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citrus_javaSo, according to this report, at AHBL, this happened:
Girl: If you had to sell your soul for something, what would that thing be?
Matt: Just one - just one fanfic where I dominate Misha instead of Misha dominating me.
Now, I really like Matt. He's such a friend to fandom and to queer people. And when people ask for porn about themselves, they should get it. I don't generally write Matt and Misha, but I am dearly fond of them both. So here goes. Oh, I don't ask of Matt's soul, I ask that he keeps it. All I want in return is for him to keep talking about how hot he finds Jen to keep being an awesome person and friendly to queer folk.
Title: Just One Fanfic
Pairing: Matt/Misha
Rating: R?
Warnings: BDSM, unbetaed
Summary: It takes Misha time to be able to let go. In other words - completely plotless porn.
Note: I kinda wish someone would write fic about Misha writing fic for Matt. I shoulda thought of that while I was still writing.
Misha's eyes widened, then softened. The tiny muscles around them flickered and twitched with every sensation, his mouth slowly falling open, as his breaths got deeper, raspier.
Matt brushed a knuckle over Misha's ribs, so gentle he was barely touching, and Misha moaned as if Matt had squeezed his cock, face fluttering through relish, fear, arousal, devotion, disorientation, want, clashing into each other so fast and then streaming away, Misha's eyes open, hiding nothing.
Matt liked Misha like that, liked watching the flickers of Misha's expression as he reacted to the slightest touch.
It took a lot of patience to get there. Misha needed to be taken through the same process, every time.
Earlier, a while into the session, Misha was still making detached remarks. He told Matt about fossilized fragments of rope being found in a cave is southern France, proving the use of rope circa 15,000 BC, while observing with calm interest the way Matt's muscles moved as he pinned Misha down with an arm across his chest, leaned in close as he threaded the rope through the frame of the bed.
When his arms were no longer under his control, it seemed to be a cue for Misha join the play. That was Matt's least favorite part. Misha made pleading puppy dog eyes. Licked his lips and let them part softly. Thrashed prettily and tugged at the ropes. It was decided, controlled. Being a good sub. Nothing vulnerable about it.
Matt dragged rough hands over Misha's thighs, close, but not touching. Folded Misha's leg up, grabbed a handful of Misha's reddened ass, and Misha's breath caught. His eyes went from patented puppy dog to something more breakable, complex. He smiled, half embarrassed, tried to find the right thing to say to handle the situation, explain it humorously to Matt.
Matt dug his fingers into the bruised flesh, and leaned down on Misha's leg, face inches from his. "You've got a mouth on you", he used his John voice for this, and for all Misha's expression remained calm, Matt could feel the shiver run through him. This was pissing him off, but in that fun, play way. He grabbed a handful of Misha's hair, messy and lush, and pulled it back hard, Misha's muscles straining, that soft flexible give, as he pulled to their limit. He used his other hand to drag the collar on Misha's neck down to his collar bone, and sunk his teeth into the tendon, hard.
Misha let out a breath that could have been a moan, had Misha not held the sound back.
Matt sucked on the bite marks, sweat-damp softness and stubble against his lips. Misha's breaths were becoming shallow, but his body was still stiff, closed.
This will take some more force. Matt pulled back, took proper hold of Misha's collar, dragging Misha's entire upper body off the bed, arms straining against the ropes. He could feel Misha's breath, stuttering in his ribcage, soft puffs against Matt's lips. His eyes were huge.
"You are going to let go", Matt said, allowing just the right amount of danger into his tone. "Are we clear?"
"Yes, Master", Misha breathed. The phrase carried a hint of self irony, for all Misha's body was softly quivering.
Matt pulled back and slapped Misha, once, hard, and efficient. Aiming for cheekbone, for safety.
The contact made a sharp crack, which seemed to ripple and reverberate through Misha's body. He moaned, this time. His head fell back, only held up now by Matt's hand in his collar. His adam's apple pushed against Matt's fingers, Misha's deep, whole body breathes roughened by Matt's hold. Matt could feel the length of Misha's body go slack, pliant, open.
