#I was Gonna write the sex scene but

[is-there-an-echo-in-here]

I Would Give You the Sky

Full story available to read here on Tumblr, or on my Ao3

. . .

His Love (3/3)

They were alone.

It had taken Obi-Wan a few days to realise what that meant, to understand the true isolation they found themselves in. Their survival took precedence over any confusing feelings he may harbour towards his commander—who was doing an excellent job of keeping them alive—and the first few days on this hostile planet were spent in scavenging supplies from their crashed escape pod, fighting to communicate with the rest of the fleet, patching up each other’s injuries, and finding and fortifying shelter. Cody hunted them food from the unforgiving wilderness.

He did his best with what they were given. Obi-Wan picked the grisly meat from the leg bone of some manner of bird that Cody had shot earlier in the day. They had roasted it over a fire and swiftly packed up camp, moving before they could eat, unable to let their guard down in the same place after so publicly announcing their position. A cave made them at home, a place higher into the mountains of the unnamed planet.

Cody kept readjusting the dial and antenna on their scavenged communicator. The sound of static bounced off the rocks.

“You should eat something,” Obi-Wan murmured, eyeing the meagre shreds of meat that filled the ration pack between them.

“We have to contact the others,” said Cody. “Some may have crashed here too if the other pods were as damaged as ours.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, eyes narrowing in a moment of concern. “Cody,” he said, as plainly as he could, waiting for the man to look his way before gesturing to their food supply. “Eat.”

His commander sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and set the communicator down. “Yes, sir,” he murmured, shifted his jaw when the Jedi gave him a look, and corrected himself. “Obi-Wan.”

He came and sat on the floor opposite the Jedi, taking a scrap of meat from the pack. A thoughtful furrow pinched his brow as he chewed on it, gaze focused on the floor of the cave.

“They will find us,” said Obi-Wan, hoping to ease those lines of worry from his face.

“I’m not worried about us; I’m worried about my men.”

Obi-Wan ducked his head in acknowledgement. He should have known that his commander’s forefront concern would never be with himself. Cody was not a man who greatly valued his life, not as such. He was aware of his skills, Obi-Wan knew, aware of his value to the republic in his leadership capabilities, but deemed it unimportant in the grand scheme of the battalion. The mission and the lives of his men came before everything. It was the reason for that scar that Obi-Wan knew was still visible beneath his hair.

He could feel it sometimes, when he reached to the force, to his commander’s light, this wound he had sustained in his self-sacrificial heroics. It seemed a dark stain on an otherwise bright soul.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice broke through, drawing the Jedi’s attention to him. His commander had a softer look to him now. “You’re drifting off again.”

“I’m sorry,” said Obi-Wan.

They both knew his mind had been wandering with greater frequency since they had taken the tower, since Cody had been wounded. The pull of the force was stronger now from his commander, and Obi-Wan could not explain it—or, rather, he did not care to. To delve into his connection with Cody would be to admit there was one. An acknowledgement of such closeness would be a betrayal of everything the Jedi had ever known, everything Qui-Gon had tried so hard to distil in him.

Obi-Wan would have rejected him properly the second Cody had been cleared for active duty, but it seemed that, whenever he looked at his commander these days, he lost his breath.

Cody had not mentioned their conversation in the infirmary—nor the other acts that took place there. He kept his word and gave him time, dutiful in this as in everything he did. Obi-Wan would have preferred to be pushed. It would surely make it easier for him to cast his rejection.

Looking over at Cody then, eating scarcely and slowly, thoughtful eyes fixed on the floor of the cave, his commander did not make it easy to reject him. A softness crept to Obi-Wan’s expression; he felt it tug the corners of his mouth up into a gentle curve, banishing it too late to avoid Cody’s attentive eyes.

The commander watched him a moment in silence, turned his gaze away slowly. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched. He clenched his fist to quash the action, the unconscious pull towards his commander, because it could not be. He must have restraint. He must remember his duty.

It was difficult with his commander here, his competency in the wilderness, his kind eyes and gentle smile, the unstyled locks curling at his hairline. Obi-Wan tried not to look at him, but his gaze wandered to the man as much as his mind. Cody’s magnetism could not be denied. Obi-Wan had tried. It remained a troublesome feat to avoid his commander with a pull so strong.

“We could stay here tonight,” said Cody, an offer, not an order. “It’s well protected and in a good position.”

“You aren’t concerned with the cold that will settle in as night falls?”

Cody hummed, looked to the open mouth of the cave. “It will be more prominent up here, I suppose. We can head downhill if you’d prefer, but our defensive position will suffer.”

Obi-Wan considered this for a moment. “You’re right,” he decided. “We’ll stay here tonight, move again in the morning.”

The commander pushed himself up. He had only been sat for a few minutes, Obi-Wan noted, but said nothing to deter him in the knowledge that his arguing would make no impact on Cody’s mind.

“I’ll fix up the entrance,” he said, not an offer now, and exited the cave before Obi-Wan could speak—though he didn’t know what he would have said.

They needed to talk, Obi-Wan knew as much. He was avoiding the conversation, he knew this as well and so, it appeared, did Cody. He would be a fool not to see it and his commander was no fool, that was certain.

