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May. 9th, 2011

New Originalshipping-fic

Hey, there!

Here I got a new fanfiction for you. It's not Palletshipping but Originalshipping and mostly based on Red. I hope you like it and I would appreciate some feedback!

Title: Gracidea
Author: Raeupchen
Words: 2138
Rating: PG
Summary: When Green visits Red one day, he mentions a person Red isn't aware he misses. Originalshipping hints. Red-centered. OneShot.

Go here to read on

Apr. 24th, 2011

You get me closer to God

  The thud of the door falling shut echoed through the dark, almost empty room. A bulb hanging unconventionally from the ceiling was switched on, lightning up its surroundings and showing the room in detail. On the door's wall stood an old table made out of dark and choppy wood, some ropes and miscellaneous tools were set on its surface which made the room appear like a torture chamber, the dark grayish concrete walls only intensified this impression.

A man stepped into the room, placing a key chain on the table before turning to the main object in this room, the reason why he had gotten here. Smirking viciously, the man turned his back on the object to count the tools on the table. To accomplish his plan, he needed everything to be perfect, set at their rightful places and be available whenever he felt like using them. He had been planning this for weeks secretly, so no one would be able to ruin his valuable plan. In the back of his mind, he knew he was going to pay a high price for this in the end but the fun and satisfaction he would gain from it was worth it all. Worth any loss he would experience.

From behind him, he could hear some nondescript noise, more or less sounding like muffled words. Picking up a sharp shard, he paid the source of the noise the deserved attention. His eyes glistening with lust and something evil, he hadn't yet been able to identify the feeling that made him want this so badly. That forced him to do this but when he took in the sight of his victim, he let himself fall completely and permitted the feeling to take him over.

His victim -or the object as he preferred to call it- was hanging from the ceiling low enough that his toes were barely touching the floor. The hands of the victim were tied together with a thick rope, wrapped around his wrists so tightly that it cut into the skin. When his victim was unconscious, he had made sure there was no way of escaping or freeing himself off these ropes. No failures should happen, so everything was set to leave no option open, to give the victim no chance of escaping his destiny.

The muffling became louder the closer he got to the source. It was amusing how the sound of his footsteps raised the panic inside his victim that was fidgeting with the ropes hopelessly. Strains of black hair covered the blindfolds that were stealing the victim's sight, those locks were gently brushed away as soon as he stood right in front of him. His gaze wandered to the part of his face were the lips usually were, now hidden under a black tape. His victim that in the outside world was such a collected and self-confident man, was now lacking three of his most important abilities; seeing, talking and moving. Panic was quite visibly taking control of him, as his attempts of getting rid of the ropes became more frantic with each second that passed.

“Don't try to escape, honey, I won't let you,” he smirked at his victim, his fingertips caressing the other man's cheek. “Just play along and you'll make it out alive.”

A sensation began to spread inside of him, a fire to burn and shoot its flames to his mind, manipulating his actions. With an effective defense of leaving his reasonable heart in the dark, paying it no more than ignorance, he was only reacting according to his plan – and his desire. He would no pleading weaken him, no blood, no tears would make him stop.

With a vicious grin on his features, he stroked along the sides of his victim's body that was completely exposed to him. The sharpest part of the shard still in his left hand touched the naked skin here and there, making the victim noticeable wince. This made him grin even more, the fire inside of him grew bigger and bigger and he felt his temperature raise. It felt so damn good and he hadn't yet really started; there was so much more, so much better stuff to happen, and he was convinced that it would pleasure him to the limits.

He blindly drew a line on the man's back with the shard, then let it fall to the floor. His fingertips drummed on the broken skin, tinting their skin with the blood. With every touch on the wound, the victim whimpered even louder, as loud as the tape on its lips allowed him to. The sight, the sound, the feeling of the liquid exiting the skin; it all made him feel so good, even a little god-like. Well, down here in the basement, for the man hanging from the ceiling, he was God. All the decisions of life and death, pain and pleasure, it was all up to him, every tiny little thing his victim had to endure was lying in his hands. And it felt so damn good...

“Don't you like the pain? The stinging feeling in your back when I touch you...” He whispered into the other man's ear while gently drawing circles with his index finger on the skin around the wound. “I like to hear you whimper...” Roughly, he pressed his finger into the wound and chuckled into the other's ear when that beloved sound tried to get out from under the tape.

Moving his hand away from the wound, it found a new place to make its marks on the victim's thigh, close to the crotch. “We're going to have so much fun tonight, my darling, you will never forget this night.” He placed wet kisses on the male's cheek, sucked on the cheekbone until the skin was an intensive red before moving his lips against the black tape glued to the mouth. The material was cool on his sensitive lips and felt so smooth on his tongue that he felt himself getting aroused. Instinctively, he pressed himself against the naked body, his knee up between the other male's legs, causing pressure on latter's private area. Grazing his teeth over the tape, a nibble on what felt like the upper lip but the sensation of kissing the rubber-like material started to become boring. Without thinking twice, he raised his hand to rip the tape off, an uncomfortable movement for his victim that made him grew harder hearing the sound of pain escaping the freed lips.

Not giving his captive time to catch their breath, he crashed his mouth against the other's, nibbling and sucking on the soft lower lip. A moan was heard, coming from himself and caused by the wetness of the man's mouth. Everything about this man made him go wild; the taste of his lips, the soft skin, his wincing and crying out. Somewhere deep inside of him he knew he was sick-minded, treating another person like this was wrong and couldn't be justified by anything. But he wouldn't let regrets and his consciousness interfere in his perfect plan which was going amazingly well so far. It even felt better now in reality than he had ever imagined it in his dreams.

When his lungs needed oxygen, he parted from the oh so delicious lips and rested his body against the other's. While he was catching his breath, he stroked over the chest he was leaning against, tracing along imaginary lines that led him to the left nipple. When his fingers pinched it, a noise of pleasure left the owner's lips, this reaction being a surprise. He hadn't thought that this game was really going to be fun for his victim, a change of the situation wasn't calculated. Something inside of him felt relieved by the positive reaction, so he guessed it at least caused his consciousness to stay silent through the rest of the night.

