#hang on tight girly he's coming. he always does :D

[justonemorechapternicercy]

If you are still doing the prompt thing~ Types of kisses: 3 Dialogue: 2 & 7 Ship: anybody from Percy’s harem! Thank you!

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

2. “Shut up and hold me.”

And

7. “It looks good on you.”

Percy had plenty of secrets.

He lived in a world where the Greek gods were real, where monsters attacked him and the other demigods on a regular basis, while still needing to go to school with mortal kids and teachers, hiding the truth from them. He lived in a world, where everybody knew everything about each other, where pronouncing the name of a god would invite that god to listen in the conversation. He lived in a world, where you had to be very careful if you wanted your secrets to stay yours.

Mostly he succeeded. Nobody knew the true extent of his first step-father’s abuse nor the real reason for his blue food obsession. It was still a secret that he could sing, and that he had a big collection.

As in- a big collection of gods, who wanted to pretend that they hated him, yet would do anything to spend a night with him.

(The first one was Mr. D. It was a shock for Percy, as he believed that the camp director hated his guts, but turned out, he was just horny and mad for being horny. What was even more of a shock that how… caring he was as his first. But when words got out that Dionysus popped the little hero’s cherry… let’s just say, the punishment he got for chasing after that nymph Zeus wanted, was nothing compared to the one he got for fucking the Sea Prince before the King of Gods could.

Who gladly took over his son’s place at Percy’s bed, showing him that his past conquests had no reason to deny his advances. Saying that Percy couldn’t walk properly for a few days after Zeus left him alone to go back to his furious wife, would be an understatement. But the young hero couldn’t rest adequately, because his next visitor, just as shocking as Zeus was, didn’t come alone to wreck the little hero completely - Persephone wanted to taste the Sea Prince as well.

The King and Queen of the Underworld changed everything Percy knew about pleasure, sex, and sexuality. Unfortunately, they also had to leave their pretty prince. Percy knew it was dangerous to fall in love with a god - either because of jealous significant others or because it could only end in heartbreak -, but he lost pieces of his heart each time a god left him all alone. Yet, he didn’t want to stop. He craved for them, he needed any god who paid even the smallest amount of attention to him.)

But the secret he held closest to his heart was that he liked to dance. Just losing himself in the music, moving his lean, athletic body to the rhythm of the song. But it wasn’t just the dance itself he was self-conscious about: it was the way he dressed during his dance sessions. 

He liked to dress up in a skirt so mini it didn’t really cover all of his booty. In pretty, lacy fabrics, leather shorts, and flowy dresses. He just loved feeling pretty - but even if he had sex with various gods with different kinks, even if he was probably the most sought-after hero of all time, he still had some lingering insecurities about his body, his femininity, his kinks.

And being a crossdresser as a Greek hero - was not something he ever heard of. (Also, he was afraid of others’ judgment. The Aphrodite cabin was always looked down on by the other cabins for being “girly” and “too pretty for battle” and he wasn’t ready for the bullying he would receive for not being a proper, manly hero.)

So, he only shared his hobby with the loneliness of his room, his favorite plush shark he got from a “secret admirer”, and his pet moss ball. His mother knew he liked to dance, and that when he was younger, he liked to try out her clothes, but she believed that after Gabe beat him up for wearing make-up, he gave up all of it. He didn’t - he just made sure nobody could catch him doing anything not “normal”.

He would always lock the door of his bedroom, put his earphone in, and blast his songs without care for the world around him. He would dress up in one of the pretty dresses he bought from thrift shops from the money he got from selling candies even in camp, and dance until he was a sweaty, tired, grinning mess. He would mouth along to the lyrics of the song, careful not to sing it aloud, jump so high he would feel like he was flying, spin around until the dizziness took over.

He would feel free.

---

Triton heard things… Things he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

On one hand, it was good to know that his little brother was not mortal enough to freak out of the thought of being together with his uncles.

On the other hand, Percy Jackson - the pain in his ass, the bastard son of his father, the pretty hero of Olympus, the boy he just couldn’t erase from his thoughts -, was having sex with his uncles, and two of his cousins.

Which just had to be gossip, right? There was no way more than one god had their wicked ways with Percy before he could even determine himself to woo his little step-brother. Right?!

This was why he was standing in front of the door of the apartment Percy lived in with his mother, step-father, and baby sister, ready to knock on it. He lifted up his hand and hit the wood with his knuckles.

No answer.

He tried once again.

No answer.

Being a god had its perks - no locked door could stand in his way. He just flashed himself in the quiet apartment. Triton thought nobody was home, but the sound of somebody’s movement lured him towards a room, which’s door was slightly open.

He peeked in and for the first time in his immortal life, he felt like he was hallucinating or that he died and went to Elysium.

Because the boy he wanted to make his forever, was in nothing, but a pastel pink, lacy babydoll, hips swaying seductively to a beat only Percy could hear. Arms flailing in the sky, strong, long legs moving fluidly, he whirled around like a pro. He threw his head back to expose his pale, long, beautiful neck, and Triton could do nothing to stop himself from moving towards the fucking tease.

He strode towards his prey and wrapped his arms around those slim hips dressed up in enticing lace. The sudden movement startled Percy, and the fight reflexes started to kick in, but as he turned around to shove his attacker away, he saw Triton, with his eyes burning in want. Percy gulped.

Triton stared at the boy blinking owlishly at him, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, fluffy hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

“It looks good on you,” Triton growled, his hand stroking the hem of the babydoll, close to Percy’s bottom. The boy’s blush ran down from his cheeks to his neck, meeting the similarly colored fabric on his chest. The god wanted to explore all of the exposed skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth, marking him his.

“I…” Percy started, but nothing came out. He bit into his lip, uncertain, but seeing nothing but naked want in his half-sibling’s eyes, he came to a decision. “Kiss me,” he demanded breathily. He pressed closer to the other male; soft textile brushing his smooth legs, strong arms holding him tight, fingers teasing his naked skin. His breath hitched as Triton leaned closer, and his wide eyes fluttered close when their lips finally touched.

The god kissed him like no one before. He felt cherished, praised - loved. The earphone hanged uselessly from his neck, breaking the apartment’s quiet by mutedly blasting a distinctive, upbeat violin solo.

When they broke up, Triton whispered teasingly, “Will you dance for me?” His eyes shone with mirth, but he honestly wanted to see more of the dancing of his beloved. He wanted to enjoy more of his graceful moves, the passion he radiated when he danced.

