[identity profile] just1tearforme.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] nickngreg
Title: Qualities of Gold
Author: just1tearforme
Rating: NC17
Summary: Shamelessly PWP! Written for Porn Battle VII prompt: makeup.

“I thought you’d be home sooner.” Nick hears in greeting the moment he crosses the threshold. Long toes, the nails painted dark purple maybe black, curl and flex into the sofa arm. They lead up Greg’s semi-tanned legs to a miniskirt rucked up above his hips, the perfect display for him slowly jacking his dick. His eyelids flutter, body does a little shimmy as he firms his grip a little tighter, lower lip dragging from between his teeth. As his eyes open fully the sudden realization that they’re edged with kohl and hints of silver-green shadow makes itself apparent. His free hand slips between his legs as they sprawl further apart. “I had a little time on my hands…” Rhythmically, the tips of two long fingers dip in and out of his body. The waiting response – I stopped to get a treat to celebrate your promotion – evaporates. Instead, the side table rattles with the heavy drop of the wine bottle Nick had been holding.

“… a lot of time on my hands…” Nick’s cock practically flies up in his face as fumbles open his fly watching one of their toys disappear into Greg’s body. It slides in so easily but not far. Greg mumbles unintelligible words, tightly gripping the base of his erection. Nick’s pants are decorating the rug before the lube glistening silicone hits the floor. Cock in hand, he sinks to the sofa, guiding himself inside. Full-bodied sounds echo in his ears as he slides in completely. Sloppily, messily, they kiss with abandon creating smears of gold-tinted glittery lip balm. It tastes vaguely of oranges. His eyes briefly close, a leg over his shoulder allowing deepest penetration – closest connection. Sharp biting nails dig into sides, lower back. Go. Muscles tighten, stretch; beneath his hand skating up the leg snaked around his back. Short thrusts, all they can manage. Faster. No fancy moves this time, just the rapid battering of nerves that tell hidden muscles to clench around him. Slick sweat eased friction of skin against skin; inner thigh to his hip, fingers to every reachable inch of skin, nails scoring mindless tessellations. So… so… ff-Ni- The barest touch and his hand is coated, a few drops mingling with the sweat drenched crumpled mini. –ck… Salt explodes across his tongue, teeth marking the shoulder beneath him as his body pulses and drains out.

Gold smudges across Greg’s skin, a few peculiarly shaped stripes decorating his shoulder. It smells like sex – musk – sweat, oranges, each other. Teasingly, his tongue guides Nick’s come coated fingers into his mouth. They telegraph vibrations along the whole arm as he alternates long strokes of his tongue and sucking the length of each finger. Gentle tracing of fingers down Nick’s spine wrings a shudder from toes upward. Following further, a fingertip circles the ringed edge of muscle and pushes in one knuckle at a time. Red wine splatters everywhere as the bottle shatters on the floor.


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