“You like it?” The vicious smile came back to its place as he wrapped his other arm around the man's body. Another pinch caused another moan, a distraction that made it even more hurtful when he scratched over the wound again. A yelp echoed through the room and the man visibly swallowed a load of tears. Probably frustration over the mixture of pleasure and pain and the still uncomfortable position. “Don't cry, honey, this is one of the game's fun parts. Don't you enjoy the treatment?”

“I-I... i-it hurts...,” the victim stuttered, his voice cracking from the lack of use. The hoarse tone of his voice caused another wave of warmth to roll over his back, the lowness increased his arousal.

“Well, that's part of the plan, Mikey,” he responded, letting go of the other man to walk over to the table. A bamboos twig caught his attention, like it was asking to be used for this game. For a second, he was doubting that it was the right stage of the game to use it but the echoes of his captive’s cries of pain and pleasure sounded in his ears and he was tempted by the idea of causing the other man more pain. Turning around again, facing his still blindfolded toy, he couldn’t help but smirk at his cruel ideas. He was a genius.

“Since I created the game, I decide the rules.” His voice was firm and loud, able to make the other man wince again, only by hearing it. It was all part of the plan. Making his victim fear him, be frightened of his every move and sound, even if it was only breath escaping his lungs. “I know you like this…,” he whispered, now close enough to his lips. They touched, almost shyly moving their lips against each other, tongues dancing around the other. Their kiss lasted for a while, only when he lowered his free hand to the captive’s arousal, tip-toeing with his fingertips on the hardened member, they parted. A loud and deep-throated moan came out of the black-haired man’s mouth, sending waves of pleasure down his own spine. The younger man seemed close to his climax already, something he would normally cherish… it would be easy to make them both reach their limits and experience real pleasure, together…

But no. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let himself fall for it. If he kept on playing the rules, he would experience the superlative of lust. “Don’t let yourself get tempted by those touches… you will get your release when I allow you to. If you don’t play by my rules… I will make sure you’ll regret it.” The last words were a threat; mercy wouldn’t make him stop.

“W-why… Ch-chester, why?” The man’s voice was a whisper, shy and full of fear. A little part inside of him begged him to stop and let his captive go but he did his best at ignoring it, pleased for the blindfolds preventing those big dark eyes from pleading for mercy.

The corners of his mouth curled up into weird smile, something between disgusted and amused. In the outside world, he loved to hear his name coming out of that mouth, like a chant he was humming. But down here in the basement, his name would never be said. Especially not by him. Without any announcement, he stretched out his arm with the bamboos twig and hit his captive hard, releasing a loud yelp out of those lungs. Instantly, blood covered the sensitive surface of the wound, moving along the curve of the body. The cut looked like a long red line drawn with a crayon right above the hips.

Triumphantly grinning, Chester nuzzled against his victim’s body, brushing over the wound with his fingers to hear that beloved sound again. “You call me ‘sir’ or ‘master’ in here, or else I will have to hurt you again.” He would anyway but who was he to spoil the surprise.

When tears started rolling down his cheeks, appearing from under the blindfolds, Chester simply licked the salty liquid from one cheek and tainted his finger with the other tears. He watched as he forced Mike to take his finger between his lips, instructing him to suck his own tears off it. “Don’t you like this? It feels so good,” Chester moaned quietly, not once moving his eyes from the lips around his finger.

The body of the younger man started trembling violently, sobs escaped his mouth until he was crying out of frustration. Or desperation? Chester didn’t know. Didn’t care. Maybe he did somewhere deep inside of him, in the real world, he adored this man, would do anything to make him pay him attention. Right here, nothing made him stop, no feeling erupted his heart when he heard his voice, all it did was increasing his arousal. “Don’t you cry… everything will be fine, my darling… hush…” His nose touched the other’s ear, nuzzling the shell softly, a layer of goosebumps covered the captive’s skin. Smiling, Chester removed his finger from those lips, drawing an imaginary line over his chin, his neck down to his left nipple, encircling it slowly. In an instant, Mike started moaning quietly while tears were still running down his cheeks. “You’re scared, I can sense it… You should be…”

His index finger flipped the younger male’s nipple, causing more moans to fill the room. But the teasing started to become old, the territory Chester had forcefully made his own was used. Boring, even the little moans coming from his captive’s mouth didn’t do their work. He needed more; the game hadn’t really started yet. His eyes focused on the untouched erection of his victim, throbbing and hard, some pre-cum was drying on the tip. One corner of his mouth curled up, giving him a comical expression. He moved off Mike, turned his back on him and moved back to the table. Some tools lying on its surface glistened in the hint of light the electric bulb was offering. Letting his arousal decide what would happen next, his hand moved over some knives and whips until it rested on a chain that connected some beads with each other. Smirking at it, he picked it up off the desk to examine it further. Each bead was a different size but they were all hard and a little heavy and had the same sandpaper like structure. When he had found them in the store, he had imagined them to be displeasing when used on sensitive spots. He had liked the image of using them on Mike enough to cum before he had reached the exit of the shop. Hopefully, he would be able to control himself this time.

“Wh-where… are you?” The shaky, little voice of his victim sounded from behind him. Obviously, his movements had been so quiet that it seemed as if he had gone away, leaving his victim all by himself, still chained to the ceiling. It felt so good to hear the fear in his captive’s voice, to know how much he was frightened by this situation. Oh, it made him so hard.

