Log in

No account? Create an account

Next Entry

Glam Kink Meme Post #1

The Glam Kink Meme Post #1 is now open.

Have fun prompting, writing, reading, and feedbacking. :)

ETA: All prompts are listed here.

ETA2: All filled prompts are archived here.

ETA3 This post is now CLOSED to new prompts.

Glam Kink Flat View
Glam Kink Regular View



Nov. 9th, 2010 09:03 pm (UTC)
Adam/Neil. none of this "we're actually in love" stuff. They're just horny and high on international. Bonus points if Neil is the toppy one/top, depending on how far you wanna go.
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:25 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 1/??
It's so typical.

They're laid out on Adam's blanket, the one he insists on dragging into every single hotel they stay at, Neil's head on Adam's stomach because using Adam as a body pillow without permission is one of the few ways he can be a total dick annoying younger brother without putting in a whole lot of effort. Teasing Adam about the blanket is another, but he's running out of creative snide remarks and Neil hates repeating himself. It doesn't help that it's a pretty nice blanket, either; some fan found some of that microplush fabric patterned like peacock feathers and made Adam a full quilt out of it. If it didn't look like it belonged on the bed of a twelve-year-old girl Neil would totally want it, so he makes a point of telling Adam as often as he can how completely lame it is.

Except it's really not lame, he thinks, turning his head to the side as he takes a hit off the last joint they got at the local marijuana café. It's actually really pretty, especially viewed through a slow haze of white smoke he doesn't have to share with Sasha and Taylor and Tommy anymore (and he and Sasha are going to fucking talk tomorrow, she still owes him the five bucks she said she'd put in for this) while Adam's iPod puts out a weird mix of Bowie, Goldfrapp, and Lady Gaga, not that he's going to tell Adam that. Instead he rubs the bottoms of his bare feet over it, pulling it around with his toes so he can rub the tops of his feet against it without rolling over and planting his face right in Adam's crotch.

"So what the fuck was up with you guys tonight?" Neil asks, except he doesn't really have to ask. He was at Burning Man, he knows how Adam and pot mix. Fuck, Adam's probably the only adult male alive to ever get jabbed in the ribs in the middle of sex by an irate younger brother telling him to quiet the fuck down because other people in the tent were trying to sleep, thanks.

"Nothing. Just . . . got into it. Really into it," Adam amends, as Neil does his best to shoot a well-honed glare up Adam's chest. "'s fucking Amsterdam. I could totally do that again."

"Twitter's freaking out," Neil says, and he's pretty sure there was a point to be made there, but he rolled over to make it and now he's just staring at the pattern on the blanket, running one hand over it and feeling all the little strands under his fingers and watching how the colours glint in the light from the shitty motel lamp. "This blanket is really fucking lame."

"Twitter always freaks out. It was just, you know, a moment, okay?"

"Uh-huh." Neil takes another drag off the joint, and between the length of the drag and how long Neil holds the smoke it's probably half a minute, or maybe an hour or no time at all, before he speaks again. "Any moments on the bus and I'm gonna wake up Taylor and tell him it's your fault." Taylor is fucking small and little in the young kind of way and—there's really no nice way to say it, Neil was almost tempted to just "accidentally" give him Adam's keycard on the first hotel night until he heard Taylor talking about his girlfriend because Jesus wept, Taylor acts gayer than Tommy and Adam combined most of the time—but interrupt him sleeping and it's a little like watching a tiny force of nature unleashed. Hurricane Taylor, and anybody who laughs does so at their own fucking risk, because Neil is so not putting his personal safety in question to save their sorry ass.

"Tommy's straight," Adam says, and Neil waves the hand with the joint in it in disgust.

"God, you're such a fucking idiot sometimes I wonder how you live."

"No I'm not!" Adam protests. He makes a swipe at Neil's wrist and misses.

