To my suggestible friends list

[louiselux]

Because it worked for makesmewannadie...

When you see this on your friends list, write louiseluxsome good smut.

Comments

[ajodasso.livejournal.com]

The last thing that Crowley had hoped to find was Aziraphale preoccupied. Crowley drummed his fingers on the table, but the angel didn't so much as blink. This kind of reading could only be described as a coma. He tried to remember what he'd done the last time he'd found Aziraphale like this. He cleared his throat, loudly, but it made as much difference as the finger-drumming.

"Unless you accidentally marked your calendar for tomorrow, you had better have a good excuse."

Aziraphalehmmed, turning a page, obviously insensate to what Crowley had said.

Crowley set his palm flat on the table and leaned over, just shy of getting in the angel's face.

"I didn't know you actually preferred books to food."

That got him a brief, pointed glare, and a more forceful page-turning.

"Fine," said Crowley, mildly. "Suit yourself." He stepped around so that he was behind Aziraphale's chair, bending so that, if he inclined his head, his lips almost brushed Aziraphale's ear. "I'll read over your shoulder."

Silence, the turn of a page.

Inwardly, Crowley snarled. Not only was he impatient, but he was getting hungry. Aziraphale was also getting the better of him, and that without saying a word. It was a rare day indeed when he couldn't get a rise, let alone a response. Fine, thought Crowley, no more Mr. Nice Demon. He rested his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder.

"I've already read this. On the last page, they—"

"I've voluntarily gone deaf," said Aziraphale, enunciating even more carefully than usual.

Fleetingly, Crowley wanted to hit him, but that was, as Aziraphale might say, juvenile, so he turned his head and kissed Aziraphale's neck. There was only one way to win this, and if it meant they had to miss dinner, so be it. Aziraphale jumped in his seat, but Crowley caught him around the waist and trapped him there. The angel's clothes came undone easily, buttons and zippers by now familiar and completely at his command.

"Don't mind me," said Crowley, making sure Aziraphale could feel the shapes his lips were making against his neck. He slid his fingers down Aziraphale's chest, then loosened his trousers. "I'm afraid it's the only sign language I know."

"Shut up," said Aziraphale, and slammed the book shut.

PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[ladyjaida.livejournal.com]

Schuldig wanted a new jacket. He wanted it to fit tight just below the ribs; he wanted it to have sleeves that were too long. He wanted big lapels, gold buttons. He wanted it green.

"That's a truly hideous color," Crawford said.

When Schuldig stained his new jacket the first time it was beating some poor shit over the head with the butt of his gun. Over and over and over. Skulls were cleverly made, though of course there were some smashings they couldn't avoid, like cement from four or five or more stories up. But when it came to crunching a skull with the butt of a gun -- God or whatever had something to do with this, God of man or God of monkeys -- it took a while to do. Over and over and over. Three, four, five. Crunch.

But the poor shit had bled all over his new jacket.

The only reason Schuldig had taken to beating people with his gun was because he'd gotten tired of shooting people with it.

Crawford only ever used his gun for shooting because Crawford's hands were for beating. Great big white hands with short nails, immaculate, clean -- they never fucking bruised and the smoother they were the stronger they felt.

Punching your face in. Touching your throat.

Schuldig put his gun away and inspected the little splatter of blood on the hem of his new coat. There was a science to avoid getting any blood on you while killing someone. For Farfarello, science was more than just anathema: it was unholy. Farfarello really got religion. He got that it was about reaching your hands into someone's chest and tearing out their small bloody piece of beating divinity. Communion, communion.

Whereas Nagi was like Crawford: all science. There was the right way to do things so that you came off surgical and precise and unstained, and still quelled the murderous voice inside your gut.

Schuldig was on the in-between line, always a straddler. He was just killing people. Every day a new way. There weren't enough days in the whole universe, the whole world.

Crawford cracked his knuckles.

"Why don't you even fucking bruise?" Schuldig asked.

"You have a stain on your new jacket," Crawford pointed out.

"I can wash it," Schuldig said. "But it's still going to fucking be there."

Crawford straightened his lapel. One small shadow of hair had fallen free, lay over his forehead; there was a flush of killing in his eyes. Not all science, then. There was something of Farfarello in all of them.

But in Farfarello it was just that, just pure.

"The jacket's fucking hot," Schuldig said. When he drew close to Crawford he could almost, almost smell the blood on his hands. He liked to know it was there. Somewhere at the wrist, where the red veins were a little green, a little blue.

"Incarnadine," Crawford said. "Like you."

