~~porn. art recs. er. yes.

[reenka]

breaking news:

i just handed in somebody/draco porn to my philosophy professor! as an assignment! YESSS!! ROCK!!

ahem. it's... not really a -story- per se (had to keep it under 5 pages, and the point was the porn-- ie, describing things without using sight or sound), so i was really stretched and frazzled, so forget it, i'm never writing "plot" for this. but i know all you pervs. you wannit. come on. you know you wannit. don't you wannit? *weeeeps*
    again. this is... just kind of soft porn and that's all. but. it was DEATH in high heels to write. death. in high heels.
    you know how i feel smug sometimes about my porniness? well, smug no longer!! porn without plot is damn hard!! (er. no pun intended.) you have -no idea- how much -easier- it is to write porn that has a situation and an emotional dynamic behind it. otherwise, i feel like a choreographer who doesn't have model mock-ups (and i feel i need them!!)

so. if anyone. anyone at -all- thinks this is sexy... i will feel... a little better. because... i don't think i'll get a great grade overall (i kinda skimped on the last third of the assignment overall), but anyway.
    
~~

Waking, he’s disoriented, having dreamed of ocean and cold. He thinks he’s cold, still, but he throws off the blanket, feeling smothered. And then he feels the taut body prone next to him, and he knows exactly where he is, and exactly how warm he really feels.

He smiles, a small, private smile of knowledge and its endless satisfaction. He kisses the fine hair at the top of Draco’s head, and he thinks he can stay like this, his mouth slipping easily across the fine strands tickling his face, until morning. He thinks he doesn’t need anything else, not even for the rest of his body to wake up, or to touch more than this. But he’s wrong, because his fingers are already trailing softly down the other's back, nails scraping just the merest bit.

There’s usually a tongue following, smoothing across the widths of the side and the stomach, pausing to dip briefly into the navel. It always tastes like skin-- clean and slightly salty. His mouth always curves against the slight rise of his lover's stomach, thinking he could just barely smell the remainders of last morning's orgasm, along with green apple soap. Around the groin, the other smells more like vanilla and musk, he knows, but it's not time to know that for sure until the other starts to shake and clutch at his head, pulling at his hair and arching.

He then smoothes his fingers between the other's thighs, dipping in between them, always wanting to keep his hand there forever, in the warm, smooth softness. Even in the midst of passion, there’s a stillness, a desire to dissolve and to be merely a taste, a touch, spread into infinity.

Presently, he could feel the other's pulse beating against his fingertips, slow and even. He's so sleepy, so content. Rubbing slowly against Draco's back, perhaps that would be enough. Perhaps he could just spoon him from behind, eyelids shut, arms wrapped around Draco's middle. His hips wouldn't have to move much, and his nose could stay buried in the hollow of Draco's neck. He could stay very still, reveling in the feel of the back of those thighs, pliant and smooth against him, and the curve of that back, fitting so perfectly. And if his hand were to drift downwards, and if his breathing were to quicken and his grasp to tighten, perhaps it need not disturb the rhythm of the other's sleep.

He imagines his fingers now hover millimeters above the other boy's half-hard penis, and he's almost convinced himself not to touch, not to disturb. Draco is being so still, so unmoving, the way he never is during the day. It's nothing physical, and all emotional. There's an air, a sparkly prickle in his presence when awake, like he's perpetually on the verge of doing something violent. It hurts to be around him even though he can't seem to get enough, these days.

He's thinking all this, but his body isn't paying attention, it seems. He's breathing slowly and deeply: in, out, in, out. His chest is moving with the force of his breaths, and his position behind Draco is giving him plenty of opportunity to arch his hips rhythmically, slowly, as if there was no hurry but definitely a destination in mind.

