yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2003-07-10 01:39 am
marginalia) wrote2003-07-10 01:39 am
burn to shine - oz/dom
um. so. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
princesstwilite demanded oz!porn. and since i have written very little oz and absolutely no porn, of course i thought i'd give it a go. *facepalms* i'm sorry. that is all.
Burn to Shine - oz/dom monaghan. btvs & lotrips crossover. yes.again still.
archive: .: marginalia :.
follows three drabbles: thursday night in la, lethe, and combust. but as this has no plot, that probably doesn't matter.
Oz combusts, shudders, burns and glows. A new fire sparks in his eyes as he comes back to himself, his gaze out for a Sunday stroll down the length of Dom's body. Dom swallows hard. He's a small man, Dom thinks, and then takes a moment to laugh at that, at the world, at himself. A fucking hobbit. Who had been fucking a hobbit. Ha ha. Shut up, Monaghan.
Oz is small, maybe, but strong too, pouncing with lupine grace and pinning Dom to the wall. "Stay." Wrists pressed close at shoulder height, breath hot on his ear, ". . .smelled you dancing," Dom thinks he said, but that can't be right. Smelled, no, doesn't make sense, but then Oz's teeth are worrying at his shoulder and logic trickles out Dom's ears. Logic captured by Oz's tongue twirling down around a nipple and slowly back up, finally delivering salted heat into Dom's gasping mouth.
Need Dom thinks. Dom says. Dom goes slightly mad under the slow torture of teeth and tongue, pushes his hips forward seeking friction. "No," Oz says, low. Firm. Dom is aware again of hands at his wrists. Oz tugs his left hand down. "Good." He suckles gently at the thumb, twisting the ring, flicks his tongue under the leather cuff, seemingly mapping the taste of Dom. Dom, biting his lip, muscles twitching, attempting to force stillness upon himself.
As though on a signal only he can hear, Oz laces their fingers together - his right palm to the back of Dom's hand - and directs Dom's hand down. Fingers trailing down Dom's chest and stomach, heat coming off in waves, finally stopping at the hard ridge of his jeans. Oz sets the rhythm as he's directed everything this evening, strong and sure strokes. But a voice inside Dom rebels. No. Not like this. Not like I'm fourteen. He tenses, fighting for control.
Oz sees the set of Dom's jaw, the spark of determination in his eyes fighting past the blinding arousal. "Yeah," he breathes, releases Dom's hand, and unzips his jeans, freeing his cock. Oz sinks to his knees and takes Dom in with one fluid motion. Dom hisses, slams his upper body back against the wall, trying not to thrust, trying not to fuck the mouth of this man.
And then, everything is there, focused on the wet and the heat. The whole night, the dancing, the music, the scent, the need to forget, the wanting is all there pooled hot and tight in his belly. Dom gives up his last lingering thread of control, long fingers now splayed through Oz's hair, and held safe in Oz's hands and mouth and impeccable rhythm . . . he falls.
Later. After Dom has sunk boneless to the floor, deciding he doesn't care what's down there after all, Oz lifts his chin with his forefinger, forces their eyes to meet. Oz looks at Dom with that trick he has, that trick of looking as though he's smiling when he isn't.
"Sorry you missed the band."
princesstwilite demanded oz!porn. and since i have written very little oz and absolutely no porn, of course i thought i'd give it a go. *facepalms* i'm sorry. that is all.Burn to Shine - oz/dom monaghan. btvs & lotrips crossover. yes.
archive: .: marginalia :.
follows three drabbles: thursday night in la, lethe, and combust. but as this has no plot, that probably doesn't matter.
Oz combusts, shudders, burns and glows. A new fire sparks in his eyes as he comes back to himself, his gaze out for a Sunday stroll down the length of Dom's body. Dom swallows hard. He's a small man, Dom thinks, and then takes a moment to laugh at that, at the world, at himself. A fucking hobbit. Who had been fucking a hobbit. Ha ha. Shut up, Monaghan.
Oz is small, maybe, but strong too, pouncing with lupine grace and pinning Dom to the wall. "Stay." Wrists pressed close at shoulder height, breath hot on his ear, ". . .smelled you dancing," Dom thinks he said, but that can't be right. Smelled, no, doesn't make sense, but then Oz's teeth are worrying at his shoulder and logic trickles out Dom's ears. Logic captured by Oz's tongue twirling down around a nipple and slowly back up, finally delivering salted heat into Dom's gasping mouth.
Need Dom thinks. Dom says. Dom goes slightly mad under the slow torture of teeth and tongue, pushes his hips forward seeking friction. "No," Oz says, low. Firm. Dom is aware again of hands at his wrists. Oz tugs his left hand down. "Good." He suckles gently at the thumb, twisting the ring, flicks his tongue under the leather cuff, seemingly mapping the taste of Dom. Dom, biting his lip, muscles twitching, attempting to force stillness upon himself.
As though on a signal only he can hear, Oz laces their fingers together - his right palm to the back of Dom's hand - and directs Dom's hand down. Fingers trailing down Dom's chest and stomach, heat coming off in waves, finally stopping at the hard ridge of his jeans. Oz sets the rhythm as he's directed everything this evening, strong and sure strokes. But a voice inside Dom rebels. No. Not like this. Not like I'm fourteen. He tenses, fighting for control.
Oz sees the set of Dom's jaw, the spark of determination in his eyes fighting past the blinding arousal. "Yeah," he breathes, releases Dom's hand, and unzips his jeans, freeing his cock. Oz sinks to his knees and takes Dom in with one fluid motion. Dom hisses, slams his upper body back against the wall, trying not to thrust, trying not to fuck the mouth of this man.
And then, everything is there, focused on the wet and the heat. The whole night, the dancing, the music, the scent, the need to forget, the wanting is all there pooled hot and tight in his belly. Dom gives up his last lingering thread of control, long fingers now splayed through Oz's hair, and held safe in Oz's hands and mouth and impeccable rhythm . . . he falls.
Later. After Dom has sunk boneless to the floor, deciding he doesn't care what's down there after all, Oz lifts his chin with his forefinger, forces their eyes to meet. Oz looks at Dom with that trick he has, that trick of looking as though he's smiling when he isn't.
"Sorry you missed the band."