He smiled to himself, a little grin Misha wouldn't see.
Here started his favorite part.
Girl: If you had to sell your soul for something, what would that thing be?
Matt: Just one - just one fanfic where I dominate Misha instead of Misha dominating me.
Now, I really like Matt. He's such a friend to fandom and to queer people. And when people ask for porn about themselves, they should get it. I don't generally write Matt and Misha, but I am dearly fond of them both. So here goes. Oh, I don't ask of Matt's soul, I ask that he keeps it. All I want in return is for him to keep
Title: Just One Fanfic
Pairing: Matt/Misha
Rating: R?
Warnings: BDSM, unbetaed
Summary: It takes Misha time to be able to let go. In other words - completely plotless porn.
Note: I kinda wish someone would write fic about Misha writing fic for Matt. I shoulda thought of that while I was still writing.
Misha's eyes widened, then softened. The tiny muscles around them flickered and twitched with every sensation, his mouth slowly falling open, as his breaths got deeper, raspier.
Matt brushed a knuckle over Misha's ribs, so gentle he was barely touching, and Misha moaned as if Matt had squeezed his cock, face fluttering through relish, fear, arousal, devotion, disorientation, want, clashing into each other so fast and then streaming away, Misha's eyes open, hiding nothing.
Matt liked Misha like that, liked watching the flickers of Misha's expression as he reacted to the slightest touch.
It took a lot of patience to get there. Misha needed to be taken through the same process, every time.
Earlier, a while into the session, Misha was still making detached remarks. He told Matt about fossilized fragments of rope being found in a cave is southern France, proving the use of rope circa 15,000 BC, while observing with calm interest the way Matt's muscles moved as he pinned Misha down with an arm across his chest, leaned in close as he threaded the rope through the frame of the bed.
When his arms were no longer under his control, it seemed to be a cue for Misha join the play. That was Matt's least favorite part. Misha made pleading puppy dog eyes. Licked his lips and let them part softly. Thrashed prettily and tugged at the ropes. It was decided, controlled. Being a good sub. Nothing vulnerable about it.
Matt dragged rough hands over Misha's thighs, close, but not touching. Folded Misha's leg up, grabbed a handful of Misha's reddened ass, and Misha's breath caught. His eyes went from patented puppy dog to something more breakable, complex. He smiled, half embarrassed, tried to find the right thing to say to handle the situation, explain it humorously to Matt.
Matt dug his fingers into the bruised flesh, and leaned down on Misha's leg, face inches from his. "You've got a mouth on you", he used his John voice for this, and for all Misha's expression remained calm, Matt could feel the shiver run through him. This was pissing him off, but in that fun, play way. He grabbed a handful of Misha's hair, messy and lush, and pulled it back hard, Misha's muscles straining, that soft flexible give, as he pulled to their limit. He used his other hand to drag the collar on Misha's neck down to his collar bone, and sunk his teeth into the tendon, hard.
Misha let out a breath that could have been a moan, had Misha not held the sound back.
Matt sucked on the bite marks, sweat-damp softness and stubble against his lips. Misha's breaths were becoming shallow, but his body was still stiff, closed.
This will take some more force. Matt pulled back, took proper hold of Misha's collar, dragging Misha's entire upper body off the bed, arms straining against the ropes. He could feel Misha's breath, stuttering in his ribcage, soft puffs against Matt's lips. His eyes were huge.
"You are going to let go", Matt said, allowing just the right amount of danger into his tone. "Are we clear?"
"Yes, Master", Misha breathed. The phrase carried a hint of self irony, for all Misha's body was softly quivering.
Matt pulled back and slapped Misha, once, hard, and efficient. Aiming for cheekbone, for safety.
The contact made a sharp crack, which seemed to ripple and reverberate through Misha's body. He moaned, this time. His head fell back, only held up now by Matt's hand in his collar. His adam's apple pushed against Matt's fingers, Misha's deep, whole body breathes roughened by Matt's hold. Matt could feel the length of Misha's body go slack, pliant, open.
He smiled to himself, a little grin Misha wouldn't see.
Here started his favorite part.
