Posting in reply to this comment in an effort not to totally confuse people and disrupt grenegome's amazing fill.
Explicit, plotless sequel to Goodnight and Big Balls, but should be able to stand alone. http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=3247644#t3247644
-----
If you’d have asked me, I’d never have pegged the Queen of Air and Darkness for the pen-pal type. But the letter I had stuffed into the inside pocket of my jacket-- the eleventh in seven weeks-- seemed to beg otherwise. “H&M,” I said, waving casually to the receptionists, each watching me with half-tilted heads and bright eyes. “Keeping it real, girls?”
H tipped her head the other way and then back, and M scratched distractedly through the finish on her desk.
“I should be passing by Mardi Gras in a few days,” I continued on, blithely. We’re building a good relationship. I’m sure of it. “Want me to bring you back some beads? Token of our budding friendship?” I smiled widely. “I’ll get them the traditional way and everything.”
That was the trick; no obligation of debt, on my part or theirs. H settled down in her seat, shoulders fluttering under her suit jacket; M drew her hand back from destroying the office furniture and pressed a button, indicated the office.
“Let me know if you have any color requests,” I shot over my shoulder, and disappeared through the door.
Nothing in the literature had prepared me for the All Father being of the correspondence persuasion either, but just as many missives had been returned to my Queen as I’d delivered, and I couldn’t say I minded. The literature had prepared me for his more handsy persuasion, although that he’d have any interest in my notable lack-of-curves and creamy white thighs had been more of a surprise.
“Greetings to the All Father, known as Wodin, called Donar Vadderung, from my most gracious Queen, she of the Unseelie Court, of all Winter beauty and darkness, called Mab. I bring you her tidings; she bids me to your service for the time of our appointment, and hopes I find you well.” I pulled the rolled-up scroll from my pocket as I recited the greeting, presenting it with a flourish-- not quite suppressing the cheeky edge of my smile. So I was looking forward to this; it’s not like it made me a bad person. I enjoy the perqs of my job when and where they come.
Ahem.
Vadderung leaned comfortably back in the large chair behind his large desk, one blue eye sparkling. “Punctual as always, Knight of Winter,” he said, voice deep and, well, large, like a summer storm rumbling on the horizon.
There was a theme around Vadderung: he was giant. Not literally; I’d met giants. But, he was massive. Immense. Enormous. Standing, I had to look up to meet his gaze. Way, way up. He had a good foot on me-- and when you’re almost seven feet tall, that’s saying a lot-- and something about him was just bigger. The breadth of his shoulders, his chest, all of his proportions. I needed both my hands to get a good grip around one of his biceps; I needed my whole arm to wrap around one of his thighs.
“That’s me,” I said cheerfully. “Mister-Right-on-time.” And I wasn’t stupid enough to insult a actual god-- okay, correction. I wasn’t stupid enough to accidentally insult an actual god or piss off Mab by showing up late when I knew better and could avoid it. Plus, it was kind of a booty call; I was keeping it polite. It had taken a while for me to get there-- in general, not in particular-- but I liked these visits with the Vadderung.
“Then I bid you approach, Knight Dresden; bring me your Queen’s greetings.” He pushed back in his king-sized chair to let me sneak in between him and the desk. I held out the scroll again-- and with one easy movement, he lifted me from the floor onto his lap, saying hello with a thorough, bristly kiss.
I gave my own back, mmm-ing when he sucked at my top lip, tugged at his with my teeth, used a hand around his neck to leverage myself up for a better angle of attack. I could feel the raw chafing around my mouth from his beard when I finally broke away, panting, and happily traced that line of thought to how that burn would feel on my belly, my thighs, my back, my ass.
“And what does your Queen send to me today, little Knight?” Vadderung asked, swinging me around to sit with my back to his chest, a promise of pressure under my ass, and I wiggled against it, earning myself a chuckle and swat on the thigh.
“I’m afraid I can’t say, my lord Vadderung. I was instructed only to deliver the message, not on its contents.”
“Then you must exercise your patience,” he said, popping the wax seal and unrolling the scroll above my head. I don’t think I was imagining the fondness in his voice, and I definitely wasn’t imagining the hand--at least half again the size of mine-- that came down to rub gentle circles on my thighs and stomach while he read.