But seeing Percy embarrassed, red face hidden in Triton’s shirt, the god knew that his Sea Prince was not yet ready for that. But, if he was lucky, he would have an eternity to watch as his beloved was swaying at some melody.

“Shut up and hold me,” Percy mumbled into his chest, and he gladly obeyed his order.

[thegreatwhiteferret]

Attention

Summary: Richie chose drugs over his relationship with Stan, but can't stand the thought of him moving on. Now he will do anything to get Stan's attention back on him.

A/N: It’s a lot of feelings and smut y’all and I am sorry in advance. [NSFW, Aged up to 18, right before High School graduation. Drug use, Underage Drinking, Angst, Revenge Porn, and Feelings.]  

NSFW under cut...

Stan was pacing the floor. Watching the phone. He would pause every so often to straighten something on the coffee table, his overwhelming need to have everything organized ticking away at him even in moments like this. Richie was supposed to call. He was going to go home, check in to see how bad his parental situation was, and then call Stan. That was two and a half hours ago. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the couch and ran his hands over his face. Richie was flaking more and more as of late. Coming up with weak excuses and bailing on their plans. Stan missed him, missed the crazy chaotic boy that held his heart.

When he had waited three hours to no avail, Stan decided he was done. He trudged up the stairs and ripped off his sweater and ass accentuating pants, it was Richie’s favorite outfit, that’s why he had worn it. There was no point in being dressed up now. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above his dresser.

He had carefully groomed himself when he had gotten home from school from top to bottom. He had spent 45 minutes trying to tame the curls on top of his head, the corkscrews were resistant to product and still popped up all over the place. He had attempted to tame his lower half as well, carefully shaving, cleaning, and prepping so that he would be ready for Richie later. He was hoping that tonight they would be spending some time making his prep worthwhile. They hadn’t slept together in almost a month, Richie always coming up for some excuse as to why he had to head home. It killed Stan, he was starting to think that something was wrong with him, that he couldn’t please his boyfriend anymore. He was hoping that tonight he could break them out of the slump and get back to who they were, but now he knew that it was a wasted effort.

Stan shook the thoughts of his missing boyfriend out of his mind. He pulled a polo and some khakis on, making sure everything was straight. He marched down the stairs and grabbed his jacket, slipping his shoes on by the door, and calling a goodbye to his parents over his shoulder. He headed out into the cold, and began walking towards the Derry Arcade, where he knew he would find Bill and Mike.

He could see the lights of the arcade in the distance when he heard a loud commotion in the alley between two buildings. He knew that he should keep walking but couldn’t help himself, he looked over at the noise and saw a group of kids whooping and hollering. He froze. In the middle of the group, laughing loudly was none other than his boyfriend, Richie Tozier. Stan looked on in horror, this is what he had waited for? His boyfriend, who was living it up with these random kids? Then it took a turn for the worse, Stan looked closer, and noticed that some of the hoodlums appeared to be snorting a white powder off the hood of a beaten up car.

Stan watched as Richie stepped up to the car and took a long hit, closing his eyes in bliss, when Richie opened his eyes again they met Stan’s. He panicked.

“Shit! Stan! Stanley!” He called, rushing towards the boy, but Stan was already running. He felt Richie grab his arm, damn him and those super long legs. Richie pulled Stan around to face him and was just about to speak when Stan lifted his hand and slapped him right across his face, Richie stumbled back and grabbed his cheek.

“WHAT THE FUCK, RICHIE?” Stan wailed, “I wait at home all night for you to call so that we can hang out, and this is what you’re fucking doing?”

“I can explain, Stan...it’s not what you think, you’re overreacting.” Richie slurred, trying to calm his boyfriend down while his mind was beginning to fully swirl from the bump of cocaine he had just done.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I’m overreacting? Drugs, Rich. You’re doing drugs.” Stan scoffed, wrapping his arms around himself as the chill from the air and his boyfriend’s demeanor began reaching his bones.

“Jesus Christ, Uris. You’re so fucking uptight.” Richie responded, “So dramatic about everything. It’s just a bit of coke, it’s not a big deal.” Stan rolled his eyes, this was so like Richie, deflecting his own issues by insulting those who actually gave a fuck about him.

“If this is no big deal, why didn’t you tell me? We tell eachother everything! If you have a problem…”

“I don’t have a problem, I can stop whenever I want.” Richie cut him off. “And maybe I didn’t tell you because I knew that you would be a little bitch about this. Looks like I was right.”

“Fuck you, Richie.” Stan said, tears threatening to well up in his eyes, he willed his body to keep them in, “I’m done. Enjoy your fucking drugs and new friends, obviously they are more important than our relationship.” With than Stan turned and walked away, not even turning around to see Richie’s reaction.

*

A giggle erupted from Stan’s mouth. It was an uncharacteristic sound, so free and pure, but it was certainly a welcome change. He writhed and wiggled as fingers pressed into his rib cage. His eyes were watering from laughing so hard.

“All you have to do, Stanny, is say that DC is better than Marvel.” The owner of the fingers chided, digging them in at just the right spot for Stan to squeal again.

“Not a chance, Archie. Marvel has way better storylines and character development! Batman is just a rich guy with stupid gadgets!” He protested through his giggles. Archie sighed and relented. “You give up way too easy.” Stan laughed when he caught his breath and a tongue was stuck out at him in response.

“Good lord, why don’t you too just make out already?” Bev joked from behind the magazine that she was reading while sprawled out on overstuffed chair in the Hanlon’s den. Stan and Archie both blushed and moved away from each other slightly. Mike gave her a pointed look. “I was just joking. Lighten up, would ya?”

“S-so, are w-we carpooling to B-Ben’s party this w-w-weekend?” Bill asked, attempting to change the topic and relieve some of the awkwardness. Mike plopped down next to him on the couch and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“Sure, Babe, we can take the farm truck, all of us should fit if we squeeze in.” Mike suggested, looking around for answers from the remaining members of their crew. Bev gave a thumbs up and Eddie agreed as long as he was allowed to sit in a seat with an actual seat belt.

“Is it okay if I meet you there a little bit later?” Archie whispered to Stan, “I have to spend all day Saturday working on my lap report for physics, someone has been distracting me from actually getting it done.” Stan ducked his head and blushed a little bit. He had really enjoyed getting to know Archie, it had helped pull him out from his three month long depressive episode after splitting up with Richie. He felt good, really good. His worries melted away when he was talking to the other boy, he was so easy to talk to and be himself with. He never called him over dramatic either.

