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pacifi_cantTitle: Hot Summer Night
Fandom: Tales of the City
Pairing: Brian/Mouse
Rating: R
Word Count: ~700
Notes: I don't have to warn for recreational drug use in this fandom, do I? Thought not.
~ * ~
It's a summer night in San Francisco, and flickering tiki torches light the grounds of 28 Barbary Lane.
Just two hours earlier, Brian had been minding his own business, smoking a joint and dancing to Jefferson Airplane in his own kitchen while the leftover pizza warmed up in the oven.
"Oh, honey, that is just sad." The voice had been Mouse's, but it was Mona who'd let herself in, shaking her head, Mouse trailing along on her heels
"You have hips!" she'd said. "Don't you know what they're for?"
"Guess not." Mouse again, shimmying around Mona in time to the beat, looking like he'd never had a spine to begin with. "Guess that's why his girlfriends never stick around for long."
"Oh, ha ha." As sarcasm went, it was pretty sad, but Brian would be the first to admit that on his best day he'd never been able to make his body move like Mouse was moving now.
Mona had flipped open the oven door, reached into her capacious purse, and leaned down to sprinkle something Brian couldn't identify on top of the sad-looking pizza remnants. "Tonight," she'd said, "we're going to teach you to dance," and she'd grabbed Mouse by his collar and tugged him, still shimmying, out the door.
"What is... are those mushrooms?" Brian had called after her.
"No," she sang back. "They're mushrooms."
The mushrooms hadn't tasted all that great, but they're singing in his bloodstream now, and all his nerve endings are humming along in harmony. Brian was called outside by the throbbing bass pouring out of Mona's speakers, and he's still not sure just how he got downstairs.
The firelight is flickering deep inside his brain and the lead guitar is licking sweet riffs over his skin, and Mona's swinging him in between her and Mouse, and "Dance, dance," she croons as her hips twist and turn and push into his groin, pushing his ass back to meet the heat of Mouse's body, and they're moving him between them and his spine is melting, melting away.
It's all good until he starts thinking, looks down, tries to find his feet, and it all breaks apart.
"No peeking." Mouse's voice is coy in his ear, and Brian's not sure whose hands are winding Mona's wisp of a scarf around his head and over his eyes. Mona vanishes and so does 28 Barbary Lane, but the firelight keeps dancing behind his closed eyelids. And now he's not sure whose hands are touching him, who's in front and who's behind, and time disappears along with his sight.
They touch him, they dance him, they twist him and turn him, and there are hands and hips and whispers and skin, his bare skin, their skin, his shirt is gone now and he couldn't say where it went or how or even when.
There's grass under his feet now, where before there'd been stone, or maybe it was wood, but it's soft now, and giving, the blades dancing beneath him, and the flickering inside his head has gone golden, then distant, soft orange and red.
There's just one body with him now, whose doesn't matter, and his hands reach and touch and find flat chest, hard cock, it's Mouse whose ass is against his own cock, and it's good that it's Mouse, it's all good.
Still dancing, he reaches down, unsnaps, unzips. "This good?" someone murmurs, and it might have been him. "So good," someone answers, and there's a hand on Brian's ass, and a cock in his hand, and when he strokes with the beat he feels it all over his skin.
If the music hadn't ended, time might never have returned, and in the whisper soft silence he couldn't say if he came, if anyone came, any more than he knows where their clothing has gone, but he's certain that it doesn't matter.
Fingers drift through his hair and the scarf drifts away, and there's Mouse and his warm skin, his heart and his smile, warm night all around them and soft grass beneath.
"Okay," Brian hears, "I get it." Yes, that's him; he said that. "Okay," he says, "now I get it."
~ fin ~
For:petra
Prompt: "Okay, I get it."
Fandom: Tales of the City
Pairing: Brian/Mouse
Rating: R
Word Count: ~700
Notes: I don't have to warn for recreational drug use in this fandom, do I? Thought not.
~ * ~
It's a summer night in San Francisco, and flickering tiki torches light the grounds of 28 Barbary Lane.
Just two hours earlier, Brian had been minding his own business, smoking a joint and dancing to Jefferson Airplane in his own kitchen while the leftover pizza warmed up in the oven.
"Oh, honey, that is just sad." The voice had been Mouse's, but it was Mona who'd let herself in, shaking her head, Mouse trailing along on her heels
"You have hips!" she'd said. "Don't you know what they're for?"
"Guess not." Mouse again, shimmying around Mona in time to the beat, looking like he'd never had a spine to begin with. "Guess that's why his girlfriends never stick around for long."
"Oh, ha ha." As sarcasm went, it was pretty sad, but Brian would be the first to admit that on his best day he'd never been able to make his body move like Mouse was moving now.
Mona had flipped open the oven door, reached into her capacious purse, and leaned down to sprinkle something Brian couldn't identify on top of the sad-looking pizza remnants. "Tonight," she'd said, "we're going to teach you to dance," and she'd grabbed Mouse by his collar and tugged him, still shimmying, out the door.
"What is... are those mushrooms?" Brian had called after her.
"No," she sang back. "They're mushrooms."
The mushrooms hadn't tasted all that great, but they're singing in his bloodstream now, and all his nerve endings are humming along in harmony. Brian was called outside by the throbbing bass pouring out of Mona's speakers, and he's still not sure just how he got downstairs.
The firelight is flickering deep inside his brain and the lead guitar is licking sweet riffs over his skin, and Mona's swinging him in between her and Mouse, and "Dance, dance," she croons as her hips twist and turn and push into his groin, pushing his ass back to meet the heat of Mouse's body, and they're moving him between them and his spine is melting, melting away.
It's all good until he starts thinking, looks down, tries to find his feet, and it all breaks apart.
"No peeking." Mouse's voice is coy in his ear, and Brian's not sure whose hands are winding Mona's wisp of a scarf around his head and over his eyes. Mona vanishes and so does 28 Barbary Lane, but the firelight keeps dancing behind his closed eyelids. And now he's not sure whose hands are touching him, who's in front and who's behind, and time disappears along with his sight.
They touch him, they dance him, they twist him and turn him, and there are hands and hips and whispers and skin, his bare skin, their skin, his shirt is gone now and he couldn't say where it went or how or even when.
There's grass under his feet now, where before there'd been stone, or maybe it was wood, but it's soft now, and giving, the blades dancing beneath him, and the flickering inside his head has gone golden, then distant, soft orange and red.
There's just one body with him now, whose doesn't matter, and his hands reach and touch and find flat chest, hard cock, it's Mouse whose ass is against his own cock, and it's good that it's Mouse, it's all good.
Still dancing, he reaches down, unsnaps, unzips. "This good?" someone murmurs, and it might have been him. "So good," someone answers, and there's a hand on Brian's ass, and a cock in his hand, and when he strokes with the beat he feels it all over his skin.
If the music hadn't ended, time might never have returned, and in the whisper soft silence he couldn't say if he came, if anyone came, any more than he knows where their clothing has gone, but he's certain that it doesn't matter.
Fingers drift through his hair and the scarf drifts away, and there's Mouse and his warm skin, his heart and his smile, warm night all around them and soft grass beneath.
"Okay," Brian hears, "I get it." Yes, that's him; he said that. "Okay," he says, "now I get it."
~ fin ~
For:
petraPrompt: "Okay, I get it."