"You totally are. If your spelling was verbally rendered it'd be like living with a gay hippie pacifist George Bush." And then, because Amsterdam weed is really fucking good and Neil's feeling charitable, he amends it to "a better-looking gay hippie pacifist George Bush" and then, because he can't help himself, tacks on "who gets all starry-eyed over a fucking sparkling vampire."
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:26 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 2/??
This time Adam actually gets the hand with the joint in it, and pulls Neil's hand to his mouth to take a drag before Neil can protest, the joint already so low Neil's fingers are brushing Adam's lips when he inhales. By the time he gets his hand away there's not enough left for a drag even if they had a clip, which of course they don't.

"Fuck you, that was the last hit," he says, and wonders if there's still anywhere open at two in the morning and if it's worth not having Adam's blanket under his calves where he's rolled up his jeans to go find out.

"Aww, should I have shared?" Adam asks, and it's kind of choked because he's still holding the drag, so—and even though he's kind of pissed Neil takes pleasure in noting it—it's missing about 99% of the effect he was probably going for.

He's opening his mouth to be a piss by telling Adam so when suddenly Adam's moving and their mouths are pressed together and that breath Neil was going to take to laugh at Adam with is instead straight from Adam's lungs and full of heavy smoke, and he'd gasp except that would mean wasting probably the last hit he'll get legally for a long fucking time, and being shocked or pissy would take too much concentration he needs to hold his breath with.

Neil's just letting the smoke trickle out, between their lips and back into Adam's mouth and wherever the fuck it wants to go, really, he's as happy as he ever gets, and then he feels Adam's tongue flicker against his lips and he thinks what he tried to say is "Adam, what the hell?" but even though he could probably slither out from under Adam on the peacock blanket it just feels like too much effort for just a kiss after a really good fucking hit, it's not like they're murdering babies or conducting illegal warrantless wiretaps here.

Adam tilts his head and this time when their lips touch it's a full-on kiss, no pretext about sharing a hit here, just heat and wet and tongues and Adam's hand on the side of his head, probably looking for hair to tangle in that it's not going to find, and Neil really should stop him, and he finally reaches up to push Adam away. If Adam was anyone else on the tour—male or female, gay or straight, Neil's not quite as indiscriminate with his makeout partners as Adam is but he doesn't really restrict himself if the chemistry's there, either—it'd be different, but there's something bizarre about frenching the guy who taught you how to tie your shoes.

Except they're in fucking Amsterdam in a top-floor hotel suite with an actual God-honest minibar and the entire city open to them, if they want it—because no matter how exclusive the club, how discerning the guest list, Adam's name has become a magic word on par with "open sesame," and they could be inside anywhere they wanted with nothing but the quick flash of Adam's driver's license—and they're riding the world on their own fucking terms, it's like that one song Neil only heard when he got to preview the album, don't give a damn about your cold calculation, they're writing the master plan, and—fuck it, Adam's warm and there and not a bad kisser, for what small experience Neil has kissing guys, and instead of shoving Adam's shoulders he just kind of lets his arms drape around them.

But something's got to change if they're going to be making out, because Neil is so not a fan of being pinned to the bed, even by a decent (okay, a really fucking good) kisser.

So he hooks a leg around Adam's knees and flips him, just like they're twelve and fifteen again and about to get freaked on by Dad for messing around in the house.

Adam pulls back, but not like he plans on really going anywhere—more like he's confused by having suddenly moved both farther and way faster than either of them have moved in a good two hours. "Neil . . . ?"
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:29 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 3/??
"'s good now," Neil answers, and this time he's the one in charge, sliding his tongue past Adam's lips and finding out what's in that mouth that's driven so many thousands of men, women, and teenagers of all gender descriptions and orientations into fucking hysterics, tangling his fingers into Adam's hair and not really paying attention when it tugs. Adam tries again for hair that isn't there and settles for a hand on the back of Neil's head, other hand rubbing all over Neil's back apparently looking for a place it likes. Neil touches the side of Adam's face and gets a hum of approval as they settle together on the blanket, bodies pressed against each other and bare feet companionably tangled.

