Ficlet: Workin' for the Weekend (NC-17)
Mar. 20th, 2011 10:18 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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brendan_vincentNot having much of a brain for a prompt or theme, I decided to post a little ficlet I started weeks ago for the warm weather thing... It's unbetaed and just something I came up with after having the picture in my mind of warm weather, hot bodies, hands and balls and touching and stuff. Not to mention it's something I've actually managed to finish!
Title: Workin' for the Weekend
Author: neevebrody
Words: 780
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Legal: No matter how hard I've wished it, they're still not mine
With the warm days – even while Spring still has some bite left – ballers and wannabes show up to street courts all over the city. They can forget cases and bosses and what's waiting on their plate for Monday – lose it all in an hour or two in a Saturday afternoon pick up game on a neighborhood court. They always play against each other in these games; it's more fun and it feeds their competitiveness. Vince just has to be careful. Watching Brendan work his stuff can sometimes be a world of trouble. The way his body moves – effortless, free-flowing, a practiced grace – the way his muscles stand out in relief when he surges forward, the easy lift as he lays the ball up and in.
Careful, because those random public boners can be a real bitch. Careful, because the bump and grind of Brendan's hot, sweaty skin as Vince teases and checks, going for the round ball and checking a little tush at the same time can bring one on in a hot, dirty minute.
Somebody's beatbox thumps in time with the trash talking and the flow of the game. Noise from the watchers blends with the traffic sounds. The freckles across Brendan's bare shoulders invite Vince to get close; they make his head spin as much as the dry-fuel smell of the hot asphalt.
Brendan's no dummy, and he taunts Vince with everything he's got – and Brendan's got the goods, some he doesn't even know about. Sweat dripping from his chin, the way his soggy hair flops onto his forehead, and his hands – long, capable fingers, quick and sure on the dusty orange leather. Hips jutted out, he backs Vincent up the court, making sure to bump ass to crotch a time or two before faking Vince out, spinning around him, and driving for the net.
It rarely matters to Vincent who wins. It's enough that the weather's nice and he's outdoors, soaking up sun and moving his body. It's all warm up anyway – public foreplay. Later at home, he'll get to linger, lick the sweat off that skin, nibble an earlobe, tweak a hard, pebbled nipple, run a finger down the crack of Brendan's ass – teasing and checking and kissing him, slow and deep until Brendan has to break away, whimpers and goes limp in Vincent's arms, cock pressing hard through thin shorts.
Vince has to push them toward the shower, knows he'll have to ease some tension first so they can take their time later. Being up inside Brendan is always best when Vince can take his time – long, lazy fucks where he can edge them both so close then back off and then close again. Where Brendan will finally beg for it and Vince will give it to him the way he wants it, the way that'll make Brendan shatter right before his eyes.
But first, he's got his hands full of a hot and horny Brendan and Vince wants him so hard, there's only one thing to do. He soaps up and takes them both, sucking a bruise to the pulse in Brendan's neck as Brendan looks down to watch Vincent's hand. The slick slide of their cocks is like a current running through Vince, pumping heat to his groin, prickling along his spine like a thousand tiny knife points. It makes him tighten his grip, driving them both that much closer to home. Even closer as Brendan tells him how much he needs to come, how much he wants Vince to fuck him.
The sun, the sweat, the skin, the sound of Brendan's voice… it all catches up with Vince. Husking a breathless warning into Brendan's ear, he braces himself… Brendan finds his mouth and catches Vince's moan in a kiss. A kiss that deepens as Vince jerks forward twice, three times, four… until Brendan tenses and huffs quick, ragged breaths into the space between them, pushing back into Vincent's hand.
He can barely hear Brendan's spent whispers over the sound of the water… Vince's name and other half-words uttered between kisses until both their cocks have gone too sensitive and the water starts to run a little cool. He tugs Bren's head back and they lock eyes; Vince's look a warning that Brendan might be walking a little funny for a few days, and Brendan's a sassy, but cute as hell, "bring it."
