![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
I foolishly thought that I could get through Fringe without shipping anything, but nope. When I broke, I broke hard. In lieu of drawbling for Porn Battle, I wrote instead. Drawing currently and taking my time to get the lighting right. I like this image. :D I'm also excited about all the things in my queue. So much fun stuff to draw.
Tangled
Fringe. Peter/Olivia. R. 550 words. Pegging.
In the great big list of worst times to think of Walter, this holds the number one spot.
He thinks of Walter at the worst times. It's no surprise, but in the great big list of worst times to think of Walter, this holds the number one spot.
“Give me a second.” Peter opens his eyes to reorient himself to time and place. He flexes his hands, one after the other, and takes in slow, measured breaths. His skin feels two sizes too tight, and he thinks that if there is a next time, he'll insist on restraints. They won't help keep him anchored, but they'll keep him from worrying what to do with his hands.
“Is it too much?” Olivia's concern is enough to force up the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile.
“No, it's fine.” It's a lie in all the right ways, and he hopes Olivia recognises that. In some ways it really is too much--the crash of sensation, the way it's difficult to untangle the mix of hard and soft that is Olivia on the best days let alone now when she's got him pinned to the bed with a few inches of silicone thrust up inside him.
Just thinking it to himself starts getting him hard again. Initial penetration hadn't been easy, but even if it pains him to admit that Walter had been right, Peter knew that he had trust issues. The smile threatens to develop into a laugh. Even now it's too tough to let down all the walls, and besides, he's busy mentally underlining number one worst time possible.
“It's okay,” he says, and gets a glimpse in Olivia's eyes of the same sort of uncertainty that twists in his chest. He reaches up to touch her face, stroke his thumbs over the flush of arousal that pinks her cheeks. “Keep going.”
Her weight seems slight and yet she bears him into the mattress. The rhythm she sets nearly sends him floating again, succeeds in turning everything around them hazy and indistinct. Peter keeps his eyes open, focuses entirely on Olivia and how he wants to kiss her so badly it stings in the back of his throat. This he knows she can read with the way her eyes scrunch closed. A whine rises in Olivia's throat before a harsh gasp of pleasure cuts it short. She's bottomed out in him, mouth finding its way from slack surprise to exhilaration. She stays for a moment at the peak of the thrust, harness grinding against her clit. Now more than kissing her, Peter wants to sneak a hand down to where she stretches him open and the slickness of lube mingles with her wetness.
He keeps his hands cradling her face, stays pliant beneath her and bites his lip. Olivia fucks him slow, with purpose, and her eyes open only to slide shut when she shifts to hold her weight on one hand to lift the other and clasp Peter's wrist. Turning her face into his palm, Olivia presses a kiss there, folds his fingers down over it like a keepsake.
“Thanks,” he says, and is surprised when she curls over him, breasts warm and soft against his chest.
Olivia whispers, “You're welcome,” straight against his lips. Her mouth hovers there, trembling, and Peter knows they've got a long way to go but unlike everything around them that's one thing at least that's natural.
Tangled
Fringe. Peter/Olivia. R. 550 words. Pegging.
In the great big list of worst times to think of Walter, this holds the number one spot.
Tangled
He thinks of Walter at the worst times. It's no surprise, but in the great big list of worst times to think of Walter, this holds the number one spot.
“Give me a second.” Peter opens his eyes to reorient himself to time and place. He flexes his hands, one after the other, and takes in slow, measured breaths. His skin feels two sizes too tight, and he thinks that if there is a next time, he'll insist on restraints. They won't help keep him anchored, but they'll keep him from worrying what to do with his hands.
“Is it too much?” Olivia's concern is enough to force up the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile.
“No, it's fine.” It's a lie in all the right ways, and he hopes Olivia recognises that. In some ways it really is too much--the crash of sensation, the way it's difficult to untangle the mix of hard and soft that is Olivia on the best days let alone now when she's got him pinned to the bed with a few inches of silicone thrust up inside him.
Just thinking it to himself starts getting him hard again. Initial penetration hadn't been easy, but even if it pains him to admit that Walter had been right, Peter knew that he had trust issues. The smile threatens to develop into a laugh. Even now it's too tough to let down all the walls, and besides, he's busy mentally underlining number one worst time possible.
“It's okay,” he says, and gets a glimpse in Olivia's eyes of the same sort of uncertainty that twists in his chest. He reaches up to touch her face, stroke his thumbs over the flush of arousal that pinks her cheeks. “Keep going.”
Her weight seems slight and yet she bears him into the mattress. The rhythm she sets nearly sends him floating again, succeeds in turning everything around them hazy and indistinct. Peter keeps his eyes open, focuses entirely on Olivia and how he wants to kiss her so badly it stings in the back of his throat. This he knows she can read with the way her eyes scrunch closed. A whine rises in Olivia's throat before a harsh gasp of pleasure cuts it short. She's bottomed out in him, mouth finding its way from slack surprise to exhilaration. She stays for a moment at the peak of the thrust, harness grinding against her clit. Now more than kissing her, Peter wants to sneak a hand down to where she stretches him open and the slickness of lube mingles with her wetness.
He keeps his hands cradling her face, stays pliant beneath her and bites his lip. Olivia fucks him slow, with purpose, and her eyes open only to slide shut when she shifts to hold her weight on one hand to lift the other and clasp Peter's wrist. Turning her face into his palm, Olivia presses a kiss there, folds his fingers down over it like a keepsake.
“Thanks,” he says, and is surprised when she curls over him, breasts warm and soft against his chest.
Olivia whispers, “You're welcome,” straight against his lips. Her mouth hovers there, trembling, and Peter knows they've got a long way to go but unlike everything around them that's one thing at least that's natural.
*
End
Great job! :D
Nice :)