“Hmm, well whoever is distracting you must be pretty awesome.” Stan winked at him and Archie rolled his eyes. “But yeah, that’s totally fine. Ben’s parties usually amp up around ten or so.”

They hung out a little longer, talking about school work and the latest gossip, before they started to break off so that they could get home before dark. Stan and Archie headed out last, leaving Bill and Mike to be the adorably disgusting boyfriends that they were. They walked down the dirt road leading back to town. Stan kicked a rock with his shoe, mind swirling in his head.

“Penny for your thoughts, Uris?” Archie asked, giving the curly haired boy a sideways glance. Stan looked back over at him, compiling his thoughts.

“I was just thinking about how grateful I am to have met you.” Stan replied, carefully gauging Archie’s reaction. They hadn’t talked extensively about their respective sexualities. Archie knew that Stan was gay, and had heard from the other Losers that he had gone through an awful break up shortly before they had met. Stan knew that Archie wasn’t so cut and dry, he had had a serious girlfriend before he had moved to Derry, but he had been flirting with Stan...unless Stan had read the signs wrong and he was just super friendly.

“I’m glad I met you too. Moving here was super hard, but knowing you has made it way easier.” Archie said sincerely, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto Stan’s hand. Stan cocked his head to the side, wondering why they had stopped and then he felt lips press to his own. He responded quickly, Both boys melted into the kiss, and Stan pushed them backwards until he had Archie pressed up against a tree.

They made out for a little longer before they actually walked home; faces flushed, stomachs jittery, and hands intertwined.

*

“H-hey, Stan. C-can I talk t-to you for a m-minute?” Bill asked as they unloaded books into their lockers and got ready for their calculus class.

“Sure, Bill, what’s up?” Stan asked, putting his textbooks back in schedule order on the shelf of his locker. There was never a situation that didn’t improve with organization.

“It’s s-shit, but I t-thought that I s-should tell you b-before someone else d-does…” Bill started, before being cut off.

“Well what do we have here? If it isn’t the Jewish cum guzzling twink of Derry?” Henry Bowers laughed and his crew chimed in.

“Look at this little faggot, he just wants to be on his knees.” Victor Criss spat, “Such a hungry little cumslut.”

“Look at those shorts, so tight, however do you hide your girly panties under there?” Belch added, “Such a little fag, I bet you want to wear bras too.”

They continue to laugh loudly and hurl homophobic insults at him as he rushed down the hallway, Bill hot on his tail. He could feel tears prickling his eyes and was grateful when Bill pulled him into a bathroom and locked the door behind them. He quickly checked to ensure they were alone before full on breaking down.

“What the Hell, Bill? What’s going on?” Stan asked, heaving out breaths and tears flowing down his cheeks.

“St-stan this is w-what I w-was trying to t-tell y-you…” Bill started, sighing before pushing on, “R-Richie has been s-saying some n-na-nasty things about y-you. About w-what you two w-would do t-together.” Stan looked at him questioningly, “S-sexually.”

“Why would he fucking do that?” Stan’s eyes were wide. He had been called homophobic things before, Hell, the whole damn Losers Club had, but never things so specific. Who knew what all Richie had revealed.

“I...I d-don’t know, S-Stan, b-b-but it gets w-worse.” How could it get worse? Stan’s thought was answered when Bill pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Stan. He unfolded the paper carefully and almost puked when he saw what had been photocopied onto it.

There in black and white on the paper was a picture of Stan, on his knees, licking Richie’s dick. He could just make out the lacey panties and stockings that he was wearing, and the mascara that had made his eyes super defined. He recognized the picture. Richie had begged him to let him take a picture of him with his brand new Polaroid camera. Stan had protested, telling him that he didn’t want something like that getting into the wrong hands, but Richie had promised and told Stan how happy it would make him, so he had relented. That was yet another huge mistake that he had made with Richie. Stan threw the paper on the ground and started heaving into the sink. When he had emptied the contents of his stomach, he turned to look at Bill.

“Where did you get this? Are they everywhere? Is there more?” He was panicked. He couldn’t believe that Richie would release this picture.

“T-they were all o-over the q-quad earlier. W-we g-grabbed as m-many as we c-could, but a w-whole bunch of k-kids had t-them.” Bill looked apologetic. “I’m s-sorry, Stan.” Stan’s heart hurt so badly, he felt so betrayed. He had trusted Richie because he had loved him with his whole heart, and Richie was trying to destroy him. He just couldn’t figure out why.

Bill agreed to skip the rest of his classes and take Stan home. He wasn’t going to be able to focus anyway, knowing how badly his friend was hurting. They had almost made it out of the school, when they saw Bev and Ben walking down the hallway. Bev rushed forward and wrapped Stan in her arms, he broke down again and sobbed into her shoulder, any hopes of keeping his dignity were gone.

“I’m so sorry, Stan. I can’t believe that he did this.” She said stroking his back. “Why don’t we go get a whole bunch of ice cream and watch movies. Would that be okay?” Stan nodded and let his friends take him home and take care of him.

*

Ben had told Stan that he didn’t have to make an appearance at his party. That everyone would understand, but Stan wasn’t letting Richie’s shit ruin his life. He was going and he was going to get blitzed out drunk and was going to have fun with his possible new boyfriend. Archie for his part had been super sweet and supportive of Stan. He swore that he hadn’t seen the pictures and had shut down anyone who had tried to spread rumors about his sweet boy.

So Stan was going to this party. He was going to drink his fruity cocktails and dance with Archie, and do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was done letting Richie Tozier control what he did. He put on his tightest pants, black jeans that Bev had bought him from a trendy shop in Portland that made his ass look fantastic, with his favorite pink lace panties underneath. He slipped a black undershirt on and then buttoned up a denim shirt. His curls actually stayed manageable for once, and he swiped a bit of mascara on. It wasn’t the style that he would usually go for, especially not in public, but he felt good.

He raced down the stairs when he heard Mike honk the horn of the trunk and jumped into the backseat with Eddie and Bev. Bev looked over his outfit and smiled at him, he pressed a kiss to her cheek in thanks, and then sat back preparing himself for the night ahead of him.

