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tuna-jsgross · 6 months ago

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Hotel Room One Shot

Hey guys! I did a little bit of a spicier rewrite of one of my chapters from Aura of Life and decided maybe to just post it here for fun. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this one. Though, I will say, it fades to black so I would rate this mature but not explicit. As always Donny belongs to @tuna-jsgross

We stumble our way into the hotel, giggling and dancing our way down the hallways to our room. We’d taken a cab, leaving the truck in the parking lot of the restaurant, and now we’re ready to retire for the evening.

Donny’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons off the top of his shirt, and his hair has fallen loose of the gel’s feeble attempts to hold it in a slicked-back style. All things considered, even in his mussed state, Donny looks lovely in formal wear.

“I should ask you to dress like this more often.” I coo at him, pulling his tie completely undone with a gentle swoosh of the fabric and tossing it over his shoulder. He grins down at me, lopsided, blushing, and full of roguishness.

“Yeah? It’s not my favorite but if you like it I guess it wouldn’t kill me.”

“Oh, ‘like it’ is an understatement- I could stare at you all night. I think I just did, actually.”

He laughs, pulling an arm around me and unlocking the door to our room. “You love to stare when you’re drunk.”

“Because you’re intoxicating- the most handsome man in the world.”

He opens the door and I gesture widely for him to enter.

“Dork- you’re going to give me a big head.”

“Never. You can’t call it an ego if it's a simple fact.”

“Flatterer.” He states as he loosens my tie, pulling it off and placing it aside. A moment later, his joins it, pulled off his shoulder and tossed with far less care than mine. “How do I get more of that to happen?”

I pull his jacket off his shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek as I do. “Just keep being how you are, I can’t help it.”

“Can’t help it, now?”

“I mean- look at you-” I gesture at him, he flushes slightly- but his grin does not fade in the least. I turn and hang his coat in the closet, taking mine off and hanging it next to his. The size difference is almost laughable.

“I say it a lot but I love you- you don’t understand.”

I laugh now, turning back to fix him with a look. “Whatever do you mean? Like I don’t feel the same? I’m also quite enraptured, remember?”

“Mm, but I think it’s impossible for you to understand how I feel, anyway.” He walks over and grabs me by the waist, pulling me close and giving me a kiss. I’m unsure, entirely, if my head spins because of the dopamine or because of the alcohol. I hear myself giggle, pulling him back in by the collar of his shirt. I’m not particularly concerned with the details of the cause of my joy at the moment.

He picks me up, the same as when we’d had our first kiss, my stomach does a flip of excitement and for a moment I forget all else as I wrap my legs around his waist-

Until there’s a loud thud and I realize a few moments after that it was the sound of my head hitting the wall- I only process it by the way Donny is apologizing and asking if I’m okay.

“This seems to be a rough ride.” I comment, intertwining my finger through one of his loose waves, curling the strand around it. “I’m not sure if I trust the driver anymore.”

He laughs gently, burying his head into my neck, bracing himself against the wall. The whiskers of his beard tickle, sending goosebumps across my flesh. I do my best to hold back the giddy laughter from it.

“Sorry. Are you okay? Really.”

“Yes, I’m fine. But perhaps we aren’t sober enough for that- as much as I like being tossed around.”

“I’m very invested in you enjoying being thrown around, Harv.” He teases with an arched eyebrow.

This causes the blood to rush to my face, the tone of his voice catches me off guard. “Yeah, well, what if I want to do what you like?”

“Me.” He draws back and meets my gaze. “Easy answer, do me.”

I laugh, full bodied and joyful, appreciating the gleam in his eyes when I react this way to him. “Yeah? What do you want me to do with you?”

He thinks for a moment, studying my face, then pulls me away from the wall and tosses me onto the bed- I can’t lie and say I’m not impressed by the sheer strength it takes to do such a thing, that I’m not attracted to it. He sits down and starts taking off his shoes, chucking one and then the other before laying down with me. “I like being able to be close to you, to hold you, to kiss you- I like it when you do those things first.” “What else?” I kick my shoes off, Donny’s eyes track the motion before wandering back up to my face.

“Well-.” He takes a slow and deep breath in, looking over me again with a spark of heat. The rest of his response is murmured in a low and bassy tone. “I want you to touch me, make me lose my damn mind.”