Obi-Wan laid out their sleeping mats while Cody was gone, making himself useful in what little ways he could; Cody had been working nonstop as usual, leaving the Jedi very small amounts to do. His commander was a man who needed to be busy, who needed to feel as though he was doing everything within his power to keep them alive and get them home. Obi-Wan was both grateful and concerned for his behaviour.

Cody returned before sunset, building up the entrance of the cave to a smaller target, sealing in the heat with branches and bracken he had scavenged from the woods. Cody took first watch, encouraging Obi-Wan to sleep and trying the communicator as dusk was falling. Obi-Wan could hear the static crackle outside. The commander adjusted and readjusted the dials, angled the antenna in every possible direction, spoke every known code in attempt to get a reply from their men or, in fact, any cruiser that may be in the area.

The moon was high and bright when Obi-Wan crawled out of the cave and took the communicator from Cody’s hands.

“It hasn’t been four hours, sir,” said the commander, shifted his jaw, corrected himself, “Obi-Wan.”

“I can’t sleep anyway,” Obi-Wan uttered, setting the communicator aside.

Cody watched him take a seat on the rocks outside the cave, choosing one that ensured a fair gap between himself and his commander. “Was I keeping you awake?”

“No,” Obi-Wan lied.

He turned his gaze to the sky, the treetops below and the mountains beyond, and breathed in the cooling air. In his peripheral, Cody angled his face upwards too and Obi-Wan risked a sideways glance over to him, a small smile twitching the corner of his mouth to see his commander without his helmet, free of armour. The republic insignia was splashed across his chest, but Obi-Wan wasn’t looking at that, elected not to be aware of it.

Moonlight struck Cody’s eyes when he turned his head. Obi-Wan’s lips parted unconsciously.

“Do you remember the tower?” Cody murmured suddenly, and Obi-Wan turned his head to squeeze his eyes shut at the memory of it, flashes of Cody lying there, bloody and bathed in the light of his saber, flitting behind closed eyes.

“I could not forget,” he said, managing to keep his voice somewhat regular.

He watched Cody shift in his peripheral. “Do you remember what you told me?”

“Cody…” Obi-Wan began, reluctance bleeding through in his voice because this was the conversation he had wished to avoid, and rejecting his commander here, while they were in survival mode, had the possibility to be detrimental to them both.

“You said you’d tell me about the stars.”

A silent breath left Obi-Wan’s chest, realisation and relief, and he cast his eyes up to the clear sky. “Yes, I did, didn’t I. Let’s see now…” He studied the sky, pointed across to the first that caught his eye. “There, do you see those three in a line, just above the mountain?”

Cody cast his gaze where Obi-Wan was pointing, paused a moment. “Yes.”

“And there’s a small cluster just below the leftmost star.”

“I see it.”

“I’m sure there are many names for it, but I learned it first as the sheath. The three larger stars mean to represent the belt itself, and the small cluster a dagger of some kind.”

Cody nodded. “You have fanciful names for them, I suspected as much.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. “I know that you’re aware of their real names, so I did believe that you wished to know them in an informal light.”

Another nod from Cody encouraged him on. Obi-Wan mapped out the constellations for him, as best he could. There were sections unfamiliar to him; the galaxy was a large place and they were a ways out. The stars changed frequently in their numerous locations, but, thankfully, Obi-Wan knew this sky with some depth.

Cody was quiet throughout, speaking only in answer to Obi-Wan queries, and remaining silent otherwise. The Jedi edged closer to him, half unconscious in his movements, finding himself at one point sat beside the commander, having the man follow his pointing finger to a particularly shy set of stars halfway off the horizon. In the closeness, he felt Cody’s eyes on him as he talked through the falling night.

Those eyes were a difficult thing to avoid. Obi-Wan could stomach it when he had his helmet on—when those kind, expressive eyes were safely hidden behind a visor—but now, with his helmet in the cave and moonlight bathing the world in silver, Obi-Wan could not help himself.

Cody didn’t turn away from him. Another man would have shunted his gaze away in embarrassment at being caught staring or a concern to maintain his subordinate position. Cody was not that man. Cody held his gaze with a softness that stole Obi-Wan’s breath yet again. Restraint and propriety faded in Cody’s eyes, like the sun hitting fog and burning it to dew.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody uttered, barely above a whisper, and the reminder of reality should have scared him off.

Instead, Obi-Wan found his hand lifting to the commander’s face, fingers tracing over his temple, pushing into his hair and drifting over the scar. He felt the disturbance of skin beneath his fingertips.

“Obi-Wan,” said Cody again, softer now, if at all possible. “It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t…” Obi-Wan began and his voice caught in his closing throat. “We shouldn’t…”

Those eyes again, rounding in sympathy, in kindness. “It’s okay. Tell me no. Back away. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, struggling to speak. “That’s just it,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to go louder. “I am never more comfortable than when I’m with you.”

It was over already—Obi-Wan knew it from the start—but when Cody lifted his hand, bare fingers cradling his cheek, he knew there would never be any going back. He closed his eyes into it, losing himself in Cody’s touch, allowing his head to be guided forward. His forehead rested against Cody’s own.

“Then be with me,” Cody said, such simplicity that Obi-Wan had to lead himself from tears.

“I…” he began, and didn’t need to explain because Cody knew, he knew what the Jedi were, what Obi-Wan was, knew their rules and their beliefs.