Stan was beyond tipsy. He was feeling himself. Eddie had tried switching him to water a while ago, but Stan had waited for him to turn his back and had replaced the water with vodka. He could feel the music pulsing through his body and kept thinking of the cute freckle faced redhead that would be showing up soon. He was going to show Archie a good time. Bev had laughed hysterically when he had voiced this out loud, but he didn’t even care.

Suddenly there was a loud bang as a group of grungy looking teens burst into the party. Stan scoffed, at their rudeness before sneaking a bit more alcohol into his cup. When he turned back around, he saw him. Tall and gangly, dark messy curls spilling into his eyes and thick glasses. It was Richie. The other Losers noticed his arrival as well.

“Shit, Stan. I swear I didn’t know that he was going to be here.” Ben sounded like he was panicking, like it was his fault that Richie was a piece of trash asshole. Stan knew that Ben was sincere, he wasn’t mad at him.

Stan was suddenly overcome with rage towards Richie though, so he chugged the rest of his vodka, handed his cup to Eddie and stomped his way over to Richie. Bill tried to reach out to stop him, but Stan shrugged him off and kept moving.

“Hey Trashmouth, you stupid fuckface!” Stan called out, Richie spun on his heel quickly. His face quickly turned from looking as if he had seen a ghost to a shit eating grin.

“Oh hey there, Babygirl. Got your panties in a wad, do ya?” He snarked and his druggie friends laughed with him. Stan had to mentally talk himself down from punching him in his stupid fucking face. Richie looked like shit. Looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his cheeks had hollowed out even more, cheekbones looking razor sharp. He wore a beat up leather jacket with a grey thermal underneath, and black jeans with holes in them. His eyes were red, not like he was high, but like he had been crying. Stan shook the thought out of his head. Richie was still an asshole who had released that picture to everyone. Who just called him “Babygirl” in front of the entire fucking 12th grade.

“Shut the fuck up, Richard.” Stan screamed, the tips of his ears turning red, “You’ve been running around and throwing dirt on my name! Talking some stupid shit, Trashmouth, considering that I still know all of your secrets.” Richie’s eyes grew in size, he had dished out a ton of shit, just to get a reaction out of Stan, but hadn’t thought about what Stan could do to him in return. “It fucking ends now!” Stan stomped his foot in anger.

“Hah!” Richie gawked, “And what the fuck are you going to do about it?” Stan suddenly remembered where he was, and how many people were staring at them. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the other Losers, faces looking concerned. Bill looked like he wanted to race up and save Stan, like he always did. Stan quickly grabbed Richie’s arm and pulled him up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. He ignored the sound effects that the crowd of teenagers made as they went.

Stan threw Richie into the room and closed the door behind them. Richie sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, while Stan kept his back pressed against the door, trying to clear his head that was still swimming from the alcohol. Richie opened his mouth to undoubtedly make a smart ass comment, but Stan cut him off.

“How could you do this to me, Richie? You loved me at one point, didn’t you? Or was everything about our relationship a lie?” Stan’s anger broke to utter despair.

“Stan.” Richie breathed out before trying to compose himself, “I...I never. I lied. I was shit, but I did love you. I still love you. But you deserve better than some stupid druggie, better than someone who is broken beyond repair.”

“We are all broken, Rich, but that doesn’t mean that you hurt the people who care about you. You promised me that you would never show anyone that picture, and then posted it all over the walls. Do you know what people have been saying about me, just because of the shit you’ve been spreading?” Stan’s anger was rising again, the effects of the alcohol flowing through his body, he couldn’t bring himself to feel pity for someone who hurt him so badly. “I was finally starting to be happy. Finally getting out of bed again, without feeling like everything hurts. And you pull this bullshit.”

“That’s right. You found someone new to focus your affection on and give your body to, I heard about that.” Richie picked at the dirt under his fingernails.

“Oh my fuck.” Stan shook his head, finally understanding. “That’s why you did it. That’s what this is all about. You just can’t stand the thought of me with someone new. You want everything to be about you.” Richie stood up from the bed and moved towards Stan slowly. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking touch me, Tozier!” His words fell on deaf ears as Richie pulled him close to his body and pressed his lips. Stan tried to fight back, but he felt sparks take over his body. The familiarity and love that could only be brought on by Richie Tozier.

Richie nibbled at Stan’s bottom lip and the shorter boy gasped letting him in. Any thoughts of how wrong this was went away as Richie’s tongue slid against his, he had waited for this for so long. Had been craving Richie’s touch since long before they had broken up. Richie walked them backwards until Stan’s legs hit the edge of the mattress and the boy fell back.

Richie was on his knees in an instant, pulling on the button of Stan’s jeans and working to wiggle them down his hips. He made a choked sound when he saw the pretty lace of Stan’s panties. He ran his thumbs over the delicate material, driving Stan crazy, then placed a kiss right above the lace on his hip bone. Stan mewled in response. He continued his mission to get Stan’s pants off, but damn was it a struggle since they were so tight. Stan helped him by kicking them off the rest of the way, as Richie began working on his shirt.

Stan laid back on the bed, clad only in his panties and Richie stood back looking at him, he wanted to devour him.

“Let me blow you.” Stan whined, he wanted some contact, wanted Richie’s thick cock in him. Richie nodded, because who wouldn’t want something as beautiful as Stan Uris to pleasure them? He quickly shrugged off his jacket and shirt and unbuckled his jeans, letting them fall to the ground. Stan was on his knees, pulling Richie’s hips to the edge of the bed in no time at all. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the taller boy’s boxers and pulled them down. Richie’s cock bounced up against his stomach and it was just as beautiful as Stan had remembered.

He took the tip in his mouth and sucked like he was born to do it, pulling deep groans from Richie. He pulled off and looked Richie dead in the eye as he took him all the way in, letting the head slip into his throat. He pulled off and licked a stripe up the side. Richie was a mess, an absolute disaster as Stan kept working him with his mouth. Stan grabbed Richie’s hand and placed it in his hair, allowing Richie to control how fast and deep he went. Richie would swear up and down that Stan would be the deep throat champion of the world, he would take him all the way in, let him fuck his face, and never complained.

Richie was so close that he could feel his toes tingling, so he pulled Stan off of him. Stan whined at the loss, but Richie just pulled him into a kiss. He reached behind Stan into his panties and felt that Stan’s hole was already lubed up and prepped. He groaned, he used to love when Stan would do this. Play with himself and get himself ready, edging himself off to increase his pleasure later on. Then he would grind on Richie or talk dirty until Richie would throw him on the nearest surface, only to find that his dirty boy was already ready for him.

