was. "This game is fun, at least for me," Elijah said, releasing his grip on the male's hair, a clump of which remained in his hand. He walked towards the wall, surveying the many items he kept there: guns, whips, clamps, and knives. "Why don't you put your hands out for me, kiddo, palms facing the ceiling?" he asked, keeping his back to the male until he heard the shuffling of him moving. Elijah grabbed the pistol from the wall, loaded it, and took the few steps it took to get within a foot of the male. Before the male could react, Elijah aimed the pistol at the palm of his hands, sending a bullet shooting through. Within seconds, both hands were shot, and a loud scream pierced the air as Devon fell to the floor in agony, his crimson blood spilling onto the floor beneath him. Elijah sighed in disgust. "You're making a mess. Stand up." He waited a few seconds before deciding the male had taken too long to comply. Taking a fistful of the male's hair, Elijah yanked him back onto his feet. "Disobedient," he muttered. He moved the male to the middle of the room, pulling down two chains from the ceiling. "Please, try to stay still. It will only be more painful for yourself." Gripping Devon's wrist in an iron-tight grip, Elijah slowly threaded the chain through the hole in the palm of the other's hand. He did the same to both hands before rehooking the chain, slowly suspending the male from the ceiling. Elijah watched with pure glee as the man withered in pain above him. "The more you move, the more it will hurt. Silly," he mocked, a smirk on his face. Elijah tilted his head to the sound as he watched the male struggle for a few more minutes. The male hadn't screamed from the suspension, which disappointed Elijah. "Shame," he said to himself. "I'll have to fix that." He walked back over to the wall, idly running his fingers across the weapons, stopping on one of the knives. It wasn't sharp, but with enough pressure, it could cut skin. He hummed as he picked the knife up, walking slowly back to the male. "This will hurt you more than it will ever hurt me," Elijah said, lightly pressing the cold metal against the male's stomach. He grinned as the male tried to struggle away from the item. "Ah, ah, be still," he murmured. He slowly applied pressure onto the knife, watching as it slowly cut into the victim's pale skin. Elijah gripped the knife handle tighter, his mouth spreading into a smile that sent chills down one's spine and made the hair stand up on the back of one's neck. As the blood appeared on the skin in small red beads, he pressed the knife deeper, letting it cut the skin more before quickly slicing down the male's stomach, almost as if he were skinning an animal. Elijah tilted his head to the side as the male let out an ear-piercing scream, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he passed out. "Weak," Elijah said, dropping the knife onto the floor. He took a step back to admire his handiwork on the male's stomach. The skin hung down, letting the blood flow down the male's body before it began to drip onto the floor, joining the half-dry puddle that was already there. Elijah sighed as he lightly traced his finger through the wound, smiling as the muscles beneath his fingertips began to move, almost as if they were avoiding his touch. He let his hand drop to his side, still covered in blood. "Sleep tight," he said, spinning on his heels and leaving the basement. NEXT CHAPTER Chapter 2 Part two of Elijah torturing Devon. Three hours later, Elijah was back in the basement, sighing at the pathetic male who hung from his ceiling. "Why do I even bother with this?" he muttered to himself as he lowered the male back down to the floor, slowly pulling the chains free from Devon's hands. "Oi, you piece of shit, wake up," he said, kicking the male in the ribs and smirking when he winced and curled in on himself. "Yeah, I get it. It hurts," he said, rolling his eyes. He picked the male up and quickly, quietly strapped him down to the table. "I'm going to let you choose. Do you understand?" Elijah looked into the male's dark green eyes, watching as Devon nodded his head quickly. "Great," Elijah said, grinning and crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want to no longer see or no longer talk?" he asked, his lips twitching. He could see the male thinking the question over, but he let him think for a few moments. "No longer see?" Devon sounded unsure of his answer, but Elijah shrugged and grabbed a blindfold, easily covering the male's eyes. "Great choice." He hummed as he grabbed the old, rusty hammer from the table, along with two screws. "Now, Devon, hold still, will you?" he asked, lining the screw up to one of the male's eyes before whacking it hard with the hammer, sending it through the male's eye. Devon screamed, thrashing against the table that held him bound. "Sh, sh, you're okay," Elijah said, not sounding bothered. He was more interested in the blood that was seeping out of the blindfold. Once the male had stilled, Elijah was quick to do the same to the other eye. "There, you can no longer see, just like you picked." He dug around in his jacket pocket, finally pulling out a pocket knife. He dragged a chair beside the table and sat down. "You know, I've always wanted to be an artist," he said, almost making idle conversation, as if the male before him wasn't being tortured. He sighed, running the knife down Devon's leg, applying pressure and letting it cut the skin. He began to draw patterns as the blood slowly rolled down the male's skin. It wasn't long before the faint sound of dripping blood could be heard: drip, drip, drip, as it fell from the table and onto the floor beneath them. Elijah sighed as he stood up, stretching his arms out. "I shall see you in a few hours. Do try to scream," he hummed, walking out of the basement and letting the door slam behind him, leaving the male writhing in pain on the basement table.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: anime2 Chapter 1 DISCLAIMER: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters from it. A/N: A short V/B get together. It's about lust, not love. Physical attraction is a very big part of why most people end up becoming involved in relationships, and that, my friends, is what this fic is about. Think of Vegeta's crush like an obsession, and vice versa with Bulma. We all have our little secret desires, and all I want to do with this fanfic is show what I think might have happened between these two characters. (First written in 2001, revised in 2002, and 2004.) I would die for you I've been dying just to feel you by my side, to know that you're mine Vegeta watched Bulma through narrowed eyes as she made him breakfast. His vantage point at the head of the breakfast table gave him an excellent view of the shapely human, and his heated gaze followed her around the kitchen, never once leaving her body. Occasionally, a muscle jumped in his arm as though he were imagining grabbing the woman; grabbing the petite little vixen and forcing her to acknowledge the attraction between them. It didn't take a huge stretch of imagination for Vegeta to summon up these fantasies – particularly when the woman was still dressed in her night attire. His ebony eyes trailed down her shapely figure, their gaze slipping over her smooth pale skin and down the short stretch of silk that barely covered her most intimate parts. Whoever had designed the flimsy piece of clothing had no doubt been envisioning the wearer embarking on a nightly orgy of sex. After all, a black silk nightgown framed with red lace wasn't the kind of slip a woman wore to keep warm. Bulma paused in her cooking to smooth the black silk down over her thighs, and Vegeta felt his body tense in reaction to seeing her touch herself like that. It wasn't fair! He knew she did this to torture him. She hadn't dressed like this when she was with the human Yamcha; it had only been once they had broken up that she had begun to wear sexy lingerie down to breakfast, flaunting her body before him! He didn't doubt that she wanted him, but until she made some sort of movement to clarify her behavior, he wasn't going to make a move on her. He'd wait until she begged him. But would she beg him? The blue-haired woman was almost as argumentative and stubborn as he! If she truly was interested in him, then it was going to be a battle of wills to see who would snap first and make a move on the other. Abruptly, Vegeta found his thoughts being directed in another direction as Bulma bent to pick something off the floor, and her nightgown rode high up her thighs again, exposing the delicious curve of her upper leg. She straightened and turned around, smiled smugly as she caught him looking at her, then gave him a flirtatious look from beneath her lashes as she turned back to cooking him breakfast. Oh yes, she wanted him. I would cry for you I would cry for you Bulma turned back to the stovetop and began to dish out his food, unaware of the scrutiny the prince was giving her. Vegeta propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He considered stalking up to the woman and taking her then and there on the counter. He'd ram her up against that bench and then fuck her until she was too sore to move. Kami, how long had it been since he'd had a woman? Too long, obviously. The Saiyan prince shook his head, grimacing to himself as he considered her possible reactions to him acting out his little daydream. He could imagine the woman both moaning in ecstasy and screeching at him to get off of her before she called Kakarot. Vegeta's eyes widened at the thought of Bulma telling Kakarot that he, Vegeta the prince of all Saiyans, had come onto her like a drunken teenager! The thought that he, a man who had laid waste to numerous worlds and conquered more planets than even Frieza himself, would be rejected by a silly little human girl was ridiculous. Yet, he still felt a cold chill run down his spine at the mere thought of the woman rejecting him. No one rejected Vegeta! Bulma brought him out of his vision as she laid two plates of food down in front of him and inadvertently flashed her ample cleavage. Vegeta grinned slightly; he'd like to conquer her planets! It was impossible that the woman would reject him! No normal person showed this much skin to a man they had no attraction to! She was practically begging him to take her! The clothes, the flirtatious looks – she was silently pleading to be royally fucked. "Vegeta!" Bulma's sharp voice pierced his thoughts. She was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and her legs splayed. "Stop staring at me and eat your breakfast! I didn't spend hours slaving away on a hot stove so you could perve on me!" Bulma continued to berate him testily. With a toss of her blue mane, she whirled around and stamped back to the kitchen, not missing the flames in the prince's eyes. He continued to stare at her for far longer than was considered polite, his obsidian orbs watching the woman with a predatory look in them. I will pray for you As Vegeta watched the spoiled heiress bustle about the kitchen, he wondered how the woman could look so young and pure in his eyes, despite him knowing that she had been with several men since Yamcha had dumped her. He knew she wasn't a blushing virgin, and yet she still looked as delectable to him as she ever had – it was madness to feel like this about a female! Especially such a shameless tramp with morals so low she practically tripped over them! It wasn't like he had a penchant for virgins, but he'd never quite been this attracted to a female who didn't have that innocent gleam in their eyes. Vegeta's gut tightened as the nightgown rode up again. How could he resist her when she flaunted herself in front of him like this? Closing his eyes, Vegeta took a deep breath and came to the decision that the lust he felt for the woman had to be satiated. The woman would enjoy his ministrations, and he'd enjoy showing her what a true Saiyan was capable of! There was nothing wrong in his attraction to the weak female – it was lust, pure and simple. He wanted to fuck her, so he would. The prince stood up, his chair scraping across the tiled floor. Despite the noise, the woman ignored him and continued to bang pots and pans around noisily, clearly upset over something and far too caught up in her thoughts to notice Vegeta slowly creeping up behind her. The prince kept low, his instincts telling him to hunt the weak woman, and his body telling him to do entirely different things. Vegeta growled in the back of his throat and licked his lips in anticipation as he lunged forward in a lightning-fast movement and grabbed her waist. Bulma shrieked in surprise as he brought her body back against his and kept her locked in an iron-tight grip. "Vegeta? What are you doing?" Bulma's voice was high and sounded short of breath – from fear or lust, Vegeta wasn't sure, and didn't really care; both emotions were a turn-on. He dipped his head down and softly sunk his teeth into the back of her neck, showing his dominance to the tiny creature he held in his grasp. "Geta?" She sounded unsure. Her voice wavered, and she gasped as Vegeta bit harder, silencing her. "Hush, woman," Vegeta ordered, letting go of her neck and slowly turning her around in his arms to face him. He felt something in his lower body twist as he met her baby blue eyes and saw a strange mix of fear and attraction swirling through them. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest, and he smirked as he lowered his face again and kissed her neck. Bulma moaned softly, and Vegeta felt some of the tension leave her body. He'd been waiting for this moment for what seemed like an eternity. Hear your voice every time that I'm talking "Foolish little human," Vegeta growled, smirking as he stepped forward and cupped the offered breast in one hand. "I'm no weak human male who is easily controlled." He squeezed the soft mound and claimed her reddened mouth in a fierce kiss, picking Bulma off the ground and holding her against him. Everything faded away until Vegeta was unaware of anything except the woman's legs wrapped around his waist, her body arched against his muscled torso, and her mouth pressed against his. He lifted from the ground without skipping a beat, the movement so swift and smooth that Bulma didn't even notice. They floated through the house, a surreal and somewhat strange sight, until they reached his bedroom. Vegeta dropped Bulma onto the bed and pulled off his white muscle shirt with a distinct lack of finesse. Bulma almost coyly waited on the bed, panting slightly, her sexy black nightdress pulling tight against her breasts with every breath she took. "Mmm, you look good enough to eat," Bulma purred, pulling him onto the bed and straddling his waist. "I've been wanting to do this for a long, long time. You should have come onto me sooner." Bulma leant down and kissed him hungrily. "I know, but I liked seeing you squirm while you waited for me to make my move, it was very entertaining," Vegeta laughed huskily and gripped Bulma's small waist, surprised to find that the feel of her body through the silk of her nightdress was incredibly sexy. "You like entertaining?" Bulma chuckled. "How 'bout this for entertaining?" Vegeta let go of Bulma's waist as she slowly pulled her nightdress over her head, letting it drift to the floor beside the bed. She shook out her unruly locks of aqua hair and swayed above him, moving in time to music he couldn't hear, but music to which he could definitely feel the beat. Vegeta sat up and pulled her in close against him, letting his hands slowly drift up her body, lingering on her full breasts before moving to her back to press her in hard against him. "Tell me you want me," he ordered against her mouth, gently kissing her as his hands kneaded into her back. "Tell me you need me." "I want you, I need you," Bulma moaned and raked her nails down his back, revelling in the hiss of pleasure that came from Vegeta as she did so. Tell me you want me Tell me you want me, Vegeta "Tell me you want me, Vegeta," Bulma countered, kissing his chest. She licked and gently bit every inch of his muscled skin as she ground herself against him erotically. "Tell me you need me too." She whispered hoarsely. "I want you, woman. From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you," Vegeta looked at her, unashamed of his attraction. "You're the sexiest creature I've ever laid eyes on. You were wasted on that weakling boyfriend of yours, you deserve a real man." He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, pleased when Bulma shivered with pleasure. "Are you a real man?" Bulma whispered against his lips, loving the feeling that came from lying with Vegeta. "As much a man as you're a woman," Vegeta laid back and looked up at his woman through heavy-lidded eyes. "You're a bad girl on the inside, aren't you?" He asked as she dug her nails into his chest like a cat. "As bad as they come, I just hide it well," Bulma's voice was low and husky. "Is this what you want?" She undid the drawstring on his pants and made a pleased sound with what she saw. "Do you want a bad girl to play with tonight?" "I want more than that, woman," Vegeta watched her as she undressed him, his tone surprisingly serious. "I want you completely mine, forever." He caught her eyes with his and smirked. "I never want to let another male touch you." "Forever's a long time," Bulma told him as she slowly pulled off her panties and threw them to some forsaken corner of the room, she pouted down at him. "Sure you won't get bored?" "With you?" Vegeta laughed and rolled on top of Bulma, trapping his tiny mate beneath him. "Not damned likely," He growled and kissed her hungrily. Beg and steal for you Vegeta watched Bulma as she slept, tired from the day-long bedroom activities. Outside, the sun had long since set, and the stars were now up. He decided that Bulma looked more mysterious by night, more dangerous somehow. Bulma stirred and opened eyes that were a blazing cobalt blue in the shadows of the room. She wrapped her arms around him and slipped him a lazy smile. "Do you know that Chichi once told me that you and I were so alike, we were either going to end up killing each other or fucking each other?" Bulma chuckled. "I guess we found out which." Vegeta smirked in the darkness and kissed her with passion-swollen lips. "Well, I always knew which one I was going to do to you." He smirked as he caught the bemused expression that crossed her face. "Very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Bulma caught his face in her hands and looked into his endless ebony eyes. "Of course, I'm the Prince of all Saiyans." Vegeta smirked even harder as Bulma giggled and pulled him down beside her, crawling on top of him with intent. "Yeah, hail to the prince, alright." She praised as she kissed him sexily. Throw away all the pain that I'm living You will believe in me, and I can never be ignored The next morning, Vegeta dressed and decided to let an exhausted Bulma sleep off the past day and night's rigorous activities. He paused by the bed and sat down on it, running his hand through her soft, fine hair appreciatively. She shifted in her sleep, and he saw the mark on her neck that branded her as his woman; his mate and only his. A bite mark on the neck was the Saiyan equivalent of a human wedding ring, and Vegeta felt a small surge of pride that he'd caught himself such a beautiful and talented mate. She was the only one he cared about, the only one he wanted. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her, nothing he wouldn't be. He'd always be there for her now, and whether or not the words were said, he cared for her. She was his number one crush. THE END