“It’s your decision,” said Cody, passing the pad of his thumb over the Jedi’s cheek, “but, please, make it for yourself, not for anyone else.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, pulling back a fraction from Cody just so he could look at him, at his face that he saw in a hundred different men who were never identical no matter what anyone may think, who all had their own glow in the force. No one shined brighter than Cody, not in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

All his life, people had told him what to do. Joining the Jedi order, taking the trials to become a master, even his apprentice, none of the biggest choices in Obi-Wan’s life had been his own. His world was decided for him and, for the most part, he was content; he liked being a Jedi, he had cherished his time as Anakin’s master.

Looking at Cody now, he realised that he would not be content to allow this man and his affection to slip through his fingers.

“I want…” Obi-Wan began, swallowed hard because it was not right. These words must be right. “I’m ready to give you an answer now, and the answer is yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I hope to always love you. Yes, Cody. I’m saying yes.” The word had lost all meaning yet, at the same time, it never had so much. “Yes.”

Cody kissed him.

The touch of his mouth was gentle, lips tentative against his own, but his hands were cradling the Jedi’s face and Obi-Wan felt wanted; not for his power or his wisdom or any other trait learned through work and loss, but because he was Obi-Wan and his commander loved him for everything that name entailed.

His hands fisted into the neck of Cody’s blacks, pulling him in, holding him close. A weakness took him when the action coaxed a soft gasp from Cody’s flaring lips and Obi-Wan had to stop, had to push his forehead to the commander’s again, holding him close, unable to continue their intimacy because he knew he would fail this test of control.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody whispered, thumb smoothing across his cheekbone.

The Jedi swallowed thickly. “Don’t…” he began, having to pause for breath before continuing, thinking out his words again. “Don’t let this happen unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” Cody replied, so soft. “I mean it, Obi-Wan. I love you too.”

“I don’t mean… I know that, I mean…” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, shaking his head as much as he could while still keeping in contact with his commander. “I want to be closer to you, and you need to tell me if that’s not what you’re looking for. I can love you in other ways, I do love you in every other way I know of, but, right now, there’s a particular way I want to show it—”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody said, firmer now, deliberate in his interruption, “I understand. I want that. Trust me.”

His choice of words touched Obi-Wan’s heart, softened his anxiety and his gaze. “I trust you,” he uttered, and hoped that he conveyed the weight properly because trust was a powerful and dangerous thing, and he gave it to Cody completely.

His commander cupped a hand to the nape of his neck, holding him close a moment, before pulling away, releasing him entirely, and Obi-Wan felt the loss of his light for only the briefest moment. Cody turned for the cave entrance, moved the enter and paused before he did so, looking back at the Jedi with meaningful eyes, such emotion there in his gaze that Obi-Wan so often did not have the pleasure of seeing. He saw it now and he followed it, and Cody, into the cave.

Neither of them took the watch that night.

The cave remained unguarded until the first light of dawn was turning the Eastern sky a milky pink. If either of them had cared to listen to the communicator during the night, they would have heard delayed responses to Cody’s earlier calls. As it was, Obi-Wan awoke to the sound of a transport vessel coming in to land.

His face was buried in Cody’s neck, the man having fallen asleep with his arm wrapped around the Jedi’s shoulders, holding him against his side. His robe was covering the both of them beneath a regular issue blanket they had scavenged from the escape pod. The commander’s bare skin was warm pressed against his own, but he stirred now and sat up in a rush, and the intimacy was lost.

A soft curse broke Cody’s lips, clearly also hearing the ship outside, and he scrambled to reclaim his clothes. Obi-Wan followed his lead.

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Cody was saying, and it took the Jedi a moment to register his words. “I’m sorry. I should have gone back to watch duty as soon as…”

He trailed, giving his general a sheepish look, seeming to understand the absurdity of his own words.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan murmured, watching the commander huff as he heaved his chest plate on. “Here.”

The commander allowed him close; it was a relief in truth, as Obi-Wan had half expected him to flinch away. He fixed Cody’s arm bracers on in deft movements. Such a duty had often been practiced and, although he knew Cody didn’t strictly need the help, he cherished the quiet trust that helping the man with his armour conveyed.

Cody met his gaze briefly as he was finishing, fitting the second bracer on with ease. Obi-Wan could have sworn he saw a faint blush darken his commander’s cheeks before he turned away, took his helmet up and tucked it under his arm.

“It sounds like a republic transport,” said Cody, and headed for the exit, ducking his head out briefly and calling back with his answer. “It’s Rex and General Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth. He wanted more time, but it was fruitless to say so when he knew it was a luxury they could not claim. Some absurd instinct of his wanted to thank Cody for the night they had shared.

“Cody,” he uttered, unsure of the words even as he began the sentence.

Cody waited, watched. His eyes were soft.

“Obi-Wan,” he replied and said nothing further.

Obi-Wan’s lips parted and he scarcely knew the words, something instinctive and intuitive speaking for him. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum… cyar’ika.”

Cody stared. He remained silent for so long that Obi-Wan began to worry he had mispronounced the words so horribly that he had said something entirely wrong. Then, that smile. Cody’s smile, that barely there, but gentle and painfully genuine smile, was like nothing else.

He approached deftly, footsteps somewhat muted by the thundering of Obi-Wan’s own heartbeat in his ears. Gloved fingertips skimmed the edge of his jaw.