“Who were you planning to fuck tonight, baby? Couldn’t have been that nerdy ginger.” Stan went to protest, but Richie slipped one finger in easily and Stan moaned into his neck where he was previously sucking a love bite. He slipped one more in and scissored them slightly. He was met with some resistance, Stan’s hole was always incredibly tight, even with prep, but he kept working him open. When Stan was ready, Richie laid him on his back, and pulled his panties off, carefully to not destroy them. Richie knew how much he hated that. He pulled a small bottle of lube from the pocket of his jacket. Stan quirked his eyebrow at him, and Richie shrugged. It never hurt to be prepared. He coated his cock with the lube.

Stan pulled his legs up, thighs resting on his chest, baring his hole for Richie to devour. Richie wasted no time at all pushing in and drawing out a choked moan from the smaller boy. He gave him no time to adjust, knowing that Stan fucking loved the feeling of being stretched out on his fat cock, he pumped in and out at a murderous speed. Impaling Stan repeatedly. Stan bit his fist, trying to keep himself from crying out. He dropped his legs and wrapped them around Richie’s waist pulling him deeper and deeper.

Richie was so close, but he wasn’t finishing before Stan, he wanted to give this boy all of the pleasure. He wrapped his hand around Stan’s dick and began pumping in time with his thrusts. Stan was coming undone, inhuman sounds coming out of him in between ragged breaths. Richie flicked his wrist and Stan was done, his dick pulsed as he came all over his stomach.

“Come on Rich, cum in me baby.” Stan breathed out, egging the taller boy on, breathing through the slightly painful edge of overstimulation.

“Stan.” His eyes flew open, it wasn’t Richie who had said it. He looked towards the door and saw Archie with tears in his eyes, face crumpling.

“Archie, No!” Stan called, trying to push Richie off of him. Archie took off and Stan finally got out from under Richie, he slipped his panties on, Richie’s hot cum leaking out of his ass. He pulled on his pants and shirt as fast as possible and took off after him, leaving Richie alone in the room. He raced down the stairs and outside barely catching Archie before he got in his car. “Archie, wait, I can explain. Please listen, I’m so sorry!”

“So that’s Richie, huh?” Archie asked bitterly. “Your druggie ex who aired all of you dirty laundry. God, to think that I held you while you cried over what that prick had done.”

“Archie…” Stan was crying, standing barefoot with his shirt undone, and abused hole leaving a mess in his pants. What had he done.

“I don’t want to hear it, you filthy little cum slut. I want nothing to do with you. Go back to your boy.” With that he got into his car a drove off, leaving Stan on the front lawn of Ben’s house a sobbing mess.

Bill got to him first of course. He was Stan’s real life superhero, and held him in his arms. Eddie handed him a tissue from his fanny pack so that he could blow his nose, while Bev rubbed his back. He looked up to see Mike and Ben trying to restrain Richie from getting to him.

Richie looked...sorry? That couldn’t be it. Richie never apologized for anything when it came to Stan, even when he was lying about using drugs. Stan couldn’t even look at him. He was disgusted with himself that he had let Richie back in like that, that his kiss had melted him.

“You.” He said, pointing a finger towards Richie. “You stay the fuck away from me. You just want attention, you don’t want my heart. You just hate the thought of me with someone new, you fucking said it yourself. Well congratulations Tozier, the whole world knows how much of a pathetic cum slut I am for you!” Stan had to stop to gag, he could feel his anxiety pushing all of the alcohol up his esophagus as he heaved and vomited all of it up into the grass. “I can’t do this anymore. You made your choice. You loved the drugs more than me.” Stan was crying again, and Bill decided to intervene, the whole situation wasn’t going to end well.

Mike helped Bill load him into the truck and the other losers joined. Stan watched Richie’s figure get smaller and smaller as the truck pulled down the road. He hated himself for giving into Richie and for being unable to get over him.

*

Stan woke up with a massive hangover and his ass was throbbing. He rolled over to see Bill sleeping peacefully, he figured that the losers chose Bill’s house to stash the very drunk boy because Bill’s parents just didn’t care what their son did anymore. As Stan laid there in the quiet of the Sunday morning a thought kept plaguing him, he needed to see Richie Tozier as soon as possible. In his mind, he knew that he should be thinking of how to apologize to Archie, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

Stanley Uris only wanted Richard Tozier.

[cutegirlmayra]

Food fights are so fun! But they can be oddly romantic ;D (Going AU here) Sonic and Amy have a good fight with cake batter, some lands on Sonic's lips and Amy kisses it off >\\\

Ehhh… I’m afraid my creative abilities are telling me this may be more AU than in character… (Yeah, way AU XD) It’s a fun idea! I’ll give it a try… but… the kiss is gonna be really uncomfortably AU XD (For those who like me keeping characters in character) So I’ll do my best! 6D: (the ‘I can do it’ hand swish mingled with self-doubt face cause I’m scared of my potential inability lol gonna give it my all tho! >x )

Also, I can’t cook 0-0; I have no idea how to do cakes but I’ll do my best to make it look like Amy does XD

So… So like… in Japan… -looks away, discreetly- This would be a kiss xD (Going for In character but still AU, hope this works, Anon!!!!)

Prompt:

“Why do I have to help?” Sonic, having a hand up to hold his gloomy and bored looking face, flicked down a strawberry into place on Amy’s cake, sighing.

He clearly didn’t seem to want to be here… Amy was busy cooking for Cream’s birthday, and with Vanilla out buying gifts, Amy took it upon herself to lighten the burden on her and do the cake herself.

“Oh, stop complaining!” she huffed as she let the bag of flour fall onto the counter, and wiped her forehead, turning with a pleasant and determined smile to Sonic, raising a hand up and putting her other arm to it like Rosie the Riveter photos. “Besides! You’ve already licked the spoon! We gotta get the the rest of the batter spun and ready for the second cake!”

“Two cakes?” Sonic turned from the one he was previously instructed to ‘decorate’ but with his tastes, he just recreated a zone level with the frosting and other delectable food items around him.

