Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Fic Post

Early One Morning
Seth written by winterlive
David written by sweptawaybayou

Beta by ruric

A/N ~ This is a first person tag story. The boys are living in a mansion. Seth has been there for a while, David just arrived. They have not met. Yet.

The sun is just rising. I'm stretched and lucid post–yoga, pot and green tea curling in my blood like tendrils of smoke, a slight buzzing that thrills my senses in the fresh morning. There's an air of expectancy around me today, quiet and subtle, but it's enough to make me pay attention, despite how relaxed I am. I feel like an animal, scenting the home jungle to tell what the day will bring.

At the moment, it's bringing a shower. My boy's still in bed, and will be for hours yet. He's a night owl, not like me. The yoga's brought the toxins out through my skin, and it's time to go rinse them off, and when I get back, there'll be more than enough time for a little Tao before he wakes. My towel's slung over one arm, big fluffy white thing, and I'm wearing my black satin yoga pants and a big, thick sweater, because English castles, in winter, in the morning, are fucking cold. The chill's all around, but it seems part of the atmosphere, in a way, though, so I don't begrudge it. The light from the rising sun is pink and pale, and it seems I'm about the only early riser in the castle, because everything's still and silent around me, except for the faint birdsong. Beautiful.

When I get down to the showers – Robin's got a big, open, tiled room with jets everywhere, like a locker room – I sling my towel over a wooden peg on the wall and strip out of my clothes. It's warm in here, air steamy, even though I'm probably the first one in today. I smile, communing with the ambiance and the quiet, and step up to one of the jets on the far side. I dismiss the big poofy ball of plastic outright, and go for the simpler bar, lathering myself everywhere. I let the water wash over me, feel the heat of it sink into my skin and shiver as the chill of morning seeps away. Next, the hair, the temporary black dye of last night ebbing away to reveal the cherry red I got a couple weeks ago. I feel it slide over my back, black suds slipping over my skin, and shiver. I'm amused for a moment: only a year ago, this would have been the ideal time to jerk off. Now I know better. Gotta save my strength.


I can't believe that I got up so early this morning. Just as the sun was breaking over the trees, I was sitting up in bed. My body clock must still be on American time or perhaps it's just the excitement of traveling and meeting new friends. Who knows?

All I do know is that when I was standing at the window, looking down onto the manicured lawns and the neat gravel path that lead away from the mansion and out into a thick, still dark forest, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to run. To get out and hear nothing but the quiet sounds of nature, the crunch of my running shoes on the ground and the pound of my heart beat as blood rushes through me.

Then I'm outside and it's cool and everything's wet with dew. I start out slow, shaking stiffness out of my legs and arms and stretching my back, then I'm off, through the trees and all I can smell is clean, green scents that fill me with energy.

The path circles through the woods and back to the mansion eventually. It was the perfect length for me, almost as if I had designed it myself and I feel great, my legs warm and loose. Sweat is running from my hair and I pull of my t–shirt to wipe my face and take off my wet shoes at the door.

Now, where were those showers? I wander through the halls for a few minutes, before remembering the correct direction.

I strip off my shorts in the dressing room, then enter the showers. The large room is already filled with thick clouds of steam and hot water is spraying from all the showerheads.

I step under the first one and close my eyes, let it pour over my head, washing out the sweat. God, it feels so good, just the right temperature and hard enough that I can feel it massaging my back and neck. I wish I'd thought of bringing some shampoo, but then I remember I'm in a mansion. There should be some kind of soaps here.

I open my eyes and move slowly through the steam, sliding my hand along the wall.


The steam's warm and close, clinging. There's the hiss of the water as it strikes the tile, and dripping, and the faint slap of my feet and hands as I wash off. Time seems suspended here – it could be a thousand years ago in this old pile of rock, and there'd be no way to know.

Suddenly, there's a movement to my right. Instantly, every sense I have vibrates with the feel of it – something's there. I spin on the ball of my foot, face the right way. I don't know if I saw it or heard it, and I wait. Some tiny part of me tells me that whoever it is, I've probably already fucked him, and the sensual slide of the suds in combination with that makes me predatory, hard.

The steam falls away then, like a curtain parting, swirling around and licking along what it reveals. A stranger, new to me, new to my jungle. He's beautiful, obviously – everyone here is beautiful – but he's very striking, tall and dark and ominous. Some part of me recognizes that he's built, could probably take me, tai chi or no, and I freeze, watching him. Ready.