“I love you too, Obi-Wan,” Cody uttered, scarcely a whisper, not joining him in mando’a, but offering him the same courtesy of his native language, the words of his people.

He was kissed, softly, sweetly, and only for a second. When he pulled away, Cody gently hooked the side of his finger under Obi-Wan’s chin, as if to tilt his head up, but the movement was swift and soft and with no real pressure. It felt like praise, or gratitude, perhaps. Either way, Obi-Wan was certain he must appear rather flushed.

Voices outside coaxed Cody away from him—the commander moved to roll up their bedding—and Obi-Wan shook himself from his stricken daze to meet Anakin’s eyes when the younger Jedi poked his head through the cave entrance.

“So,” he greeted with a lopsided grin, “not dead then.”

“Certainly not,” replied Obi-Wan.

“Well, you didn’t answer your comms. Figured you must have run into some trouble.”

Obi-Wan gave him an easy smile as his former apprentice entered the cave. “Technical difficulties.”

Anakin hummed, froze a moment, and looked him up and down, practically side-eyeing him. Obi-Wan lifted his chin, determined not to allow his apprentice to detect anything untoward. He was very conscious of Cody, behind him, gathering up their bedding, all too aware of how the arrangement would look to someone who noticed it.

Anakin, thankfully, went through bouts of incuriosity, not noticing that which was right in front of him when he had something else on his mind. Obi-Wan supposed the young man had been worried for him, not Cody, and therefore only had eyes for his former master. Though he disapproved of the lack of care for his commander, he could appreciate that it had its uses at this precise moment.

“Come on then,” said Anakin, gesturing to him. “The ship’s waiting.”

He exited the cave. Obi-Wan cast a look back at Cody, who quirked a faint smirk, before hauling the pack over his shoulder. Obi-Wan took his own bedroll from Cody, tucking it under his arm and leading the way from the cave.

Outside, Anakin was halfway to the transport, that had landed on an outcrop a little ways down the hill. Rex was waiting for them at the cave entrance. He gave Cody a once over as he emerged. One brow raised, just a fraction.

“What happened to you?” he asked, though his tone was not one of concern, rather tinged in knowledge, and Obi-Wan purposefully walked ahead a little, not wishing to intrude on such a conversation.

“Escape pod malfunctioned,” said Cody in brief explanation.

“You get hurt?”

“No.”

“So that limp’s just for fun?”

Obi-Wan blinked hard, forcing himself not to freeze in his tracks, to keep going. He ached to glance back, to gauge Cody’s reaction to such an thinly veiled insinuation, but he could not, lest he risk confirming it.

“Hardly a limp,” said Cody.

Rex hummed, some mischief there in the sound. “Shall I call ahead to medical?”

“That’s unnecessary.”

Cody’s answer was too quick, too hinted in warning, and Obi-Wan knew he would not have been so transparent if he didn’t already know that their dalliance had been discovered. Rex knew. There was nothing they could do to change that now.

Obi-Wan heard Rex huff in soft amusement, heard the soft clank of armour knocking together, and risked a glance back to see Rex giving Cody’s shoulder a playful smack with his forearm. He said something in mando’a, something that Obi-Wan could not decipher, but his eyes were bright and there was a smile on his lips, flashing his teeth, as if the captain was unable to contain himself. He was happy.

A smile of his own took Obi-Wan’s expression, stifled, but unstoppable. Cody met his gaze, pulling his attention away from Rex for a moment to cast soft eyes over his Jedi, a curl to the corners of his mouth and the softest light in his eyes and Obi-Wan knew, inexplicably, in his heart, that they were going to be alright.

[eerna]

imma be so real with you I did NOT care for all the cutesy ways they presented Vi and Cait's disbalanced social status in arc 3

[stormyoceans]

I can absolutely talk about bottom Fadel. He would be so overwhelmed at first, trying to hide his face and his noises, not sure whether to push Style away bc it's all just too much or pull him closer bc it's also just so good until Style grabs him by the neck and makes him look into his eyes and murmurs how good Fadel is and just to let go and with a shuddering breath Fadel would finally relax into it. Afterwards Fadel would be shivering all over and clinging to Style who holds him and pets his back, dropping small kisses wherever he can reach and whispering how much he loves Fadel. Yeah... I can totally talk about that.

CLIMBING THE WALLS OF MY OFFICE AND SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE CEILING BECAUSE YES YES YES ABSOLUTELY YES TO EVERYTHING YOU SAID YOU GET IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it's just the way fadel looks so overwhelmed every time style touches him. every time he's not the one initiating physical contact and taking charge of the direction it takes. and yet at the same time he almost looks in pain with how hard he tries not to show it, as if there's something wrong in being on the receiving end of pleasure, in feeling that pleasure and letting it wash over him, pulling him under. even jerking off seems like a perfunctory act just to scratch an itch and be done with it as quickly as possible

style, tho. style is all about pleasure and fun and feeling good. he’s also more observant than anyone gives him credit for. so when fadel bites his lip so hard to the point he draws blood just to prevent himself from making any noises while style sucks him off, of course style notices. he also decides right there and then that that simply won’t do