Just as silently, Chester walked over to the black-haired man, trembling with excitement over the next step of his plan. He would please the other first, so the real fun would be displeasing even more. “I’m still here, darling… are you scared I might leave you to your destiny? Aw, you are cute…” He couldn’t hide the mocking in his voice, it just felt so relieving. Everything was a relief, the pleasure he was gaining from torturing this man. He had been waiting so long for this day, so long and he wanted nothing to disturb it. “Oh, darling… don’t you enjoy this?” Whispering into his victim’s ears, he brushed over the hardened nipples with his hands. One hand moved lower, tickling the insides of the younger male’s thighs, teasingly touching the erection every now and then. With his other hand, he rolled one of the beads over the left nipple, sometimes rougher, sometimes slowly. The sensation of the rough structure of the bead on his palm caused himself to moan, the faint images of what else he could do with it made him lose control. Out of reflex, he moved his crotch against Mike causing his cock to brush against his jeans, the tension in the middle of his body grew unbearable and it became harder to keep his cool. His hand in Mike’s crotch moved by its own desire, wrapping itself around the erection and stroking it rapidly.

Their moans echoed off the walls, becoming louder and louder as they reached their climax, close to release tension inside their bodies. Cum was constantly leaking out of Mike’s cock, dripping onto the concrete floor and Chester’s hand that was jerking him off in a quick pace. He wished Chester would just let him cum, have his orgasm but in the back of his mind he knew he wasn’t granted that wish. And when he felt Chester’s hips slowing down, he was proved right. The older man stopped all interactions and rested against him, trying to catch his breath. Frustration burst out of the younger man again, causing tears to stream down his face again. His arousal was paining him, he couldn’t hold it back any longer but he had to, or else Chester would beat him again. He still couldn’t believe that this man was able to do such cruel things to him and even got pleasure out of it. It was beyond him… as well as how he could feel aroused by this treatment. How could he like this? It was so wrong, so not his way… but he couldn’t deny how much it turned him on.

After regaining his composure, Chester took a step away from his victim, raised his hand and slammed the chain against Mike’s belly, without warning. A cry erupted from Mike’s throat, a scream of pain that rang in Chester’s ears for a moment. It was close, he had almost lost himself to his senses, to Mike’s seducing body. “You bastard,” he hissed, making his captive sob. A second later, his lips formed a smirk, feeling triumph over his own body. And the sight of a naked, sobbing Mike, hands chained together and blindfolded was reason enough to be pleased. He stepped closer again, softly moving his fingertips over Mike’s chest down to his navel, his lips kissing his neck. Moving his flat hand over the sore skin, licking over the sensitive spots on Mike’s skin, Chester tried to be as soft as possible, trying his best to calm his victim down. Though the urge to keep on hitting him was huge and didn’t let him go but it would delay the game if he kept himself under control. Despite it, the most fun was to hurt Mike when he felt safe, and being careful and soft with him would make him feel like it.

Chester knelt down in front of Mike, leaning over so his lips would brush over the hurting belly, kissing the skin here and there. His hands moved up and down Mike’s thighs, occasionally touching the erection that was almost poking his shoulder. It probably frustrated his victim how he neglected his erection, only accidentally brushing over it with his hands but never giving it the desired treatment. Only for a second did he wrap his fingers around Mike’s arousal, licking off the pre-cum and planting a kiss on its tip. The moan coming out of Mike’s mouth was the signal to let go of the manhood, his hands found a better place resting on his ass instead. The chain was dropped onto the floor for now, he would come back to it later. Another moan followed, the pain in his stomach probably forgotten, as his orgasm forced itself on the captivated man who was trying hard to hold it back.

“Oh, you poor little thing…,” Chester smirked and stood up again, leaning against his playmate. “You seem to be losing this game, don’t you, darling?” He leaned in closer, fusing their lips together in an open-mouth kiss. The way Mike was responding to it was surprising, his tongue was asking for more when it shoved itself into Chester’s mouth, catching him off-guard and stealing a moan from him. “You really want this,” he whispered against those full soft lips, he licked over them hungrily before sucking on the lower lip. Some faint emotion was brought back to life, as their kiss deepened and became more lovingly than erotic. They were still hungry for each other, to get released from this welled-up emotion but for this moment, it didn’t bother them too much. Hands cupping the younger man’s face, softly biting down on the other’s lips and Chester felt himself on the verge of breaking down when a realization hit him. They were kissing. And it felt as if it was out of… love.

Love. They weren’t here for love. Chester hadn’t created all this, months on end, just for love. Or out of love. No. Love wouldn’t get into his way, not this time, not now. It had messed up enough already and it wouldn’t ruin his plan, he wouldn’t let it. Reluctantly, he parted his lips from Mike’s, drawing the outline of the other’s upper lip with his thumb while whispering, “Don’t think that this means anything more to me than a way to get my sexual release. Because it means nothing. Nothing.”

It didn’t go the way he had planned. Of course, he hadn’t planned any little detail, he wanted to leave it up to the moment, most of it, but he hadn’t planned to lose control like that. Whatever Mike had done to make him fall back into his outside-world behavior, it wouldn’t happen again. Even if that meant, he would have to not kiss him anymore, he would do it. And it was time for some fun anyway… Chester bent down to pick up the beads, regaining his composure and controlled manner. Though he had planned so much more, so many other things he could do to Mike, he knew, he couldn’t keep them both down here forever. They wouldn’t be able to hold back their orgasm any longer, and there was the risk that he would fall for Mike’s trick again. And he simply couldn’t do that.

“We’re going to have some fun now,” he smirked while raising the beads to his victim’s lips, shoving the biggest into his mouth. The chain was long enough that the last bead would touch one of his nipples, so Chester rubbed it over the nipple, the sandpaper like structure would cause an interesting feeling between pain and pleasure… the very thought of it made Chester moan. “Aren’t you having fun, darling?” He purred into Mike’s ear, smirking at how his captive wasn’t pleased about the object in his mouth. “Oh, I bet you want to feel more, don’t you?” Mike tried to moan despite the ball in his mouth but even if it didn’t quite fill his mouth, it caused him trouble expressing his pleasure, yet answering. “I know what you want… and I grant you that wish.”