This is a fanfic story. Genre: yu_gi_oh Chapter 1 Title: 'Cause to Love You Author: KittyBlue Chapters: multi-part [1 of??] Status: incomplete Type: au, angst, shounen ai (but it will be yaoi soon enough!), romance with a lot of sugary fluff, lemony or at least some lime Rating: R to be safe in later chapters (but it will probably reach NC17) Parings: Well.. Ryou/Someone-that-is-a-secret-for-now and Bakura + Mariku, Malik + Ryou Summary: What do you do when you can't scream your love for him? What to do when the person you love is the one you are supposed to hate? What do you do especially when your own protective brother is there every day to remind you of that? Warnings: Lemony ahead.. some later chapters I guess.. :S Don't have any good warning to this one.. *lol* C&C: Just say something! [email protected] Disclaimer: The Yu-Gi-Oh! characters aren't mine.. unfortunately.. I still don't have my own Ryou-chan.. and I'm sure I don't have any Ryuuji-chan too.. So no.. Not mine.. Back off Suzi! When I have a Ryou-chan, I'll make him seduce a Malik! :p Or you can get a Malik and make him seduce a Ryou-chan.. hum..^^ Still.. not mine.. *sniffles* New story! Ahhh.. I'm so crazy.. The weird things come to my head when I can't get no sleep.. So.. another story.. this one in English, as nowadays I don't write enough.. I miss my English class so much.. :( "So, I'll tell you again.. and I really hope that this is the last time.. If I ever see or hear that you have been near my brother, you won't even remember your name the next morning. I'll take care of that personally too, do you understand me? Or are you really too dense to lose some limbs?" "Nope, I understood, Bakura-sama." "I really don't like that annoying smirk, Ishtar." "I don't know what you're talking about, Bakura-sama." "Well, now you did it!" The silver-haired boy threw himself at the blonde, his hands close to his face, if not for Seto Kaiba and Atemu Yami, those two ready to close in around him and stop him. "Bakura, you know that this isn't going to do anything, right?" "Who asked your opinion, Yami?" "..I think you should just calm down, Bakura." Bakura glared at Seto too, preparing to say something back at him for interfering too, but Mariku Ishtar, his long-time arch-enemy, just had to laugh and, giving them his back, started his way to his house, which was on the other side of the street. "So, you're running away? You better! If you don't want your ugly face in a pulp!" He was rewarded with Mariku's laugh again, which only made him even more frustrated and angry. "Can you calm down, for heaven's sake?" "You stuff it!" He gave his two "friends" the cold shoulder and did his own way home. His house was really the one he was in front of. Even after entering the sanctuary of his home, he could still hear Yami and Kaiba outside talking about what had happened, some other voices, probably neighbors, saying something about how the world was coming to an end because of Bakura and Mariku, but he really didn't care. Bakura made his way into the bathroom, really to take a shower, what he was doing a minute ago, if not for what had happened. xxxxFlashback xxxx Bakura had arrived home that afternoon tired and frustrated. He had spent the last two days stuck in his office on a project that had left him without much time for anything else. So, what was his surprise when he saw some punk friend of his brother sitting in the stairs of their home. "What do you want?" He asked quickly as he passed the blond boy, preparing to enter his home sweet home. His plans for the day were a hot bath and then at least 15 hours of sleep. "Oh.. I was waiting for Ryou.. He left school earlier and I wanted to ask him for help with some things.. I'm really close to failing most of my classes." "Jou, right?" Bakura, feeling generous, did a once-over on that floor, screaming his brother's name a few times, and then returned to the door. "Well, sorry, but he's not home. Good day." He closed the door in the guy's face and was climbing the stairs when he heard the doorbell. If it's that Jou kid.. I swear I'll kill him.. "What now?" "Hum.. Do you know if he's with the Egyptian guy??" Bakura was going to send him to hell.. when.. "What did you say? Ryou's with..?" Jou didn't have time to answer as the silver-haired man saw a blond Mariku Ishtar leaving home right at that moment. As Mariku was approaching his bike, which was probably just next to his sports car, Bakura ran his way. He had already warned him several years ago when Ryou moved in that he didn't want him talking to him.. now was the time to make.. another type of warning. xxxxFlashback End xxxx Of course, that didn't go well. Not only had Mariku laughed in his face, he had insulted him, and then when he was finally losing his temper, Kaiba and Yami had to go and rescue the damned ugly and stupid blond. Bakura started stripping his clothes. First, his socks, following his white t-shirt, as his jacket had stayed in the living room, and then his black pants. He looked over himself in the mirror, his shoulder-length silvery spiked hair making him seem dangerous, but the tired lines on his face giving him a much more calm touch, for now. Of course, his red-brown eyes didn't help much more, he had been sleeping so little.. He tried not to think about anything more, the important thing was that he had at least two days now to sleep, eat, bath, get laid.. yeah, all those necessary things to human life. He looked at the bathtub, approaching it, he turned the hot water tap, feeling kind of sleepy just leaning there waiting. A minute later found him in the bathtub, relaxing his tired and aching body. I would kill to have someone here right now.. a sex slave, would be nice.. He laughed for a moment, then quieted as his mind revolved to the matter at hand. Mariku Ishtar and his little brother Ryou.. Fuck.. I will kill that son of a bitch.. if I know that he touched Ryou.. I will drown him in that big old swamp that he has in his backyard, if it's still there.. who knows. "Kura-niii??" "Ryou!" He stood up, grabbing a towel, leaving his bath-time to much later, maybe after he had slept some. Right now, this was more important. He tied his hair in a small ponytail, drying himself and then putting on his black cotton bathrobe. He heard movement in the living room, so he made his way there. The first thing he noticed as he entered the room was Ryou sitting on the couch, remote in hand.. and a silly smile on his face. "What happened?" His brother turned around and jumped standing on his knees on the couch. He kind of looked him over, trying to find some mark of Mariku's paws on him, but.. apart from that.. weird.. smile.. that wasn't anything weird with him. "What's going on?" "What do you mean, nii-san?" "Jou stopped by some hours ago." "Oh.." He watched with some attention Ryou's hand nervously touching the end of his braid. "Did he say anything?" "I don't know. Something you want to tell me?" I will kill Mariku.. even if I have to die the next day. "N-nothing." "Hum.. SO.. have you made friends with the neighbors? Some new friends?" He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at him. Ryou had moved in with him almost three months now. Almost everyone had warmed up to him, he would be far to say that probably the neighbors liked Ryou better than him. "New friends.. no." "Really.. Jou said you had made.. an Egyptian friend.." "Oh.. he's weird like that.. he probably mistook some guy from school for.. an Egyptian guy.. whatever that means.." "Ryou.. you know that if there's something that I hate more than that damned Ishtar.. is lies. I would prefer if you just told me the truth so I could scream and insult your intelligence." "Kura-nii.. I swear.. no Egyptian friend.." Bakura sighed. He probably had gone all wrong with this. He should have first looked through his things and then maybe set him up in a trap to make him tell me.. Now there's no chance. "Okay. I'm really tired, so.. I'm going to sleep.. Don't wake me up today, not even if you blow up something in the kitchen, not even if someone comes to see me, not even if the house falls on our head.. I want to sleep." "Sure." Bakura sent him a quick glare, trying to see if Ryou would say anything else. But his brother just gave him a sweet, sugary smile that made him almost, almost, say sorry for suspecting him of conspiring with the enemy.. almost being the key, of course. He had known Ryou for a lot of things, but not for lying to him.. It looked like Mariku was having a bad influence.. xxxxxxxx Next Day Ryou woke up the next morning feeling guilty. He had promised to never lie to his brother. That had been one of the rules that Bakura had made him agree to the first day. But.. This was different.. and it wasn't really a lie.. The long-haired boy looked at his window, his eyes following the path to the house in front. There were three persons at the door. One was a woman, probably Isis, one of the older sisters, and the other two were two guys that looked similar to each other. The older being Mariku, who his brother hated with such a vengeance that he pledged every morning that one day he would kill him. The other boy was Malik, the youngest of the four brothers that lived in the house. Malik was close to Ryou's age, and from what he could tell, in Bakura's eyes, the only thing wrong with him was that he was Mariku's look-alike. After all, Bakura was even nice with Isis sometimes. Oh, and there was another older brother, Rashid or something like that, that was never home because he had some work in a museum or the sorts. He was a few years older than Bakura, and was big.. that was probably the reason his own brother didn't start his vow to kill him too.. that and maybe because he wasn't anything like Mariku, as Malik was at least. Maybe someday he could make his brother understand that the Ishtars were not that bad. After all, he.. Well.. Bakura would kill him if he knew that.. Ryou blushed as his thoughts stopped in a recent memory, his first kiss. Funny how he could only think now that Romeo and Juliet sentence, "My only love born from my only hate", or something like that.. Well.. it was his brother's hate, but you get the picture. It was almost ironic.. I hope we don't die at the very end.. at least I can hope for a happy ever ending, right? His eyes, which were for some time now glued to the next house, suddenly noticed someone stopped at the door. Someone leaned in the door frame, looking right at him. He wanted to do something, like scream or fly to his arms.. something like a love-struck girl would do.. But that would be suicide. Not only could he fly, but his brother would be never too cut both their heads if he could approach close enough. Still, he couldn't help the smile that made his face, and the way his heart screamed his love in place of his voice. xxxxxxxx First chapter ends here.. Review and say what you thought of it.. Remember that English is not my first language.. and that it's 5 AM here right now.. so.. mistakes all over the place probably.. You can point those to me too! Well.. As I think this made me FINALLY get sleepy.. I'm going to bed! Baibai! <33333

This is a fanfic story. Genre: buffy_angel Chapter 1 "Fuck you and your cat!" Pairing: Spike/Lorne (The Host) Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters. The title was stolen from a song by Goldfinger. Author's notes: No felines were kicked in the ass during the writing of this fic. Okay, so I knew he didn't like cats. Sweet cheeks, I ask you, who the heck doesn't like cats? All right, there's dogs, Vartog demons, mice, rats (yuck), and Spike. I knew he didn't like cats. I didn't know he was allergic to them. It was such a cute little thing. I was closing up the bar after a particularly long and torturous evening listening to Angel sing his little soul out on stage. He said he had a difficult case to solve and needed a reading, but I knew better. He's a closet Judy Garland, you know. Only difference is, Jude could sing. What that vamp can do to "La Vida Loca" doesn't bear thinking about. The phrases "bleeding eardrums" and "please somebody kill me now" spring to mind. Worse than that? He did all the actions, baby. The man has no rhythm! He jerked around up on that stage like a scalded cat. Sounded like just like one, too. And speaking of cats... I'd just ushered the last of the (and I use the term loosely) "people" from the bar and had locked up, when I heard this strange noise coming from under one of the tables. Being the brave fella that I am, I sent Garcia to check it out. Hey, I'm the boss. It wouldn't do if I was eaten or mauled... although that very much depends on who is doing the eating, honey! Anyhoo, he came back with the cutest little bundle of flea-bitten fur I've seen since I said farewell to mum and the siblings back in Pylea. Only the kitten didn't smell as foul, nor did it do the Dance of Shame. On the upside, it didn't curse me and run me out of town either, so that kinda endeared me to the little beast straight away. Gently, I lifted him from Garcia's arms, trying to dodge razor-sharp little teeth and claws. But hey, I'm used to that. Sometimes Spike gets a little frisky, and boy, when he does, it pays to keep your "essentials" right out of fangs way! I've been bitten on the dick often enough to know when to shimmy my caboose to the other end of the bed. So, I'm standing in the bar at 2 a.m. with an overexcited pussy. What's a guy to do? I did the only thing you can do when you're stood there cupping an overexcited pussy in your hot little hands: I took it home with me, and after it devoured the contents of the refrigerator, I took it to bed. Well, would you have left a restless pussy to nose through your personals while you slept? I think not! Actually, the little fella was pretty damn snuggly, all furry and warm. Reminded me of Cordy's Groo in a way; all hair and cuteness with the strangest blue eyes... I never realized cats could have blue eyes. Spike was out on one of his nocturnal rambles, which meant he would probably stagger in just before daybreak with a bellyful of beer and a hard-on. Isn't it funny how vampires are always horny? Man, that bloodsucker could shag for Britain... and don't even get me started on the sucking angle. I'm snoozing and drifting happily in the Land of Nod, canoodling with Agent Mulder in a big vat of Jell-O when the slamming of the apartment door ripped me from his strong and muscular arms and dropped me unceremoniously back in the small studio Spike and I share above the bar. Sigh. Damn, it was strawberry Jell-O too... I could hear his bleached-ness rummaging around in the refrigerator for the chocolate ice cream he thought he had hidden behind the frozen blood bags. I say thought, 'cause I'd been there, slurped it all, and hidden the evidence already underneath the blood bags. We both love it, you see. It's like a running battle to see who can finish it first, and because some of us actually work for a living, it's usually Spike who gleefully leaves me naught but the empty box. I can always tell when he's done it - the little sucker watches me walking to the 'fridge with his smug little smirk, knowing he's scoffed the lot and I'm too tired to go to the store to buy more... which he would eat most of anyhow. But not tonight, sugar. Sometimes he resorts to a dirty tricks campaign that would win him a nomination for the White House - his second favorite is to 'accidentally' drizzle blood on it. His first favorite? Let's just use the word 'drizzle' and leave it at that. Believe me, baby, even I shudder to think what he gets up to when he's alone and horny! There's the sound of the refrigerator door being slammed and the drunken mutterings of a pissed-off and ice cream-deprived vampire, before I hear the twin thumps of Dr. Marten's hitting the floor. Who the heck is Dr. Marten, and why does he feel the need to make boots? (Clears throat and affects a deep, manly voice) "Trust me, I'm a doctor... of boots," yeah, like that's gonna get him on ER. Anyhoo, a few rustles, thumps, and muffled curses later, and a cool, beer-smelling body slips into bed beside me. I gotta tell ya, people, there is nothing like having your own vampire slip into bed beside you when the humidity is taking the paint off the walls. I often tell him he's like a big ice Popsicle. Of course, you can guess what his response is to that. Let's just say that after three months of rampant bonking with Spike, I could suck the spots off a leopard. He's kinda orally fixated, and not only in a bloodsucking way. It's part of his charm. Hey, it's all of his charm. He snuggles up close, hands caressing the entire length of my torso before settling just below the navel, where he gently tugs the little hairs that lead the way to Lorne Heaven. He growls softly in my ear, knowing how much it turns me on. "Grrrrrrrr... Wanna play, baby?" Holy cow, is the Pope a Catholic? Does a bear crap in the woods? Could my dick be any harder? I flutter my eyelashes coquettishly, trying for the Britney Spears pouty look. I probably come across more as a coy Kermit the frog, although unfortunately, I haven't got the tongue to go along with it. "Now, Spikey-kins..." I purr. "Do you really need to ask? You know I can't get enough of that naughty vamp lovin'... Come on over and give me some sugar, baby." He growls louder and rolls on top of me, pinning me to the bed, which is no mean feat, I can tell you. I'm a good three inches taller and about one and a half times his body weight. But no one can say my Spikey-poos isn't a game little fella. Hell, he'll shag anything, regardless of size, sex, or religious affiliation. And I don't know if it's just a vampire trait (although having sneaked a few glances at Angel's trouser department, I'm thinking it is), but they have larger-than-usual equipment. Spike isn't called Spike just because of his love of sharp, pointy objects, and he's not behind the door at sticking his 'equipment' in most any willing orifice. And speaking of which... Gods, this man's tongue could win a major award. I can see it all in my mind's eye... "And this year's Demon Nobel Prize for Fellatio goes to... (dramatic pause) William the Bloody! Come on up to the podium, Will... Speech! Speech!" (Riotous applause) Will climbs nonchalantly onto the podium, wearing nothing but leather chaps and a smile. "Thank you, thank you, all dear friends... This award is a real bloody honor, and it's partially due to the enthusiastic participation of Lorne here, without whose cock I wouldn't have put in all the practice I needed to win this prestigious award for sucking..." "Lorne? Lorne?" Sigh. "C'mon, snap out of it, Lorne... I'm trying to have sex here, and you're off in Cloud Cuckoo Land!" What? Ahhhhh... A slightly miffed, pale vampire face stares down at me. Oh gods, I'd zoned out again, hadn't I? Damn these fantasies. *Snerk* "Sorry, sugar..." I pout. "I was just thinking about..." Spike smiled indulgently at me. "It was the Fellatio Award and the leather chaps again, wasn't it?" Ahhhh, my little vamp knows me so well! He slid back down my body, his tongue dragging a cool, wet trail of pleasure around a hard, sensitive nipple and further down to slither into my belly button. He glances back up at me, those incredible blue eyes sparkling with all kinds of naughtiness. "Well..." he muses, "if I'm gonna win this award, then I guess I'd better get some practice in." When his cool, wet mouth descends on my cock, and he nearly swallows me whole, all rational thought ends. Part Two I was in Spike Heaven. We'd just got to the part where he'd slid inside me with the aid of some of my favorite strawberry-flavored lube (commonly known in merry old England as strawberry jam). Wow, such a versatile foodstuff! You can spread it on your toast and shag with it... Delightful! Just so long as you remember to buy the seedless variety. (Shudder) Yeah, we've had our fair share of scary "hunt the seed" moments with that, I can tell you. Anyhoo... His bleached-ness was working those sweet buns of his like only he can. It's no wonder Spike's ass is so tight and cute; God knows it gets enough exercise. His eyes were closed, and I could see his game face shimmering on the surface, ready to break through when he came, which judging by his snarls, wasn't gonna be long. Making love with Spike was an adventure. Actually, it was more like "a box of chocolates", to quote Forrest's dear mama, 'cause with Spike, you "never knew what you were gonna get". He could be quite fierce, my fangy little bloodsucker, all growls and biting. It's a huge piece of luck we don't have neighbors. Sometimes it's like the Discovery Channel in our bedroom, filled with the grunts and squeals of one demon or another being eaten and damn near humped to death. And of course, there's the Dawn Chorus of agonized squeals as the warm water of the shower beats down on my latest collection of bite marks and scratches. Other times, he can be so gentle. There's a little spot way deep down inside my blonde beauty that's as soft as a marshmallow. He tries to hide it, but I know it's there. I've managed to prod its squishy surface now and again, and when I do, and we make love, sweet Jesus, it's achingly tender and sweet. It's not unlike a religious experience, minus the Holy Water and the boring litanies. That vamp can take me to the pinnacle of ecstasy and beyond, and it's not the first time he's damn near moved me to tears. Spike needs to be needed, needs so desperately to be loved. And I do love him. Hopelessly. It frightens me just how much. I think he loves me, but to be honest? I'd settle for whatever I can get from him. His game face is fully to the fore now. Gods, it's so feral, so animalistic, so... toothy. I gotta say, he's got a great set of fangs. And here I am, legs spread like the shameless bitch that I am, and an orgasm like a tidal wave ready to engulf me - holy shit, ecstasy "at the hands of big pointed teeth!" You gotta love Monty Python, right? And in true Monty Python form, that's when it happened. I'd forgotten all about the cat. The little fella must've been pinned in between us or something and managed to struggle his way out. You can imagine just how pissed off he is by now, trapped between two sweaty, humping demons. There was a brief flurry of ginger fur, an ear-splitting yowl of rage, and before I knew it, I was face to face with another face full of fangs as the demon kitty from Hell yowled and spat at me from Spike's shoulder. Everything went to hell in a handbasket after that. At first, my blondie bear didn't know what had happened. Maybe he thought I'd gone all Pussy Galore on him, who knows. But his eyes snapped open, golden and extremely pissed off, and he swung his head around to see what was making a meal of his shoulder. Tiny rivulets of blood dripped onto me from where kitty's claws were deeply embedded, and the