I still write things sometimes kind of
Title: Equinox
Fandom: Fairy Tail
Pairing: Fried/Laxus
Rating: R
Word Count: 870
Summary: Laxus has to be sure his subordinates can take a little heat.
A/N: One of the fine folks at
fearii_teiru Requested Fried/Laxus with the prompt "summer" and this is what came out. I make no excuses. Warning for esoteric bullshit, mild pornyness, breathplay, Fried being an obsessed lunatic. Crossposted a couple places.
Sunlight pours out of the sky and drenches everything in molten, liquid heat. Every time Fried takes a breath, he feels like he's sucking boiling water into his lungs. This is the hottest summer he's known in many years; he's always preferred cooler climes, but today, even his perch on the roof of the cathedral offers no more than the thinnest of breezes.
"One day," Laxus says behind him, "all of that's going to be mine."
Fried knows the expansive gesture Laxus is making without needing to look. He’s seen it before so many times, and the look on his face, eyes so frequently cold alight with pride and a sort of longing in these sparing moments. It always makes Fried content to see it. Laxus feels like home and purpose when he has that look, and once or twice he's even looked into Fried's eyes that way - his heart beats a little faster just thinking about it, and he can't stop the inner litany: I love you, I love you, I'll do anything for you, I'll give my life to make your dreams come true.
When Laxus comes closer, hot breath against the back of Fried's neck, he closes his eyes. It's too hot for this, and he knows what's coming next, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling back, hard. One day, Fried thinks, face upturned to the midsummer furnace of a sun, I'm going to cut it all off. He knows it's a false promise. Red light burns through his closed eyelids as Laxus burns a wet path up the side of Fried's neck with his tongue. Fried can't stop himself from sucking in a parched breath and murmuring wordless encouragement.
"You're gonna help me get it," Laxus murmurs back, almost a croon, caught somewhere between warning and cocksure affection. Fried can feel himself coming undone. Even this airless summer heat can't take his breath away like the raw fire in his master's voice.
Teeth and lips assault Fried's ear and trail wet and hot along his jaw as Laxus pulls at his hair, directing him around to where he wants. Teeth sink into Fried's lower lip and god how he wants to kiss back - if this can be called a kiss - but he knows better. It's too hot for this, too hot for rough palms at his waist and the base of his throat, for a wet mouth sucking a bruise into the crook of his shoulder, for the solid mass of a body pressed to his back. Fried isn't getting enough air; what little he can pull into his lungs tumbles back out in a stream of frantic, reverent whispers: Love you, need you, want you so much, god, please, please, Laxus, please…
His fingers itch to touch, to worship Laxus as wholly as he deserves, but he knows the rules and he stands and waits to see if, today, as he has been so few times in the past, Laxus will be merciful. He wishes he didn't need this. He wishes he could tell Laxus to stop. It's not the fear of what Laxus will do if displeased; it's the fear of not having Laxus and his hands and mouth and voice and the look in his eyes when he talks about his dream.
"Mine," Laxus says softly. His hand closes around Fried's throat and Fried opens his eyes, but it's no use; he's blinded by the sun and the pressure of his master's hand. The other hand is resting firmly on the front of Fried's pants, and now sliding beneath the waistband, and Fried chokes on a whimper that can't escape. "Fried Justine is mine."
Fried's heart soars as his body sinks toward oblivion. He can breathe the slightest bit now, enough to rasp in a few shallow drags of air. This is beautiful agony, the only way it can be with Laxus. Fried is delirious and overcome, love and lust and maddening pleasure driving him too quickly to the brink.
"Say my name," Laxus commands, and suddenly Fried's lungs are filled with scorching air. Dizzying climax overtakes him almost immediately, and he doesn't even realize he's following his master's order at the top of his lungs until he hears the single word echoing back from the rooftops, over and over in counterpoint to the pulse of blood in Fried's ears, every inch of him brimming with the promise of that name.
Laxus lets him go. Fried falls to his knees, shivering and overheated, still unable to breathe or even think. But then Laxus is at his back again, a hand twisted in his hair and pulling back. "Good," he whispers. Fried has just enough sense to wish he didn't love it when Laxus hurt him this way. "I like your loyalty, Fried. That's why you're mine. I know you'll never disobey me." There's more threat than affection in the words, but Fried convinces himself it's trust and not malice he hears, even though the deepest parts of him know better.
The summer heat is overwhelming. It dries the sweat from Fried's brow when Laxus leaves him there, kneeling on the roof of the cathedral and staring at the sun.