Really ready. The thought that he could take me, that we might fight, and I'm instantly harder, throbbing now, feeling the ache start to build. Huh.

He's looking for something, edging along the shower wall. I don't know if he's seen me yet... when I realize that I want him to. Doesn't matter what we do, I want him to know I'm there. I step forward, looking up at him, the new man in my territory. Challenging him.


The steam around me shifts and movement catches my eye. I turn to look and there is another man. Naked. Watching me. There is both curiosity and challenge in his hazel eyes. His face is emotionless, but I can feel the tension in his body from here.

He circles slowly in the steam and spray, just looking me over. And I turn in place, never dropping my eyes.

He's smaller than me, but his skin is taut over strong, well defined muscles and he moves more gracefully than I've ever seen anyone. His hair is a bright red that on another would look ridiculous, but on him? It's perfect. His cock is hard, standing out from his body and I realize that mine is also, heated from this silent dance.

My entire body is tight, every muscle drawn up as I wait for him to make a move on me. My jaw is tense and I'm gritting my teeth.

There could be passion here. Or there could be pain.

Or both. Either way, I'm up for it.

I stop. Lean my head to the side and wink at him. I'm not smiling, just looking down at him from my height, through my eyelashes.

Want a challenge?

I dare you.

We're two feet away from each other now. I could reach out and touch him. Run my fingers along his wet shoulders, his chest. Grab him and pull him in close enough to hold tight. Lick up his neck, bite into that hard body and make a mark that will mean something. Make him remember me for a long, long time.


Step by step, we pace each other. He's hungry, I can see it in his eyes as he looks me over, see it in his cock, jutting proud to his belly.

Slowly, cautiously, I edge closer to him. He's wary, but he stands his ground, and we wait for a moment, getting accustomed, before he takes a step toward me, not to be outdone. Now I'm the wary one, and again, we wait, like panthers marking each others' scents. Step by step we go, until we're close enough to touch, and still close enough to spring back.

Carefully, I lift one hand and extend it toward him, pads of my fingers showing. I want to touch him, want to see what he feels like, if he'll be as electric as the tension sizzling through the air right now. Maybe he'll shock me.

Slowly, like pushing my hand through water, I reach for him, eyes fixed on my hand, watching for any sudden movement. My fingers touch his chest.

And I almost jump out of my skin as I feel his fingers touch mine, just the same way. I didn't even notice, he moved so slowly. I do jump, twitch as I realize, but he's still touching when I'm done, and so am I.

And now that we are touching... oh, there's that electricity. I feel it coursing through us, like a live conduit now that we're in contact, and my eyes fly to his, my head snapping up. The words hover between us without having to be said: I want you.


He reaches for me, slowly, and the movement is so smooth it almost hypnotizes me. I mirror him, reaching his chest at the same time and we both jump as our fingers meet flesh. We jump, but we don't break either the contact or the stare.

This has become so primal. I don't know his name or where he's from or who he's with. I don't care. I can smell the shampoo he used in the air, I can almost taste the salt of his skin, feel him bend beneath me.

I want to crush him to the floor, push him against the slick, tiled walls. I want to feel him from the inside and know that he feels me.

His fingers move up, to the dip of my collarbone, my neck and run along my jaw. He stops at my lips, outlining them, tracing them and I feel a tremor run through me. He slides the tip of his thumb into my mouth and I lick it, tease him.

Then suddenly his hand moves behind my head and he pulls me down to him and his mouth is on mine. Brutal, rough, he's not kissing me, he's owning my lips and teeth and tongue and his fingers twist and pull my hair.

I melt for a moment into his kiss. Then turn it on him. Bend into him, wrap my long arms around him. Move my head down to his neck, licking the water there. Tasting his skin. Curry and cinnamon and something indefinable, something so good. I can't help but bite him, feeling his fingers scratching my sides and my back. Hard. Deep.

Then he slips out of my tight embrace and we're standing apart again. Panting. Staring. Needing.


The breath is scorching through my lungs, wet and hot, and the man in front of me has deep brown eyes that bore into me. I feel the want boiling in the bottom of my belly, urging me to go for him.

