in love with being queen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
agnew) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2015-03-21 10:12 pm
agnew) wrote in bakerstreet2015-03-21 10:12 pm
the somnophilia meme
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how
what.
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[ Yuri rarely dreamed. Perhaps dreaming was a past-time meant for humans alone, not plastic and glass and half-wrought personality, not for a man who collected hearts like tie pins. He sleeps deep and well. The loose springs in the pull-out mattress dig into his spine; he wakes with corkscrew bruises and the imprint of a body unknown to him.
There are no clocks in the library. Yuri remembers Eri saying something about her grandfather treating the space as gambling mafiosos treated their casinos. A place where time had no meaning. Yuri slumps into bed by one-thirty at night, hardly cognizant of Tei's folded limbs. The night air like cotton in his lungs, soaking up moisture. He's exhausted. The money he rakes in with his drumming could build an empire, but she has already made it clear that any empire-building to be done within her home won't be spearheaded by Yuri.
He sprawls. Sleep laps at his feet, drags across his ankles, wets the hem of his lounge pants. Perhaps he takes up more space than is his due, but Tei doesn't work two jobs, Tei doesn't have the responsibilities of an adult. The least he can do is write off the majority of the bed.
Yuri doesn't dream often, but when he does --
Skin carries a peculiar sort of warmth. It's not the biology of it: not the tiny machinations of a body's metabolism, but something more fundamental. He was created in order to seek love out, Yuri of tinted glasses and sly smiles, Yuri with hands that grasp without loosening. In his sleep, in the hazy approximation of dreams that follow, he coils about the only source of skin-warmth close enough for capture. Feathery hair. His cheek against a nape. The elongated comma of a spine.
Greedy, Yuri reaches. He coils with purpose - with hunger, nearly - and speaks on an undertone: words marked by the heat of his tongue rather than by coherence. ]
Hush.
[ Yuri murmurs, sweet and hoarse. Insensate. ]
I have you.
There are no clocks in the library. Yuri remembers Eri saying something about her grandfather treating the space as gambling mafiosos treated their casinos. A place where time had no meaning. Yuri slumps into bed by one-thirty at night, hardly cognizant of Tei's folded limbs. The night air like cotton in his lungs, soaking up moisture. He's exhausted. The money he rakes in with his drumming could build an empire, but she has already made it clear that any empire-building to be done within her home won't be spearheaded by Yuri.
He sprawls. Sleep laps at his feet, drags across his ankles, wets the hem of his lounge pants. Perhaps he takes up more space than is his due, but Tei doesn't work two jobs, Tei doesn't have the responsibilities of an adult. The least he can do is write off the majority of the bed.
Yuri doesn't dream often, but when he does --
Skin carries a peculiar sort of warmth. It's not the biology of it: not the tiny machinations of a body's metabolism, but something more fundamental. He was created in order to seek love out, Yuri of tinted glasses and sly smiles, Yuri with hands that grasp without loosening. In his sleep, in the hazy approximation of dreams that follow, he coils about the only source of skin-warmth close enough for capture. Feathery hair. His cheek against a nape. The elongated comma of a spine.
Greedy, Yuri reaches. He coils with purpose - with hunger, nearly - and speaks on an undertone: words marked by the heat of his tongue rather than by coherence. ]
Hush.
[ Yuri murmurs, sweet and hoarse. Insensate. ]
I have you.
[Feel free to make this hilarious rather than smutty in his reaction.]
Draco had been sitting outside on the porch to the cabin he and his - saviors? companions? - were held up in. A rest between, or so it seemed. He could only muse over the hilarity regarding the fact he felt more alive now on the run from his homeland and the secret world he grew up in and constantly on the move with hunters. Never settling, living off the grid and in a style completely alien to the one he grew up knowing. And yet he'd found himself on this never ending road trip with the constant threat to their lives.
Sam had gone out on a run to check on someone from their last case. A bit of worry, nothing more. Now Draco was left with Dean, and that was, well, less than savory. Sam tended to provide the more intelligent and competent conversation. Dean... was just the eye candy. Draco had never really been drawn to the pretty boy types, that was his position in life. Even if Sam was a hardened pretty boy.