He pulls me close and I find myself running my hands along his arms. I’m captivated by the subtle shifting of muscles under my fingertips, frustrated by the fabric which folds and catches as I try to etch the lines of them. “Do you need this?” I tug at the sleeve and his eyebrows shoot up. “I hope not.” He sits up, starts undoing the next button on his shirt. I sit up with him, pull his hand away and take over the task for him- kneeling as I work on the buttons. “You know… I find the human body fascinating. It’s amazing how we function, move, breathe-” I glance up to meet his eyes, the redness on his face betraying nerves in equal measure. I pull the shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside and pressing my palm against his chest- feeling his too-fast heartbeat in rhythm with mine. “And- I like knowing that I’m the reason your heart is beating like this.”

I trail my hands up, gently pulling him toward me for a kiss, reveling in the way his breath hitches as I brush fingertips along his jugular vein to the back of his jaw.

His lips meet mine and I can’t help the smile that forms on my face as they do, delight being such a simple concept in the moment- but how it ever existed without him, I do not know.

He brings his hand up to my neck and pulls me closer, starving for more as if the kiss will never be enough. In this particular instance, I agree.

Somewhere within this exchange, I find myself wandering. My hands glide over beautiful skin and I enjoy the way Donny seems to melt into my touch, breathing a soft hum of approval as I move.

He pulls away suddenly and starts to kiss my neck, a gesture that sends my head reeling, the feeling of wet, open kisses on my skin is nearly too much to bear.

He works on the buttons of my shirt at the same time- fumbling, slightly, until I impatiently tell him to just rip the damn thing open. He glances at me questioningly, but then simply chuckles and obliges. The buttons fly off in a cacophony and he slides the shirt off my shoulders freely, kissing along my clavicles as he does.

Then he falls onto his back, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me with him so my hands rest on either side of his head and I’m straddling his hips. I smile down at him for a moment, then grind my hips into his. He moans loudly, throwing his head back and flushing deeper, a sight and sound that I enjoy to its fullest before I move on.

I start kissing a trail down his neck, over his collarbone, between his pecs, arching my back as I move lower, pulling myself further back on my knees. I glance up at Donny as I do this, loving the way his eyes are following me in reverent hunger.

I giggle, feeling the rush of joy from the look of anticipation on his face, and sink my teeth into his chest. Once again, Donny moans for me, spitting out a swear and gripping at the blankets- being more worked up the longer I take.

So I take my time, breathing over his skin and whispering soft proclamations about his beauty, the way I adore him, the way I love how he sounds- I mean every word of it and he damn well knows it. Each word hits him in full, a new rush of sensation, another hitched breath, another exclamation of how much I’m driving him insane.

But we both know he won’t do anything about it until he’s on the edge of desire- this is the game we play.

So I begin describing in detail the nerves that run along his arms, tracing them softly with kisses before graduating to discussing the science behind endorphins.

I demonstrate this by gifting him several bite marks along his sides and hips, explaining his pain threshold to him as he writhes under me begging me to stop teasing him.

I answer this by sliding my fingers along his waistband, slowly unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down and off of him. The underwear follows suit without much ceremony. I can tell by Donny’s breathing that he’s sure that I’m done now, he feels relief in the finality of the movement- so I trace a trail back up his body with my tongue, gently kissing along the way and muttering how he’s been so good for waiting so long.

But he’s growing frustrated with the waiting, the way I’ve pulled every trick I possibly can to make him want this more than he’s ever wanted anything, and when I look back into his eyes all I see is an all consuming, lust-sodden, darkened gaze.

So mercy, it is -as if I’m not on the edge of teetering over into animalistic carnality anyway- I hurry to dispose of my own clothing, tossing them off to the side and relishing the feeling of flesh against flesh.

Donny’s hands glide down my back, warm and heavy and beautifully large in the way they nearly encapsulate my hips entirely when he grabs them.

Now it’s my turn to plead with him, leaning down and savoring a kiss that’s as much lust as it is appreciation, when I pull away I breathe out a simple ‘please.’

It’s enough for him, he fumbles a bottle of lube and I feel a shock of anticipation heatwave through my body- a moment passes before Donny gives me a nod, I kiss him again, and with an utterance of “good boy” said more like a song than a gasp of pleasure, I lower myself onto him.

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tuna-jsgross · 6 months ago

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Plague AU Ch 6.

This is a POV switch :)

At first glance there is a yearning, one that carries me toward him without thought. Three lengthy strides, a hand in the beginnings of reaching out toward him as if all other troubles have been swept aside by his sudden appearance. But before I reach my destination, grab him by the hands and let my reservations crumble to dust, my eyes fall on the sketchbook held within them.