Re: PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[ladyjaida.livejournal.com]

(I don't know why I did this, btw -- there was a link on irisbleu's journal and I just sort of ... clicked on it and wrote before I was fully awake. Please forgive me! I am a strange strange stranger, and probably shouldn't be allowed to go on the internet before I'm fully awake. -Jaida)

[akisawana.livejournal.com]

in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in oops, fell out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out done.
(Maybe there will be something real written at work. I do play with meat all day, after all)

I notice there was no caveat against wrong or completely fucked up. So.

[mistressrenet.livejournal.com]

There are many things wrong with Omi at this moment, Yohji thinks, his mind still slightly fogged from too much alcohol. He shouldn't be smiling at Yohji so enthuisastically, he shouldn't be wearing that, and he certainly shouldn't be confidently steering Yohji into his own bedroom.

"It can't be comfortable," Yohji finally says, wondering why anyone would want to wear a thong in that color anyway.

"Comfortable's not the point," Omi says, and his warm hands push Yohji down. Omi's mattress is soft and warm from Omi's body heat, and Yohji can smell exactly what Omi must have been up to before he started helping Yohji up the stairs.

Omi straddles him before he can protest, strips him professionally but with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Yohji is not sure how his hands end up on the bare skin of Omi's waist.

And then Omi leans down, kissing gently, mouth open, and Yohji lets one hand rise up and rest on the back of Omi's neck, smooth skin there, still so young.

Too young, too close, too--

Where did Omi learn to kiss like that?

Yohji pushed Omi back. "I'm drunk," he said.

Omi wriggled against him. "Not that drunk."

"You shouldn't," Yohji said, and damn Omi's neck felt good against the palm of his hand. "We shouldn't."

Omi's eyes were almost black in the dark. "Yohji-kun," he said, and stroked Yohji's thigh with his hand.

"No," Yohji said. "I should get back to my bed."

Omi leaned in closer, warm breath near his face, eyes so, so wide, and Omi's family was all crazy or dead and Omi jerked off alone, alone in this bedroom, alone in his life, and Yohji had definitely had way too much to drink because Omi felt so good and Yohji wanted to taste him again. "Please?"

The question undid him, and he pulled Omi close, kissed him, let Omi pull his pants down and draw slender, young fingers across his chest, down to his cock, sure grip, careful movements; had he done this before? Did Yohji want to know?

"Yohji-kun," Omi whispered against his skin, and Yohji slid his own hand into the thong, Omi's cock damp with precome, foreskin sliding in his palm, Yohji gripping tighter at the side of Omi's neck.

In the morning Omi handed him black coffee and said nothing. Yohji watched him get ready for school as he drank it, the normal, frantic bustle of morning.

"Don't break any hearts today, huh?" he teased, and Omi winked at him on the way out the door.

Not mine, kid, he thought, taking another sip. Please not mine.

Re: PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[mistressrenet.livejournal.com]

You should totally be allowed on the internet before you're fully awake. XD

Here, I'll introduce you. louiselux, ladyjaida, and vicey versy. You will like each other, I'm awfully sure.

[cicer.livejournal.com]

*dies laughing*

Re: PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[cicer.livejournal.com]

...Wow. Very good. I like this a lot. *blinks*

[belu.livejournal.com]

Hi. I chased links back from irisbleu.

And you are so metaquoted (http://www.livejournal.com/community/metaquotes/3978365.html).

Re: I notice there was no caveat against wrong or completely fucked up. So.

[permetaform]

o.o

-.-

o.o holy shit.

I never thought I'd be rooting for that pairing, damn you.


o.o

Re: PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Hello! *waves* There's really nothing to forgive. I loved this bit of writing-- it's so intense. Thank you.

Re: PS, I don't know how to write porn!

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

*dies of terminal sniggering*

in out in oops, fell out in out in

It's so... true to life.

Re: I notice there was no caveat against wrong or completely fucked up. So.

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Wow. Basically what permetaform said.

This is just so good. Thank you.

The Thong!

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

"I've voluntarily gone deaf," said Aziraphale, enunciating even more carefully than usual.

Ahahaha! That's so perfect. I love it, thank you. :)

I love that suggestion that Aziraphale's buttons and zips have a life of their own when Crowley's around.

[ajodasso.livejournal.com]

It isn't all bad, being a demon ;) Sorry it didn't break all-out smut; I had to rush out the door to pick up stuff from the laundromat!

Don't know about "good", but it's definitely smut!

[andmydog.livejournal.com]

Had he been able to move, he could have broken these restraints with ease. The shackles were padded, and padding meant leeway, especially if one didn't mind dislocating one's thumb to take advantage of said leeway. Given time, he might have been able to pick the wrist lock with one of his talons. Given time, he could snap the lower chains with enough repetitive jerks. It would hurt, certainly, but he could do it. Hell, given his voice, he could summon something to snap these chains for him. He could free himself from this mass of steel and wire and rip that bastard's head off before the day was out.