the next time style presses fadel down onto the mattress, he takes his time. he sucks and bites on fadel’s nipples until fadel starts squirming under him, telling him to just get on with it already. style looks at fadel’s flushed face and heaving chest, at the way he’s already rock hard and leaking through his underwear, and wonders if he could make fadel come just by playing with his pecs, but that will have to wait. he finally moves lower, kissing his way down to the wet spot on fadel’s underwear and mouthing at it. fadel barks out his name, half a warning half a plead, voice strained and legs trembling

style frees him from the underwear, slicks his fingers with lube, and presses gently at fadel’s entrance with one. fadel seems to relax for a second, but the furrow between his brows is back as soon as he realizes that style has no intention to hurry. style tries to distract him with kisses, the rhythm of his finger inside fadel excruciately slow on purpose. he adds another, and he knows he has found fadel’s prostate when fadel jolts away from the kiss and his hands close around style’s arms as if to push him away. style shushes him, his free hand coming up to hold fadel’s head. he hits the same spot with his fingers again, and fadel’s grips on his arm tightens. fadel’s eyes are blown wide and his teeth are sinking into his lower lip

style places a kiss on fadel’s temple and starts talking, his fingers massaging the same spot inside fadel again and again. “it’s okay to let go, you know. you don’t always have to be strong and keep your guard up, at least not with me. im here. i’ve got you. let me hear you. let me take care of you.” for the first time, fadel throws his head back and comes with a loud cry

ANYWAY. sorry for this mess, i guess i got kinda inspired by what you wrote ;;;;;;; THE POINT IS THAT STYLE WOULD LOVE TO TURN FADEL INTO A PLIANT SOBBING MESS AND TELL HIM HOW GOOD HE IS AND FADEL NOT ONLY WOULD LET HIM BUT ALSO COME TO LOVE IT THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[pnfc]

heres an unfinished, no-plot horny d/p domestic scene i wrote yday when it was 20 degrees outside. just self-soothing writing, idk if its any good to read, but in case someone enjoys it, here 18+

heinz wakes to a frostbitten dawn, snug in bed, perry hot in his arms like a furry baked potato. his brain boots up, effortfully chugging to situate him in the correct temporality: it’s early december, a friday. he tries to remember whether the new day threatens any pressing obligations: nope, he’s still retired. good. it was such an excellent idea, retiring. he should’ve done it a lifetime ago.

for a while he’s just basking, watching perry sleep. he’s murmuring soft sounds, face shifting in some dream encounter. heinz always wants to peek inside -- but the dreaminator he made for that lost its novelty, they both agreed, and it’s never nearby when he wants it. so he lets perry keep to his private world, as he pets fingers across his shoulders.

however many minutes tick by and perry’s stirring awake. “hey,” greets heinz. “you have a good dream?”

perry noses into his neck with a discontented sound, stretching. then he moves back an inch, so heinz can read his hands. trapped in a cave, he signs. with santa. very unsettling.

heinz “ahh”s with understanding. it’s fun to pretend like he knows anything. “christmas shopping anxiety. don’t worry, perry the platypus. the craft expo’s this weekend. we’re gonna have an amazing haul, you’ll see. we’ll be winning over family members we didn’t even know we had.”

perry’s eyes are closed and he’s sagging back into a dead weight on heinz’s chest as he talks. a minute passes and he motions again: bathroom.

“you gotta go?”

without offering perry any choice heinz shrugs into his bedside robe and stands up with perry tight in his hold, carries him off to the ensuite bathroom. “it’s more efficient this way,” he explains. “you take too long getting out of bed.”

perry comes to life in his hands, as he registers the annoying thing heinz is doing, whipping open the purple velour robe like palanquin curtains with a gruff complaint. across the threshold he wriggles out of heinz’s arms and down to the rug, still dizzy from sleep, and leans against the bathtub.

“can i help you up?” heinz offers sweetly, meaning the toilet.

perry kicks him out of the room, little duckfoot impacts battering his legs, and shuts the door. heinz sighs theatrically -- he’s so closed off. really hurts a guy’s feelings. “ring me if you need anything,” he calls through the door.

in slippers heinz pads through the cold air of the penthouse to the kitchen. abovehead drifts of snow wool over the metal ribs of the glass overhang, and ice vines the windows in patterns of pocks and swirls. it’s desolate and pretty, will be prettier if the sun breaks through later and shines a prismatic display across their house. without the fireplace lit it’s hard to heat a space this big, but it’s hard to mind, anymore.

heinz heats a kettle of caff-boosted herbal tea, and assembles it with agave in one of perry’s mugs. he checks the sweetness with tiny sips.

in the bedroom perry has burrowed back under the blanket where their fading bodyheat still lingers, only his tail poking out by the pillows. that’s so cute. “you sleepy or just really cold?” he asks. he rubs a hand on the lump near what he thinks are the shoulders. a small muffled reply. that means both. heinz sets the tea down on perry’s side of the bed, and gets in next to him.

it’s a lucky thing platypuses don’t hibernate, though you wouldn’t know it from perry in the mornings. heinz considers it his privileged duty to help stave off the torpor pull. he doesn’t get too logy himself, even in the early hours, some innate quality of his brain chemistry -- especially not with perry close at hand, electrifying his blood. there’s never been a better stimulant.

perry rolls in automatically to the heatsink of his legs, pulling himself against the junction of belly and thigh, fists bunching in his shirt and then slackening open as sleep reclaims him. you’d never guess he’s wearing a personalized built-in fur blanket. heinz suspects he’s just addicted to heat, spoiled for it with so much of heinz’s body in so much bed.

and right now heinz’s body is in a less than neutral state -- through the fabric he feels his halfhard cock pressing into perry’s side, though if he noticed it he evidently didn’t care. that’s most mornings, heinz up and ready to go in every sense, perry lagging and clingy, an animate tease heinz would hate to be without.

once upon a time this predicament would’ve meant soulsearing terror, trapped with perry in a state of arousal. now it burns through heinz with a tight, pleasant tension, the kind perry must feel in his rope binds. he can’t get in trouble anymore, there’s no risk. he can’t lose perry anymore. he’s his.

he coasts a loving palm around the velvet back of perry’s tail, his waist -- perry’s still butt-up under the cover.

