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edenfallingI get a lot of my ideas from dreams. I don't think this is particularly common, but it's always worked for me -- mostly because I tend to dream in narrative form. Also, my dreams are weird. Even the most normal dream I've had in a long time (going to a family reunion with my mom, and having my clothes intermittently vanish as we walked through a park) was simply an interlude in a saga about a giant locked up in an attic with a tiny golden key, and people searching through a lighthouse to find the key because the giant, named Albertus Maximus, was needed to fight an evil witch. I was supposed to go to the lighthouse but the family reunion interrupted.
In any case, I had a dream a few months back in which Indiana Jones and Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer were having sex and discussing anal sex as related to oral sex. I decided this was damn weird even for me, and tried to ignore it... except it decided it wanted to be written even when I don't have a good working familiarity with Buffy or Indy canon. So I switched Indy for Bill Weasley (hey, it sort of works) and invented a Muggle librarian named Greg Atkins. And the story went philosophical on me as usual, and they wouldn't shut up about reciprocity and equality in relationships, but hey, I finally finished it this evening!
It's called "Wearing Thin," and is somewhere around a medium R rating.
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They walked to the front room and up the stairs to the first floor. Bill made certain to step on every creaky floorboard, grinning at Greg's suppressed winces. Greg knew, logically, that the groaning, cracking sounds could not carry to his neighbors, but he had always been an intensely private person. The thought that others might realize what he and Bill were about to do burned in his stomach. Ten years knowing his orientation, he thought, two years of therapy, and acceptance by his family, grudging though it was, and he was still terrified of exposure.
There were times he very badly wanted to be promiscuous and flaunt himself before all of England, but those dreams were no more practical than the ones of breaking Bill's wand. Mmm. Breaking a wand... there was something Freudian about that image, he thought, trying to drag his mind away from shame and fear. Bill did not deserve to be saddled with his lover's sexual hang-ups.
"I haven't ever asked," he began as Bill shut the bedroom door behind them, "but do wizards have sexual jokes about wands?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, and broomsticks too. You should hear the ones about Quidditch -- a game where you ride a broomstick and play with four balls. Too much opportunity there."
Greg blinked. "Yes, I suppose there would be." He sat on the end of his double bed and began unlacing his shoes. Bill simply yanked off his boots and bundled his robes over his head. He wasn't wearing much underneath, merely boxers, socks, a spring-loaded wrist holster for his wand, and a short-sleeved shirt that pulled up as he stretched. His fang earring glinted in the artificial light. Greg shivered, watching as Bill moved to the dresser, unbound his hair, and ran a brush through it. Greg's brush. In Bill's hair.
"You can watch me all you want, but don't stop what you're doing." Bill didn't turn as he spoke, but his eyes met Greg's in the dresser mirror, each staring at the other's reflection. Greg swallowed and began unbuttoning his shirt.
His trousers were a little harder to remove, both because he was watching Bill and because his fingers brushed over his growing erection while fumbling for the belt buckle and zipper. Greg hissed softly, closing his eyes for a moment, only to open them in startled shock as Bill's fingers took over the abandoned task. His head was bent over Greg's lap, red hair falling in a straggly curtain that obscured Greg's view of what Bill's hands were doing. He could feel it, however; he could definitely feel it.
"Never did understand briefs," muttered Bill, as he hooked his fingers under the elastic of Greg's underpants. His breath tickled as he spoke. "I'm not as bad as some wizards -- don't wear a bloody thing under their robes -- but briefs... ugh." He pulled Greg's trousers and briefs downwards, leaving warm friction marks where Greg had been sitting.
Greg yanked Bill's shirt upwards and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Pfah!" Bill spit the fabric from his mouth and rocked backwards, sitting heavily onto the carpet. He glared at Greg over a collar of wadded shirt. "That was cruel."
"It was justified retribution," said Greg, trying to appear dignified despite the trousers pooled around his ankles. He kicked his feet free of the fabric and leaned forward, pushing his legs apart and bracing his hands on his knees. "Take off your boxers; if I'm naked, you have no right to be clothed."
"Aah, you just want an eyeful," said Bill. He briefly disappeared behind his shirt, then slung it aside and stripped off his boxers. "William Weasley, for your approval." He rested a hand on his right hip and thrust his pelvis forward.
Greg stared at Bill's erection. He never ceased to be fascinated by how attractive it was, when by all logic it should appear ridiculous or mildly disturbing. Certainly his own penis was mostly a source of embarrassment.
"You pass inspection," he managed to say.
Bill sat beside him on the bed and nudged his leg with a sock-covered foot. "In case you wondered, you pass too. Can we get on with it?"
Greg nodded and reached for the other man, who caught his hands and tipped them both back onto the bed.