“That ones too small for everyone!” Amy put her hands to her hips, leaning forward as if he should know that, making him lean back and look away, annoyed by her accusation. (Notice how I put ‘too’, instead of ‘to’, for that one Anon, I remember~ ;Db)

“Here.” she picked the little cake up, moving it away and onto her little table to let it sit a moment.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with green hill zone!” Sonic picked up the green frosting with the chocolate as Amy looked at his art, and noticed it didn’t look that girly at all.

She shook her head lovingly, “I should of known.” she smiled, as if truly looking at it through Sonic’s eyes. “I’m sure Cream will love it, regardless of all the blobs of green.” she teased, turning around and patting his hand with the green frosting, before getting the mixer and putting it into the bowl.

“Think you can handle this? It packs a whopper!”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” he put down the frosting and walked over, puffing his chest up and putting his hands where hers once were, as she removed them and stared as if all-knowing up at him.

She was clearly amused by his actions.

“Heh, you’re talking to Sonic The Hedgehog here! I can handle anything that moves fasts and spins!” he gripped the bowl, but Amy could tell at once it wasn’t tight enough.

“Uhh.. Sonic?” She tugged on a small bit of his back quills, trying to warn him.

“Amy, it’s fine. I’ve got this!” He cocked a look up in the air, showing his irrational haughtiness at how confident he felt his cooking skills were.

“You haven’t even made a brownie before.” Amy twitched an eyebrow, knowing what was to come.

“And… Where’s that on button? Ah-ha! Let’s go fast!” Sonic clicked it on but rotated it all the way up. “The faster the quicker!”

“Sonic, NOOO!!!”

Amy covered her face as the batter went flying, and Sonic fell down at the force of the mixer he wasn’t expecting to be so powerful at all.

The thing went on the fritz as Amy quickly leaned down and shut it off, before frowning as she bent her knees to look at Sonic.

She pouted, as he tried to smile while the batter dripped down his face.

“Eh…heh-heh…” he bounced his head down with each chuckle, knowing he was in trouble.

Seeing he knew his folly, she didn’t bother punishing him. Instead, she decided to make this fun and scoop up some batter, letting it drip from her hand as she eyed it, then him.

“Uhhh…A-Amy? Let’s be rational here…” he outstretched his hand, seeing no hammer… but something that could potentially be worse.

“Think of your house!” he flinched, as she splatted him with the cake batter.

“You already made a mess! I’ll have to make a new batch!”

“So… I don’t have to help you clean up?” He peeked through a gap he made with his two arms.

She growled and started throwing more at him, as he laughed and jumped on the counter, grabbing the frosting by creating a bridge almost with his body and then pouring it down on her.

“AHH!! Hey!” Amy gasped, looking at her hands and feeling the cool icing fall onto her head.

“Ah ha… there!” he squirted the rest out and then jerked it down for good measure. “Wallah! I made Palmtree Panic!”

She glared in a humorous way up at him, before grabbing the strawberries.

“Oh no…” his eyes widened, “Cherry bombs!!” he slid across the table, ducking as he started calling out commands, “All units, prepare for ambush!”

He grabbed some sprinkles and started flinging them at her. “Go for the eyes! Go for the eyes!”

“Ahh! Haha, hey!” Amy laughed, spitting out the sprinkles from her mouth as he started racing towards her.

“Charge!”

“Ahh!!”

She laughed as they slid on the batter and fell down, the tackle clearly not as effective as he made it sound to be.

“Ah! Oh no! They’ve got a counter-attack!”

Sonic slightly flailed on the ground as she took the rest of the bowl and poured it over him while having rolled on top of his belly.

“Oh… oh man.. I haven’t showered in months!” Sonic kid, rubbing the stuff on him and then opening his mouth to eat some.

“Eww! Sonic!” Amy laughed, before looking to see him licking the spots around his face, and laughing.

“Haha!”

The two cleaned up after a hardy laugh before the second cake finally got into the oven.

“There.” Amy took her mittens off and giggled, turning to see Sonic going at the spoon again.

“You’re still hungry?” she looked as if she wasn’t amazed, but more so amused by his appetite.

“Ye-yah-huh.” he nodded, before she noticed some batter still on the corner of his lips…

She giggled a moment, before biting her thumb, wanting to try something…

Her and Sonic had grown closer over the past few years… maybe…

She leaned up and took her thumb, gently rubbing the batter off, before sticking it in her own mouth and sucking it up.

This made Sonic freeze, his smile suddenly dropping a moment.

The indirect kiss was easily dismissed by Amy’s next reaction, as she carried on with the instructions, taking her thumb out and over-exaggerated her actions as she stated,

“Emmm~ Even better than the last batch.”

She smiled to him before going on to clean more of the crevices they had missed in her titles.

As she bent down to do so, she suddenly became aware of a shadow over her that bent down…

Then the sensation of arms around her as he pulled her back down in the ‘playful tackle’ that had occurred a few hours before, and him smiling to her.

“And what… was that?” He cocked an eyebrow up, having her stuck in his arms as he laid down over where she was working, like a cat getting in the way of whatever you were doing for attention.

“I don’t like to be ignored, Amy.”

“Wh..wha?” Amy was startled by how suddenly direct he was, and blushed, lifting her arms back as if not truly embracing this as reality, but maybe a dream that was becoming too real.

“Oh… you know… can’t let anymore batter go to waste… haha.” she giggled, though an awkward sweat dropped dripped down the side of her face.

She clearly wasn’t sure if he understood what she had done or not.

He narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. Her ‘fan-girl’ craze had all but left her after she matured… but sometimes… he still swore she had it in her.

“I think that was rather intimate what you just did there… for mother earth and what not.” he was still trying to disguise his questioning with recycling, as that was her first excuse.

“O-oh, well, umm…” she looked away, her blush becoming so apparent that now he knew from the red on her muzzle that she clearly did still like him that way.

For once, he actually found that… amusing.

“Heh.” he smirked, before facing suspicion as if he hadn’t figured it out yet and leaned up, sitting up with her and staring as if looking for fault in her eyes.

Her eyes, fearful of how he would react if he had known that she was going for an indirect, almost sexy cooking-mama kiss, had her eyes jump to each of his in slight panic.

Her mouth hang open as if not believing he was really that close…

“…Well, anyway.” he let her go a little, but it was a false sense of security, as if he wanted to catch her off guard…

“This is gonna be one heck of a party!”

She took that as she was off the hook, and sighed in relief, her body untensing.

Once he saw her arms falter in staying up in the air and pulled away from him, he saw the perfect opportunity.

“Hang on, is that customary for cooks to get batter off like that?”