little fur ball himself was yowling in Spikey-poos' ear loud enough to waken (and scare the shit out of) the dead. The look on Spike's face was priceless. If I hadn't been absolutely terrified of what he was gonna do to me for bringing the cat into our bed, I could have easily soiled myself laughing. But I think it was when he squealed like a girl and leapt off the bed, dick still hard and swinging wildly from side to side, that I lost all self-control. If you've never seen a vampire in full game face with a hard-on the size of Texas slapping off his leg as he tries desperately to dislodge an outraged pussy from his shoulder, then, pumpkin, you've never lived. I just know I missed some of the funnier moments on account of being curled in a ball on top of the bed, crying with laughter and gasping for breath as Spike cavorted wildly around the room, squealing like a stuck pig for me to come and get this "little fucker" off his shoulder. Part of me, a teensy-weensy part of me, felt so sorry for him, but honey, I was helpless. I could barely breathe, never mind get off the bed. Isn't it funny how, at times like this, when you've been frightened and/or embarrassed, that the fates step in and rather than helping, they make a bad situation a hundred times worse? Now, you would think that Spike's situation couldn't have gotten any worse. Naked and scared to death with a demented cat embedded on his shoulder and yowling like a banshee. It just couldn't get any worse. Wrong. I was vaguely aware of a banging sound that got louder and louder. At first, I thought it was my heart, because I'd already decided that if I couldn't stop laughing soon, I was gonna die. Unfortunately for Spike, it was much worse than that. The door of the apartment was suddenly kicked right off its hinges, and Angel stormed in, brandishing a huge axe and looking like someone had just told him that his hair really did grow straight up. If that wasn't bad enough, he was closely followed by Wesley, Gunn, and ohhhh horror of horrors... Cordelia. There was one of those "stunned silence" moments. Well, all except for Spike, who was still raging around the apartment, à la kitty shoulder accessory, and unbelievably still with a hard-on, bellowing at me. "Lorne! Lorne, you complete BASTARD! Get off your ass and get this FUCKING CAT OFFA ME!" Then he saw Angel... and the gang. What a fucking Kodak moment that was. Now, I've seen the big fella look perplexed before, but this expression was beyond perplexed, beyond embarrassed, beyond comprehension even. His mouth opened and closed like a Guppy fish as he and Spike eyeballed each other. For his part, my blondie bear gathered his last remaining shreds of dignity, squared shoulders, which had suddenly become pussy-free as the irate little guy leapt off and vanished into the night, and sniffed in what I know he hoped was a nonchalant manner. One of his hands crept over his bulging erection, and the other groped on the bedside table for his cigarettes. He glared at Angel. "Bloody hell, doesn't anyone round here know how to knock?" Angel's lip quivered. "Vision..." At this point, the rest of us were playing musical statues, no one had moved a muscle or spoken. Let's face it, if you were confronted with a naked, sexually aroused vampire with an angry cat trying to eat him, you'd be pretty damned shocked yourself. The blonde one's dark eyebrow rose sharply. "Vision?" Angel nodded slowly. "Yeah... Urmmmm... Cordelia had a vision that you were being... eaten by a huge, furry demon." Now, if you looked really closely, you could see the realization of what had actually been going on suddenly dawn in Angel's eyes. He stifled another giggle and cleared his throat. "Seems we got here just in time to save you, boy." And with that, the dark-haired vampire leant over, his face contorted by laughter, and grabbed Spike's beloved duster. "For God's sake, cover yourself up, Will. You'll frighten the cat." Wesley snorted. "Bugger the cat, he's frightening me." Needless to say, hysterics ensued. Spike glowered. He threw a steely glance around the room at the others before his baleful gaze fell on me. I could see his lower lip trembling. Yikes. Always a bad sign. He pulled on his duster, and he and his hard-on headed for the door. He turned, cigarette firmly jammed between those luscious lips, and shot me one last, murderous look. "Fuck you, and your cat!" he bellowed, before heading off into the night, naked except for his duster. Part Three Suddenly, none of it seemed so funny anymore. I could feel the grin slide off my face, and when I looked around, I could see that the others had stopped laughing and were nervously wiping their noses and eyes. Angel cleared his throat. "It's okay, Lorne. He'll be back when he's calmed down a bit. You know what he's like." I nodded gloomily, my heart suddenly heavy with pain at the thought of him not coming back. Angel smiled gently and handed me a bathrobe that had been hanging over the back of a chair. "Anyway," he continued, "he's going to be feeling pretty sorry for himself soon. You see, he's allergic to cats." Oh damn. Another strike for the brain-dead green demon. Yeah, let's bring home a cat. He can eat your boyfriend and give him some horrible disease. "Oh, it's nothing serious," Angel smiled. "He just gets some itchy spots... some itchy blue spots. You'll need yoghurt. Lots and lots of yoghurt. Put it on the spots, and it'll help the itch. In a few days, he'll be back to normal. Although he'll probably be mega-pissed with you for the next millennium or so." Oh wonderful. I found myself wondering, and not for the last time, why of all the gin joints and all the bars in the world, that damn cat just had to come into mine. Angel instructed the others to go home, and he patched up the door as best as he could, promising to send someone to fix it the next morning. After he'd gone, I sat on the bed and stared at our apartment. It was so quiet. Just like it had been before Spike had moved in. On a scale of 1 to 10 in suckiness, this was a definite 12. I didn't want quiet - I didn't need quiet. I just needed Spike. Tears welled, I'm not ashamed to say, and when they stopped flowing, I fell asleep. I had a dream. I was swimming frantically around a huge tub of yoghurt, being chased by Spike, who was the most god-awful color of blue and who had inexplicably grown ears and whiskers like a cat. He caught up with me and was shaking me violently, calling my name over and over: "Lorne... Lorne, wake up, damn you... LORNE!" Jerked from sleep, I sat bolt upright in the bed, squealing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't be a cat, please don't be a cat!" When I got my bearings, I realized it was him. My Spike had come home. But ohhhhh gods... "ARGGGGH!" I'm afraid I couldn't stop the girly scream that his appearance ripped from me. Gods, I've seen many, many strange things in my time, but nothing as strange as this peroxided vampire with the large blue spots. He glowered again. "Oh bloody hell," he humphed, and started to get up from the bed. I grabbed his arm, and it felt lumpy underneath his duster. Apparently, the blue bumpiness was all over him. He looked like mutated oatmeal. Or a blue toad. A bleached blonde and furious blue toad. But his face... oh, his poor, blue, lumpy face with its little boy lost, petulant look. And, oh gods, he was pouting. I'm helpless in the face of Spike pouts. Jell-O on his plate, putty in his hands... I would say weak in the presence of beauty, but not on this occasion, bless his little cotton soul. "Oh, pumpkin..." I whispered, "my poor, poor pumpkin. Come to daddy, sweet cheeks. Lorne will take care of you, baby." He looked at me from beneath those sooty black eyelashes, and I'll swear the little minx fluttered them before deepening his pout. "I'm all bumpy," he grumbled, "and itchy. I need someone to look after me... a big, green, daft-headed someone." He smiled weakly, still managing to hold his pout. I pulled him close to me, wanting to hold him, kiss him, make it all better. Something hard and cold poked me in the ribs from underneath his duster. Oh gods, surely not. *Surely* he hadn't still got a stiffy? With one of those "I can read your mind" looks that he can do so well, he reached beneath his duster and produced a family-sized tube of yoghurt. Then he smirked his evil little smirk. "You horny old git, Lorne." I chuckled and stroked his poor, lumpy face gently. "Oh, Spikey-poos..." I whispered, "my sweet little Spikey-poos." When we kissed, it was bliss. Lumpy, but bliss. And don't think I didn't notice the yoghurt was strawberry-flavored.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: television Chapter 1 Dedicated to Vidalhbea. A pointless one-shot, just for fun. Oh, and I apologize for the mondegreen title; I just couldn’t resist. In peace, OpenPage x Nothing could have prepared Tom for the deafening silence that greeted him when he walked into the main hub of the Jump Street Chapel. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed him as he walked the excruciatingly long walk to his desk. Before he could sit down and bury his flaming face behind some paperwork, Doug grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to one side. "So, you're really gay?" Doug asked. Considering Penhall had caught him wearing a cock ring while Booker was intimate with him, Tom figured they had already established that fact, and he was a little surprised by the question. However, he successfully hid his discomfort behind a guise of nonchalance. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels and stared rigidly at his friend. "Yup." "But when did this happen?" Penhall demanded, his voice rising to an annoying whine. "I mean, you weren't gay six months ago." Unable to hide his annoyance any longer, Tom shot his friend a withering look. "Well, gee, Penhall, I never knew you could see inside my mind. How the hell do you know whether I was or not?" "But... but... you slept with women!" Doug spluttered. Although he had had twelve hours to adjust to the knowledge that his best friend was intimate with men, he was still struggling with the concept. Not because he was homophobic – he wasn't; in fact, he didn't have a bigoted bone in his body. What was screwing with his mind was that Tom had kept such a huge secret from him. They were best friends, and best friends shared everything, or so he had thought. "Okay, so I guess I'm bi," Tom clarified sharply. "But I don't understand why it's such a big deal. Last night you said you were happy for me. What's changed?" Doug shuffled his feet like a small child, his middle and forefinger unconsciously rubbing at his upper lip. He was happy for Tom; finding true love was never easy. What the young officer wasn't sure about was Hanson's choice of partner, after all, Booker's infidelity was common knowledge around the Chapel. He was a girl – and, as it turned out, also a boy – in every town kind of guy, and Doug was worried his friend was about to get his heart broken. However, he knew better than to interfere too much. Tom was stubborn to a fault, and if he wanted to date a roguish son of a bitch like Booker, then not even God himself could stop him. With Tom's dark, penetrative gaze boring into him, Doug sought to reassure his friend. "Nothing's changed, buddy. I am happy for you. It's just... is it only Booker you're attracted to, or do you feel something for other men too?" Tom knew Doug well enough to know it was not his intention to behave like a prick. The young officer was genuinely curious, and therefore, he decided not to take offense at the inappropriateness of the question. "I dunno, I never really thought about it," he muttered, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. But as his eyes flitted nervously around the room, his gaze settled on Harry, and a devilish grin tilted his lips. The opportunity presented to him was too perfect to ignore, and deciding to stir the pot, his eyes roved hungrily over Ioki's taut body. "You know, now you mention it, Harry's kinda cute." Penhall's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and a nervous smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "Um, really? So, does that mean you fancy me too?" It was a typical response by those who were not part of the LGBTIQ community. For some reason, they nearly always seemed to think that those in same-sex relationships lusted after everyone on the planet of the same gender. However, rather than be affronted, it took all of Tom's willpower not to burst out laughing. But fortunately, he was a consummate actor, and his expression remained serious, even though he was giggling on the inside. "No, Doug. I'm not about to tackle you to the ground and rob you of your virginity." Hurt softened Penhall's eyes. "You don't think I'm cute?" he questioned with a sulky pout. The expression on Doug's face was beyond adorable, but Tom was not about to let his friend off the hook that easily. "No," he reiterated. "Not really." "Why not?" Doug pressed, a look of disbelief widening his eyes. "Plenty of other people think I am." "Sorry," Tom replied with a shrug. "I guess you're just not my type." Caught up in a wave of narcissism, Penhall missed the teasing twinkle shining from Tom's eyes. "But why?" he whined. "What is it about me you don't like?" Without breaking character, Tom placed a finger against his lips and carefully studied Doug's face. "I think it might be your hair... no, wait, it's your eyes; they're kinda shifty." The moment finally dawned, and Doug suddenly realized his friend was taking the piss. A broad smile spread across his handsome face, and he swatted his friend with his hand. "Asshole," he chided with a chuckle. "You really had me going for a minute." After several seconds, Tom's amused expression transformed into a look of concern. "We're okay, aren't we?" he asked quietly. "I mean, I know it's a lot to take in, but it's not going to change things between us, is it?" Penhall's expression softened, and he placed a companionable hand on his friend's shoulder. "Of course not," he reassured gently. "We're the McQuaids, remember? Nothing can break that bond." From a few feet away, Booker observed the conversation, his blackened eyes narrowing into resentful slits. Even though Penhall had thought he was protecting Tom, the dark-haired officer was still angry about the beating he had received, and the last thing he wanted to witness was a tête-à-tête between his antagonist and his lover, no matter how innocent it might be. While he knew he needed to accept the close friendship that existed between the two men, he often found it increasingly difficult to curb his jealousy. But now their secret was out in the open, he saw no need to hold back his feelings. Resentment raged through his veins, tensing his muscles, and when Penhall pulled Tom into a tight embrace, he was unable to remain inactive any longer. He pushed back his chair and, striding purposely across the room, grabbed Doug by the shoulders and rudely shoved him sideways. "'Scuse me," he snapped. Penhall opened his mouth in protest, but Booker ignored him and, grabbing Tom's upper arms, shoved him forcefully against a nearby filing cabinet. Before Hanson could object, he crushed his body against him, and without holding back, he pressed his mouth against the warmth of his lover's lips and kissed him possessively. As their passion deepened, a cacophony of wolf whistles, catcalls, and approving claps resonated around the room, and embarrassed by the overt display of affection, Penhall made a hasty retreat to his desk. But when the kiss finally ended and the two men broke apart, he saw a look of utter devotion shining from Booker's dark eyes, and any misgivings about the two men's relationship instantly vanished. It was obvious Dennis loved Tom, and in a world filled with violence and hate, that was all that mattered. Therefore, when Booker turned and waggled his eyebrows in a provocative gesture, he pushed down the feeling of resentment he felt toward the smug officer and, taking a deep, calming breath, approached with an outstretched hand. "No hard feelings?" Dennis cast a wary eye at Doug, but when Tom jabbed him sharply in his bruised ribs, he inhaled a gasp of pain, and swallowing his pride, he briefly shook the proffered hand. "Sure." Dozens of officers watched on with growing curiosity, their work temporarily forgotten as they waited to see what would happen next. Eventually, it was Tom who broke the awkward silence, and placing a hand on each man's shoulder, he grinned impishly. "So, drinks tonight? That way, Penhall, you can ask all the inappropriate questions you're dying to ask, and, Dennis, you can show your disapproval by scowling angrily from across the table." An amused grin twitched at Booker's lips, but his bravado remained intact. "Whatever," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. More than anything, Tom wanted the two most important people in his life to get along, and turning his attention to his best friend, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Doug?" It was a defining moment in Doug and Tom's relationship, and the audience of officers watched on with bated breath. "Okay, Hanson," Penhall replied, a slow smile brightening his face. "But you're buying." A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the room. It had been touch and go for a moment, but it was the two men's unwavering love for Tom that had ultimately brought them together.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: cartoons 'Til Human Voices Wake Us A Wee Foray Into Dariarotica by Mr. Bigglesworth Chapter 1 Charles was dreaming about the mermaids again. He knew it was a dream partly because he'd had it—or variations on it—before, partly because there were no beaches like this obviously tropical one anywhere near Lawndale, but mainly because there was simply no way these were costumes he was looking at. Beginning just below the belly button of each of the lovelies he was surrounded by, the human skin made an impossibly smooth transition to iridescent scales. Were they green? Were they blue? They seemed to belong somewhere in that part of the spectrum, predominantly, but they threw off every color of the rainbow in the sunlight. And as for what the scales covered, well, it was a tail, with no sign of anything like legs underlying it, sporting a small pair of ventral fins (though, in true mythical-mermaid fashion, no sign of a ventral opening) and widening out at its end into a set of flukes or flippers. Strangely, though, instead of feeling cold and scaly, these mermaids' tails felt as soft and warm as any human skin, contrasting with the cool feeling of the breaking surf, which kept running almost up to the level of his head as he lay naked on the beach. Funny how the dream seems to get more detailed and vivid each time I have it, thought Charles. He could tell that the mermaids felt soft and warm because one of them was reclining across his legs, just above the knees, and two others were lying atop each of his outstretched arms, effectively pinning him in place. Restraint wasn't always a theme in this dream, though it wasn't the first time it had occurred. The identity of the mermaids had also varied, though they were always—at least from the waist up—girls he knew or at least recognized. And he certainly recognized these. Across Charles' legs, resting her head on one hand, propped up with an elbow, was the lovely Tiffany Blum-Deckler, gazing vacantly (or perhaps she was just bored, he never had been able to tell with that one) at nothing in particular. The tawny-brown skin, the firm budding breasts with their small brown nipples, everything about her was just as he'd imagined it so many times during his years at Lawndale High. On his left arm, her tail section making sure it didn't leave the sand, was one of Miss Blum-Deckler's companions in fashion, the sleek, elegant, haughty, and, dare he say it, cruel Sandi Griffin. Similarly anchoring Charles' right arm was what he had come to regard as the second-loveliest of the Fashion Club members, Miss Morgendorffer the Younger... or a mermaid version of her. So it was to be the Fashion Club this time, was it? But where was his favorite, the beautiful, yet shy Stacy Rowe? As if summoned (ah, dreams!), she was suddenly there, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her hands, just gazing at him, seeming to consider for a moment, then rolling atop him. The Stacy-mermaid lay with her body along the length of his, the end of her tail draped over the Tiffany-mermaid (who seemed not to notice), her hands resting on Charles' shoulders, looking down at him with those huge beautiful doe eyes of hers. Charles thought for a moment—hoped fervently, in fact—that she'd favor him with a kiss from those full, luscious, soft (he had, alas, never felt them, but he knew they had to be!) lips of hers, but even in dreams one doesn't always get everything one wants. 