Dropping the beads to let them hang out of Mike’s mouth, Chester used his hand to stroke over the younger man’s back, pressing his index finger onto the wound to make him wince again and finally slip his fingers between his butt cheeks. Encircling his captive’s anus, he moved his own crotch against the man’s body, moaning, then whispering, “That’s where you want it, I know it…” The shocked yet frightened look Chester could feel his victim was having, hidden under the blindfolds, encouraged him to enter the new territory and go onto the next stage of the game. “Oh, you’re going to love this… You know you will.” His gaze fell onto the other man’s hardened member that was still throbbing and leaking badly, right underneath it was already a little pool of cum on the concrete. An idea popped up in his head and he knelt down, removing his finger from the awaiting anus and dipped two fingers into the puddle of cum. It would suffice as lubricant; he hadn’t planned on using any in the first place but using Mike’s own cum to enter him sounded good to him. Tainting his fingers with the fluid, he felt his own erection leaking but ignored it as best as he could. He moved behind Mike, squeezed one ass cheek aside, and entered Mike’s hole, without warning but still slowly.

The sound coming out of Mike’s mouth was violent enough to shoot the bead out, causing the chain to fall onto the concrete floor. Another sound crawled over his lips as Chester started penetrating him and his body began to enjoy the feeling. He groaned when Chester removed his fingers and stood up, wrapping his arms around him from behind and whispering in his ear, “Baby, I didn’t allow you to spit it out. You know what that means…” Oh, Mike knew, and if he would have had any power over his body left, he wouldn’t have done it. But he couldn’t run from it, the punishment would be cruel and as much as it disgusted him; he was curious as to what Chester had planned for him.

It wasn’t that Chester minded; every broken rule called for a way of punishment and he loved those the most. Not, that he wouldn’t have done this nonetheless but having a reason to punish Mike only made it better. A whole lot better. With a vicious grin on his face, he moved to pick up the chain, walked back behind Mike and rubbed it between his butt cheeks. “I guess you know what’s coming…” And though, the blindfolded man moaned at the sensation of the beads approaching his anus, how one after the other was pushed into him until his body had swallowed them all. Each one had made him moan louder, it hurt so much yet felt so good; he didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. “Oh, master…,” he moaned when his kidnapper slapped his ass lightly.

“You like this, don’t you?” Chester slapped again, this time harder and gained a louder moan from Mike. “Then you’ll be loving this…” He walked over to the table, looking for something until he found some sort of board, and he immediately imagined how each slap would let the beads inside his victim’s ass rub against his inner walls, an image that would make him cum right on this spot. Instead of letting his arousal win, he stepped behind Mike again and started slamming the board against his ass instantly; he couldn’t wait any longer. It caused his captive huge pain and pleasure, concerning the sounds coming from him and tears rolling down his cheeks but he still kept begging for more.

“Please… more…” His voice was hoarse, his body trembling from the orgasm he was trying to hold back with all his power. All the moans and pleading went down to Chester’s arousal, making it impossible to ignore it any longer. It was too much to take and he wanted to release himself inside of him. After hitting Mike’s ass another time, harder than before, he dropped the board and unchained his victim from the ceiling, without removing the bonds around his wrists. He helped him to stand on solid ground again, before shoving him onto the table, pressing his bare chest onto the shards and knives. In a matter of seconds, he freed his erected cock and was ready to push into the ass lying in front of him. “Please… fuck me…,” he heard Mike moan desperately, the final plea to enter his captive. But the madman inside of him wanted to give Mike a last course of pain, he bent over him, his fingers searching for the end of the chain that was hanging out of the captive’s ass, “Didn’t I say that I make the rules? And I don’t permit you to cum yet.” He heard Mike whimper, fidgeting with the bonds that kept his wrists together. The man in front of him was degraded to his desire, a total mess, lacking of any pride and willpower. Chester had accomplished anything he wanted; he had broken him.

Slowly, Chester pulled out the first bead, a small one that only made Mike moan quietly. The next was twice as big, it would be hard to stay calm when he’d pull it out. First, Chester played with the chain, shoving it in and out of Mike’s ass, rubbing its uneven surface against the broken skin around the hole, sending waves of pleasure through Mike’s body. “Ah… please… I-I can’t… anymore…” Oh, how much he loved to hear him begging. Giving him what he was asking for, Chester pulled out the beads in one shot and a loud cry of pleasure and pain sounded from Mike’s mouth. He threw the chain away and waited for a moment, to give Mike some time to gather himself. The other man was panting heavily, exhaustion was wearing him down but he still bucked his hips towards his master’s erection, desperately waiting for him to thrust into him.

“You were a good boy, Mikey, I shall reward you,” Chester placed a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, while poking with the tip of his cock at Mike’s opening. “I will give to you the appropriate treatment.” One hand wrapped around his own cock, he pushed into Mike’s ass annoyingly slow, before coming to an halt when his entire manhood was inside of him. “Mmmmh, you feel so good… better than I’ve ever imagined…” He decided into lose himself right away and concentrated on thrusting in and out of Mike as slowly as possible. “It feels so good how your body’s reacting to the penetration… aaahh, so hot…” Underneath him, Mike was moving his hips restlessly, as if to fasten Chester’s pace but the older man only gripped onto his hips to hold them still. “Don’t be so upset, baby… you’ll get what you want.” Placing another kiss on Mike’s back, he pulled out of him slowly, to push back in again, this time rougher and faster.