He's not really sure when he becomes aware his jeans are way too fucking uncomfortable to keep laying this way, but finally he shifts his weight so he can at least take his belt off and get the buckle out of the way, and then he realises where the pressure is greatest and stares back down at Adam with the kind of blurry not-really-surprise he's only ever gotten high. Oh.

Adam's lower lip is swollen, and he doesn't open his eyes when Neil pulls away. Instead he sighs.

"You should get going," he says, and Neil blinks down at him.


"Because . . . " And Adam sort of waves a hand around and in the general direction of their legs, and after staring at him blankly for a few seconds—because why? It's not like Neil's problem is hurting anybody, except himself—he gets it. Adam's too high to get hard just kissing, but that won't last forever.

And when it passes, he's not sure it'll stop at kissing.

" . . . oh."

Neil thinks about his bed, a floor down and a corridor away. There's no pot in his room. There's none up here, either, but there's also not a warm body in his room inviting him to play, and that is up here, so after a moment's thought he completely ignores Adam suggesting he leave and lies back down to kiss again, working a hand between them until he can rub the heel of his hand over Adam's jeans.

Adam moans into his mouth and reaches a hand down to shove Neil away, but it's a halfhearted push that only lasts about as long as it takes Neil to thread the fingers of his free hand back through Adam's hair, and then Adam's fumbling for Neil's zip before breathing a "sure?" into a break between kisses.

Neil pauses—considers for a second, because there's "it was the weed" and then there's "well, this is a clusterfuck" and this definitely counts as the second—and makes some kind of noise he hopes comes across as affirmative, because just why not? Why the royal fuck not? Hell, even if someone manages to trip the lock and walks in it's not like they can be arrested, thank you, Napoleon Bonaparte and Neil's World History classes in college. Why not take advantage of every one-time-only legality they can? It's not exactly like either of them can catch pregnant, and as he thinks it he finds Adam's zip and pulls it.

Adam's having trouble making it to even half-hard, so Neil rubs the flat of his hand over Adam's cock as Adam makes an approving noise into his mouth and pushes Neil's jeans off his hips before lifting his own to make Neil's job easier and then, as Neil settles between Adam's newly-bared legs, rocking his weight to one side and then Neil's looking up at Adam for the split second before Adam sets to kissing the side of Neil's neck and nuzzling his head there like some kind of housecat.

"Adam, what the hell?"

Adam lifts his head. "What?"

Neil gestures between them, and he could scream for frustration, he really could, when the beginnings of Adam's confused-hurt-puppy look start seeping onto his face.

"You said you wanted to?"

"I'm not getting ridden like a fucking horse," Neil answers, and now he squirms, because Adam's not moving, maybe not getting it at all, how fucking thick can he be? Adam puts one hand flat on Neil's shoulder to hold him, keep him from getting up.

Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:30 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 4/??
"And you're not topping unless you wanna be my gopher tomorrow 'cause unless you got a real big secret I don't know about yet, you don't know how and it'll be your fault I can't walk."

Neil considers if he could get his free hand around enough to actually hit—because he will totally fucking take Adam's head off if it comes to that, he seriously will—and then Adam rolls off him, dragging Neil along with him, pulling them chest to chest flush on the bed, sliding his hands under Neil's shirt and pulling it off over his head in a single easy movement, leaving him bare.

"Adam, I am so not fucking kidding here—"

"Shh," Adam says, and runs his fingers over Neil's scalp. "Trust me on this one, okay? I've been doing this way longer than you." And Neil would make some kind of sassy comeback, but Adam cuts him off by sitting up and stretching and pulling his own shirt over his head, reaching behind him for what Neil can only assume is the nightstand.

He topples over backward in slow motion, and Neil starts laughing at the look on his face, almost vaudevillian surprise at the concept that leaning too far backward will make someone . . . fall backward, and scrambles on top of Adam before he can get up, aware even as he plans his guerrilla attack of the exquisite, intimate slide of skin on warm skin.

"Hand it over."