So I do. I move in again, subtly faster this time, now that I know he won't be pushing me away. My fingers are sliding over him, and he's matching me exactly, and now I let them linger in sensitive places – nipples, hips, the small of his back – scratching lightly over. Shudders build in me as his longer, harder fingers do the same to me, and I think of places I want those fingers, things they should be doing, but then he pinches just right, oh, yeah, and I want them just where they are.

We're each making little sounds, not much, but enough in this room. With the absolute silence everywhere, the steam and the tiles, our voices echo back to us, our tiny moans and harsh breathing amplified a million times. Every sound from him makes me harder, want him more, rougher with him.

I lay my hands on his shoulders and pull down, not sure if I want him lower or me higher, just closer, more, now.


His hands are running across my chest, my hips, pressing into the small of my back. His touch is light, feathery and purposeful at the same time. There is the scratch of his nails in one spot, then the smooth stroke of his palm at the next.

I'm holding him next to me, looking down, into his eyes and he puts his hands up on my shoulders, pushing down when I realize that I'm not holding him at all.

He created this moment, so I go with it, bending at the knees, then suddenly I'm pushed down, flat on my back. Warm water streaming around my head and he's sitting on me. I catch a flash of superiority in his eyes, a slight smile playing around his lips and I want to laugh. Whatever. He can think he won this round, with his trance inducing hands, his steady, calm gaze, and the intoxicating taste of his skin.

He will be under me. Soon.

I reach up, grab his hard cock in my hand. Tight, then I release it, dragging my fingers along the length of it. Pinching lightly at the tender skin there just to see his eyes widen and there is no smile again.


Oh, yeah. Squeezing, stretching, pinching, pulling, and I arch my back and fuck into his fist, eyes closed and high, singing breaths whispering in and out of my throat. God, feels so good, I'm just lost in it, ready to come all over him, and then...

Spinning around, hands hard on me! Tile at my back, and then he's the one looking down, all dark eyes and intense lips and hard cock sliding over mine as my legs tangle with his. I swear I hear him growl, little low sound, just loud enough to hear.

I feel my cock jump at that, bump up against his, and we both groan. So I growl right back, knot my fingers in the hair at the back of his head and pull him down to my mouth. We kiss, all teeth and warring tongues as our cocks slide against each other, him grinding down into me and me lifting into him. If we were shy before, it's fucking gone.

There's hissing all around us, steam still clouding the world, sinking into our pores. I can feel water and sweat drip down into my hair, onto my chest. I smell him, taste him, want him.

So I let go of his hair and wriggle out of his hold. He's tenacious, knows his shit, I'll give him that – holds me by the wrists and waist, tries to pin me with his hips, only makes me harder. Finally, though, I land a hand on his hip and spin him off me. He rolls over, catches himself, but I'm too fast for him.

I get up onto my hands and knees, spread my legs wide apart and lower my head to my hands. Come on, fuck me.


He's spun out of my grasp. We're both on our knees, facing each other, then he turns, bends down, resting on his elbows and arching his back.


Is he inviting me? Or testing me again?

His ass is right in front of me. Perfect, round, water dripping and running down smooth cheeks to muscular thighs. I swallow, breath deeply. I can smell him. Wet skin, wet hair, wet dick.

I move forward, hesitant, tentative. He's much smaller than me, but he's already proven his speed and his intelligence. True strength isn't always paired with size. But curiosity and lust overcome me and I move forward. The curve and bend of him is right before me and I lean down, lick up the tracks of water on one slick hip to the small of his back. He tastes of things I can't describe. Wilderness, freedom, will, choices, cloves and honey, foreign spices and I can't take my mouth off of him.

Up his spine to sharp shoulder blades and the nape of his neck. I'm over him now, arm to arm, my knees on the outside of his and the sudden shock of my hard cock nudging his ass brings us both out of the trance.

I bite the back of his neck, press my body down on him, shielding him from the hot spray of the showers and reveling in the feel of him against me. I can't resist moving the length of my cock in the crack of his ass and I shudder at the sensation.


I'm shivering under him, feeling coursing through me at the touch of his tongue. The wet heat of him, so different from the light rain of the shower, is twitching over my consciousness, memories of sex pouring through my mind. The obscene images play behind my eyes like a private porn showing, with Brody and Marc and Chris and Nicky and everyone else. I'm floating in those thoughts, lost there...

