stinglikeabee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stinglikeabee) wrote2009-08-20 03:03 pm
stinglikeabee) wrote2009-08-20 03:03 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: A Taste, R
Title: A Taste
Characters/Pairings: The Question/Denny Colt (The Spirit)
Rating: R
Summary: Denny's doppelganger drops by with a bottle of whiskey.
Word count: 564
Prompt: Adorable
Disclaimer: DC ownsmy soul the characters
Notes: For the DC Kink Meme! Because I read the prompt and thought, 'Oh crap, I may just need to write this one' no matter how sorry I was to Will Eisner. PS how wrong is me using the icon. PPS I may, or may not, have notes for more.
Somewhere in the haze of booze and good mood there was bound to be a pesky worry about the simple fact that the two were men and men didn't usually get drunk and feel each other up, but Denny could easily forget that when he was on his knees and the other man was casually ripping the buttons off his shirt.
'Could explain a few things,' Denny murmured, shutting his eyes. Skilled fingers worked his nipples, kneading and flicking and stroking, building up the heat that was going straight to his groin. Denny bit his lip, barely managing to swallow a moan as he felt the man reach down into his trousers and squeeze.
Was it only a moment ago that his faceless doppelganger in a blue suit and yellow shirt had walked into his office with a bottle of whiskey as a peace offering? Half the bottle had gone when they'd fallen on the leather couch, and the Question's hand shot out and grabbed his red tie.
'I can find a better use for this,' he had said and Denny let him, watching as if drugged, the tie slipping from the collar and disappearing into thin air. Then he glanced down at his hands and saw it had somehow wound its way around his wrists, and he was wrapped up like a Christmas present.
Who knew Denny would fall for it again? But now he had more important things to concentrate on, namely the leather gloved fingers in his mouth. He bit down obediently and sucked on the fingertips.
'Like how you taste?' the Question said against his ear. Denny leaned his head back against the man's shoulder, and rolled his eyes heavenward when a fist pumped up and down his cock. 'Maybe I should have a taste, too.'
Denny moaned around those fingers. It was crazy; he'd never felt so needy and hot, like he'd combust at any second. It could be the alcohol - was it spiked? Or the old concussion playing up again. Maybe it was because the Question was wearing the Spirit's mask and the implication of that caused Denny to buck his hips wildly, and ask for more...
'Denny.'
Denny opened his eyes. What was that, a dream? He raised a hand to his jaw. 'Ugh. I was drooling.'
'You really can't take your liquor, can you?'
He turned sharply to the side and immediately regretted it, rubbing his sore neck. 'OW.'
Vic picked up his blue suit jacket off the floor, and Denny studied the way the other man smoothly threw it over his shoulder. 'Water's on the desk. Your coat's on the back of the chair. I gotta head back.'
He tried to get up, felt gravity working against him, and plopped into a half-sitting, half-slouching position on the couch. 'Thanks. Ugh, sorry about crashing on you.' He smoothed out the creases of his shirt, and frowned at presence of the buttons.
'No problem. Oh, and Denny?' He saw the smile before it was hidden by the shadow of Vic's fedora. 'You talk in your sleep.'
The door shut behind Vic with a quiet click. Denny curled up into a ball, waited until the footfalls grew distant, then smacked his head against the seat cushions repeatedly. Ellen was right: he was a pervert.
Characters/Pairings: The Question/Denny Colt (The Spirit)
Rating: R
Summary: Denny's doppelganger drops by with a bottle of whiskey.
Word count: 564
Prompt: Adorable
Disclaimer: DC owns
Notes: For the DC Kink Meme! Because I read the prompt and thought, 'Oh crap, I may just need to write this one' no matter how sorry I was to Will Eisner. PS how wrong is me using the icon. PPS I may, or may not, have notes for more.
Somewhere in the haze of booze and good mood there was bound to be a pesky worry about the simple fact that the two were men and men didn't usually get drunk and feel each other up, but Denny could easily forget that when he was on his knees and the other man was casually ripping the buttons off his shirt.
'Could explain a few things,' Denny murmured, shutting his eyes. Skilled fingers worked his nipples, kneading and flicking and stroking, building up the heat that was going straight to his groin. Denny bit his lip, barely managing to swallow a moan as he felt the man reach down into his trousers and squeeze.
Was it only a moment ago that his faceless doppelganger in a blue suit and yellow shirt had walked into his office with a bottle of whiskey as a peace offering? Half the bottle had gone when they'd fallen on the leather couch, and the Question's hand shot out and grabbed his red tie.
'I can find a better use for this,' he had said and Denny let him, watching as if drugged, the tie slipping from the collar and disappearing into thin air. Then he glanced down at his hands and saw it had somehow wound its way around his wrists, and he was wrapped up like a Christmas present.
Who knew Denny would fall for it again? But now he had more important things to concentrate on, namely the leather gloved fingers in his mouth. He bit down obediently and sucked on the fingertips.
'Like how you taste?' the Question said against his ear. Denny leaned his head back against the man's shoulder, and rolled his eyes heavenward when a fist pumped up and down his cock. 'Maybe I should have a taste, too.'
Denny moaned around those fingers. It was crazy; he'd never felt so needy and hot, like he'd combust at any second. It could be the alcohol - was it spiked? Or the old concussion playing up again. Maybe it was because the Question was wearing the Spirit's mask and the implication of that caused Denny to buck his hips wildly, and ask for more...
'Denny.'
Denny opened his eyes. What was that, a dream? He raised a hand to his jaw. 'Ugh. I was drooling.'
'You really can't take your liquor, can you?'
He turned sharply to the side and immediately regretted it, rubbing his sore neck. 'OW.'
Vic picked up his blue suit jacket off the floor, and Denny studied the way the other man smoothly threw it over his shoulder. 'Water's on the desk. Your coat's on the back of the chair. I gotta head back.'
He tried to get up, felt gravity working against him, and plopped into a half-sitting, half-slouching position on the couch. 'Thanks. Ugh, sorry about crashing on you.' He smoothed out the creases of his shirt, and frowned at presence of the buttons.
'No problem. Oh, and Denny?' He saw the smile before it was hidden by the shadow of Vic's fedora. 'You talk in your sleep.'
The door shut behind Vic with a quiet click. Denny curled up into a ball, waited until the footfalls grew distant, then smacked his head against the seat cushions repeatedly. Ellen was right: he was a pervert.