“i brought you a good cure for both,” heinz continues. “you should drink it before it gets cold.”

the bare skin is hot at the base of perry’s tail. heinz nudges his thumbpad into the little divot of his hole -- it’s so accessible to him right now, perry shouldn’t open himself up like this if he doesn’t want to be played with. perry’s little legs tense and then soften as heinz presses loops and circles into the soft pucker, like he decides he’s too tired to object. he’s in that half-submerged state, bobbing in the shoals of sleep as the tide pulls him further over a black abyss.

heinz wets a finger and presses back in, gentle, the swell of perry’s entrance bunched around the tip in a sucking kiss. he could push his way inside, play in him for a while, snare him back into reality by teasing a boner out of his sleeping cock. he’s thinking about it, breath stilled in his lungs, right as perry growls under the blanket and boffs him in the thigh.

“ow,” says heinz. perry rucks around in the blankets and emerges, finally, to give him a stare of disapproval. their first eye contact of the day -- it makes heinz smile uncontrollably. he’s such a sucker, he knows it. “i made a pot of your maté blend.”

perry huffs, stretching his arms out and climbing up to where heinz is sitting, against the jumble of pillows. he pulls perry into his lap -- perry’s hip sits heavy on his erection, but there’s nothing for it -- and bundles him up there, passes perry’s mug into his hands.

“i have this great idea that we stay in today, maybe make shepherd’s pie.” he grazes his hand across perry’s head. “watch the dumbest vintage sketch comedy we can find. you think you can handle that?”

perry nods, under the weight of heinz’s hand, and pulls the mug in for a quaff. the steam wafting up from it is spicy, floral. heinz travels his fingers around to perry’s clavicle. perry stills, then continues swallowing in leisurely gulps, while heinz feels the muscles of his throat contract. he has a fixation on this body, all the small pieces working together at odd shapes to his own, yet with resonance in the core purposes. he loves the way perry’s built, loves how compact, cute and capable of outperforming heinz at any task mental or otherwise. loves that he can hold him in his hands, span all his lengths, tug his limbs this way or that -- years removed from needing a mechanical pretense, robot hands binding perry or prying into his mouth. he used to envy his own traps.

perry snuggles back into heinz as he pulls off of the mug, for a breather. with a free hand he lazes the back of his fingers against heinz’s jutting cock, dragging them up the shaft and then back down, like he’s toying the armrest at a boring movie. a dark spot dews up through his sweats.

“or we could watch chips,” heinz says, saying nothing, fluff to fill the seconds, to buffer against perry’s touch. “you know, that old cop show that was playing at the pub last night, that you were asking me about?”

perry dips his head in a nod that’s as nonchalant as the drag of his fingers.

“it’s good. that whole decade was, in this astonishingly artless and bad way -- time was just slower, then,” heinz posits. “like molasses.”

like perry. he’s mastered the art of ignoring heinz so pointedly, a razor cutout around heinz’s comfort in perry’s orbit of concern, that it flips, exposes a humiliating wealth of care and comprehension. so many people have known heinz longer -- only perry has learned in short time the art of pulling one marionette string and watching heinz fall to a jumble beneath him.

“time’s definitely faster now -- every old person says that, perry the platypus, i know i know, i’m sorry. it’s true though. all the decades passing by, trends coming and going and coming back, internet speeding up. i guess you wouldn’t know, ‘cause you’re only like…” oh, it’s weird to go there with perry’s hand on his dick. he skips past it. “…man, there was so much 1970s tv landfill you totally missed out on, perry the platypus. i get vertigo thinking about it. i can’t believe monobrow thought it was good enough to leave your cultural education at all of the james bond movies. he could’ve at least thrown in an austin powers or two to lighten the mood.”

he looks down at perry, who’s looking self-satisfied in the bed of heinz’s lap -- a tragically good look on him.

“you’d better be grateful you have me, perry the platypus, to turn you into a worldly individual. who’s seen chips.”

he’s fucking squeezing and pinching the lip of his cock through the fabric, god it’s intolerable.

“f-finish your tea, perry the platypus.” heinz pushes the mug back up to perry’s bill, and perry snorts as he takes it in his paws. ugh, the stutter. he can tell perry lives for that, signs of his breakage. he tries so hard to hold it back.

[asexualasshat]

Purposefully writing slowburn so you can put off dealing with the sex scene that is unfortunately necessary to the plot? An asexual birthright

[aroeddiediaz]

Fuck It Friday

Don’t mind me whistling and giggling, apparently that’s the sound of me throwing Eddie Diaz’s mental health down a garbage disposal and shredding it. Enjoy Eddie and Kim crossing way more boundaries and getting deep into creepy territory.