I let myself relax, slumping against his big chest-- Stars, you could fit at least four of me side-by-side in front of him, and still not see us from behind-- letting my eyes drift shut, enjoying the attention and casual touch. I get touched a lot more than I used to, these days (well, I get more physical contact in general these days, ifyouknowwhatImean) but this absent-minded, freely-given affection was different than the outright seductions. It was nice, in a no-strings-attached sort of way. It was about touching me because-- I think-- he liked me, and not just because he liked to get in my pants.
“Have I put you to sleep, Harry?” Vadderung’s deep voice rumbled just outside my ear, making me tense up and shiver in a good way, a jolt of all-powerful thunder right to the places that counted. His lips trailed to the spot behind my ear and I rolled my neck, trying to give him more access. “How short a tale you would give me to send back to your Queen.” That was me: Dear Penthouse star of the all-powerful, divine-forces subscriber list.
I twisted around to kiss him, and one of his big hands slid between my thighs, teasing up my inseam. He reached across me and put the paper on his desk, and I had just a moment’s warning before his other hand came down between my legs too, spreading them wide. I let out a very manly squeak, balance tipping, and slid halfway down his lap before he swung me over to splay across his lap horizontally. I burst out laughing and wiggled my ass at him, up and on display where I bent over his legs.
“You are in a pleasing mood today, little one,” he told me, amused. He rubbed two fingers hard between my ass and my balls, lots of pressure and little purchase, the denim of my jeans in the way, and my hips rolled up without thought, trying to get closer, my back curving out.
“Nn. Is that an observation or a request?” I managed, once the stars faded from behind my eyes.
“It can’t be both?” I could hear his grin as he shifted his fingers, giving my balls a friendly little jiggle-- and caught me off-guard with a sharp smack. He did it again and my eyes crossed.
“Woah, woah, no horseplay on the desk!” I scolded him, wide eyes, face innocent. “I’ll get in trouble if Mab finds out I ruined her letter.”
He chuckled. “Then I should take you somewhere a little more sturdy.” He scooped me off his lap and hefted me lightly into his arms, lifting me easily.
I laughed and restrained the urge to kick my feet as he carried me through the halls, the gleaming corporate theme giving way to something a little more rough and wooden, deep in the back of the building where the mortal realm and the Nevernever bled together. He pushed his bedroom door open and swung me to the ground, righting me and spinning me to face the bed: big, solid, strong. About eight miles wide and long enough that not even the Vadderung’s feet were in danger of hanging off the end. My grin grew.
There was another body in the bed-- no shocker, I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m the only mortal pie the Vadderung has his fingers in (and does he ever have talented fingers). I don’t get hurt about it, and once or twice I’ve shared a threesome or moresome with him and his other, ahem, guests.
This one looked promising-- a man, a little padded but not so much that you couldn’t make out the defined, well-used muscles. He had that slack-limbed fucked-out look that the Vadderung hands out like a party favor-- legs splayed and tangled in the blanket, muscular arm thrown over his face. I let my eyes roadtrip from the shadowed hollow of his clavicle down over firm pectorals, slightly rounded stomach, meaty thighs, sturdy calves, big, well-maintained feet. His cock was nestled in a thatch of gunmetal gray hair, a few shades darker than the mostly-salt and slightly-pepper hair on his head, peeping out from under his arm.
“Enjoying the decoration?” A hand the size of a catcher’s mitt caressed my entire ass.
I was going to sprain something if I couldn’t stop grinning. “Wondering if the decoration wanted to join in, or if we should be vewy vewy quiet.”
“He works too hard. But perhaps a sweet dream to send him back to sleep-- you should go ask him,” Vadderung said with a chuckle, as deep and thrilling as distant thunder.
I nodded seriously, toed off my boots, and strolled over to the bed, crawling up to lay a hand on the man’s arm. “Hey,” I murmured, stroking down to his side. “I’m the Vadderung’s two o'clock. Should we leave you to your beauty sleep or do you want to join in?”
“Mm.” A tremor of consciousness slid down the length of his body, back arching, hips rolling, legs stretching to their full length, toes curling as the last few inches of him woke up. “Since you ask so nicely.” He lifted his arm off of his face and caught the back of my neck in one fluid movement, drawing me in for a slow, loose-mouthed kiss. He was a good kisser, mouth plaint and warm, the promise of strength beneath, just waiting for him to wake up and use it. I kissed back, matching my speed to his, using my lips to their advantage, gentle, soft.
Then we rolled over into better light, and mostly disentangled, and really saw each other for the first time.