“Aaahh.” An animalistic moan erupted from Chester’s mouth, with each thrust. The younger man’s body was moving back and forth on the table, his skin cutting onto the sharp objects he was lying on top of. Something rough-textured was brushing over one his nipples, while another object was being pressed onto the scratch on his side. He was in pain but it turned him on to no limit, his moans had become screams of pleasure, his body was trembling from Chester’s thrusts and the orgasm he was approaching quickly. This time he wouldn’t be able to fight it, he was too weak to control his erection anymore and he didn’t even care. All he was taking in of his surroundings at this moment was Chester’s cock being shoved in and out of his ass, the things that scratched at his skin and rubbed at his sensitive nipples and the pressure on his own erection that was pressed down onto the hard table over and over again, the tip brushing over the uneven surface. Chester’s moans rang in his ears, worse and worse, as his master’s pace increased and their bodies slapped into another over and over again, like his cock was rubbing over the table and then not until everything blurred and fused into a single sensation…

One more thrust, deeper and harder, and Chester’s cock exploded inside of Mike. His orgasm was holding onto him, making him thrust in and out again, he shuddered every time he felt another wave of pleasure. One of his hands moved between Mike’s belly and the table, dipping into wetness that Chester recognized as Mike’s cum. A smirk planted itself on his face as he smeared the warm fluid onto Mike’s cock, his own still moving in and outside of him. They must have cum simultaneously, or at least almost; the thought of it made Chester moan again, squeezing his victim’s dying erection affectionately.

After rocking out the last remainders of his orgasm, Chester pulled out and leaned over Mike, planting kisses on his neck. His breath hit the tanned skin of his slave who was failing at catching at his breath and seemed close to hyperventilating. A frown moved onto Chester’s face and he turned Mike onto his back, then leaned into him and stroked his cheek. “You can calm down, honey, it’s over…” Now that his spirit was freed of the demon of lust, worry could step at its place and take the upper-hand. He kissed Mike’s face softly, hoping it would calm him down at least a bit. His reasonable mind told him to remove the bonds and blindfolds, freeing Mike of his enslavement. The sight that greeted Chester made tears brim in his eyes. From all the crying, Mike’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, still glistening with some tears and a hint of fear in them. It broke Chester’s heart a little bit, though he couldn’t find any regrets of what he had done to him.

A shy smile crawled onto Mike’s lips, looking into Chester’s eyes. His head was shielding him from the light of the bulb, which he was lucky for, his eyes were stinging enough already. Though what Chester had done to him was sick, no matter what; he felt good. Even relieved, like he had wanted this for years and it had finally happened. Maybe it was like that; he wasn’t sure. He raised his shaking hand to stroke over Chester’s cheek and smiled into his worrying eyes, “I’m… oh… okay..” The words came out as heavy pants, his breathing was still fast and uncontrolled. “Don… don’t… worry.”

Chester leaned in to peck him on the lips, smiling back. “Okay,” he whispered, kissing Mike another time. The younger man tried to sit up but couldn’t find the strength to do so. His smile fading, Chester helped Mike to sit up, wrapping his arms around him so he wouldn’t fall back. “Are you really okay?” Mike’s body was covered in dried blood, sweat and cum, a long cut marked his left side and his belly was gaining a purplish color.

“Yes,” Mike tried to laugh, almost choking on his saliva. “Just be… more careful with me next time, okay?” He knew he wanted to be together with Chester like this again but a little less violent. “That… that is if you would want…” Chester’s words about ‘meaning a single thing to him’ darkened his mood, somehow he wished it wasn’t true.

“Not like… this… not again,” Chester replied and placed a kiss on his temple. They smiled at each other for a while before engaging in a soft kiss. “But like this…” And Chester pressed his lips onto Mike’s again, holding him tighter than ever.

Aug. 10th, 2010


( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

Jul. 13th, 2010

Goodbye Tonight

Fandom: Pokémon
Pairing: Palletshipping ; Ash/Satoshi X Gary/Shigeru
Wordcount: 433

A/N: First, a little warning for those who are yet unaware of what they're about to read. This is about a boy loving a boy, so if you don't like it, this is the best moment to quit. If you are curious, start reading and end up being sick - don't tell me I haven't warned you. However, this is nothing more but fluffiness. 
Uhm, I guess it would make things easier to understand if you watch the Silver Conference episodes, particularly the one where Gary announces that he quits being a trainer to become a researcher. 
And excuse any mistakes, I've read it over several times but since English is not my mother tongue, there still might be some mistakes. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the idea of the plot; if I'd own Pokémon, it  surely wouldn't be a kids' series anymore. The title's a song by Lostprophets.

Special thanks to my bff for making me post this and looking through her entire music library to find a title. I owe you one!


Goodbye Tonight

You said, you quit. You said, you'd finally found your true purpose in life. While everybody was cheering for you, I think my sad, surprised and hurt expression went unseen. And as sad as it already is - even you didn't notice.
You said, best friends for life. But then again, you left me behind. Weren't friends supposed to walk next to each other? But you made your own decision and I was left to choose my way; leading me even farther away from you.
I remember you saying, how our dreams will one day come true, and that we'll be lucky to share that special moment. Yet, you left before we could even get close.

We meet occasionally, and it gives me hope that one day, one day, everything will be back to normal. Because... it can't be even close to normal the way it is right now, can it? Those looks of you, your attitude... hell, I even miss that smirk that showed up on your face whenever you teased me. That smirk I used to detest so much.
But now, you appear like a complete stranger to me. Someone I don't have any relation to, like a figure of a book; you've read everything about them, though they're nothing more than a shadow in your life.

I keep telling myself that you miss me. Because it calms me down. I keep thinking that you still care, because, Shigeru, that's what you do, right? I know it when you're holding me so close. Your kisses reveal your longing for me, don't they? The many times you needed me, the times you stayed with me, you miss those old times, don't you?

But then, you keep walking away. Like it's the most normal thing to kiss your friend and leave, not knowing when you'll meet again.
And you smile. As if our separation doesn't hurt you. As if the memories of us, of me, don't haunt you in your sleep. How can you be so cold?

A part of me wants to move on, there's a life for me to live, a dream to fulfill, so many challenges to be accepted and my friends waiting for me. Why putting up with all this pain? All the troubles? Why putting up with you? When it's only me who feels anything at all about us.

Shigeru, do your thing, and walk away.

...And maybe one day, I won't be waiting for you to come back.