What's a few losses on the court compared with that impish grin and a dogged determination to rock his world? As long as he can wake up to that crazy hair slashed against the pillow and the taste of that body just inches away, Vince will always be the winner.
Title: Workin' for the Weekend
Author: neevebrody
Words: 780
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Legal: No matter how hard I've wished it, they're still not mine
With the warm days – even while Spring still has some bite left – ballers and wannabes show up to street courts all over the city. They can forget cases and bosses and what's waiting on their plate for Monday – lose it all in an hour or two in a Saturday afternoon pick up game on a neighborhood court. They always play against each other in these games; it's more fun and it feeds their competitiveness. Vince just has to be careful. Watching Brendan work his stuff can sometimes be a world of trouble. The way his body moves – effortless, free-flowing, a practiced grace – the way his muscles stand out in relief when he surges forward, the easy lift as he lays the ball up and in.
Careful, because those random public boners can be a real bitch. Careful, because the bump and grind of Brendan's hot, sweaty skin as Vince teases and checks, going for the round ball and checking a little tush at the same time can bring one on in a hot, dirty minute.
Somebody's beatbox thumps in time with the trash talking and the flow of the game. Noise from the watchers blends with the traffic sounds. The freckles across Brendan's bare shoulders invite Vince to get close; they make his head spin as much as the dry-fuel smell of the hot asphalt.
Brendan's no dummy, and he taunts Vince with everything he's got – and Brendan's got the goods, some he doesn't even know about. Sweat dripping from his chin, the way his soggy hair flops onto his forehead, and his hands – long, capable fingers, quick and sure on the dusty orange leather. Hips jutted out, he backs Vincent up the court, making sure to bump ass to crotch a time or two before faking Vince out, spinning around him, and driving for the net.
It rarely matters to Vincent who wins. It's enough that the weather's nice and he's outdoors, soaking up sun and moving his body. It's all warm up anyway – public foreplay. Later at home, he'll get to linger, lick the sweat off that skin, nibble an earlobe, tweak a hard, pebbled nipple, run a finger down the crack of Brendan's ass – teasing and checking and kissing him, slow and deep until Brendan has to break away, whimpers and goes limp in Vincent's arms, cock pressing hard through thin shorts.
Vince has to push them toward the shower, knows he'll have to ease some tension first so they can take their time later. Being up inside Brendan is always best when Vince can take his time – long, lazy fucks where he can edge them both so close then back off and then close again. Where Brendan will finally beg for it and Vince will give it to him the way he wants it, the way that'll make Brendan shatter right before his eyes.
But first, he's got his hands full of a hot and horny Brendan and Vince wants him so hard, there's only one thing to do. He soaps up and takes them both, sucking a bruise to the pulse in Brendan's neck as Brendan looks down to watch Vincent's hand. The slick slide of their cocks is like a current running through Vince, pumping heat to his groin, prickling along his spine like a thousand tiny knife points. It makes him tighten his grip, driving them both that much closer to home. Even closer as Brendan tells him how much he needs to come, how much he wants Vince to fuck him.
The sun, the sweat, the skin, the sound of Brendan's voice… it all catches up with Vince. Husking a breathless warning into Brendan's ear, he braces himself… Brendan finds his mouth and catches Vince's moan in a kiss. A kiss that deepens as Vince jerks forward twice, three times, four… until Brendan tenses and huffs quick, ragged breaths into the space between them, pushing back into Vincent's hand.
He can barely hear Brendan's spent whispers over the sound of the water… Vince's name and other half-words uttered between kisses until both their cocks have gone too sensitive and the water starts to run a little cool. He tugs Bren's head back and they lock eyes; Vince's look a warning that Brendan might be walking a little funny for a few days, and Brendan's a sassy, but cute as hell, "bring it."
What's a few losses on the court compared with that impish grin and a dogged determination to rock his world? As long as he can wake up to that crazy hair slashed against the pillow and the taste of that body just inches away, Vince will always be the winner.
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