Neil's ready to grab his jeans and go, except he's still high and Adam still feels warm and good and he's an asshole older brother but he's the only one Neil's got, and there's one thing Neil completely can't deny: asshole or no, Adam could have left him in New York, and instead he paid Neil's overdue cell phone bill and took him on a trip around the world and went out of his way to find something for Neil to do that's going to look absolutely killer on his resume. Adam takes care of the people he loves; it's that simple.

Neil will deny it on his deathbed if anybody asks, but it's true: Adam is probably right.

Which doesn't mean he has to go down without a fight.

"I'm not—"

"I heard you the first time," Adam says, and it's close enough to bitchy for Neil to feel that twinge of triumph only a younger sibling can feel. Adam's buttons: pushed. "I'm still not letting you tear the fuck out of my ass."

"So I'm supposed to let you tear the fuck out of mine?"

"Not if you trust me. Let me up." Adam looks up at him, just looks, and finally Neil takes his hands off Adam's shoulders and draws back. Adam sits up, legs folded into a loose approximation of what elementary school teachers called "Indian-style" when Neil was eight and called "crisscross style" less than twenty years later when he found himself working with said teachers, fuck you, political correctness, and reaches again for the nightstand drawer, scrabbling around in it before drawing his hand back with the white tube of a cap showing, and then he reaches out and pulls Neil into his lap.


"You need to learn to get creative," Adam tells him, and he pulls Neil against his chest again. "Relax."

"What are you doing?"

"Telling you to relax." Adam kisses the side of Neil's neck, hands running over his back. "You smoked at least half that joint, enjoy it."

He keeps on docilely stroking and scratching Neil's back, letting just that casual brush of fingers on bare skin sink in, and as Neil finally slides his arms around Adam's waist and rests his head on his brother's shoulder—Adam isn't winning this round, he's not, but Neil can afford to chill for now—Adam rests his cheek on Neil's head and nuzzles back.

Then he spins the top off the lube, and Neil tries to pull back and protest again.

"Don't," Adam tells him. "I've got this one figured out."

"Glad I could help," Neil answers, trying for biting and sarcastic. He's too mellowed out for biting to come through, but the sarcasm works just fine. Then he's getting bitten, like actual fucking teeth on his shoulder, and he hisses.


"Are you going to chill or not?"

"I told you I'm not going to—"
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:31 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 5/??
"How many gay sex positions do you know, Neil?" Adam waits. Neil considers lying and decides he'll be closer to a win if he just tries to look superior. "Didn't think so." And before Neil has any further warning Adam has a finger inside him too far for Neil to yank away without what he guesses could be a serious hurt. "Trust me."

Neil wonders if he should try pulling away anyway; it doesn't hurt (even though it feels weird as hell), but he's still so not letting Adam win. Then he wonders if he could play the you-should-let-me-because-I'm-younger card. Then he remembers the final trump playing the younger card is "or I'll tell Mom," and there is no fucking way in hell he is calling his mother to complain that his brother insisted on fucking him instead of the other way around. "Why should I?"

"Because I know what I'm doing and you don't," Adam says, and then he works his finger deeper and crooks it and Neil would deny under torture at Gitmo that he just made that noise. "Point?"

"Fuck you," Neil manages to get out. "Do that again."

"Not if you don't trust me."

"Your dick says you don't want my ass to leave," Neil tells him, because Adam still isn't totally hard but he's starting to get there, and Neil can tell this shit. He thinks Adam's going to yell at him—even high, mellowed-out, Adam has a temper—or maybe push him onto his back and try to fuck him anyway just to prove he can, and if he tries that he's in for a big fucking surprise, but instead after staring at him for a moment Adam repeats the motion, moves his hand, keeps going until Neil is trying really fucking hard not to just say fuck it and ride Adam's fingers, and then Adam's hand is gone and he's speaking into Neil's ear.

"Put your hands on my shoulders."

"I said—"

"I know what you said. Will you trust me, already?"