I stop short- my stomach churning in a sudden anxiety, anger, irrationality. He’s in my home, why is he here? Why did he show up while I was gone? Why did he take it upon himself to search through my things? Logic cuts through all delusions, excitement, any part of me that would’ve been happy to see him.

“What- what are you doing?” My eyes will not leave the book in his hands, as if I’m being pulled into the way his calloused fingers wrap around the edges of the page. Rough with something far too delicate, like the book may tear apart just by being held by him. “Why do you- that’s my-“ I swallow, stepping forward and reaching for the sketchbook.

He pulls away. My eyes snap up to meet his and he looks almost as shocked as I feel.

“Donald- give that back!” I reach again and he dodges again. I become aware of the fact that I’m shaking now, anger feeling as if it’s gnawing at my bones. “Don-“

He furrows his brow suddenly, demeanor shifting from a dazed shock to frustration. “Why?”

“Because it’s mi-“

“No! You know what I’m asking! Why!?”

“You’re being childish! Just-“ I reach once again and he lifts the sketchbook into the air, far out of my reach.

As if it’s not enough of a absurd gesture to be in my home in the first place, as if it wasn’t enough to look through the one thing I know for a fact he knew I didn’t want him to see- now he’s leveraging his physical attributes against me, keeping one of my most beloved possessions out of my grasp.

I start to grab at his arm, trying to bring it within reach. The damn man is so muscular he barely moves at all, a wall of strength and defiance staring down at me with a growing agitation.

“You said you were afraid I’d abandon the project-” “I’m not talking about this-” “You are and I’m not giving this back-” He shifts, his weight uneven enough for just the right amount of time for me to cause him to stumble slightly. He lets out a sharp swear as his reach dips for a moment and I reach with my other hand. He grabs my wrist with his one free hand, shuffling slightly so I have to adjust my footing or fall, letting out a small sound of effort. I shuffle back slightly, wrenching against his grasp on my wrist- to no avail, not that either one of us would be surprised at that result. “Let me go!” I pull back with my full body weight, feeling his grip tighten on my wrist slightly. “Stop trying to fight me! I just want answers!” At this point, I must admit, rationality has abandoned me. The sheer frustration at the situation has created a strong resistance to reason, I don’t want to concede and admit defeat. I don’t want to give him the damned satisfaction. I glare up at him, satisfied at my flustering him being evidenced in the flush on his face and how his eyes widen slightly. “What a shame, I won’t give them.” He sets his jaw, taking pause to give me a withering look of frustration. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?” I reach for the notebook with my free hand again, trying to push myself into him and knock him off balance enough to gain some sort of advantage- he stumbles back a step before sighing and grabbing that wrist in his free hand as well. He spins slightly, stepping forward with my hands held above my head. I try to keep the space between us, attempting to hold my pride despite the obvious loss I’m suffering.

I step back several paces in time with his advance before I feel my back land flush against the wall. He pins my wrists up against it, leaning into my space. I stare up at him, suddenly feeling entirely out of my depth. My eyes linger on the sketchbook for a moment before meeting his again and I have to swallow back my nerves. “Are you ready to give up?” He asks, something in his tone far less hostile and perhaps more tired. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong.” “That’s what you think?” He scoffs, shaking his head and looking to the ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “Your hypocrisy is insufferable.” “Then why come back!? Let it be!” He leans closer, mere inches away from my face. “Because-” There’s a moment of hesitation, he struggles with a few words before forcing out a low “you’re driving me insane.” It's at this instant that my body seems to catch up to the situation, suddenly I’m aware of his grip on my wrists, the warmth of his rough hands, the fact that he’s not holding me tightly enough to actually cause any discomfort. My heartbeat starts to race, a thrumming in my ears as I stare at him, as the words catch up to me. “Don’t be ridiculous I-“

“`Ridiculous? I don’t even know your name. Who are you?”

“That’s- you don’t need to-“ my heartbeat is resting in my throat now, he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

His eyes flicker down to my lips as I talk, I hate that I notice it, I hate that I flush at it.

“Tell me your name.” He demands once again.

Tension lingers suspended in the few seconds it takes me to answer, something within me suddenly wanting to rise up to the challenge- a sudden rush of giddy glee in the frustration I cause him.

“Make me.”

