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pnfc · 2 months ago

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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.

#this is pre-sex but idk if im gonna continue #i keep starting and not finishing scenes but im still hoping an actual plot bites me someday #the writing equiv of drawing otp snuggling in bed over and over #but i like the demented quality of writing from doofs pov...heheghg #fic

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