Neil wants to glare, but any expression he can muster is going to be softened too much by pot and a hardon that he's too high to let cross over into painful territory, and so finally he just puts his hands on Adam's shoulders. Adam reaches down and shifts Neil's hips. Neil moves with him, balancing on his knees as Adam moves his centre of balance, and then as Neil's cock comes to rest against Adam's belly Adam leans back against the headboard.

"If anything hurts don't try to be macho man and pretend it doesn't, tell me," Adam says, and Neil's ready to snap at him about only being Adam's bitch during working hours when it occurs to him just what Adam's set up, and he can only stare.

"You sneaky little bastard."

Adam shrugs. "If I told you ten minutes ago would you have done it?"


"Now you know why I didn't." He runs a single hand over Neil's ass. "Shit, don't tell Mom about this."

"Like I'd want her to know I was fucking you," Neil answers, and finally he sinks back, from standing on his knees to kneeling with his legs folded beneath him and fuck, it feels weird and wrong and—

"Are you okay?"

Neil considers nodding just because Adam is so not going to fucking win, and then he shakes his head. "It's like brush burn."

"Don't move. Relax," Adam tells him, and then he uses his arms around Neil's waist to pull Neil closer, right up against his chest. "Cut out the top-bitch bullshit. If we're gonna do it let's make it good, yeah?"

Neil wants to tell him to go fuck himself. Instead he nods against Adam's shoulder and tries to concentrate on his breathing while Adam keeps still and rubs his back, and after awhile the hot burn fades out, because even pot doesn't cover everything.

Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:33 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 6/??
"Yeah." Neil squeezes Adam's shoulder. It still feels weird as fuck, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Adam leans back again and lets his hands slide down to Neil's hips, and Neil takes a deep breath and pushes down on Adam's shoulders and shifts his weight onto his knees and rocks up into a half-kneeling position before sliding back. Adam slides one hand to the small of Neil's back and pulls him closer, touches Neil's chin, kisses him again, runs his hand from Neil's jaw to the back of his neck and up over his scalp, and Neil almost kind of regrets putting himself in this position, demanding to be the one calling the shots, because after so long on the road hauling shit and sitting hunched over a prompt book calling cues into a headset that weighs almost as much as he does he could really go for one of Adam's neck rubs. And maybe Adam can tell, because the next time Neil pulls himself up on his knees Adam lets his hand come to rest on the back of Neil's neck, and squeezes, fingers close together, kneading, and Neil tries not to just flow backward into that hand and it's so not working.

Eventually Adam rests his head back against the headboard, eyes closed, mouth open, and Neil thinks about another night at Burning Man, one where they were all laughing drunk and took a run—more like they took a series of fast stumbles, actually, but they called it a run—through open desert for no good reason, getting caught in a windstorm just the wrong side of the entrance and Adam taking a stumble he couldn't get out of, landing on his knees, throwing out his arms and tossing his head back and laughing like they'd all never die while the wind blew his hair around his face and pelted them all with little bits of sand and stone.

Neil remembers thinking at the time, with that weird blend of wonder and cynicism he's pretty sure only coexist in the artist who knows, or at least thinks, he will never be able to create real art as Adam creates it, even if the truest of Adam's art is in a beaten-up notebook where nobody will ever see it: he's fucking gorgeous and I could never write that in a million years, and wishing, as probably only drunk and high people can, not to be Adam but to be the laugh coming out of Adam's chest, loud and childishly joyful and wonderfully unafraid and free.

They are sitting now not in an open, wind-torn desert but in a hotel room where the only sounds are the steady hum of the heater and their own breathing, and Adam isn't laughing now, just looking at Neil with dark eyes and flushed cheeks like he's never seen him before, but on some fundamental level, that moment and this one are the same, Neil thinks. And maybe it's just the pot talking, but Neil's pretty sure it's because in that moment, like this one, he's looking at Adam and wondering what the actual fuck are we doing here? while simultaneously wondering what he ever did to deserve sharing something nobody else would ever understand with somebody so totally infuriating and insane and full of love for everything and everyone around him.