'Stacy' did, however, begin to do something else: slowly at first, then gradually faster, with a sinuosity no real girl could possibly imitate, she began to wriggle the... well, the part of her that made her a mermaid... against him. This frottage was something new, but Charles found it a far from unwelcome variation as his body began to respond. There was no penetration or envelopment—with an exception made for what she was doing now, traditionally there was only one... favor... a mermaid was equipped to grant. As if reading Charles' mind (or as if he were dreaming), the Stacy-mermaid pushed the upper part of herself up away from him and, suddenly, there was a can of fudge sauce in her hand. She smiled knowingly down at him, tilted the can back and forth a few times, then poured it onto Charles' chest. When the sauce hit his skin, thick gooey rivulets of chocolaty goodness ran every which way, some down his sides, some over his shoulders, a bit even pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat. 'Stacy' continued pouring, laying a trail of fudge sauce down the centerline of Charles' torso, rolling herself from atop him as she did, and finished off the can by pouring the last of its contents over certain of Charles Ruttheimer III's most prized possessions. After pausing for a moment, seeming to appraise her handiwork, the Stacy-mermaid began, as had happened in many dreams before, with various mermaids, ever since the first time he'd had this dream years ago, to remove the fudge sauce from Charles' body with her lips and tongue. Sometimes before, the other mermaids had joined in, but as had usually been the case since that magic show he and the real Stacy had put on during Senior Year at Lawndale High, the others were little more than bystanders—and, a little unusually, restraints. This had definitely become Stacy's show. She made her way slowly down his belly, detouring, strangely, around his navel where some of the sauce had pooled, maintaining eye-contact the whole time. When she'd worked her way down as low as his hips, she started at the edge of the fudge sauce and worked her way inwards, with excruciating slowness, licking up every last trickle of sauce as she made her way to where, ah, certain parts of Charles were demonstrating that she had his undivided attention. Then, at last, at last! Using just the lightest sips and flicks of her tongue tip, 'Stacy' removed the fudge sauce from Charles' most sensitive regions, till he was completely cleaned-off and groaning and straining, looking up at the amused faces of the Quinn and Sandi-mermaids as they giggled at his predicament. Finally, a voice: the first actual words anyone had spoken in the dream. "Gee, I hope I'm doing this right," said the Stacy-mermaid, in the same nervous-yet-excited tone Stacy had used when chaining him up for his escape from the trunk at their magic show. On hearing this, Charles looked down, and saw the Stacy-mermaid's nervous tone belied by the playfully mocking look in her eyes as she took him into her mouth. Charles' breath hissed through clenched teeth at the almost unbearable sensation of soft, hot wetness. Again he strained against the other mermaids' restraint, again triggering a gigglefit from them, as that soft hot wetness engulfed more and more of him, taking him further into her mouth, her throat until she had all of him. The briefest of pauses, then with the same excruciatingly sweet slowness 'Stacy' disgorged him, paused, took him back in, over... and over... and over... Again Charles let his head drop back, looking up at the sky and at 'Quinn' and 'Sandi' as the sensation built and built. Then he felt something different, something that made him look up suddenly into 'Stacy's face again: a sudden hardness amid the softness as she ever-so-lightly raked teeth along the entire length of him on one of her upward strokes. Something else that's never happened before in this dream, thought Charles, and how did she know I liked that? As their eyes met, the Stacy-mermaid smiled up at him, her hair falling over one of her eyes. Had it been down the whole time? He wondered. I never did tell her how much prettier she looks with it down than in those pigtails she always used to wear. He wanted to brush the hair back out of her face, to stroke it, to touch her in some way. He tried to raise one arm to do so, but of course, it wouldn't budge. He looked up for a moment, to see the Quinn-mermaid smile down at him and wag a finger back-and-forth in a tut-tutting gesture. The Stacy-mermaid took a brief detour, kissed her way a short distance up his abdomen, and, placing her lips over his navel, sucked most of the remaining fudge sauce out of it, then quickly scooped up what remained with her tongue. She then spent a little while kissing around in the general vicinity before taking him back into her mouth. Not as deeply this time, but she was moving more rapidly. Her hand wrapped around below where her oral attentions were reaching and began moving up-and-down in time with the bobbing of her head. It wouldn't be long now, Charles thought, not long at all. Soon he was squirming and writhing and whimpering beneath the Sandi-Quinn-Tiffany mermaids as he got closer and closer and closer... his head tilted back again, looking up... yes, this was it, this was it— A moment that obliterated all thought, then a brief confused wondering where the sky had gone, then the second spasm hit and Charles crunched forward, his beginning-to-focus gaze falling on a pair of eyes—not Stacy's, though they were lovely, even without their usual makeup—and a wild tangled mass of black hair. A third and final spasm, a shiver as it ended, and then Charles fell back on the bed as he tried to catch his breath. "And a good morning to you too," said a familiar voice. After a moment, Charles managed to prop himself up on his elbows and looked down to where Andrea was wiping at the corner of her mouth with the edge of her hand. "To you too?" asked Charles a little dazedly. Then a horrible possibility occurred to him. "Did I... uhm... say something as I... woke up?" Oh God, please let me not have said Stacy's name, he thought. "Yeah," replied Andrea, "and I suppose I should be offended..." Oh no, oh no, no "I mean, 'muhgugg'n-OOG!' is kind of inarticulate even by your usual early-morning standards," Andrea replied. "Still," she continued, sliding up in bed so she was lying next to Charles, "I guess I can forgive you." Partly in relief, but mostly from plain affection, Charles hugged Andrea tightly, buried his face in her shoulder, enjoying the warmth, and how soft she was—she'd been self-conscious about her weight early on in their relationship, but (and he was beginning to think he might actually have her convinced of this by now) he liked the way she felt. In fact, the thought of how one of those bone-skinny Fashion Clubbers would feel in a close embrace... well, he thought, some things were best left in dreams. Charles inhaled. His lover smelled a little bit of sweat... a tiny bit of whatever she'd washed her hair with yesterday... but mostly like, well, Andrea. It was kind of hard to describe. After a moment, she pushed away from him, rolled over so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She stretched, yawned, then said, "Well, you're welcome and all, Chuck, but I think it's time we both started thinking about showers and getting ready for work." Charles grinned and started towards Andrea, but she put a hand on the center of his chest and pressed, which had the two effects of giving her the leverage to push herself upright, and of pushing him back onto the bed. "Separate showers, Goatboy!" she admonished playfully. Charles contented himself with admiring the Rubenesque curves of Andrea's body as she walked off towards the bathroom. Of course, it was probably just as well, he thought. The few things the two of them had tried in the shower had proved a lot more... awkward... than he'd always expected they'd be. After a few moments of luxuriating in bed, when he heard the water running in the bathroom, Charles got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and walked into the kitchen of the apartment he and Andrea shared. As he busied himself with making coffee and as much of breakfast as he could get together before Andrea was finished cleaning-up, he reflected on how... was 'energized' really the word for it?... he felt. However he was feeling, he'd just learned of a truly delightful way of being awakened. As he puttered about in the kitchen, he actually began humming to himself as he began musing—brushing aside a brief pang of ridiculous jealousy (such things being unworthy of a Ruttheimer!)—on just what sort of dreams his sweet Andrea might awaken from when, some morning very soon, he returned the favor. Daria (even though she doesn't appear in this story, I mention her anyway) and all ancillary characters are the property of MTV/Viacom, not me. I'm not making a dime off this story and suing me would probably be bad PR (to say nothing of Karma) anyway. The term 'Dariarotica' was coined by the mysterious Gystex, on/at the Paperpusher's Messageboard, a day or two ago. I like it, I'm pretty sure he didn't copyright it, and even kind of got the impression he didn't mind if others used it, so I'm using it here.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: celebrity Chapter 1 Pairing: Ilse/Moritz Notes: I've wanted to write this since I first read the original play. It's based mostly on that, with little bits of the musical sprinkled in. I've taken liberties that a director might, particularly since such a large part of the fic is what Ilse is wearing (which is not an oversized white shirt). Ilse crept down the path, marveling at how silent her footsteps were, now that she wore the ballet slippers Adolar had bought her for their celebration. 'Kätzchen,' he called her, stroking her hair and hand-feeding her the chocolates he always bought with the money left over after paints and canvas, even before food and rent. She was about to start singing, some vulgar ditty she had picked up from the artists, but a motion through the brush made her pause. She heard a voice—a young man's voice, distressed. She padded closer, carefully pushing the branches out of her way. She gasped softly as she realized who it was—dear Moritz Stiefel, the boy who had always been by her side as Captain Ilse the Insouciant's First Mate when they played at being pirates. She had called him Moritz the Fearless, out of some vague hope that her fantasies would begin to blur into reality and make him so. Moritz sat on the ground with a stack of schoolbooks beside him, and in his trembling hands, he held a gun. She couldn't hear what he was saying as he turned it over and over in his hands, but the hopeless look on his face filled her with dread. She saw him glancing around, seeming to search for something. "What are you looking for?" she asked suddenly, pushing through the brush to join him in the clearing. He jumped to his feet, hiding the gun behind his back and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. "Ilse!" she asked again, "What are you looking for here?" He took a deep breath, twisting his hands in the fabric of his pants to hide the fact that he was shaking. "Why did you give me such a fright?" she persisted. "What are you looking for—what have you lost?" He considered, for an instant, telling her everything, but the words stuck in his throat. "Why frighten me so dreadfully?" he demanded. She sighed slightly. "I've come from the town. I'm going home," she explained. He tried a half-truth. Ilse was the fairy that appeared in his dreams—the ones he used to have, before those awful blue tights, the ones that had always calmed him when he worried. She could not be lied to. He had a suspicion that she would know if he even tried. "I don't know what I've lost." She gave him a queer little half-smile. "Then looking for it won't help." He returned the half-smile and cast his eyes downward. "Hell, hell, hell!" he hissed. She wore blue tights. Ilse started at his exclamation, glancing at herself to see what had upset him so. "Moritz?" He simply stared at her legs, trying not to blink. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the tights climbing over the lectern again… and knew that from now on, Ilse would follow them. He gasped and looked down at himself as he felt his body's traitorous reaction—the stirrings of manhood, as Melchior had called them. "Moritz, are you ill?" Ilse cried, reaching out to grab his shoulder concernedly. He stiffened as her pale hand wrapped around him. "Ilse… you shouldn't touch me. I… oh, god…" he stammered, trying to force his body to obey his mind. She followed his mortified gaze, her mouth forming a silent 'O' as she realized what was distracting him so. "Dear Moritz, is that all your trouble?" she asked, her eyes kind as she raised them to meet his. A crimson flush crossed his face as he nodded dumbly. She smiled and leaned in to murmur conspiratorially in his ear. "They talk about that all the time." Moritz felt as though he were about to faint. "Around you?" he finally managed to whisper, blushing even more deeply. Ilse nodded. "I've always said I live where Priapus reigns, Moritz. They do more than talk." The color that had been accumulating in his cheeks drained immediately. Had his fairy-pirate-queen been so fully taken in by the artists, with their silver tongues and skillful hands? "Do they… have they… with you?" She shook her head. "That's far too dangerous, Moritz. Imagine if there were a child! Heinrich's tried, the beast, but all the rest keep him in check. No, there are… other ways," she explained. "Other ways?" he echoed, his voice breaking slightly. "Other ways," she confirmed. She bit her lip in contemplation, and then glanced up at his face with an elfin smile. "Like this." She slid her hand from his shoulder down to his hip; then gently let it creep to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. He gasped sharply, one hand gripping Ilse's wrist. "Shh, dearest Moritz," she crooned, delicately stroking him. "If you make a sound, someone might find us." He bit his lip and inhaled as obviously practiced fingers traced lines he had so often forbidden himself from tracing. "I don't think I can stand," he whispered breathlessly, stumbling backwards to lean against a tree, pulling Ilse with him. She smiled again, still reminding him of nothing so much as a pagan goddess—Venus, some still-sensible part of his mind supplied. If she was Venus, that would make him Adonis, he realized. A small laugh escaped his lips, turning into a groan as she squeezed him gently. "What amuses you so?" she asked playfully. Usually, with the artists, she was smoldering and sensual, but with Moritz… she could be her true self, as she had always been. "Latin forever haunts me… but the torture has let me see you as the goddess you are, existing for mortals like me to worship and by which we are amazed," he replied, beginning to pant softly. "You sound like you've the makings of a poet!" she exclaimed, her breath sweet against his cheek. She hesitated a moment, and then kissed him. He understood, finally, why books went on so about kisses. He wondered why Melchior had neglected to mention it, save in passing, in the many pages of his essay—when Ilse's tongue slipped between his parted lips, he stopped thinking, and found himself drawing her sharply to him, kissing back with a surprising passion. He pulled back only when the need for air made his head swim. Now they were both panting, and Ilse felt her knees go weak. She sank to the ground, glancing up at Moritz through her long eyelashes as she began to undo the fly of his pants. As they slid to pool around his ankles, the gun he had tucked into them clattered to the ground. He didn't seem to notice, and she pointedly ignored the weapon, instead wrapping her hands fully around his hardened shaft, smoothly stroking him. He groaned softly and his eyes fluttered closed, utterly overcome by the sensations—with every passing moment, the fears that had nearly caused him to take his life moments ago were being pulled away from his very soul. Suddenly, warm wetness enveloping his member made him cry out in shock. He looked down wildly to see a curtain of dark curls moving between his legs, and realized that she had taken him into her mouth—and was licking and sucking delicately at him until he could no longer stand it. "Ilse, I… oh God!" he hissed, grasping at the tree as he came hard. Utterly spent, he slid down the smooth tree until he sat on the grass beneath, legs splayed in front of him. He felt a grin, the first in he didn't know how long, spread across his lips as he gazed adoringly at Ilse through half-lidded eyes. She smiled—almost shyly—at him. "I'll be right back," she murmured, darting down to the riverbank where he heard her splashing for a moment before she returned, drying her hands on her skirt. Her eyes met his for a moment, and then shifted to the forgotten gun on the ground next to him. "You were going to use it, weren't you," she said softly. It wasn't a question. "I… I've been expelled from school. I've no money, I've disgraced my parents, and I can scarcely stand to see anyone I know… save Melchi. And you," he explained, his voice gaining strength as he recovered and fixed his pants, forcing himself to analyze the last minutes' events later. Ilse knelt next to him, taking the gun and turning it over in her hands. "I know what it feels like to have a loaded pistol pressed against your skin, Moritz. I do. Will you… will you throw this in the river? Throw it away and… and… and come with me!" His eyes seemed to bore into hers, his soul laid bare. "Ilse, I'm scared. I don't… I'm not a man of actions, I'm a man of thoughts; of ideas…." He trailed off. "Priapia doesn't yet have a poet or philosopher," she commented, "and I'll be with you," she added softly, twining her fingers with his. He looked uncertain for a moment, before a faint smile spread over his face. "If you're there," he said, "I can do anything." She let out a whoop and pulled him to his feet, handing him the pistol. Dashing to the riverbank, he took a deep breath and hurled the offending item into the middle, where it landed with a loud splash and sank. He felt lighter and freer than he could ever remember being when he turned back to Ilse, his face lit up with a grin. "In what direction lies Priapia, Captain Ilse?" She giggled and grabbed his wrist, and they crashed through the brush, running full tilt down the path.