“...motherfuck,” said John Marcone, as horrified as I’ve ever seen him.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: What Happens In Midgard 1/4
Date: 2011-02-26 05:03 pm (UTC)Explicit, plotless sequel to Goodnight and Big Balls, but should be able to stand alone.
http://scribe-protra.livejournal.com/215580.html?thread=3247644#t3247644
-----
If you’d have asked me, I’d never have pegged the Queen of Air and Darkness for the pen-pal type. But the letter I had stuffed into the inside pocket of my jacket-- the eleventh in seven weeks-- seemed to beg otherwise. “H&M,” I said, waving casually to the receptionists, each watching me with half-tilted heads and bright eyes. “Keeping it real, girls?”
H tipped her head the other way and then back, and M scratched distractedly through the finish on her desk.
“I should be passing by Mardi Gras in a few days,” I continued on, blithely. We’re building a good relationship. I’m sure of it. “Want me to bring you back some beads? Token of our budding friendship?” I smiled widely. “I’ll get them the traditional way and everything.”
That was the trick; no obligation of debt, on my part or theirs. H settled down in her seat, shoulders fluttering under her suit jacket; M drew her hand back from destroying the office furniture and pressed a button, indicated the office.
“Let me know if you have any color requests,” I shot over my shoulder, and disappeared through the door.
Nothing in the literature had prepared me for the All Father being of the correspondence persuasion either, but just as many missives had been returned to my Queen as I’d delivered, and I couldn’t say I minded. The literature had prepared me for his more handsy persuasion, although that he’d have any interest in my notable lack-of-curves and creamy white thighs had been more of a surprise.
“Greetings to the All Father, known as Wodin, called Donar Vadderung, from my most gracious Queen, she of the Unseelie Court, of all Winter beauty and darkness, called Mab. I bring you her tidings; she bids me to your service for the time of our appointment, and hopes I find you well.” I pulled the rolled-up scroll from my pocket as I recited the greeting, presenting it with a flourish-- not quite suppressing the cheeky edge of my smile. So I was looking forward to this; it’s not like it made me a bad person. I enjoy the perqs of my job when and where they come.
Ahem.
Vadderung leaned comfortably back in the large chair behind his large desk, one blue eye sparkling. “Punctual as always, Knight of Winter,” he said, voice deep and, well, large, like a summer storm rumbling on the horizon.
There was a theme around Vadderung: he was giant. Not literally; I’d met giants. But, he was massive. Immense. Enormous. Standing, I had to look up to meet his gaze. Way, way up. He had a good foot on me-- and when you’re almost seven feet tall, that’s saying a lot-- and something about him was just bigger. The breadth of his shoulders, his chest, all of his proportions. I needed both my hands to get a good grip around one of his biceps; I needed my whole arm to wrap around one of his thighs.
“That’s me,” I said cheerfully. “Mister-Right-on-time.” And I wasn’t stupid enough to insult a actual god-- okay, correction. I wasn’t stupid enough to accidentally insult an actual god or piss off Mab by showing up late when I knew better and could avoid it. Plus, it was kind of a booty call; I was keeping it polite. It had taken a while for me to get there-- in general, not in particular-- but I liked these visits with the Vadderung.
“Then I bid you approach, Knight Dresden; bring me your Queen’s greetings.” He pushed back in his king-sized chair to let me sneak in between him and the desk. I held out the scroll again-- and with one easy movement, he lifted me from the floor onto his lap, saying hello with a thorough, bristly kiss.
I gave my own back, mmm-ing when he sucked at my top lip, tugged at his with my teeth, used a hand around his neck to leverage myself up for a better angle of attack. I could feel the raw chafing around my mouth from his beard when I finally broke away, panting, and happily traced that line of thought to how that burn would feel on my belly, my thighs, my back, my ass.
“And what does your Queen send to me today, little Knight?” Vadderung asked, swinging me around to sit with my back to his chest, a promise of pressure under my ass, and I wiggled against it, earning myself a chuckle and swat on the thigh.
“I’m afraid I can’t say, my lord Vadderung. I was instructed only to deliver the message, not on its contents.”
“Then you must exercise your patience,” he said, popping the wax seal and unrolling the scroll above my head. I don’t think I was imagining the fondness in his voice, and I definitely wasn’t imagining the hand--at least half again the size of mine-- that came down to rub gentle circles on my thighs and stomach while he read.