“H-huh?”

“Cause you missed a spot.” he winked, having already eyed some flour on her own muzzle, and leaned up to gently kiss it off her cheek.

“Eeeee!!!” she covered her face after he pulled away, her face bright red now, as he pulled away and snickered, eyes closed.

He had never wanted to before get a reaction out of Amy like this, but now that he’s older, and especially because she resisted it more often, he definitely liked pulling her former years out of her like this.

It was just too fun!

(How’s that? :DDDD)

[hastybooks]

easy come

notes: dear fuhrmana has been encouraging me with this for gosh, who knows how long. welcome to the second circle of hell, dear readers. warning for possible underage, depending on where you're at and how well you want to do the math, and yannick weber

All ice rinks have a smell.

This one, all way up at the ass-end of Bern-- smells like sharp metal and cement dust and teenage-boy hair gel. Yannick rubs his own hair like he fucking needs to neaten up. He teases apart a tangle with the jagged edge of his thumbnail before rubbing the leftover oil against his Adidas sweatpants.

Yannick paces around the rink more, looking up at the small flights of stairs leading out to the doors to freedom, looking for anyone else in this fucking creep rink, bouncing on his toes for energy and all of that shit--

Yannick jerks his head down at the square face of his watch, the arms ticking towards ten on a freaking Sunday morning. He regrets not getting more info than a promise of a fuck.

To be precise: Yannick's fake, not-at-all evil namesake/fuckbuddy Yannick Josi didn't so much ask him to come all the way up to Bern as much as ordered him. Yannick Josi may be a sure thing, with a mouth that can suck anything-- but that doesn't mean Yannick has to wait around a strange-half lit rink for his dumb kid brother so he can see whether he's actually good enough for real hockey with real men.

Knowing Yannick Josi, this kid is going to be spindly until he gets unexpectedly slow and has to bow out before wingers start hoping to see him on the ice. AKA: Not ready for prime time. No cock is worth this, Yannick thinks, on the verge of walking up the stairs and out of the door until he hears "You Weber?" getting shouted like he was born in a barn.

Yannick's foot freezes on the stairs. He turns around to see the kid at the middle of center ice, with a stick in his hand and a helmet strap dangling from his jaw. Yannick walks up to the glass, and smirks, "You Josi the lesser?"

That makes the kid narrow his eyes, but he forces on a smile and says, "Hanging around my loser big brother?"

"Guess so. Going to skate?" Yannick can see why scouts like being scouts, getting off on watching barely-legal guys try to be at their peak and not getting called creeps for it. The kid even has the gall to glide towards the glass, like he's fucking floating, and sweet jealously surges in Yannick's guts as he watches him come to a stop without carving a notch in the ice.

"You're not going to?" he asks Yannick, and then pauses, as his lips curl up, "Unless you're too heavy to skate, Weber." The kid's got a younger sibling's nose for soft underbellies, for sore spots, and the teeth to nibble.

Yannick grits his teeth in a smile, and shoves his skates on, lacing them as tight as he wants to wrap his fingers around the kid's skinny neck. He promises himself a light check against the boards. Just to show the kid how real men play. He slips onto the ice, dragging his stick behind him, and circles around the kid. For someone named Roman he's living up to it, almost pretty and patrician with that nose he shares with Yannick Josi, his eyes some shade between green and panty-creaming.

Roman's even taller than Yannick Josi right now. The kid can skate. Maybe can get past the mysterious "six foot" mark these North Americans get chubbed up in their pants about. Yannick taps his stick against the ice, says, "You play the D?"

Roman rolls his eyes, "Yes, I play the D, what the fuck. You going to shoot me the puck or no?"

Yannick jerks the puck away from Roman's stick, and jets down the ice, his thighs burning underneath his sweatpants. The back of his neck tingles, like it always does when a defense-man catches up. Yannick slaps the puck away before Roman can whack his stick against his own. He only has enough breath to smirk at the annoyance on Roman's face before he has to churn up ice after those stupid long strides, watching the puck bounce on the ice under Roman's stick.

Roman shoots, a rough shovel into the goal, and scores. He turns on a fucking franc, and presses both of his gloves atop his stick knob, barely breathing hard. His eyes are still some shade between green and panty-creaming. Fuck that kid.

If Roman didn't have the helmet on he'd so totally do the Mean Girl Hair toss, and thinking that makes Yannick coast to a stop against the glass with a smirk he has to hide with his glove. He makes himself shrug, "So you can shoot. Yay."

Yannick sees the pout that doesn't go any further from the corners of those pretty lips, and wonders just how warm Hell would be. Fucking the kid brother of a fuckbuddy is. Bad? Right? Yannick's a little fuzzy on the whole thing. He skates closer, notes carefully that he easily has 10 kilos on the kid, and licks his lips.

"Roman, come on. You know how nasty that little ice can get."

"Like you know," Roman scoffs, looking Yannick over, "Excuse me, who do you play with now? The Kitchener Rangers? I don't really care if you're not going to get me ahead--"

Yannick shoves Roman up against the glass, the top panel shaking as Roman tries to shrug Yannick's arms off his neck. He leans in close enough to see the vivid pink flush creep up Roman's neck, and says, "Can't take a check, can you, pretty kid?"

Roman clenches his jaw, and Yannick grins harder in response, "Lot of fuckers out there, all of them like me, wanting to smash you up, and that's all you can do? Just pout? Pouty-pout," he sticks his lower lip, pitches his voice higher, "Oh no, I can't be physical--"

"Fuck you," Roman snarls, panting through his nose. Yannick laughs, "Is that all? You're a pretty kid, Roman. You get a lot of comments, hm? Think it's going to be any better when you make it to the big show?"

The stiff silence Roman sends out is just as good as a no in Yannick's book. Yannick gently shoves him up against the glass, "Maybe you just need to toughen up your mental game. There's a reason Ds take longer to develop."

Roman gives him an considering look, like this is the first intelligent thing he's said all morning. Which is bullshit. Yannick wakes up with all sort of intelligent shit. So much. Roman wouldn't even get it. Yannick smirks, "Meanness is a talent, kid. I like your potential." He likes how the kid doesn't look away, and presses him harder against the glass, enough that his helmet bounces gently off it, "You can take it."

"I can give it," Roman snarls, and oh, it's almost cute. Yannick raises an eyebrow, drawls, "It's a good thing you're pretty."