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: inuyasha Chapter 1 In the end, they had both stood at the ancient roots of Goshinboku and stared into the twilight of their days together. It wasn't as painful as Kagome believed it would be. In fact, she could describe herself as feeling quietly relieved, if not numb, to the fact of her last departure from the Feudal Era. The Shikon Shards had all been reunited with one another, making whole a jewel that had been Kagome's error from the beginning. The wish had been made as well upon the Shikon no Tama. The schoolgirl from the future had hugged Sango one last time, both of them crying softly. Shippo had wept as well when she knelt to scoop him up in a tight embrace. The houshi came next, and she uttered her name before giving her a quiet look. She even forgave him when they embraced, and he goosed her. Kikyo received a hug as well, and after fighting back tears that threatened to fall down her face in fast rivulets, she turned to Inuyasha. No, Inuyasha and Kikyo. Kagome had always wished for his happiness. She had always meant to preserve the happiness of others before her own. It seemed to complement her function as a miko, but now she felt that it compounded it. When the time for the wish came, Kagome had wished for Kikyo's return to mortality. True enough, it occurred, and Inuyasha made his choice. Whether he made it for his own personal desires or to merely make whole the sacrifice she had brought upon herself, she couldn't be sure. In a way, she mused briefly over the idea that her selfless wish had been the last thing he had wanted - but to honor her for the great willpower and purity it had cost her, he accepted it. He accepted Kikyo, and Kagome needed to return home to her own stilted life. Internally, she had laughed at her folly. This was her life, here. Her modern era had raised her to be the naive teen that had fallen into the Bone Eater's well, and from there she had grown as a person. She learned love, jealousy, friendship, anger, and even hate. The latter was her last lesson before she walked to the well and turned one last time to see the blurred images of her friends beyond the tears she could not hold back. Listlessly, she raised one hand and gave a half-hearted wave that was meant to show bravery. Instead, it gave proof to her inner cowardice in saying what she really felt all along towards him - towards Inuyasha. She slung one leg over the lip of the cistern, biting her lower lip. It hurt to look upon him before she allowed herself to fall, but she couldn't save herself the trouble. Pain. His countenance was that of raw anguish, even as he held Kikyo so very close. Yes, from that time onward she learned to hate herself. She let go and began her descent into the depths of the well. Falling far into fast-forward. The girl from the past raised her gaze to Inuyasha's brother, who betrayed nothing. In all the havoc of the last month, she had been surprised to find him here, alive, at the foot of Goshinboku. In times like these, she had chosen to be with her aging mother and teenage brother. That last, fateful week was when all the students had been released from university - in fact, all students everywhere - to be with their families. It was a shame, really. This was the opinion of her evening professor when she was informed of the crisis. Not much longer, their history professor broke down into sobs she worked hard to stifle before dismissing them all. It shook Kagome to the core, but not in the same way it had her peers. Free. She would be free. Her animated step was not spurred by inner turmoil and panic, but a new sense of purpose that she hadn't grasped for nigh on ten years. She fled the school, fled to her old shrine-home where she had been avoiding her ghosts. The young woman laughed like she hadn't in years and told them it wouldn't be long now. Not long at all. After going through the motions of goodbyes and I-love-yous with her mother and brother (her grandfather was now one of the ghosts; he already knew her true intent) she excused herself from the house to stand beneath Inuyasha's tree. That's where she found him, seated at its base. She studied him a precious moment, a moment they did not have to spare. Finally, she forced herself to speak. Her voice carried like the wind - faint, strong, fading - which was like so many other things, too. "Do you regret much?" she asked. The simple question was greeted with silence, initially. After a solid, squandered minute, he spoke in a low octave that angered the woman of the present. "I do not regret... much." She drew in a halting, fleeting breath of frustration. It could be her last. Time might have stood still were it possible, if one could will it to be so. He was the Lord of the Western Lands - or had been. Titles meant nothing when facing the brink. If she could stand on the precipice of all things known to man and see nothing below but a vast, ending void, then what was the point? Moreover, he could see it too. They both stood upon the edge of the chasm and gazed upon it with all its horror and dark promises meant to entice. They were there, and it was such a terrible reality that she prayed to blink out of existence now. Of course, nothing happened just yet. Fate had also conspired against her when she left Inuyasha by the well with Kikyo in their world of sunlight and happy endings. That Kagome had jumped into the Bone Eater's Well that final time, and promptly died when she came out the other side into her own era. The new Kagome that had been birthed from the darkness of the well was hollow, a nothing girl who wandered her world without a will to go on. There was balance in all things, and where Kikyo had regained her humanity, Kagome had lost her soul. She was nothing more than a second-coming of Kikyo, which fit since she was the reincarnation of the resurrected miko. Where one had got up, another had fallen. Irony was like that, and it treated her poorly. It was with this knowledge that Kagome also realized that Sesshoumaru spoke the truth. A being like himself would not regret lightly, and never more than once. What he did regret would be an ever-bitter burn that would travel to all extremes of his mind, filling it with ash and dreams of what-if. She thought of a small girl with dark eyes and imagined that her companion in the end times must be seeing them now in all their wonder. "Rin..." she whispered, understanding. She sat beside him in the shadows as the ghosts chattered excitedly about them and the years lent their weight to both sets of shoulders. More silence. On the horizon, a dark shadow was approaching. The comet had struck just as the astronomers had predicted a month prior, and all their efforts to deter it were in vain. The tsunami engulfed the land and sky, blotting out the world and feeding from it. It was only a matter of time before they were consumed. For once, time was not something the ageless taiyoukai and the suicide with a heartbeat could waste. The reason for why he was there was not important, nor how he had survived to the present era and found her of all people on this last day in the world. He was here, her last link to the past. Kagome felt reborn and alive. "Can I hold your hand?" she suddenly asked, her tenor breathless and engrossed by the ambulatory penumbra that swallowed the heavens whole. He did not answer, and she did not expect him to. Ignoring this trifle, she deftly extended her closest arm and threaded her fingers through his clawed digits. Her hands trembled with eagerness. She squeezed his hand, just to feel blood and bone one last time. Nearly beyond her belief, she felt an answering pressure. It wouldn't be long now. The din from their savior drowned out all things, including sound. Reason escaping the dead girl, she lifted her head once more to rest her cloudy blue eyes on Sesshoumaru. Her vision was clear. Was he tired and alone, too? Above the cacophony, she raised her voice one last time - but she could no longer hear herself as seawater struck her face like small slaps and her hair whipped around her neck like a loose noose. Her lips and tongue rotated around her utterances, and whether or not the demon beside her could hear her despite his heightened auditory abilities she could not know. "We'll be with them soon!" she exclaimed. He gave her a sharp look. His slit pupils reflected the last of the fading red light, and shone briefly in the roaring dusk. He looked like a predator staring out from the blackness of things, eyes flashing before that lethal jump. As was his way, he turned his head to face his opponent with a determined glare. The difference, Kagome noted with awe, was the set of his grim yet expectant smirk. The pressure was building somewhere in her head as she was assaulted with debris. The world around her shook, and water was everywhere. She tipped her chin up, and tried to imagine seeing the crest of the tsunami as it hovered impossibly high over their heads. There was a peak time in all things, and that time for the miko and demon had long since passed. They had lived boneless in the wake for so long - he for centuries and she for a decade. By their own methods of counting, it had been eternity without reprieve. The last thing Kagome felt was the sensation of his hand in hers. The feeling did not linger, it merely flickered in less than an instance through her nerves before there was a blessed lack of sentience and sound. In life, in the golden years of a once-upon-a-time, they had been adversaries. Now, in death, they were united. In the end, they had both stood at the ancient roots of Goshinboku and stared into the twilight of their days together. Disclaimer: Inuyasha does not belong to me.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: games Chapter 1: Warsong Narya looked around the hustle and bustle of the war room. Her eyes came across the forsaken, Crillo, with whom she frequently fought alongside in battle. She smirked, watching him indirectly, intrigued by the fact that he seemed to have taken a liking to her, despite the fluctuation of her moods. Before she could begin to analyze it further, they were ushered by portal into the Gulch. Quickly melding into the shadows, she applied poison to her blades and slunk off out of the hold and onto the fields. She looked back over her shoulder to find him following her. She eyed him, knowing full well the routine they had grown accustomed to: singling out the one Alliance troop that had fallen from the pack, cornering the sickly gazelle, and making sure he never rejoined his group. Sure enough, her keen Sindorei eyes picked out a solitary soldier. With a deft hand, she sapped the night elf, stopping him in his tracks. Soon enough, Crillo was on the target, his blades slicing into him at a deadly pace. She grinned, joining him, and within seconds, the poor elf's body fell to the floor, lifeless. She casually wiped the blood from the blades onto her leathered thighs as he watched her. "I think you enjoy this way too much," he joked. She turned to look at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Surely it's good to enjoy one's work?" She smirked again and fell into the shadows once more. They made their way up the field to Silverwing Hold. Much to her dismay, there was no sign of any enemies about. They moved silently through the rooms, looking for their next victim. As they waited in the shadows, she could feel his eyes on her for the most part. Combined with the adrenaline she felt pumping through her system, she couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of excitement. Something not quite borne from the effects of battle, but a feeling that perhaps stemmed from something deeper within her. Teasingly, she slunk past him, brushing against him for a brief moment, and smirked. He grinned at her, and in a low voice, one only she could pick up, he commented, "I'm really starting to think you enjoy this way too much." His eyes roamed over her stealthed form, slowly taking in her subtle curves. She looked back at him, her eyes seemingly dark. "With the amount they pay us to do the work, if I didn't enjoy it, it wouldn't be worth it." As her statement ended, she perked her ears to a random sound outside. She moved back instinctively and then noticed he didn't move as she crouched back into him. The familiar smirk played on her lips once more as she pressed against him. "Now who's enjoying this?" He grinned, but didn't move from his spot. In fact, he sat down on the stone floor, taking his hands off the hilts of his daggers for a moment and placing them on her leathered hips, almost holding her there in place. She could feel the color rush to her cheeks as his hands gripped her. "Surely a celebrity like you is used to the attention," he said casually. She laughed lightly, their voices and sounds barely audible to anyone around but themselves. She felt his hands tighten on her hips, and became aware that their usual repartee was now turning into something more intense. "I can't say I've come across this attention much," she said coyly, wiggling her hips and pushing back against his crotch, hearing him gasp under his breath. "I know your lock-picking skills leave much to be desired, but surely you have mastered the art of disarming traps and pickpocketing? I wonder..." He quirked a brow at her words, knowing full well it was a challenge. He smirked, looking her over in stealth. One hand moved from her hip to the back of her belt. His fingers felt along the leather, and soon he came across a not-so-permanent seam that seemed to travel from her belt down across her rear, between her legs, and up the other side. "Clever girl," he remarked with a grin, "It seems like you're ready for anything." She let out a light chuckle. "Well, you know me. I'm not a fan of baring all in public. Sometimes a little discretion goes a long way." She pressed her rear to him once more, wiggling it and feeling him harden in his own leathers, still well aware they were both in enemy territory. Yet, even with the apprehension, her words became bolder still. "So, is today the day when you stop watching and start doing?" She smirked, her voice almost a purr. He grinned, taking his cue, and let his lanky fingers begin to undo the miniscule latches that kept the seam together. Though her eyes and ears remained focused on their surroundings, ensuring she would be aware of any sudden interruptions, the rest of her body remained fixed on his. She felt herself gasp lightly as all the latches became undone, and she could feel the crisp air hit her delicate skin. He grinned, letting his fingers lightly run across where the seam used to be, not quite sinking in between her cheeks, but grazing her nether lips every so slightly. "Well, now. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of getting to know you this well before," he said, as the words left his lips, he turned his hand to cup between her legs. She closed her eyes, her breathing becoming slightly jagged as she felt his fingers nestle into her already glistening folds. He noticed her current state and smirked, "I guess this is proof of how much you really do enjoy this work." He let his index finger lazily press against her clit, and she gasped once more. "Though, I might just need more convincing, personally." She looked back, raising an eyebrow at his words. She saw as he removed his hands from her, and she furrowed her brow somewhat, at the absence of his touch. She watched as he lay back onto the floor, eyes still on her. His hands came back onto her hips, pulling her back towards him. She moved back, her eyes widening as he positioned her over his face. He pushed her forward slightly, only to make her fall to her knees instead of squat. Grinning, he pulled her hips towards him once more. Her lips parted to let out a muted cry as she felt his mouth connect with her nether. Her eyes shut, and she felt them roll back as his mouth began to work on her, his tongue delving in between her folds and encircling her clit, then lightly sucking on it. She could feel her arousal build within her. His mouth pulled away slightly, and that grin reappeared on his lips. "I must admit, I'm enjoying it just as much as you," he said, his voice deeper than normal. As the words left his lips, his mouth was once again on her. She arched her back as she felt his tongue delve deeper into her this time. Her body shuddered as little jolts of pleasure hit her. She leaned forward, hands roaming over his leathers, focusing on his crotch, and feeling his bulge. Her fingers deftly unbuckled his leggings and slipped in. Not knowing what to expect, she did notice the decay on him was not far developed. As her agile fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, she could feel no difference in texture or touch. Though she felt him gasp against her pussy as she gripped him firmly. Her ears were still acutely aware of their surroundings as she pulled his length out. Her tongue darted out, teasing his head, encircling it before her lips latched onto the underside, and gave it a soft suckle. She could feel him moan into her as his tongue became bolder, pushing deeper inside her, and his hands spread her cheeks. She arched her back against him, like a cat in heat, as her mouth took him in fully this time. She felt his cock throb inside her mouth as she slowly suckled him. Her tongue ran up the length of his shaft as her mouth came off slightly. She gently raked her teeth back down as she felt his whole body shudder beneath her. She grinned against his shaft, "It seems like you are enjoying it quite a bit, Crillo." Her lips formed another smirk, but before she could continue, he pulled himself from her quickly. She blinked, somewhat confused, but then she felt him behind her, his cock prodding against her sodden slit, as his hands pulled her hips to him once more. "Indeed, I am. I've always wondered how this would feel," he grinned, as he pulled her hips back, letting his length sink into her deeply. She let out a gasp as she felt him enter her. Her walls kept snug around his shaft as she felt herself tremble with pleasure. His strokes were slow to begin with, her juices more than enough lubrication to help him through. With each thrust into her, she could feel her pussy tighten around him, milking him, urging him to stay nestled in deep. He leaned over her, one hand trailing from her hips, moving in front, and onto her clit. She bit her bottom lip as he rubbed her. His thrusts increased in pace as she rolled her head forward, breathing even more jagged. But she pulled away from him, even though her want and need were strong. He looked at her, somewhat puzzled, but her expression was enough to placate him. She turned to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, and pushing him into a sitting position. She looked down at his glistening cock, and then back up at him. Her tongue darted out, running over her lips as she grinned. Slowly, she moved her legs over him, straddling him, and lowering herself down. She saw his eyes shut as he sunk deep into her once more. Arms entwined around his neck, she began to grind against him, forcing her weight onto him, ensuring he was nestled deep inside her. Her pace soon quickened as she rode him, her body undulated above his, walls tightening with each stroke. His hands roamed over her covered breasts, squeezing at them in vain, as he felt what little control he had left, leave him. She nuzzled her mouth near his ear, and he could hear her subtle moans as she moved above him. Her pace increased as she could feel her juices slowly start to seep from her. Her ears perked as they picked up a noise outside. The fear of being caught, and the urgency of their combined pleasure, forced her on. His hands moved down to her hips, gripping them as she continued to ride him. His eyes opened to meet hers, and she knew the look all too well. She grinned, and then tightened her pussy around him one final time, before he erupted inside her. The feel of his cock tensing, and her walls tight, was enough to bring her own climax. She moved her lips to his ears once more, so he could hear her orgasm. They shuddered against each other, letting the pleasure course through them. She kept her arms around him, basking in the afterglow of their combined bliss. She grinned against him, her voice still low, "I think we may have company." Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled herself off of him, and quickly refastened the latches on the seam of her leggings. She grinned as she watched him compose himself, and move his hands to his daggers once more.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: games Chapter 1 Narya kept her gasp in check as she managed to dodge the night elf's swing and vanish into the shadows. She sprinted across the cobblestone roads of Stormwind and headed towards the dim buildings of the Dwarven District. She kept her breathing to a minimum, taking short breaths, in order to avoid inhaling too much of the airborne soot that lingered around her. As she slowed her pace to a jog, she found her way to the tram. Once through the gates, she let out a little sigh of relief. Her venture into enemy territory that morning had not been one of her brightest ideas, considering her mood. Distracted, she had almost fallen victim to the Kaldorei's blade. She pushed her mask down, remaining stealthed within the confines of the Alliance transport system. She smirked, realizing how lucky she was to have escaped, given her unfocused thoughts. She made her way through the narrow passage that bordered the tracks and finally came across a dark and secluded corner. Certain she hadn't been followed, she reappeared from the shadows and took one final look around her. The air was crisp and cool, not like the stifling smog in the Dwarven District. She rolled her shoulders back, stretching out some before she leaned back against the stone wall. Her thoughts traveled back to the inn in Goldshire and her recent cavort there. Normally not prone to taking time out during the day to alleviate such persistent feelings, she felt she had to. They had become too much of a distraction. One small release should remedy that. One hand traveled down her side, fingers grasping at her covered breasts as she felt her nipples harden. The other made a trail from her belt, down the temporary seam, as agile fingers worked quickly to unlatch it. Soon her fingers had disappeared from sight, nestling into her already damp folds. Her eyes shut, and she let out a small moan as her head rolled back. She began to move her hips slowly, in her own silent rhythm, as her fingers continued to work her now moist pussy. Suddenly, her ears perked up at a faint noise. Her fingers stopped their motion, and she opened her eyes. With all the clatter in the tram, it was hard to distinguish what was normal noise and what was something she should be concerned about. Before she could analyze it further, she felt something moist between her legs. She gasped as she looked down and saw him. He looked up at her, grinning, his tongue slowly lapping at her folds. He pulled away briefly, eyes still locked on hers, as his form appeared from the shadows. "I couldn't very well let you go off on your own, now could I?" He chuckled. "I saw how that elf almost had you." A sly smirk formed on her lips as she looked down at him, unabashed in her current state. She bit her bottom lip. "You know I could have used some help with him. After all, it was your fault I did so poorly." She grinned at him and let her fingers continue with their work. He looked down at her fingers, then back up at her. "My fault?" His hands came up to the waist of her leggings as he began to slowly pull them down over her hips. "How is it my fault?" She watched him slowly remove her leggings and raised a brow. He noticed her expression and smirked, "Temporary seams are all well and good, but it's nice to get a full view of things." She let out a light laugh, watching him intently as he brought her leggings down her hips and off her. She stood in front of him, her pale skin almost translucent in the dim light. His lanky fingers traveled up her legs, and she felt herself shiver as his tongue delved in between her legs once more. Her knees buckled, feeling his tongue press deeper past her lips and into her warm slit. She stood there awhile, reveling in the sensation, feeling the small shocks of pleasure hit her. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked down at him. Her hands cupped his face, and she pulled him up to her level. She leaned in with a grin and kissed him deeply. Her tongue slipped past his lips to find his, entwining around it. She turned him quickly, his back against the wall, as she pulled away from him. Her eyes were dark and mischievous as she watched his face. "It's your fault for dominating my thoughts and making me unfocused." Her words were almost a hiss, but not a malevolent one. She leaned in to nip at his lower lip before kneeling in front of him. He looked down at her with a smirk, watching as she unbuckled his belt and unlatched his leggings. "Is this my punishment, then?" He chuckled lightly, but the laugh was cut short by a small gasp as her fingers wrapped around his already hardening shaft and pulled his cock out. She smirked, letting her fingers travel down to the base, keeping a firm grasp as she leaned in. Her breath was warm against it. "Punishment? Hardly. Incentive, perhaps, to keep things going the way they are." She grinned, then let her tongue dart out at his head. She could hear him moan as she trailed her tongue gingerly around the tip of his shaft, taking only a bit into her mouth to suck softly. His hands came down to grasp at her hair. He smirked, though his face was overcome with desire and pleasure. Her mouth came off his cock, and she grinned up at him. She looked up at him with a wicked and determined look, and then let her lips latch onto the underside of his shaft, near his head, as she suckled on it gingerly. She felt his body shudder, and her mouth became bolder. She let her tongue trail down his shaft as her grip on the base became more firm. Teasingly, her tongue darted at his sac, and she could hear him moan. Her lips fixed themselves onto his base as she slowly sucked her way up his length. His fingers grasped her hair securely as he clenched his jaw at the pleasure. She took his cock fully into her mouth, raking her teeth along it gently, feeling her own arousal build from his pleasure. Her pace quickened as her head seemed to bob up and down on his sex, lips tightening at all the right places, her whole body feeding off his moans and growls. Finally, he grabbed her hair, pulling her off his cock with a severe look in his eyes. She grinned, licking her lips, as she watched him pull her up to stand before him again. He turned her to face the wall, hands moving from her head down to her hips, and gripping them, pulling her ass out towards him. He looked down at it, then up at her. "You know, I think I might try something different this time." She looked back at him, her eyebrow quirked. "Oh?" Before she could continue, she felt his shaft nestle between her lips as he rubbed it against her folds, lathering himself in her juices. She let out a small moan, arching her back. He grinned, watching her, and pulling her hips out more, one hand moving to her back to arch it further. She felt his cock slide back, head slipping discreetly between her folds, teasing her, but before she could get used to the sensation and press herself closer, allowing him entry into her, he moved his cock further back, between her cheeks, head poking at her tight star. She arched her back, eyes looking back at him with a mischievous glint in them. He smirked, leaning in to her, kissing her neck, and leaving a trail of small bites down it. She let out a small cry as she felt him push his cock slowly into her rear. Her tight walls gripped him, and he almost hissed at the pleasure. He brought her arms up, gripping both wrists with one hand, as his other trailed down over her breasts. His strokes were slow to start with, moans escaping both their lips as they quickened. She felt the pleasure course through her, and as his hand trailed down between her legs, he grinned. "I think I've found something else you enjoy a fair bit." His fingers played within her drenched folds. Her juices began to seep past his fingers, trailing down her inner thigh, as she gasped. Each thrust into her seemed to keep the flow steady. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him push his fingers through her slit and into her. Slowly, he thrust them in and out, in sync with his cock, still keeping her pinned to the wall. Her moans were more frequent as she kept her back arched, ass out to him. Her whole body shivered beneath him. His pace quickened as he seemed to pummel in and out of her at a more determined pace. She moaned and growled, bucking her hips and ass back to him, letting the feeling rape her senses. "So tight," his words were barely audible, but she heard them, and they just added fuel to the already blazing fire within her. She could hear his fingers slosh in and out of her, and the thrusts from both his cock and fingers turn into a sort of primal and frenzied pace. Cheek pressed against the stone wall, she finally let out a shrill cry as the pleasure broke into climax and seemed to rip through her body. Her whole body shook in pleasure as her pussy and ass contracted against his fingers and cock, furiously milking them, urging his own release. Her juices gushed over his hand, and she felt him tense within her, throbbing. With a low growl, he bit into her shoulder and blasted his seed against her walls. She moaned, grinning, pleased he had experienced such pleasure as hers. He panted against her, smiling, releasing her wrists, and holding onto her. She closed her eyes, nestling in his embrace, as she tried to catch her breath. He slowly pulled out of her, and she turned to face him, glancing down at the small puddle that had formed on the floor. She looked back up at him with a smile. "I'm not sure how much work we'll ever get done if we keep at it like this." She grinned, leaning in, and kissing him softly.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: anime Chapter 1 Tsuki woke up next to a campfire in the middle of the woods. Her mind was in a bit of a fog as she looked around, confused as to where Homura and the others had run off to, leaving her alone. She looked around to see the dragons still sleeping nearby, so they clearly hadn’t left her... but why hadn’t anyone stayed with her? Tsuki sat up, wearing a Chinese-inspired dress. It was a beautiful deep red color with gold accents along the low V neckline that hugged the curves of her breasts. The neckline continued and wrapped around her shoulders and across her back. The sleeves were snug on her arms before flaring out just above the elbow and over her gauntlets. The skirt of the dress was long with high slits going above her hips. She wore a thick golden belt that sat loosely over her hips, the weight of it helping to keep the material of the skirt in place so the slits wouldn't move over too far. The outfit was a little more showy than her usual attire, like something out of Naneko's wardrobe. Tsuki found that there were days when the shorter length dresses or ones that were more loose were easier for her to fight in. Also, the way she felt during her aerial attacks made her feel empowered! Something about the beauty and grace of some of the more flowy materials made her feel almost invincible during her fights. Tsuki wrapped her cloak a little more tightly around her before sitting back in front of the fire. The four of them were traveling to a town that was rumored to house a demon in possession of one of the scriptures they needed. Because she couldn’t teleport, they were all traveling on dragons. Sleeping wasn’t necessary, but for the dragons, it was. “He could’ve at least left a note or something,” Tsuki pouted as she held her knees to her chest. Given the height of the flames in the campfire, either they hadn’t been gone long or there was some sort of spell cast on it to keep the fire from burning out in Homura’s absence. A branch snapped behind her, jolting Tsuki to her feet as she immediately took a fighting stance. Her eyes darted around trying to find her satchel full of weapons. Her heart raced as she heard the footsteps getting closer, crunching fallen twigs and dried gravel. She tensed up as a shadow emerged from the bushes, preparing herself to strike. The shadows on the figure’s face fell as he stepped into the light of the campfire. “Dokugakuji,” Tsuki gasped as she dropped her fighting stance. The dark-haired demon wore a long, white, Chinese-style jacket with maroon accents, black pants, and boots. He had a fresh kill hanging on one shoulder and readjusted a large bag over the other before giving the half-breed a smirk and a short wave. “Hey, Tsuki,” he called out. The features on Tsuki’s face softened as she walked up to him. “What are you doing out here,” she asked, feeling a fluttering in her chest at the sight of him. Just some menial recon mission. Kou asked me to handle it myself since it’s a fairly delicate situation,” he explained. Tsuki smiled as she nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, sometimes you just can’t trust lower-level demons to get the job done,” she joked as she shyly tucked her ivory hair behind her ear. Dokugakuji let out a chuckle at her comment. In the meantime, I stopped and got myself something to eat for tonight. What’re you doing out here all alone? You must be cold,” Dokugakuji commented as the two wandered back over to the campfire. “We’re on a mission ourselves, although I don’t know where everyone is,” Tsuki replied. “Well, lucky me,” Dokugakuji replied, “that means I’ll be able to get to spend some time alone with you. You hungry?” Tsuki turned to him and smiled. It had been some time since she last ate. Tsuki raised both her hands and quickly manipulated the base of a tree from the ground, giving it a large, flat surface as Dokugakuji set his kill across it. Tsuki watched as the demon dug through his pack and unfurled a leather hide full of blades of varying lengths. “I didn’t know you were such a chef,” Tsuki commented. “Well, when you’re going to be gone for a few days, you gotta make sure to pack the necessities for those long nights when food rations get low,” replied Dokugakuji. Tsuki watched as the demon expertly cut away the flesh of the animal, sectioning it as he divided each part of the animal to prepare differently. “I’ll be right back,” Tsuki stated as she ran off into the woods. The light of the moon illuminated the forest, the rays highlighting different herbs and other wild vegetables she knew were safe for consumption. She hurried back to the campsite with an armful of treasures from Mother Earth and set them down next to Dokugakuji. “What’s all this for,” he asked. “I assume you’re making a stew. You’re going to need a variety of herbs and some wild vegetables.” “Great idea,” praised Dokugakuji. Tsuki worked on manipulating the earth again, pulling clay from the earth and molding it into a bowl. She pulled the moisture from it, hardening the bowl before pulling more water from the earth as she began to clean the vegetables and herbs. “You’ve got a pot,” asked Tsuki, “I’ll start boiling water.” Dokugakuji smiled at her enthusiasm. “And here I thought I was going to be cooking you a nice meal.” “You are,” she replied, “I’m just helping with the prep work.” With that, Tsuki manipulated another tree stump, carefully selecting a knife from Dokugakuji’s inventory and began chopping. After some time had passed and the meat was cut into edible chunks, all of the ingredients were added to the stew as needed. The aroma was intoxicating! Dokugakuji stirred a ladle around in the pot as the stew boiled to perfection. He carefully brought the ladle to his lips to test the broth before offering some to Tsuki. Tsuki leaned in, making a small noise from the hot liquid burning her as she brought a hand to her lips. “Ah! Are you alright,” Dokugakuji asked, jerking back the ladle and setting it back in the pot. He leaned over to her, gently cupping her face. Tsuki dropped her hand, her heart fluttered in her chest as the two made eye contact. A blush appeared across her cheeks at his concern as he softly ran his thumb along her bottom lip, asking his question again. The caress of the calloused digit gently brushing along her soft skin deepened the blush on her face. The sensation sent pleasurable jolts throughout her body, a feeling she struggled to push to the back of her mind before she gulped hard. “It’s... good,” she meekly replied. Dokugakuji gave a soft chuckle, his hand lingering against her cheek before he slowly pulled it away. “That’s good to hear,” he replied, “in that case, I’ll serve you up a bowl!” Dokugakuji handed her a spoon before turning his attention to the pot and poured a couple ladles of the stew into a couple of bowls. Tsuki thanked him and took a bowl of the stew from Dokugakuji. She brought the first spoonful of the meal to her mouth, mewling in delight. It was delicious, but hot! She exhaled heavily to cool the hot spoonful in her mouth, the tenderness of the meat was overwhelming and juicy. The broth and the herbs mixed perfectly together, bringing out the tender flavors of the meat. The heat of the broth traveling down her throat sent a warmth throughout her body. The change of her body temperature against the cool evening air caused her to shiver just a bit, causing her to reflexively let out a soft moan as she chewed at the tender meat. "Cold?" Dokugakuji asked. Tsuki turned to Dokugakuji as he set down his bowl, reaching down into his bag and pulled out a thin blanket made of warm material. He moved closer to her as he wrapped the length of the blanket around both of them. The warmth of his body against hers, the weight of his arm as he hugged it around her... Tsuki's heart pounded, yet she felt comfortable like this. More comfortable than with Homura... Why was that? She couldn't take her eyes off his as Dokugakuji stared down tenderly at her. The silence felt awkward, but her heart was pounding in anticipation. He smiled warmly at her, softly speaking her name as he slowly took the bowl from Tsuki's hand, setting it aside as he leaned down to her. Tsuki reached a hand to his chest and he hesitated for a moment before inching himself closer. Tsuki felt a rush of excitement through her body as she shyly leaned up to Dokugakuji, brushing her lips against his. Dokugakuji sighed softly, bringing a hand up and gently cradling the back of Tsuki's head as he brought her in for a kiss. Tsuki melted against him, readjusting herself as she melted into the kiss. Dokugakuji's arm dropped from around her shoulder to her waist, dropping the blanket as he scooped her into his lap. Tsuki gasped, breaking the kiss as she braced her hands on his shoulders as she sat with one leg on either side of the demon. She looked down at him, eyes heavy with lust as she reached up to her brooch and unclasped it, her cloak falling from her shoulders. Dokugakuji's heated breath puffed over her tanned skin as he brought his lips to her exposed collarbone. Tsuki ran her fingers through his hair as his lips trailed over her collarbone and up her neck before meeting her lips once more. Dokugakuji rested one hand on her lower back, pulling her in close while the other traveled up her back. Tsuki gasped, cupping the sides of Dokugakuji's face and whispered his name before leaning into another heated kiss. Dokugakuji's chest rumbled against her as he moaned against her lips. Tsuki felt Dokugakuji's arousal under her and she rolled her hips against him before wrapping her arms around him. The thin material of their clothing left no room to the imagination as she continued her minimal actions, her breath speeding up and her own arousal becoming apparent. Dokugakuji growled against her, the kiss getting a bit more aggressive as he held onto her tightly, feet planted as he lightly lifted his hips up against her. Tsuki's heart raced faster as she pulled at the collar of his jacket, moaning his name softly. She undid the top clasps of his jacket just enough for her to snake a hand in, her nails tickling at taunt muscle as he shuddered under her. Dokugakuji moved both hands to Tsuki's hips, moving her over him as they both moaned in pleasure. Tsuki broke the kiss once more, one hand gently tracing the firm features of his face with her other hand still tucked deep inside his jacket, over naked flesh. Tsuki breathed out his name, moving with him as she continued to rotate her hips over him. She was overwhelmed with her desire and need for him, the pleasure becoming too much as her breathing sped up. She called out for him again, his name dripping with lust from her lips as he leaned in to her neck and she held him close, calling out to him again. "Doku-" Tsuki mumbled his name, her eyes snapping open as her body immediately sat her upright. Her mouth was dry and her body lightly trembled with residual desire from her dream. The faint sensation of Dokugakuji's body against hers lingered even though he was gone. The cool night air lapped at the thin layer of sweat that beaded her forehead as Tsuki assessed her surroundings. Her heart pounded loudly in her head, feeling lightheaded as she saw the backs of two silhouettes sitting on thick tree logs, Homura sat on the far side of the campfire staring right at her. Tsuki gulped hard as she came back to her senses, the pleasurable sensations now being replaced with a void and cold emptiness like she had cheated on her lover. "Goku," a gravelly voice chuckled before the figure looked at her over his shoulder, "you dreaming about that monkey?" Tsuki shot a glare up at Xenon, she could feel the deep blush on her face, hoping the flames from the campfire didn't bring too much attention to her lust and embarrassment. Shien turned to her with a look of concern. "Are you all right, my dear? You were restless for quite some time." "Restless," Xenon scoffed, "sounded like she was having a good time. Not thinking of making Goku your lover, are you?" "Xenon," Homura firmly called out, "that's enough." "Hey man, it's just a joke." "Made in poor taste," Shien chimed before sipping at what she could only assume was a cup of his favorite tea. Tsuki rose to her feet, her legs a bit shaky as she tightly hugged her cloak around her body. "Of course, if I did make him my lover, if I asked him to, I'm sure the Great Sage would have no problem stripping the skin from your bones and leaving you a delightfully bloody mess." Before giving him a chance to respond, Tsuki took her leave into the woods to calm herself. Xenon stared at her in stunned silence, sighing to himself as he scratched the back of his head. Once alone in the woods, Tsuki peeked at her outfit under her cloak. It was more conservative than the one in her dream, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wrapped herself up again and began to analyze what the dream could've possibly meant. Did she actually have feelings for that demon? No, he just keeps showing up and interfering with their mission. Not to mention their first encounter was just embarrassing and humiliating. The whole ordeal bothered her, so this was her brain's way of trying to cope with the unfortunate acquaintanceship they had. Yes, that had to be it. She delicately brought a hand up to her lips, the sensation of Dokugakuji kissing her with such passion remained. She stared down at her hand, still feeling a lingering warmth of his body under her palm. Tsuki shook her head. "No," she reaffirmed to herself, balling her hand into a fist, "it was just a dream. None of that was real, it doesn't mean anything. I have to remain focused on the mission." "Tsuki," a calm voice carefully called out. Tsuki looked over her shoulder to see Homura. Her heart sank a bit further, but she also felt comfort in the fact that he followed her. "Are you all right?" Tsuki inhaled deeply before giving a short nod. "I'm fine. It was just a dream." Homura raised a brow at her before he approached her. He wrapped his arms around Tsuki and held her close, his oversized jacket draping over her. Tsuki's heart began pounding hard again. "You know you can come to me about anything, my dear Tsuki," he comforted in a low voice. Her eyes began to well up a bit, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around Homura and nodded against his chest, her eyes closing as she stood there in his arms. Homura tightened his embrace around Tsuki, and she sighed against him. "Yes," she thought, "this is where my heart truly lies, right here with the man I love."