I let myself relax, slumping against his big chest-- Stars, you could fit at least four of me side-by-side in front of him, and still not see us from behind-- letting my eyes drift shut, enjoying the attention and casual touch. I get touched a lot more than I used to, these days (well, I get more physical contact in general these days, ifyouknowwhatImean) but this absent-minded, freely-given affection was different than the outright seductions. It was nice, in a no-strings-attached sort of way. It was about touching me because-- I think-- he liked me, and not just because he liked to get in my pants.
“Have I put you to sleep, Harry?” Vadderung’s deep voice rumbled just outside my ear, making me tense up and shiver in a good way, a jolt of all-powerful thunder right to the places that counted. His lips trailed to the spot behind my ear and I rolled my neck, trying to give him more access. “How short a tale you would give me to send back to your Queen.” That was me: Dear Penthouse star of the all-powerful, divine-forces subscriber list.
I twisted around to kiss him, and one of his big hands slid between my thighs, teasing up my inseam. He reached across me and put the paper on his desk, and I had just a moment’s warning before his other hand came down between my legs too, spreading them wide. I let out a very manly squeak, balance tipping, and slid halfway down his lap before he swung me over to splay across his lap horizontally. I burst out laughing and wiggled my ass at him, up and on display where I bent over his legs.
“You are in a pleasing mood today, little one,” he told me, amused. He rubbed two fingers hard between my ass and my balls, lots of pressure and little purchase, the denim of my jeans in the way, and my hips rolled up without thought, trying to get closer, my back curving out.
“Nn. Is that an observation or a request?” I managed, once the stars faded from behind my eyes.
“It can’t be both?” I could hear his grin as he shifted his fingers, giving my balls a friendly little jiggle-- and caught me off-guard with a sharp smack. He did it again and my eyes crossed.
“Woah, woah, no horseplay on the desk!” I scolded him, wide eyes, face innocent. “I’ll get in trouble if Mab finds out I ruined her letter.”
He chuckled. “Then I should take you somewhere a little more sturdy.” He scooped me off his lap and hefted me lightly into his arms, lifting me easily.
I laughed and restrained the urge to kick my feet as he carried me through the halls, the gleaming corporate theme giving way to something a little more rough and wooden, deep in the back of the building where the mortal realm and the Nevernever bled together. He pushed his bedroom door open and swung me to the ground, righting me and spinning me to face the bed: big, solid, strong. About eight miles wide and long enough that not even the Vadderung’s feet were in danger of hanging off the end. My grin grew.
There was another body in the bed-- no shocker, I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m the only mortal pie the Vadderung has his fingers in (and does he ever have talented fingers). I don’t get hurt about it, and once or twice I’ve shared a threesome or moresome with him and his other, ahem, guests.
This one looked promising-- a man, a little padded but not so much that you couldn’t make out the defined, well-used muscles. He had that slack-limbed fucked-out look that the Vadderung hands out like a party favor-- legs splayed and tangled in the blanket, muscular arm thrown over his face. I let my eyes roadtrip from the shadowed hollow of his clavicle down over firm pectorals, slightly rounded stomach, meaty thighs, sturdy calves, big, well-maintained feet. His cock was nestled in a thatch of gunmetal gray hair, a few shades darker than the mostly-salt and slightly-pepper hair on his head, peeping out from under his arm.
“Enjoying the decoration?” A hand the size of a catcher’s mitt caressed my entire ass.
I was going to sprain something if I couldn’t stop grinning. “Wondering if the decoration wanted to join in, or if we should be vewy vewy quiet.”
“He works too hard. But perhaps a sweet dream to send him back to sleep-- you should go ask him,” Vadderung said with a chuckle, as deep and thrilling as distant thunder.
I nodded seriously, toed off my boots, and strolled over to the bed, crawling up to lay a hand on the man’s arm. “Hey,” I murmured, stroking down to his side. “I’m the Vadderung’s two o'clock. Should we leave you to your beauty sleep or do you want to join in?”
“Mm.” A tremor of consciousness slid down the length of his body, back arching, hips rolling, legs stretching to their full length, toes curling as the last few inches of him woke up. “Since you ask so nicely.” He lifted his arm off of his face and caught the back of my neck in one fluid movement, drawing me in for a slow, loose-mouthed kiss. He was a good kisser, mouth plaint and warm, the promise of strength beneath, just waiting for him to wake up and use it. I kissed back, matching my speed to his, using my lips to their advantage, gentle, soft.
Then we rolled over into better light, and mostly disentangled, and really saw each other for the first time.
“...motherfuck,” said John Marcone, as horrified as I’ve ever seen him.