"Yeah? You fucking plank," Roman shoves Yannick away, "If I wanted to see some guy jerk himself off I could have looked in the mirror instead of coming down to this rink." He strides across the ice to the tunnel, and Yannick catches up a lot less easily than he would've like, tugging on Roman's thin sweatshirt before he gets onto the cement.

Roman hisses through his teeth, and for a heartbeat, Yannick almost feels like he's in The O.C. as he smirks and shoves the helmet off Roman's head. Roman jerks away, almost slipping on the cement before he regains his balance, tries to clamp his hair down against the halo of spots across his forehead. Yannick watches the thick waves of hair slip through Roman's fingers, showing angry red spots there and there where Roman apparently gave up self-control and dragged a nail across.

Yannick says, "Ok, you're not so pretty now."

"Fuck off," Roman says, in English, through his puppy-like fingers. Yannick grins, shoves Roman towards the sign that says Showers, "Nah, you don't. You want to develop your mental game. Learn how to take insults."

"Not off the ice," Roman sulks, draping himself against the wall.

Thank god for bad lighting, because now Yannick can't see the embarrassing pimples on that five-head. Yannick slides his hand up Roman's thigh, pausing to check the thickness of it with the meat of his fingers, and says, "You Josi boys are so easy."

Roman freezes.

"What, jealous?" Yannick taunts. Roman shoots him a hot glare, his eyes definitely panty-creaming, and oh, the boys over in North America are going to eat him alive.

Unless Yannick gets there first.

He drags his hand up Roman's thigh, and smiles when he finds how hard Roman is. Roman swallows, juts his chin out defiantly, and Yannick only has to cup that cock through those sweats to make Roman's long, girly eyelashes flutter. Yannick scrapes his mouth across Roman's, "Know how to suck off a man, Josi?"

Roman bites down on Yannick's lip, hard enough to draw a little blood, rubbing himself off against Yannick's palm, breathing harder. Yannick laughs through the thin stream of blood, "Not like that, kid," and shoves him onto the locker room floor.

Yannick nods at Roman's skates, at Roman's clothes, "Take them off." Roman grits out a smile, and yanks his skates off before he checks himself and gently lays the skates in their case. Yannick gets undressed faster than the kid, but all that means is that he gets the water warm, waiting for Roman to find his balls and to fucking come in.

The kid does, with only a washcloth and nothing hiding that rat face. Yannick grins as he leans against the tiles, feeling the warm water drip down his back and says, "Come closer, Roman."

"What do I even get," Roman says, stepping around an old puddle. Yannick considers saying, The pleasure of sucking me off, considers better, smiles instead, "A chance to come into something besides those rosy palms of yours."

Roman flushes, with both anger and embarrassment, as he presses himself into the spray with fierce determination. Yannick slides a hand down Roman's back, pressing down on the divots his rubs make before he presses a thigh up between Roman's thighs, the only sturdy-looking part of him. Roman shivers, presses himself closer, his hairless chest bumping against the sparse hair Yannick has on his--

Yannick almost smiles when he pushes Roman down on his knees.

The tile clanks against Roman's knees, and he looks up at Yannick with a dare in his eyes. Shoving his cock against Roman's lips is just as easy as he hoped, watching Roman try to wrap his lips around the cockhead, his pink tongue slipping out enough to make Yannick tangle his hand in Roman's wet hair. Roman shakes, and Yannick breathes, "It's not just the tip, come on, haven't you seen porn?"

Yannick gets a little harder in Roman's mouth, watching those eyes-- are they blue? green?-- glare up at him as his own cock pushes that rat face a little out of shape.

He feels even bigger, more powerful as Roman tries to figure out what to do with his hands before he rests them on the top of his thighs, framing his more-than half-hard cock. Yannick rubs himself against Roman's tongue, laughs when Roman sucks harder, like it'd hurt, "Aw, you should be happy, your rat face looks so much better with a cock in it--"

He presses down on his cock through Roman's cheek, "Even if you do look like a chipmunk now," shoves himself in more when Roman tries to get enough breath to protest. Feeling Roman's teeth scrape against him doesn't make Yannick go down even the slightest. Why would it? He's watching Roman's cock jerk in between thrusts he's giving to that face, feeling those chapped lips brush against his cock as he tries to breathe around Yannick. Roman's flushed down to his teeny little nipples, and if Yannick had more time to jerk them around he'd flick those nipples for sure, maybe see how good those thighs would feel around his cock. Yannick bites back a moan, his hands twitching against the tile before he pushes them against Roman's hair.

Roman doesn't pull off, keeps trying to swallow around Yannick and leaving so much spit Yannick thinks the shower isn't clean enough for this kid.

"Yeah, just like I thought, all that mean-girl bullshit just hides how much you want a cock shoved in your mouth," Yannick pants, twisting his hands in Roman's hair, the gel catching on the pads of his fingers. It's the hardest thing to not just shove him up to his hip, to feel him gag around his cock--

Yannick likes repeats more than trying to recreate porn, and maybe jerking off on the kid's face is just another way of recreating porn. Whatever. Facials are good for skin, right?

Roman swallows, looking like he wants to cry, and doesn't look at Yannick before he gets to his feet. Yannick makes an aht noise, pressing his face against Roman's slick neck, "I promised you a little something, didn't I, pretty rat?"

"Suck me off," Roman manages, trying to be imperious, his throat sounding well-used. Yannick looks Roman's cock over. Manageable. Pretty, if you're into smooth thighs, and Yannick smirks before he gets down onto his knees. The hard tile on his knees sucks, sure, but he can smell how new Roman is, can almost taste the come in his mouth. One suck and the kid is done--

It takes four easy sucks, ones that make Yannick feel tender with how easy blowing this Josi is, before Roman comes with a muffled moan against his arm.

Yannick saves him from braining him against the tile, holding him up against the tile with a firm hand on that ass, before Roman keeps spurting bitter come into his mouth. He doesn't pull away to tell Roman how he needs to drink more water. This time, and that thought makes Yannick spits on the tiles, lets the shower spray wash it down the drain, and gets up. Roman looks almost relaxed like this, and Yannick scrapes a thumbnail down his lip, "I guess I got what I came here for."

Roman only blinks for a beat before he realizes what exactly got Yannick to come up to Bern. Yannick taps Roman's cheek lightly, winks, "See you at brunch, kid."

Why would Yannick get one bite at the apple if he can get two?