This is a short fanfic story. Genre: games Chapter 1 Trucy was at school, and Apollo had no clue what had suddenly overcome Phoenix. They were merely sitting on the couch, watching television, and generally hanging out on a slow day. Maybe Phoenix had been alone for too long, maybe he was really attracted to Apollo, or maybe he was just curious. Whatever the cause was, Apollo found himself draped over Phoenix's lap, the older man kissing him with incredible fervor and undressing him at the same time. Apollo was confused due to the circumstances – this was Phoenix Wright, after all – but it wasn't like he was a virgin or anything. He'd had two girlfriends before, and there was that one time when he worked at Gavin Law Offices. "Ack!" Apollo fell not-so-gently to the floor, landing on his hands and knees. Phoenix had managed to get him naked, it seemed, even though Apollo hadn't helped at all – or maybe he had, admittedly, he was sort of caught up in the moment, what with Phoenix kissing him the way he was. He wore not a stitch of clothing, save his bracelet. He glanced behind him when he heard the rustling. Phoenix's hat had been discarded, and he was currently removing his hoodie. Apollo gulped; the older man was seriously going to go through with this, then. Not that Apollo minded – sure, Phoenix was pretty scruffy and hobo-like, but he was still attractive. And though Apollo was only with one man before, it hadn't been a bad experience. The sex was a little one-sided with Kristoph, but Apollo still felt good in the long run. Apollo jerked as Phoenix kissed a path down his spine, tongue lolling from side to side. Okay, so no one did that before, especially not someone with such a whiskery face. Apollo heard himself moan when Phoenix reached the base of his spine, nipping at the flesh of his lower back. Phoenix's hands were on him, stroking his stiff cock and rolling his balls in his palm. "Mr. Wright..." He was at a loss for words. Phoenix didn't look like much of a sex talker, anyway, which Apollo was grateful for. Just moan, breathe, encourage once in a while. "What are you...? Mr. Wri...ohh!" The hot tongue lapping at his entrance definitely was not expected. Apollo sure as hell never considered a move like that would come into play during any of his sexual agendas. Apollo arched his back, ass up high. Phoenix's whiskers lightly scratched him, but the tongue circling his anus felt so damn good. Apollo's arms were quivering; he was breathing hard, squeezing his eyes shut as Phoenix drove his tongue inside him. He wondered if he could come just from this. Then fingers replaced the tongue. Phoenix chuckled. "Maybe I should've warned you." Apollo managed an "mmn." "I don't really have proper lube," Phoenix said. "It's... been awhile." "'s okay..." Slipping his pants down just enough to free his erection, Phoenix knelt in front of Apollo. "Suck it for a bit, okay?" Apollo swallowed before apprehensively taking Phoenix's cock into his mouth. He couldn't take in much, as he was a total amateur when it came to this, but Phoenix cradled the back of his head in his hand, looking down at him, hips flexing in encouragement. "You can use your tongue, you know." Well, duh. But Phoenix's tone wasn't condescending, merely guiding. After a while, Phoenix pulled away. "I think that's enough." Apollo licked his lips as the older man positioned himself behind him, his inner voice telling him to relax. And then Phoenix was inching inside him, gripping his hips to keep him in place. Apollo breathed through his mouth, moaning; the intrusion burned, but it would get better, he knew Phoenix would make it better. Still, it hurt. "You feel nice, Apollo." He picked up the arousal in Phoenix's voice right away, almost thanking him for the compliment. It was funny, though – Phoenix never asked if he was the first man Apollo had slept with. Apollo wondered if Kristoph had told him – they had been friends and all. Or if Phoenix figured he wasn't since Apollo was being so compliant. Maybe he just didn't care. Phoenix thrust slowly, experimentally, and asked, "Ready?" Apollo nodded. Phoenix started at a slow pace, which Apollo appreciated. He was still adjusting, but the pain was quickly subsiding with every thrust. It wasn't long until Phoenix began pounding into him, leaving Apollo crying out with his fingers clawed into the carpet beneath them. Phoenix's cock lunged into his prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through Apollo's entire body. He was hard-pressed to keep his Chords of Steel under control. "Talk dirty for me, Apollo," Phoenix panted. "Don't hold back." "M-Mr. Wright, I..." "Call me Phoenix. Or Daddy," the older man joked, gripping Apollo's hips and fucking him hard. "Ph-Phoe...ah!" Apollo's arms were shaking, trying to hold himself up as Phoenix thrust into him so deep it nearly threw him off balance. Phoenix told him to talk dirty – something he had no experience with. At all. Even thinking about it made him feel silly. "Do it, Apollo." He didn't feel like it; it was so awkward, but Phoenix's husky voice and soft command were hard to disobey. "A-ah! Mr. Daddy! Oh!... Th-that's right, Daddy! Use the ass! Love the ass!" Apollo hoped his dirty-talking was what Phoenix was looking for – he didn't know what else to say. "Fuck me" seemed so cliché and lame. Suddenly, he felt Phoenix's pace slow, then stop altogether. Apollo froze up. Was he laughing?! Apollo's face turned a deep scarlet. Yeah, apparently, he said the wrong thing. It didn't sound sexy to him, either, but he was never asked to do that before! "I... Mr. Wr...Phoenix, I'm not really... um, w-with the dirty talk..." "Yeah, I noticed." Phoenix was still laughing. Yeah, so Apollo had said something really dumb. In all fairness, it was Phoenix's fault. Apollo shivered as Phoenix pressed into his back, talking close to his ear. "But that's what makes you so cute." "I'm not cute...mnh!" He felt somewhat lucky that his poor attempt at "dirty talk" hadn't turned Phoenix off completely. The older man was still rock hard, and so was he. Face pressed against Apollo's shoulder blades, Phoenix said, "It's alright. I can live without lines like that." Apollo lowered his face to the floor as Phoenix began to fuck him again, both of their slick bodies arching to meet each other. The scratching at his back felt strangely erotic. Phoenix was panting above him, one arm clamped around Apollo's waist to hold him in place. "I'm gonna come," Apollo moaned, "Mr. Wright..." "Phoenix." "Phoenix!" Quickly, Apollo fisted his cock, muscles tightening. He shook and released, semen spurting from his cock and onto the yellow carpet. Phoenix palmed his forehead and pulled him back to kiss Apollo over his shoulder. Apollo sucked on Phoenix's tongue, one hand tangling into Phoenix's spiked hair. Phoenix's rhythm broke. He pulled away and bit Apollo's shoulder as he came inside the younger man. The feeling was new to Apollo, so slick and wet with Phoenix's cum; it was almost too slippery, and he wasn't too sure how much he liked feeling the semen slowly leaking down his thigh when Phoenix pulled out, but damn if he wasn't utterly sated. Apollo was still on all fours, recovering. His mind was spinning – he'd just had sex with Phoenix Wright. How, exactly, had he managed to sleep with yet another one of his mentors? Phoenix rubbed his back affectionately. "You're pretty good, Apollo. We ought to do that again, I think." Apollo nodded mutely. "Next time, though, I think the dirty talk should stay out of it." Before Apollo could object, Phoenix stood and offered him a hand. "Come on, we gotta clean up before Trucy comes home. It's almost 2:15, and I don't think I want her to catch on to what Daddy did with her brother today." Yeah... Apollo so could've done without Phoenix saying that little bit of weirdness.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: non_english Chapter 1 Takashi otworzył oczy. Było mu niewygodnie, leżał na twardych, zimnych deskach podłogi w tej opuszczonej świątyni, którą znaleźli wczoraj, kiedy oddzielili się od reszty. Wiedział, że Rei i reszta są bezpieczni. Kimkolwiek byli tamci dziwni ludzie, uratowali ich. On i Saeko zostali oddzieleni i musieli radzić sobie sami. Dotarli do tej świątyni, a w okolicy nie było widać żadnego śladu Ich. Postanowili więc tu przenocować. Saeko została na dole, on poszedł się przespać na górze, ale niestety, nie znalazł żadnego futonu ani niczego miękkiego. Na podłodze spało się cholernie niewygodnie. Spojrzał na zegarek. Była pierwsza w nocy. Chciało mu się pić, ale nie miał niczego pod ręką. Może na dole coś będzie? Nie zakładając butów, zszedł po cichu na dół po schodach. Nie chciał obudzić śpiącej tutaj Busujimy. Niestety, na dole było ciemno, znalezienie czegoś w tych egipskich ciemnościach wydawało się niemożliwe. Takashi, aby się nie potknąć, zszedł na czworaki, wypatrując gałęzi jak tylko mógł najuważniej. Pamiętał, że gdzieś tu powinny być ich torby, a w nich butelki z wodą mineralną. Gdzieś na ziemi, chyba pod ścianą. Gdy ręka zacisnęła mu się na czymś miękkim, przez chwilę myślał, że znalazł to, czego szukał. Ale to było ciepłe… - Aaaaaaauuuaaa! – krzyknął, gdy potężne kopnięcie posłało go na ścianę. Pozbierał się z podłogi, ale zaraz potem oślepiło go wycelowane w jego twarz światło. Zamknął oczy. - Komurrrro-kuuuun? – usłyszał znajomy głos, a zaraz potem odgłos chowania katany do pochwy – To tyyyy? Jak chce się zabawić, to trzeba było mieć najpierw dobudzić, idioto… Otworzył oczy. Przed nim stała Saeko Busujima. W jednej ręce trzymała katanę, w drugiej latarkę. Miała na sobie swój mundurek, krótką, ciemnogranatową spódniczkę, białą bluzkę z zielonym kołnierzykiem. Wyglądała na zaspaną, ale wiedział, że wystarczy jeden ruch, aby go zabić. Tylko mówiła jakoś tak niewyraźnie i chyba nie do końca pewnie trzymała się na nogach. - Ja szukałem… czegoś do picia, sempai – powiedział szybko Takashi, podnosząc się z podłogi i masując bolące plecy. Przeleciał chyba przez pół sali. Dobrze, że niczego sobie nie złamał. Przyjrzał się bliżej Saeko. Obok miejsca, w którym spała, leżała otwarta butelka sake. Alkohol? W takich okolicznościach? Teraz dopiero spostrzegł, że policzki sempai są jakby bardziej rumiane. Czyżby była wstawiona? - Krrretyyn… - Saeko odłożyła katanę i latarkę – Pij? No to chodź tu, ja dam ci coś do picia – oparła się o ścianę, lekko się zataczając. - Ja... już pójdę na górę – Takashi skierował się ku schodom, ale Saeko, zaskakująco jak na jej stan, szybko znalazła mu się na drodze. - Poczekaj – powiedziała – Chcesz pić? To masz – powiedziała, podnosząc spódniczkę. Takashi spostrzegł, że nie miała pod nią majtek. - No, kocham, wyłóż mnie… Tak mi się jakoś gorąco zrobiło… - Saeko, oparta o poręcz schodów, stała przed nim. Wiedział, że nawet jeśli jest pijana, nie ma z nią żadnych szans. Była zabójczo silna. No i piękna. Jego penis dawał temu znak, sprawiając, że Takashi czuł wyraźną niewygodę w spodniach, patrząc na nagą, gładką cipkę Saeko. Prześknął się. Taka szansa nie zdarza się co dzień. Skrupuły skrupułami, ale był przecież mężczyzną, a ona piękną kobietą. - Niepodejrzane mam ci się…? – Saeko wyraźnie plątała się trochę językiem – Aaa moszeeee ty jesteś… ten, nooo…. gej? – ten docinek boleśnie ukłuł męską dumę Takashiego. - Nie, ale… sempai, ja nie wiem… - Noooo juuu… - Saeko położyła rękę na jego głowie, naciskając w dół. Stała przed nim na schodach z uniesioną spódniczką, a katana leżała niedaleko. A co mi, pomyślał Takashi, opadając na kolana i delikatnie, językiem dotknął ciepłego łona Saeko. Ta westchnęła, opierając się mocniej o poręcz. Spódniczka opadła, okrywając głowę Takashiego. Zaraz potem znalazła się na niej jedna z rąk Busujimy, która przyciskała ją. Lizał ją najpierw po wierzchu, potem zaś delikatnie rozchylił palcami pączki jej kobiecości, wsuwając język do środka. Saeko odchyliła głowę do tyłu, jej długie, błękitne włosy opadały na plecy. Lizał coraz szybciej jej szparkę, od góry do dołu, pijąc jej soki, które coraz intensywniej płynęły. Gdy dotknął językiem jej łechtaczki, Saeko wydała z siebie przeciągły jęk. Takashi wystraszył się nawet, że może to ściągnąć tutaj Ich. Busujima przyciskała go do siebie mocniej. Czuł, jak jej ciało drży. - Ohhh… - westchnęła głośno – Nooo… dodobrzzee… Takashi słyszał kiedyś, że to najlepszy i najszybszy sposób, aby dać kobiecie orgazm, dlatego lizał jeszcze intensywniej. W końcu poczuł, jak jej ręka zaciska się na jej głowie jeszcze mocniej. Ciałem Saeko poruszył dreszcz, gdy doszła, pokrywając twarz Takashiego swoimi sokami. - Mghgmmm… semmpaiii – Takashi starał się wysunąć głowę spod jej spódniczki, ale nie mógł, bo jej dłonie trzymały go. Zlizywał resztę jej soków, dając jej dodatkową rozkosz. - Nooo… napijesz się do…? – spytała, pozwalając mu wreszcie się podnieść. Takashi oddychał cięko, ocierając mokrą twarz. - Ta… tak, dziękuję, sempai, a teraz… - No tooo terazz… - Busujima opadła na kolana – Ja ci zrobię dobrze, chłopie – to mówiąc, rozpięła Takashiemu rozporek. Czuł, że trzyma w rękach jego sztywnego już członka, chłopak wolał się nie ruszać, wiedząc, że pijana Saeko mogłaby nawet przez przypadek zrobić z niego kastrata. Poza tym, Rei to Rei, ale o tym, że Busujima sempai zrobi im loda, marzyła chyba większość uczniów liceum. Saeko otworzyła szeroko usta i objęła wargami sterczący męski członek Takashiego. Przesuwała rytmicznie głowę w przód i w tył, pokrywając go swoją śliną. Takashi poczuł lekki dreszcz, kiedy wzięła w dłoni jego jądra, masując je. Na szczęście nie urwała ani nie zmiażdżyła ich przez przypadek. Położył ręce na jej głowie, wsuwając je pod jej długie włosy. - Ohhh… sempai – westchnął, kiedy Saeko robiła mu loda. Patrzył na jej piersi, wystające spod cienkiej, białej bluzki. Były takie duże, a kiedy się poruszała, podskakiwały rytmicznie. Takashi nie mógł oderwać od nich wzroku. Było mu tak dobrze. Chociaż pijana jak bela, Saeko obciągała mu tak, że zapomniał już o wszystkich okolicznościach całej sprawy. Jej pełne, ciemne wargi zaciskały się na jego członku. Czuł, że długo tego nie wytrzyma. Wyprostował się, dochodząc w jej ustach. - Glurrrrppp… - policzki Busujimy wydęły się, ale dziewczyna połknęła jednak wszystko. Gdy otworzyła usta, niewielka struga nasienia zmieszanego z jej śliną spłynęła po jej wargach i brodzie. Wytarła ją szybko i opierając się o poręcz schodów, podniosła się. - Nooo tooo… kwiita… - zrobiła krok do przodu, ale nogi najwyraźniej poplątały jej się. Runęła przed siebie. Takashi w ostatniej chwili złapał ją w ramiona. Nie była ciężka. Jak na jej wzrost i siłę, była nawet całkiem lekka. Złapał ją pewniej i zaczął nieść. Saeko oparła głowę na jego piersi, mrucząc coś, czego nie rozumiał. Ale z kolei jej piersi miały tuż przed nosem. Trudno mu było oderwać od nich wzrok. Tak, były jak marzenie. Chciałby ich dotknąć. - Ojjooojojojojoj! – krzyknął, gdy jego noga, zamiast na deskach podłogi, oparła się o leżącą na ziemi butelkę. Oczywiście, wywinął kozła, a spoczywająca w jego ramionach Saeko poleciała do góry. W ostatniej chwili udało mu się wyhamować upadek i nie uderzyć głową o podłogę, kiedy nagle opadła na niego Busujima – sempai, przygniatając do ziemi. Jej niebieskie oczy patrzyły prosto w jego oczy z wyraźnym zaskoczeniem. - Co… jakkk… - spytała, po czym nagle, bez zapowiedzi czy ostrzeżenia, rozpięła płaczącymi się palcami bluzkę. Jej duże, pełne piersi, okryte barwnym, granatowo-różowym stanikiem, zawisły nad twarzą Takashiego. - Duuszznooo tu, Komurrrro-kkkun, nieee? – spytała, ale on nie odpowiedział, wpatrzony w te dwa cuda balansujące ledwie kilka centymetrów od jego twarzy. Zaraz potem jego oczy przykrył stanik, który rozpięty spadł z jej piersi. Zsunął go szybko, podnosząc się i przyciskając twarz do jej piersi. Były takie ciepłe i miękkie. Saeko objęła go i przytuliła. - Noo… juuu… dopsszee… Komurrro-kun… dopsze… - powtarzała, podczas gdy on całował jej piersi. Odkąd ją spotkał, marzył po kryjomu, aby to zrobić, ale oczywiście musiało to pozostać w sferze jego marzeń. Teraz, kiedy wreszcie pojawiła się szansa, nie miał zamiaru rezygnować. Jej dłonie głaskały jego głowę, kiedy on ssał jej twarde sutki. - Busujima-sempai, ja… - powiedział, kiedy podniósł głowę. Ale Saeko, nie mówiąc ani słowa, wstała, po czym zsunęła z nóg spódniczkę i zaraz potem zdjąła majtki i rzuciła je obok. Pochyliła się i rozpięła spodnie Takashiego. Jego penis był twardy i gotowy. - Komuro-kkkun – powiedziała, uśmiechając się. Mówiła już płynniej, jakby alkohol nie plątał jej już języka. Dosiadła go. Poczuł, jak w nią wchodzi. Była mokra i rozgrzana, więc bez problemu wsunął się do jej środka. Był prawiczkiem, przynajmniej jeszcze kilka sekund temu. Saeko nadawała rytm, siedząc na nim i poruszając się rytmicznie. Sięgnął ku niej, masując nadal jej pełne piersi, podskakujące wraz z każdym ruchem bioder. Wzdychała namiętnie, gdy penetrował ją. Czuł, jak zaciska się na nim, wciągając go jak najgłębiej siebie. Czuł się jak w niebie. Wokół mogło się roić od zombie, ale teraz było mu wszystko, bo robił to, o czym cała reszta facetów z ich liceum mogła tylko marzyć. Pewnie zresztą większość już nie żyła. Czuł jej ciepło, jej bliskość. Chociaż wokół było ciemno, krople wilgoci błyszczały na ich ciałach w świetle leżącej na ziemi, ciągle włączonej latarki. Saeko poruszała się coraz szybciej, oparta dłońmi o jego ramiona. - Busujima-sempai… dochodzę… - jęknął Takashi, po czym wystrzelił w nią. Saeko nie wydawała się mieć nic przeciwko. Przeciwnie, jej zaciśnięta cipka wyciskała z niego wszystko, sama zaś obficie skrapiała go jej sokami miłosnymi. Saeko wyprostowała się, głośno jęcząc, kiedy ją taką ogarnął rozkosz. - Komurrrro… kun… - Saeko opadła na jego piersi, po czym zamknęła oczy i zapadła w głęboki sen. Takashi patrzył na nią zaskoczony. Wciąż był jeszcze w niej, a jej duże, jędrne piersi spoczywały na jego klatce piersiowej. Próbował ją obudzić, ale spała mocnym, pijackim snem. Powoli podniósł ją, zdjął z siebie, ubrał, a następnie położył na jej posłaniu. Spojrzał na nią raz jeszcze, leżała taka bezbronna i niewinnie wyglądająca, jakby nic nie zaszło. Westchnął. Był wyczerpany. Po czymś takim od razu zasnęł, nie przejmując się już niewygodą twardych desek świątynnej podłogi.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: non_english Chapter 1 Saeko Busujima szła przez miasto. Był już wieczór, ale trening w dojo tego wieczora jej się przedłużył i to sprawiło, że dopiero teraz mogła wrócić do domu. Samochody mijają ją, a światła neonów świecą jasno. Słońce powoli zachodzi, ale dzięki neonom na ulicach miasta ciągle jest jasno. Saeko wie, że ta dzielnica nie ma najlepszej reputacji, ale nie boi się. Drewniany miecz, który trzyma w ręku, nie jest przecież dla ozdoby. Kilka razy już w życiu musiała go używać przeciwko bandytom. Zresztą, zdarzało jej się nawet, że sama ich prowokowała, żeby potem przywalić im. To było zabawne. Czasami trochę się tego boi. Za leicht dawała się opanować przemocy. - Ej, cizia, chcesz się zabawić? – Usłyszała głos. Znowu jacyś napaleni durnie. Już chciała się oddalić, ale jej ręka zacisnęła się mocniej na mieczu. Odwróciła się. Naprzeciwko niej stało dwóch chłopaków. Jeden miał skórzany płaszcz i niebieskie włosy postawione na irokeza, drugi miał jasny dres i był prawie łysy. Typowe menele, pomyślała. To może być wesoło. Przynajmniej się trochę zabawi, spuszczając im wpierdol. Sami się przecież o niego proszą. - Proszę… nie róbcie mi krzywdy – powiedziała, udając strach. Zrobiła krok do tyłu. Zbliżali się do niej, śmiejąc się obleśnie. - Nie bój się, nic ci nie zrobimy… to może być nawet dla ciebie przyjemne – powiedział ten z irokezem, oblizując się. - Kei, zobacz, jakie ona ma cycki – powiedział jego kumpel, podchodząc do niej bliżej. - Nie… nie… - Saeko dalej udawała przestraszoną dziewczynę, trzymając drewniany miecz za plecami. - Zaraz będziesz krzyczeć „tak, tak” – powiedział Kei, próbując złapać ją za rękę. Nie zdążył. W tym samym momencie jej ręka wystrzeliła do przodu, a drewniana rękojeść miecza uderzyła punka w podbródek. Chłopak wystrzelił do góry i zaraz potem spadł na dół, trzymając się za szczękę i pluł krwią. Dziewczyna nie czekała i jej obcas wbił się w brzuch drugiego. - Arughhh!!!! – jęczał, zginając się w pół. Wtedy jej ręka znalazła się na jego głowie, a twarz zaraz potem spotkała się z jej kolanem. Poczuła, jak chrupnął złamany nos. Odrzuciła go i podeszła do punka, który właśnie się podnosił. Złapała go za rękę i wykręciła ją boleśnie do tyłu. - Aaaaaaaa!!! – zawył z bólu chłopak, kiedy Saeko prawie złamała mu rękę. - Co mówiłeś o nic nie robieniu? – szepnęła mu do ucha, a kiedy nic nie powiedział, szarpnęła jego rękę mocniej. Ugryzła go w ucho. - Aaaaaa!!! – krzyknął. - No, dalej… - Aaaahhhhaaaahhhaaa!!! Saeko dobrze się bawiła. Czuła, jak chłopak wił się z bólu. Miała prawdziwą ochotę skręcić mu kark, ale to mogło być kłopotliwe. Nie chciała mieć problemów z policją. SLAP! Nagle coś uderzyło ją w głowę. Saeko puściła chłopaka i padła nieprzytomna na ziemię. Nad nią stał chłopak w dresie, trzymający w ręce kawałek drewnianej ławki. Z jego złamanego nosa ciągle leciała krew. Jego kumpel podniósł się. - So sa dzifka… - powiedział, wypluwając złamany ząb – Sapnący nam sa to… Bierzmy ją, Ryo. Do meliny. Gdy Saeko odzyskała świadomość, poczuła potworny ból głowy. Leżała na łóżku w jakimś brudnym pokoju. Ściany były obdrapane, firanki ciemne od dymu papierosowego. Była związana, jej ręce sznurkiem związane razem, a potem przywiązane do jej stóp. Jej nogi równie étaient związane. Kawałek szmaty wepchnięto w jej usta, a potem obtoczono, aby tam zostać. - Mhmppmmm!!! – Saeko nie była w stanie powiedzieć ani słowa. Szarpała się i próbowała rozwiązać, ale nie mogła. Sznur wdzierał się w jej ręce i nogi, ale nie chciał puścić. Po kilku minutach drzwi do pokoju otworzyły się. Wszedł punk o imieniu Kei. - Czas na zabawę, ścira – powiedział, uśmiechając się. Ciągle seplenił po tym, jak Saeko wybiła mu zęby. - Mhmmmm!!!!! – jęczała, kiedy poszedł i odwiązał jej ręce od jej nóg, rozciągając ją na łóżku. Szarpała się za jej bluzkę i zerwał ją. Guziki rozsypały się na wszystkie strony. Zerwana bluzka poleciała na ziemię, a zaraz potem znalazła się tam jej