storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-01-28 10:52 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-01-28 10:52 pm
Riptides (George/Mason)
Title: Riptides
Length: 825 words
Prompt: Porn Battle VII: Dead Like Me, George/Mason, first, kissing, shower, naked, beauty
Pairing: Mason/George; hints of Mason/Daisy
Other: NC-17 for explicit sex
Excerpt: He caught her coming out of the shower, sure, and no one would believe it was an accident when he told them afterwards. Mason didn't run into naked women by accident.
He caught her coming out of the shower, sure, and no one would believe it was an accident when he told them afterwards. Mason didn't run into naked women by accident.
"And naked women don't run into you by choice," Rube said, further. "Now, where's George? Being seen naked, even by an idiot, is not an excuse for missing work."
"I'll take hers, okay?" Mason said, frowning as Daisy giggled behind her hand. She was pretty, sure, but only when she was quiet. He had enoguh sense to realize that.
Whereas George...
He took the Post-Its from Rube, short-changed the waitress a dollar, and headed out into the rain.
*
It was an accident, really. He just wanted to know if she wanted to hang out for a while. He was bored.
He picked the lock just for fun (Daisy never let him in if he knocked, anyway). And she was standing right there, without a towel. It was a beautiful sight, except for the look on her face.
She was just eighteen. Sometimes Mason forgot that; she had the cynicism of a senior citizen. But her breasts were high, her nipples dark, and the patch of hair between her thighs was still damp.
"Hi, George," he said, and his voice squeaked like a fifteen-year-old's.
She stalked into the bedroom (he watched her ass with pleasure), and came back in a ratty blue bathrobe, her eyes daring him to comment. Instead of fleeing, which is what he felt like doing, he perched on the edge of a chair. She took a seat on the couch in front of him, crossing her legs and probably revealing more flesh than she intended to.
"I heard you with the lock," she said. "You couldn't have knocked?"
"Honing my skills," he said, grinning rakishly, and then he frowned. "Why would you greet a burglar like that?"
"It makes a good distraction," she said, turning away as a blush crept onto her cheeks. It was oddly cute, for George, and he grinned again.
"Good shower?"
Mason always pushed the envelope; it was a character trait he couldn't overcome. He pushed until something broke-- usually himself-- but he couldn't stop trying.
"I was enjoying it until someone broke into my house," she said, crossing her legs in the other direction. His eyes followed the curve of her thigh.
"Don't let me keep you," he said, gesturing grandly.
She bit her lip and studied him for a moment. He wasn't sure what she was thinking.
I'm dead, I'm lonely, and I'll hate myself for this, George's inner narrator sighed, but she stood up and untied the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor.
"Are you coming?"
He boggled, but only for a minute. She walked back down the hallway and before she disappeared around the corner he was up, kicking his shoes off and shedding clothing as he went.
She'd left the water on and he could feel the heat as he stepped into the bathroom. She was waiting by the tub and he was aroused just seeing her there, with one leg on the tub wall.
They fucked with little prelude. He followed her into the shower, his hands on her breasts as he pressed her against the wall and took her from behind. She moaned and grunted, cursed and bit, her hips rolling back to meet his.
His hand crept down and found her clit. He rubbed in the way his first lover had taught him and she dug her nails into his arm.
When she came, she screamed, something primal and satisfied, and he followed after, riding her waves. Without being asked, he stepped back out of hte shower, shaking off water like a dog, and he let her finish her wash in peace.
When she emerged, the bathroom was empty. She put on a towel and wandered into her bedroom to comb her hair. Mason was on her bed, wearing boxers and a self-satisfied smile.
"We won't speak of this again," she said, gazing into the mirror and frowning at her hairbrush. Mason noticed the lovebite bruising just above the place a shirtcollar would lay, and said nothing about it.
"Okay," he said, stretching. "Round two?"
"Round two is get the fuck out of my house before I show you how much I regret doing that," she said, thrusting the comb through her hair in angry strokes. Mason shrugged and got up, collecting his clothes as he went.
The door slammed and George looked at herself in the mirror.
"Fuck," she said again, for good measure.
*
Mason's 12:10 was halfway across the city from George's 1:30, and he barely made it in time to save T. Harrison from several illuminating hours with a fencepost through his chest.
"Fuck," Mason said, panting, as the ambulances wailed in the distance. He put his hand on his forehead.