His confusion mounting, as well as his arousal. He doesn't think he wants this, but his body is disagreeing, and his hand has already found its way, tucked securely into Draco's boxers, though unmoving. More than anything, he just wants to throw his leg over the other's hip and let himself go, but-- but--

He bites his lip, his breathing becoming increasingly uneven, and moves slightly, taking Draco's earlobe into his mouth, sucking hard. Draco shows no sign of waking, though his arse settles against him, pressing back, wiggling a bit. He's fully hard now, though disinclined to really do much about it other than wiggle and throw his head back, allowing his lover access to his neck. Harry is rather beyond pondering the whys and various dilemmas his mind comes up with in the middle of the night, so he just places a string of wet kisses down Draco's neck, heading towards that spot near the shoulder that he knows will wake Draco up.

He knows he'd done it, because Draco turns around in his arms without further ado, and then the wet warm mouth latches on to his, filling him with excess saliva and deep, frantic thrusts, making him feel like he's about to have the back of his throat plundered by Draco’s tongue. They're rocking against one another, and his leg is forcing its way between Draco's thighs, his movements jerky and desperate now, his whole body united in a single-minded need for friction.

His cock is so hard it's leaving trails of wet stickiness across Draco's skin, and he's so far gone he's struggling merely not to black out. Their arms are wrapping their bodies so close together they can feel the other's heart beat as strongly as their own, and they're generating so much heat with all the frantic rubbing and bucking and thrusting that its becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

They're still kissing, unable to stop, just bucking against each other and grasping at every inch of skin that's handy. One minute he's kneading Draco's lower lip between his teeth, his tongue bathing it soothingly after he bites, tasting blood, the next, his lips are hovering so close, so very close to the other's, but never touching. He has to stop, it’s overwhelming. He could taste Draco's scent, indescribable, heady, wrapping around him, getting everywhere, sinking somewhere underneath his skin, slipping in places untouchable by memory alone. He’s falling, falling, falling. Sucking at the skin of Draco's jaw, tracing the line with his tongue, hearing the other's breathing break and rupture. Letting his body descend, push against the other's pliant, smooth muscle, rest against the thin, piercing angles of bone.

His hands tightening, clutching at those sinewy forearms, sliding upwards to dig into the deceptively narrow bony shoulders. Pushing against Draco's hips, slipping his hands underneath the other's cheeks, arching his chest forward. Grinding.

His breath labored, jerky exhalations of air against the other's lips, his chin, his neck. Warm, moist air, fanning out from his open mouth. Draco's head thrown back against the pillow, he bares his neck wordlessly, his chest rising and falling quickly against his own. He reaches out a hand, trailing it slowly up Draco’s chest, his palm open. It rests against Draco’s neck, unmoving, then slightly caressing, on its way upwards again. And then it’s at the other’s mouth, his thumb tracing the barely perceptible border between his lover’s lower lip and chin. Differing degrees of smoothness, barely there but fascinating.

Draco's tongue reaching out, flickering around a thumb, then sucking it in. His eyes roll back in his head, and he has to stop, has to jerk the finger back, or he’ll lose all control right then. He gasps, his hips jerking sympathetically against the body beneath him. It would be so easy. So easy to come right then, just rub faster and faster and let his instinct to keep going till he bursts take over. It is only the desire to bring Draco to orgasm first, to feel that clenching, the tiny spasms, the way his whole body tightens and arches and seems to explode all around him at that moment. And then the way it tries to melt all the way into him, content, simmering with pure satisfaction. His need to linger and his need to rush are at war within him, making him flush with ever heightening tension.

Finally, using his own tongue to make a wet, slow trail up the conveniently exposed skin of Draco's neck. Sucking languorously, running his spread palms upward underneath Draco's nightshirt, stopping as they covered the nipples. Brushing fingers slowly across one nipple, then another, rubbing in repeating, tightening circles, bearing down on the other's arousal.