And then he's reached the top of me, draped over me, huge and solid, and his cock's resting against my hole. He pushes against me, sliding, and I clench, all that vague lust crashing into my head at once, transmuting itself into immediate want, now, for this man, and I rock back against him. A groan escapes me.

I reach back over my shoulder for his hand, and when I find his wrist – good enough – I drag it forward to the wall, where a very thoughtful person has affixed a lube dispenser to the wall.

He takes some, I feel the slickness on me, and I can't wait, just can't fucking wait to feel his fingers, his cock. I push back, whining. Want. Give me.


He grabs my wrist and pulls it over to the wall. So now I've got lube in my hand and this delicate, strong, handsome man under me, pushing his nice curved ass against my hard cock. After we've pushed and pulled, licked and bit, tasted and touched . . . and what's a guy like me to do?

I slide my slicked palm down the crack of his ass, smearing the lube over his hole, his balls, around to his hard cock. Pulling at it, covering it, feeling his back quiver against my chest. I pull my hand back up and gently, slowly push one finger inside of him. He's hot and tight inside, clenching me. My mouth on the back of his neck, his shoulders, biting and licking and kissing. He's pushing back into my hand as I work my finger in and out, then back to his cock.

I lean on him, letting my weight push him down to the tiles, into the hot, swirling water that flows around us and he turns so he's on his back. Spreading his legs, lifting up into me, offering himself and I'm the captive here. I'm the one whose taken and held hostage. I cup his balls in my hand, squeeze them gently, kissing him, sucking on his tongue, his lips and my hand moves on his cock, mixing lube with precome and warm water.

I want to fuck him. I want to be fucked by him.

I push against him, rub my dick on his thigh and moan into his mouth. I don't know his name. I don't know where I am. All I know is that I have to possess this or be possessed by it and I move so that I am over him, between his legs, licking and biting on his jaw, his neck, asking permission to be allowed inside of him.


I'm holding him, moaning under him, arching up into him, and he's going so slow, being so careful with me, and I want him, why can't he see that I want him!

Even as I think that, I realize about sixty things at once, a barrage of realizations about him that hit me all at the same time.

He's intense. I am too, at times, so I understand it. I like the smell about him, this wholesome, all–American smell that's not entirely clean. It's home–baked bread, rich earth and soap, but it's also engine oil, money and cologne. Pleasant and rich, but seasoned, and in–your–face. I think this man wouldn't lie about who he is, wouldn't have to.

He's strong, but he's not trying to overpower me. I do like being respected in my jungle. If he tried to dominate me, I'd probably fight him. But that's not what he wants, not what he's aiming for. Instead, this is asking, coaxing. It's a seduction. And I'm just fine with that.

This thing we're making between us, it's something else again. Primal. Basic. I want him, he wants me, and this slow, gorgeous building of pressure is just exactly what's necessary. I roll my hips into his, a tiny movement, and he groans above me.

Yes. Yes, this is right. I open my legs wider, dig my heels into his back, my fingernails into his shoulders. Come inside.


I feel him, pulling me closer, pulling me down to him and I answer. With my hand on his cock, sliding past his balls to his ass and pushing inside again. One. Two. Twisting and turning my fingers until his mouth is gasping against my neck, needing, wanting, asking for more. For my cock. For me.

I rub the last of the lube on my dick and keep my eyes on his face as I position myself, finger to ass, hand on cock. Wait for the slight, almost invisible nod of his head and I'm there, pushing into him. Watching his face, his mouth opens slightly, lips pursing, eyes widen, pupils dilate. The breath catches in our throats as I enter him, past the ring of muscle, into the heat and my mouth is on his, swallowing his tongue, sweeping his mouth as I pump smoothly, in and out and oh. fuck. I've never felt anything so right in my life.

So tight. So hot. So real.


God, yes.

He fills me, and it feels like the first time, like my first time, being stretched like that from the inside, so shocked at how my sensitive skin can feel him throb in me, registers every movement. The tightening and widening of my muscles as he strokes over that bundle of nerves inside, surprising and oh, so good.

He's kissing me, too, mouth sliding over mine, and again, there's that newness – stubble scrapes my chin, my lips, and my eyes are wide open. I'm digging into him, every bit of me clinging and pulling and grasping, wanting him. The way we rock against each other makes me think of sea, and the tides, and other inevitable things, and I'm content to ride this with him, be close to him as we're swept along in this thing.