(Hint of nsfw)

And then when they finish having a long date at the beach, shivering from the cool evening air as they shake the sand from their towels and waistbands, Eddie offers the sweater to go over Kim’s shoulders. He doesn’t tell her where he got it from, but he thinks she knows.

Like he knows without asking where Kim got her recommendations for the best beard oil and maintenance kit from. And what she’s doing when she asks to try styling him before their next date, and puts him in a purple polo shirt and a corduroy jacket he knows wasn’t in his closet before.

He doesn’t mind. Sh- Kim has done so much for him, has changed her hairstyle and adjusted her wardrobe to more flowy, warm toned outfits, and started using a new floral-scented perfume because of him. It’s the least he can do to return the favor.

So when they’re fucking in his bed, holding her down roughly the way she pleaded for him to do, and she starts whimpering Marcus’s name the way she’s done every time they’re in bed together ever since they came clean to each other, he stops politely ignoring it and starts responding.

No pressure tagging: @cal-daisies-and-briars @aspecbuddie @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @lemonzestywrites @your-catfish-friend @inkmortal-trash389 @evanbegins @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @diazsdimples @epicbuddieficrecs @kitteneddiediaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @coatedpanda16 @nicotinewrites @estheticpotaeto @babytrapperdiaz @snowviolettwhite @wikiangela @jesuiscenseedormir @made-ofmemories @asexual-fandom-queen

[jmflowers]

prompt #32: make that scene make sense in the episode

Blindfold

“Agh,” Maya hisses, pulling away quickly with her eyes shut tight.

Three times now, Carina’s tried to lean in for an innocent kiss and three times now, there’s been a box of pastries or a Liam or a fucking breeze that’s gotten in the way.

Three fucking times since she’s gotten home.

And it really just makes Maya want to scream.

“I’m sorry, bambina,” Carina whispers, stepping away, “What can I do?”

Detach my boobs, Maya wants to say, Take all these hormones out of my body.

Rip my fucking clothes off.

She opens her eyes instead, willing herself not to cry with frustration. There’ve been enough tears for today.

Enough tears for a lifetime.

“My entire body feels like it’s on fire,” she confesses, sucking in a wavering breath.

Carina nods, understanding.

Always so understanding.

“It will be worth it tomorrow,” she promises, inching closer without touching, “And then you will start to feel better.”

“Because it’ll be your turn to feel crappy.”

Carina shrugs, unperturbed. “We’re making a baby.”

The tears start to pool in Maya’s eyes again, betraying her. “I wish this was more romantic,” she whispers, slipping her fingers between Carina’s.

“This isn’t romantic?” Carina smirks, her eyebrow quirking. “I find it very romantic that your nipples are exploding.”

Despite herself, Maya laughs. “Shut up.”

“We could make it more romantic,” Carina suggests, waving the baby monitor in her left hand like it’s a prize they’ve won: Liam sound asleep in his crib. “Hop up on the counter.”

Maya frowns, confused.

“If you are higher,” Carina explains, pushing at Maya’s hips to ease her backwards, “I can kiss you without touching your exploding nipples.”

“You’re going to make me regret using that analogy, aren’t you?” Maya mutters, hopping up onto the thin bit of counter not already dedicated to sink space or the toaster or drying dishes.

God, they really need to renovate.

She tries not to wince as her body settles again, leaning against the cabinet doors.

Carina grins, backing away with a glint in her eye. “Un secondo,” she promises, holding up a finger as she disappears into the dining room.  

“I thought you were going to kiss me,” Maya calls after her, spreading her legs in a hopeful invitation.

“I am,” Carina teases as she reappears in the doorway, sliding a strip of fabric between her fingers. “Your body is on fire, no?” she asks as she saunters closer.

Maya swallows roughly, watching.

Knowing that look on her wife’s face.

Rip my fucking clothes off, her insides scream again.

Carina smirks. “Tell me our safe word,” she instructs, already in charge.

Already lighting a fire low in Maya’s belly.

Because there is love here, burning between them – love and consent and affection. Carina knows how the blindfold can heighten all the other senses. How it helps Maya to relax, to feel more present in her body.

How fucking hot she finds it.

Maya does as she is told, whispering the word as she leans forward, allowing Carina to tie the soft fabric around her eyes. Allowing Carina to take full control.

“Stay here,” Carina commands.

Maya waits, listening intently as Carina’s feet pad across the kitchen floor. As the cardboard pastry box is opened once more.

She waits, until she feels the warmth of Carina slipping between her legs, the smell of her perfume and the faint sweetness of donuts wafting in between them.

Until Carina leans closer, her nose brushing against Maya’s own.

Maya opens her mouth, desperate for the kiss she’s been waiting hours for.

Instead, she feels Carina’s finger slip past her lips, tasting of cream filling. She opens her mouth wider, feeling Carina’s breath on her tongue.

Carina, and the taste she’s actually craving.

“Lick,” Carina orders.

Maya closes her mouth dutifully, sucking the custard from Carina’s slender finger. Her hand sneaks around Carina’s back, sliding down to find purchase on her ass.

She grins when Carina gasps at the contact, taking it as an opportunity to seek out Carina’s mouth once more. Carina’s beautiful, delicious mouth.

