horseboykarl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
horseboykarl) wrote2005-04-24 04:04 pm
horseboykarl) wrote2005-04-24 04:04 pm
Pinch Me
Fingers trail across my skin, probe every sensitive spot, lips follow, a hard masculine form pins me down. My body is rocking up against him, trying for more contact, my voice is begging, pleading for more. His lips find mine and I lose myself in his kiss, my fingers dig through his short hair, and his wings spread around me and brush against my arms.
Wait.
Wings?
Now I’m pushing against him, struggling to get free. My hands run across hard pectoral muscles and want to stop to caress. My brain is desperately trying to understand what is happening to me and I wrench my eyes open.
Oh fuck.
Bleached blonde hair, rascally grin, and big fucking white wings. This is not happening to me!
“Get the fuck off of me!”
“What’s the matter, Karl? We were having such a good time, and you liked it a minute ago.”
“You’re not real!”
“I’m not? Pinch me.”
I roll my eyes. “And what the fuck would that prove?”
“All right, how about this?” And he grinds himself into me and before I can think about it, my hips are rising to meet his, and I’m groaning as our erections meet.
“That just proves I’m losing my mind again.”
“And how is that bad?” His lips trail down my neck, nibbling and sucking. Another moan escapes my lips. Why the fuck am I responding to him like this?
“It’s bad,” I say as I try to wriggle out from under him, “when I start having wet dreams about characters I’ve played. That’s demented on too many levels.”
“I’m the God of Love, remember.”
“This isn’t love.”
“Ah, but my aspect is Eros, not Agape. I can’t help myself. Besides, what do you know about love?”
“Leave me alone!”
“When I’m done with you.” He winks at me and slides down my torso and his intent is clear.
“No!”
“Too late.” And he opens his mouth and just . . . inhales me, right to the root. My willpower deserts me, because this feels incredible. Evidently the God of Love has extra cocksucking skills.
All too soon, I’m coming, screaming and writhing as my orgasm takes me.
I sit up in bed, finally waking up, come trickling across my belly. I sigh and get a towel and clean myself off. He’s gone, of course. No need to wonder where this nightmare came from. Viggo and his bloody dreams.
Just because I was messing around with that second bowl in a dream, does not mean that I have another shift. It was a dream, for fuck’s sake! When I got Éomer I was wide awake and aware of what I was doing, well mostly. How can I get a shift from a dream? But . . . ‘what if’s’ plague me. Viggo told me all he knew . . . Dave knows the other half of it. Fine then, I’ll wait until it’s a decent hour and then go find Dave.
No chance of more sleep tonight, so I go out to the den, log on and start surfing, looking for Viggo’s filmography. It takes me a few times through the list before I realize what he was talking about. Fuck. Now I’m freaked.
Thinking back on my own roles, I pull out some paper. Might as well see how bad this can get. Cupid, yeah, definitely the most humiliating. Caesar, great, another over-sized ego. Rob, why can’t I just be Rob, he was normal. Shit, Harry, the truly insane one and a demon magnet. I shudder. Kor, a caveman, one step down from Éomer. Munder, pretty normal guy in bad circumstances, but he’d be okay. Vaako, dead man walking, not good. Kirill, bad ass, but not crazy or with any inflated sex drive. John Grimm, another bad ass, but fairly normal mentally.
And the burn-victim maniac that Harry’s been pestering me about, not gonna happen. But . . . I haven’t played him yet, so if I did look into that bowl somehow when I was in India, then he can’t be one of my shifts. And Grimm was after India, too, so he can’t show up either, as long as I don’t go near any more bowls. Fuck. Moving that bowl back to Craig’s was a lot more reckless than I realized.
This shift crap puts a whole new spin on being picky about what roles I take.
R
Wait.
Wings?
Now I’m pushing against him, struggling to get free. My hands run across hard pectoral muscles and want to stop to caress. My brain is desperately trying to understand what is happening to me and I wrench my eyes open.
Oh fuck.
Bleached blonde hair, rascally grin, and big fucking white wings. This is not happening to me!
“Get the fuck off of me!”
“What’s the matter, Karl? We were having such a good time, and you liked it a minute ago.”
“You’re not real!”
“I’m not? Pinch me.”
I roll my eyes. “And what the fuck would that prove?”
“All right, how about this?” And he grinds himself into me and before I can think about it, my hips are rising to meet his, and I’m groaning as our erections meet.
“That just proves I’m losing my mind again.”
“And how is that bad?” His lips trail down my neck, nibbling and sucking. Another moan escapes my lips. Why the fuck am I responding to him like this?
“It’s bad,” I say as I try to wriggle out from under him, “when I start having wet dreams about characters I’ve played. That’s demented on too many levels.”
“I’m the God of Love, remember.”
“This isn’t love.”
“Ah, but my aspect is Eros, not Agape. I can’t help myself. Besides, what do you know about love?”
“Leave me alone!”
“When I’m done with you.” He winks at me and slides down my torso and his intent is clear.
“No!”
“Too late.” And he opens his mouth and just . . . inhales me, right to the root. My willpower deserts me, because this feels incredible. Evidently the God of Love has extra cocksucking skills.
All too soon, I’m coming, screaming and writhing as my orgasm takes me.
I sit up in bed, finally waking up, come trickling across my belly. I sigh and get a towel and clean myself off. He’s gone, of course. No need to wonder where this nightmare came from. Viggo and his bloody dreams.
Just because I was messing around with that second bowl in a dream, does not mean that I have another shift. It was a dream, for fuck’s sake! When I got Éomer I was wide awake and aware of what I was doing, well mostly. How can I get a shift from a dream? But . . . ‘what if’s’ plague me. Viggo told me all he knew . . . Dave knows the other half of it. Fine then, I’ll wait until it’s a decent hour and then go find Dave.
No chance of more sleep tonight, so I go out to the den, log on and start surfing, looking for Viggo’s filmography. It takes me a few times through the list before I realize what he was talking about. Fuck. Now I’m freaked.
Thinking back on my own roles, I pull out some paper. Might as well see how bad this can get. Cupid, yeah, definitely the most humiliating. Caesar, great, another over-sized ego. Rob, why can’t I just be Rob, he was normal. Shit, Harry, the truly insane one and a demon magnet. I shudder. Kor, a caveman, one step down from Éomer. Munder, pretty normal guy in bad circumstances, but he’d be okay. Vaako, dead man walking, not good. Kirill, bad ass, but not crazy or with any inflated sex drive. John Grimm, another bad ass, but fairly normal mentally.
And the burn-victim maniac that Harry’s been pestering me about, not gonna happen. But . . . I haven’t played him yet, so if I did look into that bowl somehow when I was in India, then he can’t be one of my shifts. And Grimm was after India, too, so he can’t show up either, as long as I don’t go near any more bowls. Fuck. Moving that bowl back to Craig’s was a lot more reckless than I realized.
This shift crap puts a whole new spin on being picky about what roles I take.
R