The water is pouring around us, the heat and the steam and I'm inside. And there is the burn and clench of him. The pull of his arms, the dig of his heels into my legs, his fingernails tearing into my skin and I'm moving faster, responding to him.

I'm gasping for air and I can't breathe. His mouth is on my neck as I reach, stretch for that lost breath and my hips never stop pumping into him over and over and over again.

His lips have laid claim to mine. I can't function without him. I don't move without hearing his sigh yes, again, do it again. Not words. Nothing spoken, just the look in his eyes, the touch of his hands, urging me on, asking me, needing me, wanting me.

I'm at the edge.

Biting my lip. Biting his lips. I want to come. I can't. My hand is on his cock, in between us, pulling at him, sliding over his skin. But I won't, can't, until he does, until he wants this.

I'm drowning in the taste of him. His skin. His mouth. Aching with need for him. The back of his head is resting on my forearm and I can't stop kissing him. Devouring his mouth. Words on my tongue. Need you. Want you. Love you. But nothing is said. Nothing needs to be verbalized. This is heat. This is lust. This is wet and hot and hard and tight and fuck I'm coming inside of him. I can't stop it. Can't hold it.

There is nothing here. Only . . .

Water. Steam. Heat.

Fight. Skin. Touch.

Need. Want. Lust.

He holds me close as I convulse. Kisses me as I come. Accepts me as I push further and further into him. Deeper. Harder. More.

And this is just the beginning.

I know that.

I smile at him when the spasms finally slow. When the tide recedes. His cock still hard in my hand and I know what he needs. I know what he wants.

I pull out of him, biting my lip at the sudden separation. Pull out of his embrace, roll on my back. Spread my legs. Water sluices around me, the tiles are hard and warm, clouds of steam rise around us and I can't take my eyes off of his face.

Take me.
Need me.

Fuck me.



It surges through me, a powerful force, like magnetism. As I roll onto him, I feel my skin slipping against itself. He's still in me, his essence, and I'm glad for that. I want it there.

He wants me, too, I can see it. Spreading himself open on the ground, waiting for me to claim him – too hot. And I will claim him. It's the way he gets into this jungle, and I know he wants to stay. Who wouldn't? But, honestly, it didn't have to be me. He could have chosen any of the men here to be with, to accept him. Awe is in me as I understand that he picked me – for that, I'm grateful. He is, after all, absolutely beautiful.

Looking down into his eyes, feeling his hot skin under me, I lean down and kiss him. Gorgeous, I'm telling him, worshiping him with my mouth. He groans under me, and it's heaven.

Then I'm reaching for the lube on the wall, coating my fingers and easing them down. He thrusts against me, he knows what I'm doing, and he wants it, and that's the fucking sexiest thing about this man – he's not afraid to show me that he wants it.

So when my fingers meet his tight entrance, slicked and insistent, and he fucking arches against me? I'm ready to come right then and there.


I lay on the tiles, open, and willing, my legs spread wantonly. There is nothing I want more at this moment than to have him on me, in me, filling my ass with his cock.

He stares at me and his eyes are crystal green, with sharp edges of gold and brown. I'm mesmorized by his delicate bone structure, the expressiveness of his mouth. Without saying a word he's claimed and captured me. Holds me hostage with long, slender fingers that are sliding on my skin, slick with lube, warm and gentle and insistent and needy. He finds my opening, teases me and I arch up to his hand, a quiet moan escaping my lips.

Fuck me. Take me.

Hard or soft. Gentle lovemaking or willing rape. It doesn't matter right now. This whole encounter is surreal and I'm swept up in the heat and the want. The spray around us splashes and rises in steam that smells like semen and sweat and lust.

He leans down again, takes back the few inches that separate our mouths and kisses me as his finger enters me. One, then two and he scissors them. I twist my hips up, gasping and quivering. Distraction found by licking down his neck, biting at his collar bone. I want to pull him up on me, scream as he fucks me, but this is his moment and I'm riding the wave he's created between us, swirling around us.

I'm just trying to remember to breathe.


God, yes.

I'm thrusting my fingers in him, feeling his tight heat, desperate to be inside him. My cock throbs insistently, begging around the edges of my consciousness, and I shove the need back, know I have to have him open and ready before I take him. I'm fumbling and clumsy, feel my fingers shaking as they're in him.

He moans under me, twists up into my fingers, and the urging voice gets louder. Gotta get in him, gotta be in him, feel this, feel everything, now, now, now...