Of course he'd thought of that, though, and he'd managed to paralyze him entirely. Every voluntary action was suspended.

The bunny doll stared blankly down at him from its seat on his chest.

Kougaiji wished he could at least close his eyes.

Or rip out that damn doll's eyes.

Or his eyes.

Or...

A alarm beeped urgently from somewhere to Kougaiji's right, and he mentally braced for the shock as Nii switched it off and tsked.

"Negative reinforcement has proven quite effective on lower beasts," he commented, as dryly as he would comment on the weather. "I myself have had some success applying this method to youkai who were affected by the Minus wave, and on a few humans." He crossed the room to stand at Kougaiji's side.

"I didn't think it would work on you, little prince," he grinned, "but I had to try."

Oh, you bastard!

The machine beeped again. Nii looked up, then back down at Kougaiji and shrugged.

"Don't hold it against me, mm? What kind of scientist would I be if I didn't explore all the options?"

I am going to kill you, human.

Nii returned to the bank of computers just beyond's Kougaiji's range of vision. His voice floated out into the room on a cloud of stale smoke.

"Let's try something different then, yes? Some reassociations? Let's start with, mmm, ah yes. Genjo Sanzo."

Sanzo?

A match was struck, and Nii tsked again, exhaling loudly. "Now, this just won't do. Minimal adrenal response, stimulation of the areas of the brain concerned with language and communication? Minor spike in testosterone, hmm… and this for your sworn enemy?"

No, I...

The needles in his arms began to vibrate. "We can work with this, yes." The room was getting warmer, itchingly so, and Kougaiji's heart began to pound.

"Sanzo. He has something you want."

The room's heat settled in Kougaiji's belly.

"And he doesn't want to share."

Beads of sweat stood out on Kougaiji's face and chest as he fought to keep his breathing even.

This isn't possible!

"How very cruel, to not want to share his toys." Nii glanced up at a monitor. "Ahn, fighting it only makes it worse." He turned a knob, and the heat flashed through Kougaiji's body, searing his nerves. Kougaiji shuddered with the effort of trying to move, to touch himself or fight back or clench his fists.

Let me finish or let me go!

Nii adjusted his glasses. "This is Sanzo's doing."

Sanzo.

"This is because Sanzo won't give you what you want."

That's not... sutra... stop!

...!

Nii finished his cigarette, and lit another. When it turned to a column of ash, he smirked, then turned down the power on the coffee-stained console.

"Very good, very good, you're doing very well. Now, show me how serious you are."

Sanzo. Human. Bastard. Sutra. Kill him. Hurt him.

MINE.

An alarm beeped, then blared deafeningly. Nii flipped it off, and smiled.

"Mmm, good. Very nicely done." There was the clink of a coffeepot, and the needles in Kougaiji's arms began to vibrate again.

"Now. Tell me what you think about that bodyguard of yours with the impossible name."

The machine hummed.

[akisawana.livejournal.com]

Yay!! Thank you!

Re: Don't know about "good", but it's definitely smut!

[cicer.livejournal.com]

EEK.

I am deeply afraid of the fact that I find myself growing more attracted to Nii with every passing day.

This was goooood.

wherein k.a. practices minimalism?

[karose.livejournal.com]

"Shit, get off, I can't breathe."

"Just relax and let him in, Sanzo-sama."

"And you can fuck off. Let go. I'm not doing this."

"Funny. Seems to me you're already doin' somethin..."

"nnnghaa--"

"Ah, ah, Gojyo. Sanzo asked for no tongue."

"Mm, you're right."

"AAAH!"

"No biting either, Gojyo!"

"Well, cripes, this guy's not fun at all."

Re: Don't know about "good", but it's definitely smut!

[andmydog.livejournal.com]

Mmm dirty scientists. I can't help it - it's a thing. (Go with it!)

Re: Don't know about "good", but it's definitely smut!

[cicer.livejournal.com]

Somewhere in my brain there are a whole bunch of really disturbing Nii sex fics trying to get out. I live in fear of my subconscious commandeering the keyboard and letting them all out.

[cicer.livejournal.com]

I would write you a bit of smut, but I have no idea what to write. Or actually, I have too many ideas. Want to make things easier for me and ask for a pairing, or otherwise give me a prompt?

[andmydog.livejournal.com]

Resistance is useless. The bunnies are mighty!

Re: wherein k.a. practices minimalism?

[andmydog.livejournal.com]

Mmm... dialogue.

Re: I notice there was no caveat against wrong or completely fucked up. So.

[andmydog.livejournal.com]

I heart your wrong and completely fucked-up Omi and Yohji. Just so's you know and, y'know, keep writing them.