That is, if I'll ever be able to heave the weight off my heart and let go... of you.


Any kind of comments would be appreciated. ^.^

Jan. 29th, 2010

Tears Of Yesterday

 The following is my latest and current project. The latter because I'm still writing on it. It's... like 6 pages long already and still not done. I don't where it'll lead to. I had an idea about the end and the "high point" of it but my brain let me dream about it one night and I figured out that my original idea is... kitschy. 
Plan is to post on a regular basis. I won't post it anywhere else, not until I'm done with it. I just need to hear some feedback. Not motivated enough to continue writing... 

I do know that I need to continue my other one but hell... I lost the brand new chapter again! So I can write it for the fourth time now... frustrating. 

Anyways, enjoy reading! Please give me feedback, no matter if good or bad. Just be honest. No flames or whatever else of that nature, only real feedback. Thanks in advance!

Oh, a few things before reading... it's a slash fanfic. I don't say which pairing, it's not like everybody's-darling-pairing. But my favorite one... Already said too much. No mpreg, no sex... it's lightly Bennoda flavored. Not much. :P  The chapters are over two pages long, and everything is unbeta'd but all of the ones who've read it so far didn't complain, so... do c

Thanks to my title sponsor, I love you forever! <3

Edit: It's totally AU, so don't try to compare it with our world :)

Tears Of Yesterday

Five ships coming from the west side, the other three approaching the enemy from the south... He couldn't stop to read his amazing plan over and over again. The strategically perfect plan to fight the enemy, a bunch of weak, brainless and credulous idiots. Even the bare thought let him grimace in disgust. None of his people should ever again have to deal with such vermin. So it was his responsibility to eliminate the enemy's folk. No matter what it takes...

He folded the parchment and put it back to the others. Old plans, maps, letters. This war went on and on, no end in sight until the last man would be dead. So far, they've put down every riot, defeated every fleet and conquered every part of the enemy's territory. To many of his people, this meant the end of the war, having achieved every bit of the plan. No doubt, they have been successful. In fact, the actual plan was to conquer everything and force the people to comply. But he didn't want to pull his soldiers back yet; only this last attack at the enemy, and he'd be content. There was an unpaid bill, a word unsaid, and he had to fulfill his wish in order to get on with his life.

Just as he pulled out the map of the Atlantic Ocean, he heard a noise coming from outside of his tent. A little boy's voice fighting against a sharply sounding woman, who pleaded him to stay away from the tent. But the boy was a rebel like his Dad, stubborn as him, and finally made it into the tent.

Smilingly, he turned around to face his ten-year-old son, his pride greater than his slender body, with his teddy-bear clenched to his chest. His son, Jake Christopher was his name, was a cute-looking little boy, dark brown eyes, a pretty pale skin color and small pink-ish lips. No one really took him serious; his cuteness was an obstacle to him. Only his father knew what kind of a person his son was, rebellious, intelligent and stubborn. If he wanted something, he'd get it. And it gave his father sleepless nights, for his son interrupting his plan to defeat the enemy.

Jake Christopher walked closer to him, a fire burning behind his childish facade. For a ten-year-old, he knew too much. The whole situation between his father's people and the enemy's folk; he understood too well what was going on. From the very day he had found out about his father's cruel plans, this fire started burning inside of him. A fire that grew whenever this pretentious warm smile appeared on his father's face. It made him hate him, hate his father for pretending to be a good man with an idea of peace inside his head. But this certain idea didn't match his son's one, not at all. Other than the rest of the people, Jake Christopher was able to look behind the facade of his father for he knew things that were strictly kept as secrets.

Though all the cruel and unfair methods his father had chosen to become the most powerful man of this nation, Jake Christopher still felt love for him. For the part of his father that was kept locked behind brick walls deep inside his father's heart.

“What gets you here, my precious boy?” His father's arms invited him into a hug which he reluctantly accepted. Silently, he took place in his father's lap where his eyes immediately located the map of the great ocean.

While tracing the violet line along the coast, not looking up even for a second, he spoke, “You already know what I think about your plans.”

It made his heart ache, hearing the contemptuous tone in his son's voice. His smile faded and he tried to say something but no words could reassure his son, at least not the words he'd want to say. Instead he changed the topic by softly touching the teddy-bear's ear that was almost ripped off of the teddy's head. “Won't you get it repaired by Auntie Melinda?”

The little boy shook his head and hugged the teddy tighter. “She tried to repair him once but instead she did the opposite; that's how he got his ear ripped off. It wasn't that bad before she tried to fix him.”

Although Aunt Melinda was a pretty loveable and kind person, always having the kids' well-being on her mind, she somehow was gruff towards Jake Christopher's toys. Behind his back, he'd noticed it, she even treated his son as she did the old teddy-bear.

Jake Christopher went on. “She... she took him away from me once and replaced him with another new teddy. I noticed it right away; it was so stiff and... and it had no red ribbon, and no smile on his face.” Tears appeared in his small bottomless eyes, revealing the emptiness behind them. “She said that it was time to forget about the past. And that... that the teddy w-would only remind m-me of it... and that these stupid bastards wouldn't deserve my love.” His tiny chest rose with the word “bastards” and a sudden anger rushed through his veins.

Again, his father didn't know what to say. Nothing to calm his son down. That was if he wanted to keep his plan. All he wanted to do to fight the enemy and win this war, was his son's biggest fear. And said was aware of his father's purposefulness to follow the plan to its end.

Not expecting his father to say anything, he leaned over the table to have a better view on the map. His eyes followed the ink lines, arrows pointing to a small hand-drawn ship hiding behind a small group of hills, close to the harbor. It didn't get to the little boy what was supposed to be so special about the ship when they've already invaded the whole country. “So... what's the reason why you want to carry on this war? You seem so eager about... killing.”