stanik. Punk zacisnął ręce na jej piersiach. Zaczął jej mocno gnieść i masować. - Naaaaa!!! – jęczała Saeko, protestując. Miała dominujący charakter i nie lubiła, kiedy ktoś jej rozkazywał. A już w łóżku. Nie, nie cierpiała tego. Kei nie przejmował się tym oczywiście. Masował jej duże piersi, przyciskając je do siebie. Czuła, jak jej sutki twardnieją. - S takimi cyckami będziesz ciwką jak nis – powiedział Kei, pochylając się nad nią i biorąc jej sutek do ust, liżąc, ssąc i gryząc go. Jego zęby zacisnęły się na jej twardniejącym sutku. - Ghmmm!!!!! – Busujima bezradnie szarpała się, nie mogąc się uwolnić. Czuła, jak jej ciało powoli ogarnia podniecenie, choć nie chciała go, nie w takiej sytuacji. Jej piersi były molestowane. Kei podniósł się i dalej masując jej piersi rękami, zbliżył usta do jej twarzy. Otworzył usta i patrzył, jak jego ślina kapie na jej twarz. - Hej, zaczął się beze mnie? – do pokoju wszedł drugi, o imieniu Ryo, ten sam, który ją ogłuszył. - Sorki, stary – Kei wstał z drżącej Saeko. - Rozwij jej nogi, weźmiemy ją obaj na raz – powiedział Ryo, zdejmując spodnie, kiedy Kei wyszedł i przeciągał sznur trzymający jej nogi razem. Saeko próbowała się podnieść, ale nie zdążyła, bo zaraz znalazła się między dwójką młodych, silnych mężczyzn. Jej spódniczka i majtki poleciały na ziemię, obie w kawałkach. - Mghmmm!!!!! – krzyczała. Cztery ręce i dwa języki wędrowały po jej ciele, dotykając ją wszędzie. Lizali jej kark i piersi, ich ręce wchodziły między jej nogi, masturbując ją. Czuła uszczypnięcia i ugryzienia. Ich nagie ciała ocierały się o nią. Kei położył się na łóżku, a Ryo pchnął Saeko na niego, umieszczając ją na nim. Jego ręce chwyciły za jej piersi, gniotąc i masując je dalej. - Aiiieeeeeeeee!!!! – krzyknęła głośno, kiedy obaj weszli w nią na raz od obu stron. W jej dużych oczach pojawiły się łzy. Kei wtargnął do jej cipki, cały czas zajmując się jej piersiami. Ryo wziął ją od tyłu, penetrując jej ciasną dupę z całą siłą. Ich ręce nie przestawały bawić się jej ciałem. Rozpaczliwie szarpała rękami, próbując zerwać z nich sznurek, ale nie mogła. Ryo trzymał ją mocno za pieprzyca ją w dupę. Jego język dotykał jej pleców i karku. Od czasu do czasu gryzł ją lekko. Jej duże piersi wisiały na twarzy Keiego, który ssał jej twarde sutki. - Ghmmmm!!!!! – Busujima jęczała z bezsilnego bólu, kiedy jej duże piersi wypełniały ból od ciągłego ściskania, gniecenia i gryzienia. Ale też czuła, jak rośnie jej podniecenie. Język, który liżąc się po jej plecach, tylko to podniecenie zwiększał. Szarpała się i jęczała. Dwaj mężczyźni ujeżdżali ją coraz mocniej i szybciej. Wiedziała, że nie będzie w stanie z tym dłużej walczyć. - Auuughhhmmmmm!!!!! – knebel pochłonął jej jęk, kiedy doszła, równo z oboma mężczyznami. Ich nasienie wypełniło ją do granic, sprawiając, że jej orgazm był najmocniejszym, jaki przeżyła. Przyjemność wypełniła jej ciało całkowicie. Mężczyźni wyszli z niej, ale nadzieja Saeko na to, że to już koniec, szybko minęła. Obaj zmienili miejsca i wszystko zaczęło się od nowa. Trwało to długo. Nad ranem Kei i Ryo siedli na łóżku, pijąc piwo. Saeko klęczała między nogami Ryo, który trzymał ją za głowę i zmuszał do robienia mu laski. Jej ciało pokryte było potem i śladami nasienia, oraz czerwonymi śladami po ugryzieniach. Wszystko ją bolało. Czuła się słaba i biedna. Nie wierzyła, że to możliwe, żeby ona, która zawsze pomiatała innymi, znalazła się w takiej sytuacji. Wielki penis między jej wargami oraz jądra obijające się o jej twarz przypominały jej co się stało. - Co z nią zrobimy? – spytał Kei. - Wypuścimy? - To nas wsypie. Musimy coś wymyślić. - Chyba nie chcesz jej zabijać? - Pojebało cię? Za to można iść do końca życia do mamra. - No to co w takim razie? - Zaraz… Pójdziesz wszystko! - Gulp… gulp… - Saeko posłusznie połknęła jego nasienie. Miała go już w sobie dużo tej nocy. - Przyplinuj ją, a ja zadzwonię w jedno miejsce. - Dobra, chodź tu, szmato – Kei złapał ją za długie, oblepione w kilku miejscach nasieniem włosy i przyciągnął do siebie, podtykając jej penisa do ust – Rób mi loda, suko! Ryo wyszedł z pokoju. Wrócił po kilkunastu minutach, trzymając kubek. Saeko siedziała na kolanach Keiego, który bawił się jej piersiami. Ryo podszedł do niej i zmusił ją do wypicia zawartości. To chyba była cola. Busujima, dławiąc się i krztusząc, wypiła wszystko. Kilka chwil potem leżała nieprzytomna na ziemi. - To trucizna? – spytał Kei. - Nie, mocny środek nasenny. Żeby nie robiła problemów podczas transportu. - Transportu? - Tak, załatwiłem wszystko. Zabiorę ją stąd i jeszcze nam zapłacę. - Gdzie zabiorę? - A to już nie nasza sprawa. Płacę i tyle. Saeko obudziła się na zimnej, betonowej podłodze. Wokół niej były metalowe pręty tworzące jakby klatkę. Na szyi miała metalową obrożę, do której przyczepiony był łańcuch łączący ją z klatką. Jej ręce były związane za jej plecami. Wszystko ją bolało. Jej nagie ciało ciągle miało ślady seksu, do którego była zmuszona. Ale gdzie była? Nie wiedziała. Czy to była piwnica tych dwóch bandziorów? A może jakieś inne miejsce? Nie mogła sobie przypomnieć niczego, żadnej podróży ani nic. Nie wiedziała, jak długo tu była ani jak się tu znalazła. Czuła, jak boli ją ramię. Widziała na ręce ślady nakłuć, chyba jakichś igieł. Niedługo usłyszała kroki. Do jej klatki podeszły trzy wysokie, silnie wyglądające kobiety. Jedna z nich otworzyła klatkę i złapała za łańcuch, odczepiając go od klatki. Szarpnęła nim, zmuszając Saeko do wstania. - Idziemy – powiedziała kobieta, a Saeko automatycznie wstała. Czuła, że musi być posłuszna. To było coś dziwnego, nigdy się tak nie czuła. Zawsze to ona innym rozkazywała. Czemu? Co się stało? Czy to od tego, co jej wstrzyknęli? - Gdzie ja jestem? – spytała Busujima, wstając powoli. Czuła się słaba. Żadna z kobiet nie odpowiedziała jej, tylko zmusiły ją, żeby poszła za nimi. Została zaprowadzona pod prysznic. Strumień ciepłej wody i gąbka z mydłem zmyły z niej ślady seksu. Jedna z kobiet umyła jej włosy szamponem. Suszarkami i ręcznikami wysuszono ją. Posłusznie dała się zaprowadzić do innego pokoju. Tam posadzono ją na krześle. Jedna z kobiet nałożyła jej mocny, ostry, wyzywający makijaż, podkreślony czerwoną szminką. Gdy skończyły, wzięły się za jej ubranie. Dostała do założenia czerwoną, prowokującą bieliznę, krótką, czarną spódniczkę, ledwie zakrywającą pośladki i krótką bluzkę, kończącą się trochę poniżej jej piersi. Wysokie obcasy, na których ledwie mogła stać, były ostatnim elementem. Gdy już skończono, zaprowadzono ją do innego pomieszczenia. Tam zmuszono ją do ustawienia się po środku pokoju. Przy pomocy łańcuchów została zmuszona do stania w miejscu, z rękami uniesionymi do góry. Dopiero teraz dostrzegała kilka wycelowanych w nią kamer. Na ekranach nad nimi pojawiały się sumy pieniędzy. Zrozumiała. Była licytowana. Zaczęła się rozpaczliwie szarpać, ale łańcuchów nie mogła zerwać. Widziała, jak liczby na ekranach rosną. W końcu jeden z ekranów zaświecił się. Zaraz potem do pokoju weszły te same kobiety. Rozwiązały ją, ale zaraz związały jej ręce za plecami. Saeko szarpała się, ale bez efektu. Wyprowadzono ją do dużej sali, w której znajdowały się pudła. - Niieeeeee!! Nieeee!!! Nghmmmm!!! – jej krzyki zostały przerwane, kiedy do ust wcisnięto jej plastikową kulkę jako knebel. Zanim zdążyła się zorientować, zapakowano ją do jednego z pudeł. Ich ściany były wyścielane materiałem i gąbką. Patrzyła tylko, jak wieko jest zamykane i słyszała przybijanie gwoździ. Gdy Saeko otworzyła oczy, stwierdziła, że nie jest już w skrzyni. Leżała na łóżku. Chciała przetrzeć oczy, ale odkryła, że ręce ma dalej związane za plecami. Powoli wstała. Leżała na różowej pościeli. Pokój, w którym się znajdowała, cały urządzony był na różowo. Meble, ciuchy, wszystko. Saeko patrzyła na to z niesmakiem i obrzydzeniem. Ale gdzie się znajdowała? Co to za miejsce? Wtedy drzwi się otworzyły do środka wszedł… Kohta! - Co? Kohta? Uwolnij mnie, szybko! – krzyknęła Saeko. W odpowiedzi uderzenie otwartą dłonią posłało ją na łóżko. - Zamknij gębę, niewolnico – powiedział Kohta, patrząc na nią. Saeko obróciła się do niego, jej policzek był cały czerwony. - Kohta, ja… - Na kolana, niewolnico! Saeko była za słaba, żeby się opierać, a dodatkowo nie potrafiła. Spełniała każdy rozkaz, jaki usłyszała. Padła na kolana przed swoim znajomym ze szkoły. - Słuchaj, zapłaciłem za ciebie dużo pieniędzy, musiałem sprzedać część mojej kolekcji i jeszcze wziąć kredyt. Ale musiałem cię mieć. Od tej pory będziesz moją niewolnicą. Zrozumiałaś? - Tak… - patrzyła na niego z niechęcią, ale nic nie mogła zrobić. Była bezsilna. Ona, która zamiatała pod nogi silniejszych od niego, klęczała posłusznie przed tym grubym nerdem. - A teraz do pracy – powiedział i rozpiął zamek w spodniach, wysuwając na wierzch swojego członka. - Tak – odpowiedziała Saeko i posłusznie zaczęła całować jego duży wacka. Jej język przesuwał się po całej jego długości. Uniosła go i wzięła do ust jego jaja, liżąc je długo i namiętnie. Gdy skończyła, otworzyła usta i wzięła między swoje czerwone wargi jego fiuta. Centymetr po centymetrze wsuwała go coraz głębiej. Jej język pieścił go, podczas gdy ona ssała go. Czuła, że wiele mu nie potrzeba. Nie znosiła smaku nasienia, ale skoro nie kazał jej wyjmować penisa z ust, to dokończyła go w nich. Kohta patrzył zadowolony, jak połyka jego nasienie. Wiedziała, że choć go nienawidzi, nie zrobi niczego, żeby mu się przeciwstawić. Już się zastanawia, jakie stroje jej kupi. Miała w niej wierną i posłuszną niewolnicę.

This is a fanfic story. Genre: harry_potter Chapter 1: (Not) A Romance Story The party was in full swing when Harry decided it was safe to leave the small coffee shop. Tonight, the Three Broomsticks was holding a Commemoration Party for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and most of the wizarding population around Hogsmeade were gathering there. Between the euphoria of meeting and catching up with old friends again, most had forgotten about him, and Harry was glad they had. It was suffocating in there, with all the people talking and being happy in general. He could not bring himself to be like them. It was chilling outside. The clear winter night sky was decorated with thousands of bright stars, and even the moon looked brighter than usual. It was a lovely night to be outside. The street was almost empty, except for a few stragglers who were too drunk to remember their way home. Cold breezes rushed past him, and Harry fumbled with his robe for his wand; lovely night or not, it was still too cold. After casting the warming charm on his robe, Harry moved further away from the entrance and walked down the familiar street that led him to Hogwarts, not exactly sure why he wanted to see that place – those ruins – again. That was when he saw the shadow of a man, leaning against the brick wall across the street. Harry was not in the mood to chat, but he waved at the man nonetheless after he saw clearly who the man was. "Hey, Seamus," Harry said, stopping just a few paces from his friend. Seamus was biting his cigarette and stared absently into the darkness. The cool air made his deep breathing visible, steamy like. There was a bitter line at the corner of his lips, and his eyes were dull. It might be the smoke that made his eyes lose their normally cheerful nature, or the fact that Seamus had grown up somewhat. "Hey," said Seamus, his voice thick from alcohol and deeper from age. It sounded wrong to Harry's ears. Harry smiled a bit awkwardly and gestured to the cigarette in Seamus' hand. "I never knew you smoked." "I've never smoked before," Seamus shrugged, grinning slightly. "Dean smokes. He offered me a sniff, so I thought, why not?" Harry was not sure how he felt about that. The war seemed to have a permanent effect on people. For him, he was even more quiet and reserved, and was not as trusting as he used to be. For Seamus, the Irishman had become even more of a risk-taker and seemed not to have any care for the world. Seamus was wrinkling his nose at the wispy cloud of smoke rising slowly from the cigarette. "The smell is disgusting. I don't like it one bit, but well, you should try this sometime. It's not that bad, after you get used to the smell, that is." Harry had to chuckle. Only Seamus could be like that; did not like something, but did it anyway because he could. "No, thanks. I like my lungs the way they are." Seamus shrugged again. "Whatever. It's your loss, not mine." Harry smiled. "How have you been, Seamus? I heard you applied for a position in the Ministry." "Grapevine news, eh?" the Irishman snorted, but he sobered quickly. "Yes, but not at this Ministry. I'm moving out of the country. I know there are some places that are more accepting of my... condition." Harry did not ask what he meant by "condition"; he had heard enough in his sixth year at Hogwarts to know exactly what the word meant. Everyone knew it, in fact. Seamus' breaking up with Blaise Zabini was a hush-hush affair, which meant that everyone from first-year Hufflepuffs and their pets to the professors knew about it on the first day. It was not a pretty situation for either Seamus or Zabini. The wizarding world tolerated homosexuals as long as it was not exposed. Harry thought he knew what they were coming from. The wizarding population was so low as it was, added to that, people were being killed every day by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The low birth rate because of the fear for their children's lives was not helping either. Well, homosexuality was a straw too much for the camel's back. "You're being awfully quiet," Seamus remarked, breaking Harry from his musings. "You know that I'm not bitter or anything, right? I'm being myself, and that's enough. I'm happy. Well, sorta. I don't need your pity, or anyone's, for that matter." "I do not pity you," Harry started, but shut up when he heard the other man mumble "Right, of course" under his breath. Harry knew Seamus didn't believe him, but was willing to let the subject drop. There was a tense silence after that, and Harry did not know how to break it. He suddenly realized that he did not know this Seamus. This man was not the cheerful and chatty boy Harry remembered, and Harry did not know what to say to him. "Enough talk about me," Seamus abruptly said, grinning slightly. "I heard you're doing great as the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes investor. They're going to beat Zonko soon, you know. There'll only be Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products here at Hogwarts. Last time I heard, Zonko was making new products to compete with the Twins." "Yeah," Harry grinned. "The Twins are too good at making prank stuff. Zonko will never beat them. I'm just glad they're doing fine. The Weasleys deserve to be happy after all that happened to them." Seamus stopped smiling and kicked absently at a pebble near his foot. "Yeah, well, about that... I'm sorry about Ginny. I'm not that close to her, but I'm sure she was a nice girl." Harry frowned and looked away. That wound was still too fresh, and it pained him to be reminded of her. "She was. I don't have much of a 'family,' and the Weasleys took me in. She was like my little sister." Harry missed her. She was fiercely loyal and knew too much pain in her young life. At the same time, she was hopelessly innocent in some aspects. Like when she was captured by the Death Eaters with a few of her Muggle friends, she tried to talk to 'Tom' in Voldemort to let them go, only to make him become more furious and torture them all to death. Harry let go of a shaky breath. He did not want to meet the other's eyes for fear that he would find pity in them, but if only he looked, he would have found that they were bright with compassion and understanding. Green eyes fluttered shut when Harry felt warm arms wrapped around his shoulder. He let himself be held for only a second and then tried to get free. Seamus shrugged and let go of his friend, his face spoke clearly that he was willing to listen if Harry wanted to talk. But Harry didn't want to talk, so he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve and tried to think of something to say and change the topic. After a while, Seamus sighed in an amused but exasperated way and started a new topic himself. "You know, I've always fantasized about fucking you," Seamus said, his eyes twinkled merrily. "Or you fucking me." Well, trusted Seamus to think up a topic that Harry was even more uncomfortable talking about. Harry gaped at his friend unbelievingly; his face was so comical that Seamus had to laugh. "Relax, Harry, I was only teasing you! I am yet to give up on Blaise, you know that. Besides, you're so amusing when you're startled." Harry spluttered in dignity for a full minute before he managed to bring himself to respond to that comment. "Well, you shouldn't do that, or I might think that you're really interested in me!" Seamus shrugged again. "Well, I am. But you're not supposed to know that." Harry was uncomfortable, to say the least, especially when Seamus threw his cigarette away and looked at him from under those sandy eyelashes. "You are a fine-looking bloke, Harry, and you have a good heart. What's not to like about you? Well, maybe not your infamous temper, but beside that, you're a good guy to fantasize about," Seamus smirked. His smile reminded Harry of their old days at Hogwarts; playing Quidditch, snarking about Slytherins, and generally having a good time around each other. "Stop it, Seamus," Harry spoke softly. "No, you stop it, Harry," Seamus snapped, his face crumpled, and then he looked away. "It's not like I'm going to jump you or anything." His smile crooked with bitterness, and that was making Harry feel guilty. They just stood like that, no one knew what to talk about, or was willing to make up a new topic, and it was extremely uncomfortable. Harry fidgeted with his hair and looked away, but subtly gauged Seamus' emotion from the corner of his eyes. "Well, since the cat was already out of the bag," Seamus began, making Harry almost jump at the abruptness of it. "Would you like to try?" "WHAT?" Harry's eyes were as huge as saucers. "This," Seamus gestured vaguely. "Want to try?" The refusal stuck in his mouth, and Harry swallowed thickly, looking into those eyes as if looking for something, but did not know what he was looking for either. So he kept on looking, and when the hand touched his cheek and the face moved closer, Harry did not flinch. Red lips claimed his, and breathed the moist hot air into his mouth. The air was stained with the smell of cigarette and brandy, but it was strangely intoxicating, so Harry opened his mouth even more and let the clever tongue roam his mouth freely. When the tip of the tongue teased a particular place behind his teeth, Harry shivered and moaned deliriously, his knees weakened just a little more. When the teeth nibbled gently at his lower lip, and a hand moved under the band of his boxer, Harry was lost. It was more than he could take. The heat spread all over his groin and anywhere else that was touched by those heated body parts. It was ice and fire; the cool night air, the hot tongue, the cold zipper, the terribly warm hands. Seamus was awfully adept with his hands too. "Sea–" Harry gasped, arching for more of those naughty fingers, and the other was more than glad to oblige. It was when Harry was toppled over the edge of blissfulness that he remembered the other's stiff length, still hiding behind the thick pants, rubbing rhythmically against his thigh. Or the hot, wetness that started seeping through their pants. "Gods, Seamus," Harry whispered, running a hand through his hair awkwardly and looking everywhere except at Seamus. The Irishman only smiled in response, pulled out a handkerchief, and carelessly wiped off Harry's come from his hand. Harry blankly watched him do that, all the while blushing hotly. When Seamus raised his eyebrow and gestured to his crotch with the question if he wanted to be "cleaned" too, Harry shook his head violently and backed away a step. "Gods..." Harry whispered again. His face felt like it was on fire. It was so embarrassing, this situation. He was not used to being so... abandoned with his partners, not that he had many, but still, being so openly pleased was not something he would normally show. But this was Seamus, his friend for seven years and more, not some stranger witch or wizard trying to molest him. But friends were not supposed to do that to each other! Seamus was still acting all cool and reached for his discarded cigarette, picked it up, and looked at the ashes at its end intently, as if waiting for something to happen. Harry was certain the other was actually waiting for him to make the first move. After all, it was not every day that you performed a fantastic hand job to your mate that was up until now firmly believed to be straight, although that mate was not so sure of his heterosexuality now after the hand job in question. Gods, this was so confusing as hell, Harry thought. But Seamus was still waiting... So Harry gathered all his Gryffindor bravery, bit his lower lip, and asked, his messed-up trousers. "Will you come with me tonight?" "I just came. You could at least wait for a guy to recover first," Seamus playfully complained, airily waving at his sticking pants. "Seamus!" Harry reprimanded, blushing hotly. Seamus smiled.