It's fucked up. It's weird. It's a taboo so strong even Neil hesitates to break it.

It's incredible.

It's also a mess, Neil realises only a couple of short minutes later, and he wonders if the yaoi fangirls ever think about that being really not sexy. He clamps his hands tight on Adam's shoulders before he can fall forward, and Adam makes some kind of noise Neil can't interpret; his Adam/rest-of-humanity translation dictionary doesn't include sex noises. Then Adam relaxes back against the headboard, head back, too languid to really be smiling but too relaxed to be doing anything but. Neil swings his leg off to one side, pulling away from Adam and sitting back experimentally before deciding there's no permanent damage. What little soreness he feels will almost definitely be gone by morning.

"Thanks," he hears Adam say, and wonders if he imagined it. Then he sees Adam's lips move, and knows he didn't. "It's been awhile."
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:36 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 7/8
"Like hell," Neil objects. "You've got half a dozen guys throwing themselves at your feet every fucking place we stop."

"Half a dozen guys who could all go running to the tabloids first thing in the morning and only speak enough English to tell me how much they wanna suck me off," Adam points out, and he drags his discarded T-shirt from the other side of the bed to first wipe the sweat off his face and then clean his stomach before offering a clean swatch of it to Neil. Neil considers shaking his head, then decides the back of his neck is too sticky for comfort and takes it. "If I'm gonna be sold out for a one night stand I'd like it to be with somebody I can actually talk to."

Neil thinks about what it must be like to be so famous you can't even have sex without everybody knowing. Then he realises nobody will ever guess why he really stayed up here, and it occurs to him it's something Adam can't be one hundred percent guaranteed from anyone else ever again. No fucking wonder Adam's been going crazy onstage—he can't do it anywhere else without dragging somebody else into what Monte calls "the whisper circle."

"Yeah, well, two weeks and we'll be in the UK," Neil says, trying to break the sudden tension. He wonders why Adam and Terrance haven't worked anything out, then decides it's none of his damned business. "If you think you can handle the accent you can do all the talking you want."

"Yeah," Adam agrees, and he flops over onto the bed and closes his eyes. "'s true." He opens one, just enough to peer up at Neil. "You wanna stay here?"

Neil considers whether sleeping with Adam, who kicks and tosses all night long and occasionally left bruises on Neil's face and arms while sleep-fighting his way through puberty, is better or worse than having to get up and get dressed and wander all the way down to his own room. Finally he flops down next to Adam's side and rolls up in the peacock blanket, which feels even more incredible against completely bare skin than just the bottoms of his feet.

"It's like electricity, you know?" Adam says, and any other time Neil would roll his eyes, but he's just high enough and sleepy enough to listen. "Being on tour. When you're home you've got a ground plug whether you've got a boyfriend or not 'cause it's home. But when you're moving too fast to tell what time zone you're in it's like . . . loose AC in all your wires."

"That's not how electricity works, Adam," Neil protests, and Adam rolls over and burrows his face into Neil's neck.

"Loose AC," he insists, and between the pot and the orgasm Neil's pretty sure most of Adam's brain is fried and he should seriously just table this argument until tomorrow, even if it does make his inner science geek scream in pain. "You still cuddle good." Adam pauses, frowning against Neil's neck. "I mean—"

"I know," Neil answers. Adam's not talking about Neil cuddling back, he'd have to be a lot more high than this to actually cuddle back, but he's a relatively good sport about being held and generally used as a breathing rag doll. Adam curls up around him like a giant freckled cocoon.

"We should do this again," he says, and Neil feels him reach away for the other side of the blanket. "Like when we were kids."

"I don't remember fucking you when we were kids." Neil wonders if maybe he should go, effort or no effort—they talked, they fucked, they smoked some really good pot and blew off steam. Nothing more, and he doesn't want to give Adam the idea it was. Fuck, if anything could totally destroy the end of the tour, that would be it. Adam shakes his head against Neil's neck.