Too fast. This was too fast. He goes still, counting to twenty in his head. There’s a strange sense of time—both too fast and not quite at normal speed. It’s like they’re both still asleep, and this is merely their bodies, moving in a disjointed, fractured harmony. His soft little pants, tiny in-draws of breath were lengthening, swelling. His fingers darting beneath Draco’s waistline, soft fingertips brushing a smooth, slick surface, dripping heat, almost vibrating under his fingers.

His fingers wrap tighter around the other's cock, pulling harshly, rewarded by trembling limbs and bucking hips. Where was the grace in all this, the rhythm? Every action seeming disconnected from every other, and the only constant is the need to keep moving, to keep stroking, to keep skin against skin, slick together and shooting little pinprick arrows of heady arousal with the tiniest motion.

Tongues frantic inside each other's mouths, thrusting back and forth, their hips bucking once more without any sense of rhythm. His hands clutching at the other boy’s hips as he rocks against Draco, so mindless and almost awkward, like he’d forgotten all the little secrets of how they fit together, as if he didn’t know him at all.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Muttering a quick lubrication spell, he pulls Draco’s hips up off the bed, so quickly he gives himself a head-rush, though the mild disorientation just makes him grin wider right now. He didn’t think he had the energy to hold anyone up with his arms, but he surprises himself, suddenly exhilarated at feeling the soft skin of Draco’s inner thighs resting against his hips, his cock brushing the underside of Draco’s balls, the way time always seems to stand still at this moment, just before he falls completely. He knows he’ll come in seconds if he moves, if he adjusts Draco’s weight against him, if he becomes too conscious of the other’s shaking limbs, the heavy impatient pulse of the blood in his cock.

And when he moves, just the tiniest forward push of his hips, his mouth falls open, and he feels the strangely painful sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. His heart seizes, and he stops being aware of his movements, of anything but the knot unraveling in his stomach, the heat and desperation and the way everything is suddenly impossibly right. Draco’s rocking against him harder and faster and their bodies are so slick with sweat now there is no longer friction, and only a quick slide into oblivion.

The moment he comes isn’t particularly different than any other moment, except that some lever seems to have been pressed in his mind, and he throws his head back as his whole body shudders again and again, unaware if his partner is there with him, not aware of much of anything outside the rush of heavy ecstasy, the furious clenching and unclenching of tightened muscle, the tang of blood as he bites through his lower lip.

When he collapses, feeling the evidence of Draco’s release in the rapidly congealing mess smearing across his own stomach, he vaguely realizes that they hadn’t even opened their eyes. There hadn’t been a reason to.
~~

and.

just how goddamn sweet is this??! awwwww. i do so love evil-genius!draco and his cuddly-wuddly ways. hee. awww, salima's `a catalogue of ways to torture flobberworms, elves and harry potter' is just. adorable. *melts* and i mean in that "awww, a harry who's okay with draco torturing bunnies. how -sweet- is -that-??" sort of way. gah~:)

nemesis' drawing of ip!harry & draco's kiss nearly made my nose bleed. gah!!
    *stares*
    if i ever get that good, i will... i will... i will spontaneously combust with arrogance. i can't decide between this and nefeleo's and ali's. gah. YOU ARE ALL GENIUSES!! ...i am unworthy
    and varis's marauders pic is...! gah! just how cute is -that-?
    i'm such a sucker for darkly-determined!harry. hee. a little -too- dark, but i like that sort of thing (me and my h/d-shipper's yen for darker emotions acting up again, eheheh).
~~

darklites wrote a bunch of shipper definitions, which, i must admit, made me feel quite good about my ship (ehehehe), so i thought i'd quote it:
    Harry/Draco: You are extremely idealistic, and long for the kind of love that surpasses all boundaries. You want passion, sparks, beauty, sex and the deepest love that can exist. You want to overcome everything for love. However, you can also be somewhat cynical, particularly outwardly. Happiness is not enough for you; you want to experience it all - and sometimes, the darker (and conventionally "bad") emotions allure you all the more.

hee! it's scary if all h/d shippers really -are- all that similar. this sort of reminds me of most personality groupings according to type. it's usually easy enough to identify with a description of something you like (ie, you like dream: you're gothy, dreamy, cynical, idealistic, workaholic, perfectionist, isolated, disturbed, alone, etc.) i mean, i've a feeling darklites was describing herself, and that's basically me to a t, so to speak (and a bunch of other h/d shippers i know, if i were to make a guess, hee). ooooo, cynical romantics! hee. *gleeful smirking* though, honestly, i feel a little bit of myself and my ideals is in all the descriptions, except possibly sirius/remus and harry/ron, because they just sound so bleh as to bore me utterly. ahem.

in other news, penelope_z's recent post has convinced me that i am in fact, mostly incoherent and a t00b who can't articulate properly. but, finally, after all my inane rambling on characterization and subjectivism/objectivism in fic reviewing, someone has posed the questions as coherently as i could ever hope to. not that there are -answers-, but i respect questions more than answers, sometimes, really. they take more overall insight, i feel.


i wrote a fic, `breathing in', and i got asked if it's fanfic or not. which i don't think it is. it -could- be, but that bothers me. when it gets to be that almost anything can be called "fanfic". i mean, not the tone of this, not the "characters", not the setting-- nothing is remotely related to jkr's world. and i wouldn't call it fanfic, even if i did force it somehow, and gave them names to fit, and more physical details. it occurs to me, that lots of people write totally unrelated stuff and call it fanfic. i don't know -why- except it's probably what they thought while writing it. i thought i -might- be writing fanfic while i was writing it, but then i saw i wasn't, and that was that. fanfic needs signifiers and markers beyond someone's name or hair-color (which should be obvious). i wouldn't think that even having two "enemies" with certain names would qualify them as being -those- people, and only those people. i mean, there are so many possible people, and people in particular are so unique yet similar, that it's a real challenge to change almost everything about a person's life and yet have them remain the same person-- you have to -really- have great insight into said person. and yes, i wouldn't have linked to that fic if i didn't want it to be looked at even though it's rotten as far as fanfic goes ^^

i know ishuca said she can't really talk about `dark side of light', and i was all, "oh, isn't it even -more- imperative to talk about the things that really touch you"....
    
but you know what? as usual, i was being an (almost) complete goof. they're discussing dsol on the `midnight oil' list, and i'm just literally bristling. i feel sickened, slightly, at the idea of being all objective/analytical about it in a non-loving manner. maybe in the end, that's where i fail as a literature student. i posted an entry where i explored several "issues" i had as a result of the fic, but these are not at all the issues that have to do with it as a warfic, and everything to do with it as a love story....
    or maybe that's not it. when i think about a story, i always think of it in context of its deeper emotional impact, its greater significance in the scheme of these characters, in my conception of them. without a connection, a belief, a personal stake in it, some sort of -passion-, i feel i can't say anything useful whatsoever, and i have no insight to speak of. or maybe i'm exaggerrating. okay, probably.

and oh yah. i seriously think rupert's just like ron. he so is :D "eggs smell". see? ron!!! *is smug*
    EDIT: reason #875 why i loff ivy. hee!!

Comments

[ranilos.livejournal.com]

Where would I be without my daily dose of H/D smut. This was hot, sexy, beautiful. Loved it. ^_^

and btw. introduce yourself [please] if you do add. um. just because i'm insufferably curious ><

Hmm, what to tell? A t00by finnish girl who is completely in love with Harry Potter, especially with h/d slash. Been in the fandom for over a year but mostly as a lurker. ^_^

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

er, thanks :D
am happy someone (well, one out of ten isn't bad) reads my userinfo page when they add me >:D<
i suppose if you're obsessed with harry/draco, most of the stuff i babble about is right up your alley ^^;
so, um. yah. hi~:)

[ranilos.livejournal.com]

most of the stuff i babble about is right up your alley ^^
Yup, they are and I like reading them.. ^_^