Friday, February 28, 2014
Sorry did you say 10? I read 13 8D
(actually I wouldn’t do 10 for most of my characters, I’m gonna pretend it doesn’t exist)
(Not that I’m gonna take any new prompts after this one ;) it’s been long enough)
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
(my head canon is that any shirt Eph wears automatically sprouts hawaii print)
Thursday, January 23, 2014
30 days challenge NSFW - 4. Masturbation
The polished leather of the armchair creaked as Remert’s foot slipped, the hippy making a small sound of dismay as he had to scramble for purchase. His skin was starting to get slippery due to the effect of his own hand rapidly stroking his dick. The hippy readjusted his position, pushing his pelvis out and reinstalling his bare feet on the edge of the chair’s seat.
“Open your legs wider.” There was the sound of a deep inhale, before sweet-smelling smoke was blown out between them, curling up towards the ceiling. “I can’t see properly.”
“A-aye,” Remert responded, forcing his knees apart more what resulted in a most uncomfortable position for his loins, but at least he would manage to do what was asked. “Amma doin it fair?” It was important to him he’d please the one across from him, he really needed to do this right. He couldn’t botch up again!
“That still remains to be seen.” Sharp grey eyes observed Remert’s every move, from the hand so mindlessly pumping his cock to the way sweat was pearling on his forehead, between the locks of ruddy hair. The redness of his face almost completely camouflaged the array of freckles staining the bridge of his nose, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with a lazy kind of lust. “Why don’t you put your fingers in.”
He wanted to, he really did. But when Remert started to prod at his own hole, the effort he’d made to coming paid off: quite suddenly climaxing in his own hand. He gritted his teeth as a pleasurable warmth washed over him, followed by a sharp feeling of guilt. Seems like he’d botched up again. “Aw feck,” he complained, before realising what he’d said and slapping the back of his hand in front of his mouth, as if he could take his swearing back. “Sorry.”
“That’s quite alright. I hadn’t expected much from your type, anyway.”
Remert frowned, not entirely sure if he’d been insulted just now. What ‘type’ was this Manager talking about anyway? “Cackiest job interview I’ve ever had, this,” the painter uttered, throwing his legs of the armchair and pulling his boxers and bootleg jeans back on.
There was a terrible silence after that.
“…you’re not with the Catering Licence then?” An annoyed frown scrunched up the Manager’s forehead, eyes narrowing at Remert suspiciously.
“Uhr, nay. Though I did do an intern job fer ‘em once or twice,” Remert answered honestly, blinking lazily as he pushed his feet back into the bright red flipflops he’d worn to go with his yellow, orange and red paisley shirt, “Actually, I came ‘ere fer the job interview mister…” He faltered. “…miss- uhrr…” A sharp look from the one behind the desk had Remert gulp, cheeks reddening. “…Manager?” he tried in the end.
“Françis is fine,” the Manager groaned as they rubbed their temples and shook their head. For a moment Remert wondered what he’d done to make the situation so awkward. Maybe it were his bright red flipflops that irked the manager of Petit Four or maybe it was him being slow on the uptake. Either way, he had done his best for this interview but it seemed his best wasn’t good enough. Remert pouted. He really did need a part-time job to pay for painting supplies.
“You should go now,” the Manager told him, pipe forgotten on a small stand of the desk in front of them. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone else.”
Remert had heard about employee confidentiality (at least, he thought he remembered it being called this), so he would keep his mouth shut until his scatterbrain would bring it up accidentally in a chat. “So uhm…” the hippy checked, as he held still by the door of the office, “Amma gettin the job?”
The Manager made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t call us, Mr Brennan. We’ll call you.”
Not exactly sure how to take that parting shot, Remert slipped out of the office and encountered an uncontrollably snickering Eph in the hallway. Remert trudged past him, not even bothering being upset with him. Just because they’d slept together once, didn’t mean they owed each other anything. Still…
“Real cute, ye fecking gobshite,” Remert mumbled in passing as he started to realise he’d been played by the dark-skinned ish with the terrible Hawaii shirt, “Tha’s the last time I’ll be takin yer advise!”