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Anyway, it's still un-betaed, but the full version will probably appear on The Dark Arts in a few weeks.
Still not packed! Wah! And my grandmother is coming with my dad and wants to see my room and it's a mess and I need to vacuum! *wails and dives under the covers* If I curl up really tight, I can pretend it's not happening.
In any case, I had a dream a few months back in which Indiana Jones and Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer were having sex and discussing anal sex as related to oral sex. I decided this was damn weird even for me, and tried to ignore it... except it decided it wanted to be written even when I don't have a good working familiarity with Buffy or Indy canon. So I switched Indy for Bill Weasley (hey, it sort of works) and invented a Muggle librarian named Greg Atkins. And the story went philosophical on me as usual, and they wouldn't shut up about reciprocity and equality in relationships, but hey, I finally finished it this evening!
It's called "Wearing Thin," and is somewhere around a medium R rating.
---------------------------------------------
They walked to the front room and up the stairs to the first floor. Bill made certain to step on every creaky floorboard, grinning at Greg's suppressed winces. Greg knew, logically, that the groaning, cracking sounds could not carry to his neighbors, but he had always been an intensely private person. The thought that others might realize what he and Bill were about to do burned in his stomach. Ten years knowing his orientation, he thought, two years of therapy, and acceptance by his family, grudging though it was, and he was still terrified of exposure.
There were times he very badly wanted to be promiscuous and flaunt himself before all of England, but those dreams were no more practical than the ones of breaking Bill's wand. Mmm. Breaking a wand... there was something Freudian about that image, he thought, trying to drag his mind away from shame and fear. Bill did not deserve to be saddled with his lover's sexual hang-ups.
"I haven't ever asked," he began as Bill shut the bedroom door behind them, "but do wizards have sexual jokes about wands?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, and broomsticks too. You should hear the ones about Quidditch -- a game where you ride a broomstick and play with four balls. Too much opportunity there."
Greg blinked. "Yes, I suppose there would be." He sat on the end of his double bed and began unlacing his shoes. Bill simply yanked off his boots and bundled his robes over his head. He wasn't wearing much underneath, merely boxers, socks, a spring-loaded wrist holster for his wand, and a short-sleeved shirt that pulled up as he stretched. His fang earring glinted in the artificial light. Greg shivered, watching as Bill moved to the dresser, unbound his hair, and ran a brush through it. Greg's brush. In Bill's hair.
"You can watch me all you want, but don't stop what you're doing." Bill didn't turn as he spoke, but his eyes met Greg's in the dresser mirror, each staring at the other's reflection. Greg swallowed and began unbuttoning his shirt.
His trousers were a little harder to remove, both because he was watching Bill and because his fingers brushed over his growing erection while fumbling for the belt buckle and zipper. Greg hissed softly, closing his eyes for a moment, only to open them in startled shock as Bill's fingers took over the abandoned task. His head was bent over Greg's lap, red hair falling in a straggly curtain that obscured Greg's view of what Bill's hands were doing. He could feel it, however; he could definitely feel it.
"Never did understand briefs," muttered Bill, as he hooked his fingers under the elastic of Greg's underpants. His breath tickled as he spoke. "I'm not as bad as some wizards -- don't wear a bloody thing under their robes -- but briefs... ugh." He pulled Greg's trousers and briefs downwards, leaving warm friction marks where Greg had been sitting.
Greg yanked Bill's shirt upwards and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Pfah!" Bill spit the fabric from his mouth and rocked backwards, sitting heavily onto the carpet. He glared at Greg over a collar of wadded shirt. "That was cruel."
"It was justified retribution," said Greg, trying to appear dignified despite the trousers pooled around his ankles. He kicked his feet free of the fabric and leaned forward, pushing his legs apart and bracing his hands on his knees. "Take off your boxers; if I'm naked, you have no right to be clothed."
"Aah, you just want an eyeful," said Bill. He briefly disappeared behind his shirt, then slung it aside and stripped off his boxers. "William Weasley, for your approval." He rested a hand on his right hip and thrust his pelvis forward.
Greg stared at Bill's erection. He never ceased to be fascinated by how attractive it was, when by all logic it should appear ridiculous or mildly disturbing. Certainly his own penis was mostly a source of embarrassment.
"You pass inspection," he managed to say.
Bill sat beside him on the bed and nudged his leg with a sock-covered foot. "In case you wondered, you pass too. Can we get on with it?"
Greg nodded and reached for the other man, who caught his hands and tipped them both back onto the bed.
---------------------------------------------
Anyway, it's still un-betaed, but the full version will probably appear on The Dark Arts in a few weeks.
Still not packed! Wah! And my grandmother is coming with my dad and wants to see my room and it's a mess and I need to vacuum! *wails and dives under the covers* If I curl up really tight, I can pretend it's not happening.