Maya only manages to dip her tongue behind Carina’s teeth before she’s slipping away again, giggling as she drifts to the end of Maya’s fingers.

“Where are you going now?” Maya calls after her.

“Be good,” Carina chuckles instead of answering.

The fridge opens across the room and Maya does know, then, where Carina is going. Knows exactly what path Carina intends to take them down this evening.

She pries the blindfold from her head, slipping off the counter as quickly as she can manage. Grinning, as she disobeys.

Somehow, it’s fast enough to surprise Carina before she can lean inside the fridge for the chocolate sauce or the strawberries or whatever else is on her menu.

“No more food,” Maya mutters, pushing the door closed as she eases Carina back against the sink. “I only want to taste you.”

[asexualandalwaysshipping]

Ngl the most traumatic thing about Paragon is the wild mischaracterization

[fbfh]

good news wildcats, I'm finally watching hsmtmts s4. I just finished episode 1 and I am SCREAMING.

toxic ricky is back!!!!!!!!!!! unhinged unstable season 1 ricky my darling!!!! my beloved!!!!!!!!! my pathetic soggy prayers have been answered!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nyxi-pixie]

always in the damn porn trenches i hate it here can skk stop being so horny all the time i used to have dignity

[not-poignant]

hiii! i have a question, how far do you think we are in to underline the black? like i was reading the last chapter and was like hmm we must be over half way but then i remembered spoils book 2 which is also about efnisien so really we could be at like a quarter 😭

This one I can actually answer now!

So, Underline the Black is slated to finish around chapter 135~, give or take a few chapters.

When I sense I'm getting close to the end of a story I like to start loosely plotting out wrapping up storylines and seeing how the flow will go, and I've done that for Underline the Black, and so far I'm on track. We're definitely just under 3/4 of the way through!

So you're right, we're absolutely over halfway, your instincts were completely on it :D

[sisaloofafump]

Yes ace people can and do have sex but if I have to see one more depiction of an ace character experiencing immediate major sexual attraction in a definitively non-ace way, I'm gonna start beheading people

[leyyvi]

Got an idea for a pwasoi sequel but it would completely change the tone of the fic so 😭

[lordisitmine]

in the home stretch for the final chapter before hiatus :))

[sexynetra]

36. “Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m dating you or babysitting you.” SCREAMS sashnetra 🫣🫶🏻🫶🏻

I had maybe too much fun writing this one 🫣🤭 anyways I don’t know what this au is however whatever it is… I kinda love it. Also it’s in the same universe as the haunted house one. These girlfriends are menaces. :)

———————

Sasha was getting too old for clubbing. She’d much rather lounge on the couch in sweats, watching syndicated television and smoking the biggest joint she can roll. Clubs were too loud, too many people, and her body always aches for days after going out.

Unfortunately for her, her girlfriend was the perfect age to want to go clubbing every weekend.

Not that Sasha joined her every time. She had her limits after all. But she was hard pressed to say no when Anetra turned those big shiny brown eyes on her. Whenever Anetra gave her those soft hopeful looks, Sasha knew she would turn the world upside down to get her what she wanted.

So she found herself at the club, nursing a glass of white wine as she watched Anetra finish her fourth drink since they arrived. Anetra set the empty glass on the bar counter and spun around until she spotted Sasha, face lighting up as she weaved her way through the other patrons, coming up to Sasha and plopping herself down to settle on Sasha’s thigh, smiling goofily and leaning in to place a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek as Sasha’s arm wound around Anetra’s waist, keeping her steady.

“You look so sexy, Sash. Everyone in this club is gonna be so jealous when I go home with you…” she giggled, leaning against Sasha.

Sasha couldn’t help but be endeared by the younger girl's antics, moving her free hand to push Anetra’s hair out of her face.

“Pretty girl,” she murmured, admiring the drunken glow radiating from the woman on her lap. “Such a pretty girl. I think it’s time to drink some water, okay baby?”

Anetra pouted immediately at that. “Don’t need water, Sash. Besides, Jell-O shots are half off right now…” she trailed off, wiggling her brows. When Sasha just cocked her brow at that, Anetra pout deepened, placing her hand on Sasha’s chest where her locket rested, turning those damn puppy dog eyes on as she looked at Sasha.

“C’mon babe, please? We’re out at a club and I want you to have fun too… we can get the shots and then go dance. I wanna show you off, make everyone here jealous.”

Sasha melted slightly as Anetra pleaded with her. She liked to think she was good at resisting people’s attempts to get their way, but that all flew out the window with Anetra.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m dating you or babysitting you… one glass of water and then we can get the shots and I’ll come dance with you,” She murmured, pecking her lips.

Anetra rolled her eyes but smiled, giving a mock salute.

“Yes mommy,” Anetra drew out the name, watching the hunger flash behind Sasha’s eyes before turning away and waving over the bartender, a smug grin on her lips. After all, she knew exactly how to get whatever she wanted, and keep both her and Sasha happy.

[4th-make-quail]

happy WIP wednesday, here's some sad old man yearning for his catatonic love!!!

hit 11k tonight, woooo!! although i had to stop cos now i need to write Albeleo for the first time and i cannot fuckin remember how he TALKS!!! oh no, a reason to go and rewatch Bozja Cutscenes, What A Shame 👁👁👁