I watch him close, eyes glued to him. Give me a sign, let me know you're ready. Gotta know... Finally, he looks up at me, pleading eyes, head coming up to capture my lips, and I know. He's ready, he wants me, he's ready, God, yes.

I kiss him as I line up, blindly feeling my way there, and when I connect with his skin, feel the tight muscle ready to give way to me if I only push just a little bit, my whole body shivers. He does the same, we're in perfect sync, and we grin at each other for a moment, before going back to being unable to form a coherent thought. I pull his legs up and around me, look at him, the question in my eyes. He nods gravely, wanting, and I could not hold back now if I tried.

The first stroke, feeling myself slide into him hard, all the way in until we're sealed together, is ecstasy, and I have to close my eyes and stop still. Can't move, can't see his face like that, so full of bliss, or I'll come.


He's moving in slow motion. His skin is slippery satin as he slides on top of me and we're in constant contact now. As if stepping away would be too painful. He positions himself. I can feel the tip of his cock and see the muscles bunch in his shoulders as he holds himself over me.

Water runs down from his hair down his cheeks and drips on my face as he watches me, waiting, asking. I lift my head up, off the tiles, out of the water and kiss him.

Yes. Please. Now. Now. Now.

He enters me, the head of his dick fighting past my opening, then stops. He leans on me. Chest to chest and I feel his hands sliding down my sides, hips, to my thighs and his fingers pull at them, wanting them up, wrapped around him. I move as he requests and then his eyes are on mine.

Ready? The ocean staring back asks me.

More than ready. This is what I was born for. For you. To be fucked by you.

And then he's in me, going deep and I can feel the pulse of his heart, the quiver of tension in his legs. We both draw long shuddering breaths when he's fully inside me, my cock crushed between, throbbing. He rests his body weight down on it, on me, moving out just enough to pull the skin of my dick on his abdomen. Just enough to make me utter wordless moans, sounds filled with need and longing and desire.

I see a warm smile surf through his eyes, then he's thrusting. Hard. Kissing my slack mouth, sucking on my tongue. I grip his hips, fingers digging into his muscles.

Yes. Yes.


I thrust into him endlessly, pounding at him, feeling like the sea during a storm, David the beach I throw myself onto. He's my everything in this moment, all I need, all I want, my head resting on his shoulder, my lungs and brain and whole body full of him as I shove myself in. I want more, more, more...

His legs ride on my back, his hands clasp my hips, and I feel it building deep in my belly, rolling toward us like thunder over an empty plain. As I thrust into the hot body beneath me, I feel my fingers dig in, holding on tight, as though the orgasm about to slam into me will somehow hurl us apart.

I open my eyes, frantically searching for his, gotta tell him, please, understand, because I can't talk enough to say 'come with me'...


He's thrusting into me, deep, long strokes that burn and soothe. I feel like a bow that's been drawn too tight and everything in me is screaming for release.

His head is on my shoulder, his soft, wet hair along my neck, my jaw and I scratch my fingers up his back, bucking up against him with each twist of his hips.

Then suddenly his head comes up and his eyes are locked on mine. His cock feels larger inside me, harder, hotter and I'm trapped in his stare. It seems to reach inside of me, I can feel him touch places in my mind that no one has ever been with his silence.

I feel something break in us and the heat of his come fills me. He pumps into me and the friction of him against my cock, the feel of his orgasm sends me over the edge and I'm kissing him, spilling hot between us.

We haven't spoken a word to each other and yet I feel like I know him better than anyone I've ever met. And I know that as long as I know him, there will never be long conversations between us, that there will never be a reason for them. I know that we will always just have to look at each other to find answers for questions we didn't realize we were asking. He will always be able to find heat and lust and strength in my arms and in my eyes and I will always be able to come to him for comfort, for release, for communion.

We will leave here. The same way we came in. Alone and confident. And when we meet again it will be with the same aggression. The same tension. And he will taste as good as I remember and his ass will fit into the palms of my hands just as perfectly as it does right now.


Winter and I wanted to do something different. And most of this was from her original idea. I'd like to thank her for giving me the opportunity to write with her and experiment, stretch the boundaries on our creativeness. She is wonderful and patient and I love her. ::smooches Winter::

Happy Thanksgiving Eve to everyone that celebrates such things.

::hugs and rude groping::
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