"Not that. This. Remember when we got the chicken pox?"

Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:37 am (UTC)
Play With Me, 8/8
Neil's about to say he doesn't, and then he does—Adam in second grade, Neil not quite into kindergarten. Adam caught it at school, Neil caught it from Adam, and then, somehow, in one of those the-medical-books-say-all-odds-against spectacles, Adam managed to be one of those kids who caught it twice. The first time was bad, the second time was brutal and left his skin permanently pockmarked, and when they both had blisters they curled up together in bed so they could scratch each others' backs and necks and shoulders when their parents weren't looking. They'd slept that way for two weeks after the parade of children's Advil and oatmeal baths and cortisone cream was only a memory, usually with Adam's arm slung over Neil's shoulders and Neil's face buried in a plush Pooh bear he's pretty sure one of their cousins appropriated from him as a "collectable" when he was nine or ten.

"Yeah. Don't tell Mom."

"Like I'd want her to know I'm letting you sleep in my bed again," Adam says, and Neil gropes for a pillow to whack him with before Adam can make any jokes about plastic liner sheets. They tussle over the pillow in a slow-motion kind of struggle that'd probably look fucking hilarious on a camera, and Neil's reminded again why he hates the damned things. Finally Adam gets it away and tucks it under his head to keep Neil from pulling it back. "Neil?"


"I love you, Fishbreath."

"I love you too, Dorkface." Neil curls up on his side and grabs the other pillow. Adam can damned well get up for the lamp himself.




"Mmm." Adam's blanket smells like pot and aftershave. Neil buries his face in it.



He doesn't have to see Adam's face to feel the wicked grin on his face. It's like the whole air in the room changes.

"I think I really fucking like Amsterdam."

Recaptcha: bellowed anatomy. Appropriate.
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:44 am (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8

... and apparently I have no shame <_<
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:48 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - janesgravity - Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:50 am (UTC) - Expand
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:54 am (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8
well, this is pretty fantastic <3
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:57 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - i_bleed_magenta - Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:58 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 06:07 am (UTC) - Expand
Dec. 3rd, 2010 05:55 am (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8
Before I actually say anything, I want to lol at "Adam's name has become a magic word on par with "open sesame,"" because well...lololol.

But A+++! Thank you! :D


Your Neil does about 0 things to ease my desire to marry him, btw.
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 06:02 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - zorabet - Dec. 3rd, 2010 06:10 am (UTC) - Expand
Dec. 3rd, 2010 07:17 am (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8
Hello Nonny...who isn't Nonny to me!
Love, love, looooooooooove.... and I too apparently have no shame!!
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 07:25 am (UTC) - Expand
Dec. 3rd, 2010 08:13 am (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8

Incest is one of the hardest kinks to write well, especially in RPS, and yet you managed to do so excellently, in a way that captures both Adam and Neil's personality and imo honors Adam's sex positive attitude. The fic is all about brothers reconnecting, being able to be honest in a way that they can be only with family; the sex, by the time it happens, is almost incidental.

Thank you for the lovely fic, bb, most especially your treatment of Neil. THIS IS POSSIBLY THE SWEETEST AND MOST ADORABLE INCEST FIC I'VE EVER READ ♥
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 08:31 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - etharei - Dec. 3rd, 2010 08:53 am (UTC) - Expand
Dec. 3rd, 2010 02:37 pm (UTC)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8
OMG, I love it! I love that the reasoning was "When in Amsterdam... do all the illegal stuff you want." :D I loved the snarkiness. <3333333333333
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 08:44 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - sparklesdani - Dec. 3rd, 2010 09:30 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 3rd, 2010 10:47 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 4th, 2010 12:22 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 4th, 2010 09:15 pm (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - (Anonymous) - Dec. 4th, 2010 09:17 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: Play With Me, 8/8 - hannab2 - Dec. 26th, 2010 10:21 pm (UTC) - Expand


Glam Kink Meme

Latest Month

August 2012

Page Summary

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow