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jjbakink It's time for your punishment, baby. Or just time to fill out the prompts.
Prompt posting format!!:
Characters + and/or pairings, followed by kink, followed by short description if you want to get more technical in your request.
Please reread the basic etiquette/rules up here if you're still confused.
If you have any questions/comments, just tweet @mitler. Because I'm too lazy to make a mod post. That's weird.
!! FILLED PROMPTS !! , organized with a tag system.
CURRENT UNFILLED PROMPTS: 42
Prompt posting format!!:
Characters + and/or pairings, followed by kink, followed by short description if you want to get more technical in your request.
Please reread the basic etiquette/rules up here if you're still confused.
If you have any questions/comments, just tweet @mitler. Because I'm too lazy to make a mod post. That's weird.
!! FILLED PROMPTS !! , organized with a tag system.
CURRENT UNFILLED PROMPTS: 42
no subject
Date: 2014-03-16 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-16 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-16 08:59 am (UTC)He could see the clouds of vapor that rose from his parted lips, breath frozen opaque in the thirty-below weather. It was damn cold out here, especially at such an hour. The sun had long since set, leaving the snow-blanketed landscape dark and formless. The blackness did little to stop Diego Brando, however, who had spent the last few days trailing behind Magenta Magenta and Wekapipo, following the parallel lines their sleigh had carved into the snow.
And now, in the dead, silent night, Diego crouched low to the ground, confident that Wekapipo couldn't see him. He had been woken up by the man's rustling about-- crossing from here to there, shuffling through a saddle bag, remaking his bed upon the sled. Wekapipo, who occupied the single tent in their small encampment, had not stirred.
Even from such a distance, even in such poor lighting conditions, there was something about the man. Diego's lip curled as he thought about him: a disgusting, uncultured country fuck, thin and pale, greasy-haired. There were many people he hated in this race: Gyro Zeppeli, Johnny Joestar, Steven Steel-- but Wekapipo was different. The lines had blurred between hatred and disgust and a vile, voyeuristic interest. There was a certain, undeniable something about him, something that made Diego taste bile in his throat. He hated him, he told himself again, but there was a distinct something he gained out of watching the other man. Staring through slit pupils, he carefully shuffled closer, desperate for a clearer look at the other man.
Magenta Magenta had taken up residence on the edge of the sleigh, seemingly unconcerned by the draining cold. A few red embers glowed in what remained of the campfire, too weak to cast any light on his gaunt features. There was one hand on his gun, the other scratching his neck idly. He looked to the left, to the right, and finally back to the tent, shrugging his shoulders apathetically.
Diego felt his face and ears redden and burn against the icy air. Instinctively, he covered his mouth with one hand. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't believe it-- he wouldn't believe someone groping themselves in this weather, he wouldn't believe someone unbuttoning the fly to their pants, drawing out their half-hard cock-- but he was seeing it, and his eyes did not lie to him. It was, after all, Magenta Magenta, a man who had proved himself time and time again to be without graces.
It was no surprise, then, that he didn't seem terribly ashamed. Magenta Magenta leaned back easily, sucking in the cold air, one hand sliding up and down his phallus languidly. It was of healthy size, large enough to make Diego a little self-conscious. He stepped closer yet, crouching behind an uprising of snow and ice. By now Magenta Magenta had leaned his weight back onto one arm, legs spread, hand moving faster. Curses slipped out under his labored breathing, heavy and as rough as his voice. Unbidden, Diego could feel his own warm fingers sliding between the fabric of his johdpurs and his skin, teeth clenched tightly. Just what did the other man think he was doing? Did he have any idea he was being watched? What if Wekapipo heard him, who was just meters away? It occurred to him rather plainly: Magenta Magenta didn't care. He lived only to chase after what satisfied him-- insolent little brat. Diego's fingers dug into the snow, now leaning on the snowdrift for support.
Just as fast as he had started, he finished. Magenta Magenta let out a final, raspy sigh, coming into his own hand. He paused a beat before wiping the mess unceremoniously on his pants, an action that made Diego cringe and pull back. Suddenly, the weight of the situation dawned on him: just what he had seen, just who he was watching, just what he was doing to himself. The disgust was palpable. In a huff, Diego scrambled to his feet, furiously embarrassed. He stomped back to his own camp, threw himself into the tent, and glowered. No one would know, no one but him.
op
Date: 2014-03-16 06:06 pm (UTC)