The last word barely made it through his son's lips though it sent chills down the older man's spine. Hearing it from his son's mouth made it sound like a crime. His attempts to save his son's future, this war he was leading, only for his son to be the king of this country one day. The last two years, all the brave men he had lost in this war; he used to believe it was a good thing. But apparently, all it was to his son was... was a crime.

“Daddy? Stop thinking about things you should already know,” his son said coolly, not looking up into his father's stunned face. “And please answer my damn question finally, I came here to talk you out of it.”

Shaking his thoughts out of his head, he thought hard about his answer, and then said, “It's just the last ship that's not under our control yet. That's why we need to attack it.”

With a look that made it obvious how less his son believed him, the little boy replied, “Liar. There's something about this ship. Why else would you have to attack the enemy's ship when the enemy is already under your power?” His anger made him look way older than just ten years old.

And with any other of his men, he'd yell back for he couldn't take criticism. This was his war, his country. He was the leader and no one was allowed to tell him what to do. But his son. He couldn't yell at his son; he knew in what pain he was, and he knew that it was all his fault. So he could at least be honest with him, instead of lying about the most important part of the mission.

“Son...,” he stopped to let out a heavy sigh. He had always dreaded the day on which he'd have to explain this to his son. But he didn't have to; after all, he was his father and he had to decide what his son should know and what not. “This is nothing a ten-year-old should know about. And you're better off not knowing a single detail. I don't want you to know.”

But he had raised his son to never take no for an answer, and with his next words, the education obviously paid off. “If the ship was really so worthless, why for god's sake do you want to kill the people on it – so badly? Who's so important to you? All the people you wanted to see dead have at least disappeared. There's no one else that I could come up with who you'd want to kill. So, tell me, who is it?”

What a fool he was to believe his son would easily give up. He let out another sigh, this time angrier. “You should keep yourself out of my business, alright? Do yourself a favor and stop worrying about it. It's a waste of time.”

Stay tuned for the second chapter, it reveals more about the person... :)

Sep. 13th, 2009

Letter #1

 Inspired by a few lines of a song which I don't know. XD Oh, well. THAT makes it to another songfic of mine. It's in the middle of the night now, so it sucks, I am convinced. Ehm... it was supposed to be a fanfic but you see what turned out... a letter. MAYBE I will write an answer to this letter. You decide, not I. 

I read it twice. And didn't find any mistakes. But it's 3.09am, so... well, you can imagine. 

The first line is a thought. It belongs to the person who reads the letter. Have fun, leave a comment, tear it apart, tell me that it sucks. I don't care, heading off to my beloved bed now. Bye. 

Letter #1

Found half of the letter in one of my drawers; the missing part of the paper seems to have been burned.

…it's the way it always has been; you hide your broken self behind a cool outfit, you try to keep the bad memories under water. And show off what an awesome and good-looking guy you are, how amazing you are, with your projects going on, with your talent and with the people who love you. With the many things you do, with the job you have. Even your kids; yes, you love them, you love them because people pay more attention and like your more when you have kids, and show how good you care for them.

You like to show off. For example, your new car. How many journalists have been in your front garden? 100? To take photos of your brand new sports car, a custom-made one, only one available and that one is yours. And you didn't mind them interviewing you. Asking questions about your car; about your house, of course, too. The villa with its 30 rooms, 10 baths, 3 kitchens, the huge studio you don't use, the party room you spend your weekends in, the gym you only enter when you have visitors. To show off, of course. Why else have you bought a villa so expensive you could've fed a whole country in Africa with the money.

You are so in love with your fake self that you can't stop saying how awesome you are. It's the only word you know by heart, isn't it? Oh, and not to forget, “I”, “me” and “money”.

How does it feel? To be loved by people who don't demand love from you? Does it feel like... floating? Does it make your life easy to know that it doesn't matter what you do, they won't ever leave you alone? And how does that make you feel? To know that they won't leave you alone? Not even when your clothes are torn, your house a dirty trailer, your skin as gray as the ash in your always filled up ash-tray, your head almost bald, your body; only a skeleton? Is that why you show off? Why you don't show the real you? Why you keep on living this fucked up life of yours, to prevent you from falling? To never let this disgrace happen?

The question “How are you doing?” invites you to lie. It gives you the chance to perform your show for which you worked so hard. And you do a great job, to be honest. That faked grin on your face, the forced words leaving your lips, convincing your dialog partner that you're “doing good, a lot of parties and stuff, enjoying my awesome life.” I need to correct myself; of course, a lot of parties, that one is true. I wonder; do you clean your party room? Do you even have the time to?

A reminder for you: Thursday to Monday; the party is on. Late Monday to early Wednesday; you recover from the party, from the sex, drugs and Rock'n'Roll. Wednesday to Thursday; you lie in bed, preparing yourself for the next party. Let's calculate for how long this has been going on. Three years?

As we used to say in College; a party is no party when you don't clean up after it and bring everything back to normal again. And I think it's still true, a party has to end or it's nothing special anymore. Which apparently doesn't get into your pea-sized brain, I assume. Your life is a party, your death will be its end and after that, your guests will clean everything up for you, remembering the party as something good in the beginning but something boring towards its ending. Not missing you; missing the party.

Because you're nothing more than a porcelain doll, having a surface but no insides. There is nothing about you to ever be remembered. People only love you for your body, for your parties, for your lifestyle, for the sex, for the money; not because of what you are. And I think you know that. Deep down, you know that to others, you are shallow.

Is that why you blow your mind away with drugs? Is that why you start shaking like the ground during an earthquake whenever a situation is near that's so serious and close that you can't run away anymore by using your feet? You do run away; leaving your body for a few minutes while your ghost is somewhere else, while your organs get tortured by the drugs.

You could fucking die. But do you care? Do you know what it means to care? To care about others? I know that you don't. There are too many things which you don't do.

Don't you think the world should know about the real you? About your whiskey-lever, about your head that has a tired and taking over by heroin brain, mist instead of a functional mind. Reasonable, you? Isn't it that you have to have a heart to be reasonable? Or at least a brain?