Fandom: Fairy Tail
Pairing: Fried/Laxus
Rating: R
Word Count: 870
Summary: Laxus has to be sure his subordinates can take a little heat.
A/N: One of the fine folks at
fearii_teiru Requested Fried/Laxus with the prompt "summer" and this is what came out. I make no excuses. Warning for esoteric bullshit, mild pornyness, breathplay, Fried being an obsessed lunatic. Crossposted a couple places.Sunlight pours out of the sky and drenches everything in molten, liquid heat. Every time Fried takes a breath, he feels like he's sucking boiling water into his lungs. This is the hottest summer he's known in many years; he's always preferred cooler climes, but today, even his perch on the roof of the cathedral offers no more than the thinnest of breezes.
"One day," Laxus says behind him, "all of that's going to be mine."
Fried knows the expansive gesture Laxus is making without needing to look. He’s seen it before so many times, and the look on his face, eyes so frequently cold alight with pride and a sort of longing in these sparing moments. It always makes Fried content to see it. Laxus feels like home and purpose when he has that look, and once or twice he's even looked into Fried's eyes that way - his heart beats a little faster just thinking about it, and he can't stop the inner litany: I love you, I love you, I'll do anything for you, I'll give my life to make your dreams come true.
When Laxus comes closer, hot breath against the back of Fried's neck, he closes his eyes. It's too hot for this, and he knows what's coming next, fingers tangled in his hair and pulling back, hard. One day, Fried thinks, face upturned to the midsummer furnace of a sun, I'm going to cut it all off. He knows it's a false promise. Red light burns through his closed eyelids as Laxus burns a wet path up the side of Fried's neck with his tongue. Fried can't stop himself from sucking in a parched breath and murmuring wordless encouragement.
"You're gonna help me get it," Laxus murmurs back, almost a croon, caught somewhere between warning and cocksure affection. Fried can feel himself coming undone. Even this airless summer heat can't take his breath away like the raw fire in his master's voice.
Teeth and lips assault Fried's ear and trail wet and hot along his jaw as Laxus pulls at his hair, directing him around to where he wants. Teeth sink into Fried's lower lip and god how he wants to kiss back - if this can be called a kiss - but he knows better. It's too hot for this, too hot for rough palms at his waist and the base of his throat, for a wet mouth sucking a bruise into the crook of his shoulder, for the solid mass of a body pressed to his back. Fried isn't getting enough air; what little he can pull into his lungs tumbles back out in a stream of frantic, reverent whispers: Love you, need you, want you so much, god, please, please, Laxus, please…
His fingers itch to touch, to worship Laxus as wholly as he deserves, but he knows the rules and he stands and waits to see if, today, as he has been so few times in the past, Laxus will be merciful. He wishes he didn't need this. He wishes he could tell Laxus to stop. It's not the fear of what Laxus will do if displeased; it's the fear of not having Laxus and his hands and mouth and voice and the look in his eyes when he talks about his dream.
"Mine," Laxus says softly. His hand closes around Fried's throat and Fried opens his eyes, but it's no use; he's blinded by the sun and the pressure of his master's hand. The other hand is resting firmly on the front of Fried's pants, and now sliding beneath the waistband, and Fried chokes on a whimper that can't escape. "Fried Justine is mine."
Fried's heart soars as his body sinks toward oblivion. He can breathe the slightest bit now, enough to rasp in a few shallow drags of air. This is beautiful agony, the only way it can be with Laxus. Fried is delirious and overcome, love and lust and maddening pleasure driving him too quickly to the brink.
"Say my name," Laxus commands, and suddenly Fried's lungs are filled with scorching air. Dizzying climax overtakes him almost immediately, and he doesn't even realize he's following his master's order at the top of his lungs until he hears the single word echoing back from the rooftops, over and over in counterpoint to the pulse of blood in Fried's ears, every inch of him brimming with the promise of that name.
Laxus lets him go. Fried falls to his knees, shivering and overheated, still unable to breathe or even think. But then Laxus is at his back again, a hand twisted in his hair and pulling back. "Good," he whispers. Fried has just enough sense to wish he didn't love it when Laxus hurt him this way. "I like your loyalty, Fried. That's why you're mine. I know you'll never disobey me." There's more threat than affection in the words, but Fried convinces himself it's trust and not malice he hears, even though the deepest parts of him know better.
The summer heat is overwhelming. It dries the sweat from Fried's brow when Laxus leaves him there, kneeling on the roof of the cathedral and staring at the sun.