It had been worth it, just the same.
Length: 825 words
Prompt: Porn Battle VII: Dead Like Me, George/Mason, first, kissing, shower, naked, beauty
Pairing: Mason/George; hints of Mason/Daisy
Other: NC-17 for explicit sex
Excerpt: He caught her coming out of the shower, sure, and no one would believe it was an accident when he told them afterwards. Mason didn't run into naked women by accident.
He caught her coming out of the shower, sure, and no one would believe it was an accident when he told them afterwards. Mason didn't run into naked women by accident.
"And naked women don't run into you by choice," Rube said, further. "Now, where's George? Being seen naked, even by an idiot, is not an excuse for missing work."
"I'll take hers, okay?" Mason said, frowning as Daisy giggled behind her hand. She was pretty, sure, but only when she was quiet. He had enoguh sense to realize that.
Whereas George...
He took the Post-Its from Rube, short-changed the waitress a dollar, and headed out into the rain.
*
It was an accident, really. He just wanted to know if she wanted to hang out for a while. He was bored.
He picked the lock just for fun (Daisy never let him in if he knocked, anyway). And she was standing right there, without a towel. It was a beautiful sight, except for the look on her face.
She was just eighteen. Sometimes Mason forgot that; she had the cynicism of a senior citizen. But her breasts were high, her nipples dark, and the patch of hair between her thighs was still damp.
"Hi, George," he said, and his voice squeaked like a fifteen-year-old's.
She stalked into the bedroom (he watched her ass with pleasure), and came back in a ratty blue bathrobe, her eyes daring him to comment. Instead of fleeing, which is what he felt like doing, he perched on the edge of a chair. She took a seat on the couch in front of him, crossing her legs and probably revealing more flesh than she intended to.
"I heard you with the lock," she said. "You couldn't have knocked?"
"Honing my skills," he said, grinning rakishly, and then he frowned. "Why would you greet a burglar like that?"
"It makes a good distraction," she said, turning away as a blush crept onto her cheeks. It was oddly cute, for George, and he grinned again.
"Good shower?"
Mason always pushed the envelope; it was a character trait he couldn't overcome. He pushed until something broke-- usually himself-- but he couldn't stop trying.
"I was enjoying it until someone broke into my house," she said, crossing her legs in the other direction. His eyes followed the curve of her thigh.
"Don't let me keep you," he said, gesturing grandly.
She bit her lip and studied him for a moment. He wasn't sure what she was thinking.
I'm dead, I'm lonely, and I'll hate myself for this, George's inner narrator sighed, but she stood up and untied the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor.
"Are you coming?"
He boggled, but only for a minute. She walked back down the hallway and before she disappeared around the corner he was up, kicking his shoes off and shedding clothing as he went.
She'd left the water on and he could feel the heat as he stepped into the bathroom. She was waiting by the tub and he was aroused just seeing her there, with one leg on the tub wall.
They fucked with little prelude. He followed her into the shower, his hands on her breasts as he pressed her against the wall and took her from behind. She moaned and grunted, cursed and bit, her hips rolling back to meet his.
His hand crept down and found her clit. He rubbed in the way his first lover had taught him and she dug her nails into his arm.
When she came, she screamed, something primal and satisfied, and he followed after, riding her waves. Without being asked, he stepped back out of hte shower, shaking off water like a dog, and he let her finish her wash in peace.
When she emerged, the bathroom was empty. She put on a towel and wandered into her bedroom to comb her hair. Mason was on her bed, wearing boxers and a self-satisfied smile.
"We won't speak of this again," she said, gazing into the mirror and frowning at her hairbrush. Mason noticed the lovebite bruising just above the place a shirtcollar would lay, and said nothing about it.
"Okay," he said, stretching. "Round two?"
"Round two is get the fuck out of my house before I show you how much I regret doing that," she said, thrusting the comb through her hair in angry strokes. Mason shrugged and got up, collecting his clothes as he went.
The door slammed and George looked at herself in the mirror.
"Fuck," she said again, for good measure.
*
Mason's 12:10 was halfway across the city from George's 1:30, and he barely made it in time to save T. Harrison from several illuminating hours with a fencepost through his chest.
"Fuck," Mason said, panting, as the ambulances wailed in the distance. He put his hand on his forehead.
It had been worth it, just the same.