Oh, stupid me. You can't feel love for anyone; not even for yourself. So, even your narcissistic behavior is nothing more than a lie? Is there anything true about you at all?

Tell me, does it feel better to need synthetic shit to stay conscious or even alive rather than just a healthy relationship? Or don't you know any better? A world in which you don't have to flee into an imaginary world, a world in which you don't have to get drunken to feel like you could live forever. In which you experience real love, real friendship.

It's not like I don't understand your behavior. The way you prefer to deal with your problems, instead of solving them. It's not like I've never been in a state like yours; I have been in the exact same state, maybe way too often. And I like to float, I fucking love that feeling to just float away from your broken world. It's not like I've never been broken. I used to run away for a few minutes, just like you. The way you are feeling now, and the way I felt back then, they're both pretty similar to each other.

But our ways to handle the situations are different from each other. While you're stuffing up your nose with coke, I'm painting lines on canvas. While you're floating away on a heroin-cloud, my mind gets taken away to the situation painted on the canvas. While you're feeling the hands of your fast-leaded life tightly around your throat, while that, I'm feeling the arms of pure love around my body as a thank you for another beautiful painting, a gift for a friend.

I understand your fascination, being somewhere else rather than in the world that forces you to kill yourself slowly. Lying about yourself, only to be someone else, only to be someone better than you actually are. I know all that. I know how it feels like. But you should know, I found a way to be someone better without lying to myself. I found a way to change, myself and my life. And I'm thankful for it, thankful for all the people who showed the values of life to me, who had the patience and strength to help me.

Sometimes, I still float away; let my thoughts and feelings carry me away to a world that I paint on canvas, for others to see what I'm seeing in my head. Letting people see into your head makes it possible for them to help you. Sharing your inner chaos of feelings and thoughts and imaginations with them, it's a wonderful experience.


This letter is an offering, to take my hand and fly away with me. 

Aug. 3rd, 2009


 A/N: *sighs* too short for LPF -.- but well... that's what I got an LJ for. XD 


“There's a different smell on you.” I looked up to him, not caring at all about my words or their sound.

A frown shows up on his features, maybe even a bit of irritation. “How do you mean? What's wrong about my smell?”

“You smell differently.”

Mike looked at me irritated, shook his head then turned away, standing up to grab a towel and leave for the bathroom. The bathroom was next door, but it seemed to be miles away for me. As if he left me forever.

Every second day, I was alone. He hardly ever stayed over night, no goodbye, no explanation. No “I love you”. The fact that he expected me to believe him, to stay with me, hurt so much more than the fear that there might be someone else. Someone better than me.

And as he was standing in the doorway, he threw some words over his shoulder which as soon as they had reached me, tore my heart into pieces.

“As if I would smell like someone else, thanks for your trust, Brad.”

Right then, I recognized the smell. The smell of betrayal.

Jul. 25th, 2009

topics/words table


Any other suggestions? Ideas about what I could write? You have to say if you want an LP fanfic because I tend to write normal fictions. :)
Just leave a comment if you want me to write one. 

Jul. 19th, 2009

The man who can't be moved


Author's note: This is a songfic, inspired by the song "The man who can't be moved" which is by the amazing band The Script. So, the song doesn't belong to me. In case you don't know the song, look for it on youtube ;) And well, I was told that it's a little confusing at the end, so, in case there are questions, please ask. 

The man who can't be moved


In the middle of the street, there, still standing on the concrete. It is hard to ignore, yet too stupid to stare, and anything but satisfying to just watch. There, there on the concrete, there it stands. Someone must have forgotten it, without a note, just left it there. There, in the middle of the street, in the middle of the traffic.


All the people are staring, all the time. However, it has been there for a long time, the second your look falls on it the first time for the day, from that second on, your eyes are stuck to it. So attracting, so distracting you from the work you are doing. There, there it stands, only to manipulate you. You end up with an even worse focus on your work, that is all on it. That focus is put on that something, standing in the middle of the street. So every day you regret that you have ever chosen this office, with the window pointed to the main street. Those regrets won't ever be gone, not before it would be gone from the street.


You wondered. Why does it stand there? Why not anywhere else? Why does no one take it away? It is so easy to pull it off the street but no one does. Not even yourself. Blaming yourself, you give up on it, shaking your head and going back to work. It is not worth the effort. The end of the story would be you standing on the street, begging for help, because this something now standing on the street caused you losing your job.


Every new day, people look at it, some shooting annoyed glares, some having pity on it. For standing there, day after day, night after night, sunshine after rain. How does it rest? Is it alive? No one dares to ask, no one dares to get close to it. But no one gets ever used to it, to this something. Joining you on your way to work, being there when you are nervously awaiting your date. It is a participant of everybody's life, yet no one knows anything about it, yet no one knows the name for it.


You chuckle. There was this guy, a few days ago, in the café on the opposite of the street, telling you what people have started to call it. Because it has a human-like form, people call it “The man who can't be moved”. Indeed, it looks very human, even to you. And you catch yourself, after work, looking at it, capturing it with your judging but curious eyes. You can't resist to look it over, or look him over as you'd notice on your way home. Him, the man no one is able to move.


The next day you get up, pull on casual clothes, head off to your working place. It is Sunday, you want to see him. Usually, you hate to get up so early on Sundays but today, today that all doesn't matter. You have to see him, you have to tell him something. Something you remembered. You were lying in your bed when he had appeared in your head, looking not as broken and dirty as he does these days. No, actually, he had a familiar look, a look that pulled back memories to the surface, yet even feelings.


Mostly, longing it is, what keeps you running down the street, and suddenly, you know why he stands there, there, right there in front of you. Why he stood there for days and weeks and months, why people call him “The man who can't be moved”. All you do is pull him close, tightly snuggling him. And promise to move him away from this street, this environment of noises, dirt and ignorance, and, to never let him go again.


You'll ever be on my mind.