He stares at me blankly, seeming to process what I’ve said. I expect more anger, to get a rise out of him, instead he lowers the hand with the sketchbook down to his side. Then he drops the book with an unmistakable sound, one that sends a slight shock through me. His eyes lock onto mine, he takes a breath in before whispering so softly I have to wonder if I’d imagined the word leaving his lips. “Tell me.” My heart skitters in my chest, for a brief second of time I wonder if I might be drunk for the way my head spins. He raises his free hand up to my chin and gently grabs my face, making it impossible for me to look away. I can’t avoid noticing the smaller details, the way his chest is heaving with too-fast breaths in sync with mine, the high flush upon his cheeks, his dilated pupils as his staring bores holes into my soul.

“Harvey.” It’s like a confession, something I feel deep shame for, something I wish I could leave behind. The security of being unknown crumbles around me as he smirks down at me. “See? Not so hard-” “We're done. Get out.” I come across far more defeated than I intend, weaker than I’d want to.

“Unfortunately for both of us, I need answers”

“You’ve got your damn answer, let me go!” I strain against him and he grits his teeth, squinting at me. “No- I got one answer and you’re still avoiding the issue-” “There’s no issue! Nothing but your delusions-” “My delusions?! Mine?” An accusation, one that makes perfect sense to me. I’ve been far less than a doctor should be, acting without thinking, letting my desire overtake my sense. “Yes!” “You started this!” “So-so let me end it!” “No!” “Why? Just- let it be!” He shakes his head, letting out a laugh that very nearly chills me to the bone, wry and exasperated. “I tried that. You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.” “What? I’ve-” “Every day- every day my mind wanders back to you. I can’t stop wondering what I did wrong- I can't stop thinking about… How am I supposed to just- how am I supposed to just walk away?”

“It’s- it’s just research…” A pathetic lie, one I’ve told myself plenty of times. Then, with hardly a warning, our lips collide. Heat floods through my body in an undeniable spark of need, the flush on my face deepening as he pulls his hand off my wrists and slides his arm around my waist. He pulls me close, flush against his body, and instinctively my arms wrap around his neck. I find myself pulling him into me, a carnal desire to be held, needed, wanted, consumes me to the core- I forget myself, all else seeming to melt away. The only thing that matters is the firm pressure of his hand against the small of my back, is the heat of his body against mine, the strength of his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. Then he withdraws, sudden and just as shockingly as when he’d started the kiss- I find myself wishing he hadn’t torn himself out of my grasp, left my hands feeling strangely empty, my chest feeling cold. “Is it still just research?” He asks, almost with a sense of triumph in his tone, still breathing with a quick rise and fall of his chest, still flushed and looking as if he’s a starving animal and I’m his next meal. Still being far, far, too easily swayed. Still proving that I could never make a new life for myself if I were to remain in his presence. Still hauntingly beautiful, painfully wonderful. Still far too much of a liability for me to be comfortable around. “... Yes.” Any joy he might’ve felt falls from his face, replaced by disgust and colored with hurt. He says nothing, just steps backward away from me as if I’d transformed into some hideous beast, something utterly repugnant, sickening. Perhaps I am, I feel as if I may be someone worthy of such a response.

Then he turns, walking out of the house without even glancing back at me. I’d expected the door to slam shut, some sort of last word, but instead he closes the door gently and I am left standing in the cold room alone. I can’t bring myself to move just yet, instead I look down at my sketchbook where it lay on the floor. I hate it, everything within it, the proof of words thrown at me with such malice that they take permanent residence in my mind.

There’s no intelligence in a man who cannot separate his love for his science from his subject.

It seems I’ll never be an intelligent man, simply a hurtful one. I crouch down and pick up the sketchbook, thumbing through the pages- so many are filled with drawings of him. So many failed attempts at catching the spirit of the man who sat before me, so many times I’ve cursed my hands…

I sigh, trying to swallow back the tears in my eyes as I look over the sketches.

I cannot live like this.

I light a fire, kindling it to a blaze, and cast the sketchbook into the fireplace.

I watch as the flames lick at the pages, charring and devouring them, curling the edges in on themselves until they’ve been turned into ash. I tell myself, so it burns away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the way I’d memorized him, every laugh line and callous.

I wish I felt warmth in this, but I simply watch it all burn and feel further from myself with each passing moment. In the end, though, it’s what’s best.

Nobody needs me to practice medicine on them, or attempt to- I couldn’t even find myself in a physician's course of study. No, a simple artist and nothing more- taking on a plague doctor's task out of reckless disregard for my own life… he’s better off not knowing me at all.

#YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

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