Finally Draco went back in, sighing as he closed the door behind him, only to be faced with Dean fast asleep with a beer in one hand. There was one moment of moral deliberation. Just a moment. It was wrong, of course, but Draco, in the end, was bored. It would at least provide amusement. So off came the peacoat he favored, his hiking boots to follow - he'd grown fond of them. He brushed back his blond hair and moved to straddle Dean's lap. Leaning forward Draco began to kiss up along Dean's neck as a hand slowly pulled the beer bottle away to safety. He really did not want to end up smelling of beer.
Draco had been sitting outside on the porch to the cabin he and his - saviors? companions? - were held up in. A rest between, or so it seemed. He could only muse over the hilarity regarding the fact he felt more alive now on the run from his homeland and the secret world he grew up in and constantly on the move with hunters. Never settling, living off the grid and in a style completely alien to the one he grew up knowing. And yet he'd found himself on this never ending road trip with the constant threat to their lives.
Sam had gone out on a run to check on someone from their last case. A bit of worry, nothing more. Now Draco was left with Dean, and that was, well, less than savory. Sam tended to provide the more intelligent and competent conversation. Dean... was just the eye candy. Draco had never really been drawn to the pretty boy types, that was his position in life. Even if Sam was a hardened pretty boy.
Finally Draco went back in, sighing as he closed the door behind him, only to be faced with Dean fast asleep with a beer in one hand. There was one moment of moral deliberation. Just a moment. It was wrong, of course, but Draco, in the end, was bored. It would at least provide amusement. So off came the peacoat he favored, his hiking boots to follow - he'd grown fond of them. He brushed back his blond hair and moved to straddle Dean's lap. Leaning forward Draco began to kiss up along Dean's neck as a hand slowly pulled the beer bottle away to safety. He really did not want to end up smelling of beer.
[He would have left Sam well enough alone if it hadn’t been for the god’s name uttered upon the sleeping man’s lips. He would have let him get the well-deserved rest that he needed. But that was next to impossible now.
Between finally being sucked into the Avenger fold and dealing… being with Thor, Sam seemed to be doing a lot of resting lately, and of course the prince of Asgard believed himself to be the cause for most of it; Much as he tried to, Sam just couldn’t bring himself to stay awake after Thor had him intimately and thoroughly. But this time, the cause was more of a rigorous assignment than Thor. His lover was exhausted, though, he usually recovers pretty quickly. Must be the soldier in him.
Drawing his loose hair from out of his face, Thor joins Sam quietly back onto the bed. Back underneath the sheets with his chest pressed to a warm back and naked.] I am here. [He murmurs gently in reply to the utterings of his name, right into the human’s ear. His beard scratches while his lips press soft to Sam’s neck.
He knows he should leave him alone, but he can’t. Not now. Underneath the covers, one of his hand moves inside Sam’s underwear and between his legs. The goal wasn’t to wake him or even deep his sleep, though, maybe to pull him to an in-between state if he could.]
Between finally being sucked into the Avenger fold and dealing… being with Thor, Sam seemed to be doing a lot of resting lately, and of course the prince of Asgard believed himself to be the cause for most of it; Much as he tried to, Sam just couldn’t bring himself to stay awake after Thor had him intimately and thoroughly. But this time, the cause was more of a rigorous assignment than Thor. His lover was exhausted, though, he usually recovers pretty quickly. Must be the soldier in him.
Drawing his loose hair from out of his face, Thor joins Sam quietly back onto the bed. Back underneath the sheets with his chest pressed to a warm back and naked.] I am here. [He murmurs gently in reply to the utterings of his name, right into the human’s ear. His beard scratches while his lips press soft to Sam’s neck.
He knows he should leave him alone, but he can’t. Not now. Underneath the covers, one of his hand moves inside Sam’s underwear and between his legs. The goal wasn’t to wake him or even deep his sleep, though, maybe to pull him to an in-between state if he could.]
you should be shooing him away. Sam needs his sleep D;
asgardsthunder
- 2015-03-27 04:08 (UTC) - Expand[PLEASE WAKE HER UP being a seal sucks balls.]
Edited 2015-03-21 23:05 (UTC)
[[Oh hey look a nightmare for your dreams! Can also be doing the 'putting asleep' (some sensual version of a spell/chloroform would be great). As a warning, stems perverted so let me know if you'd rather not smut.]]
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