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 Posting a reply to post #45069

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45069 No.45069
Past threads: >>44414 >>43727 >>42807 >>41900>>41426 >>40879 >>40156 >>39172 >>38480 >>37910 >>36992 >>35898 >>35079 >>34623 >>34098 >>33328 >>32818 >>32233 >>31704 >>31068 >>30578

Tessa's DA:
Character Q&A:
LJ Comm:
Kink Meme:
Current PChat:

how to IRC like a Hannafag:
1. go to
2. namefag
3. ???

New rule: no wank. Just porn. Have an opinion on the spoiler? Realize that nobody cares, shut up, and post more porn.

Recap of cool stuff: The forums are working again, there's a new strip up, Worth mini-comic has been sent to donators, (and if you missed out on it, it's also available at 4DE's website along with the poster and t-shirt), an art book is scheduled to be released in '11, AND there are six new sketch previews up:

I seriously can't wait to see the effect this has on Conrad, you guys. Also, Lamonnnnt! This calls for porn, guys.

Expand all images
Oh, Conrad. The new strip is brilliant. ANY WRITEFAG REQUESTS WHILE I'M HERE?

any veser/ples plox <3

>" ...And your little tooth, oh my god it's adorable"
>"You're like a little lost vampire puppy"

(someone needs to do lamont/conrad now)

If you're into the punk!AU, there is a mighty need for more porn. haha


Also second this for the writefag request

i feel the need to point out that i'm pretty sure veser's playing pokemon in the latest page. i mean, damn, look at his ds screen, it looks like the battle screen.

No one has commented on the fact that Lamont obviously just got bit by at least Cas. /coq/ I am disappoint.

I'd like some Lamont/Cas now plz. Seconding Lamont/Conrad too. LAMONT/EVERYONE


Was just about to comment on that myself 'til I saw this. YES to the MILLIONTH.

Hey guys, I totally forgot to randomly post this like I usually do so anyway:
New fanfic! It's called Kindling.


i was about to say that!
i bet he has that seal pokemon. aww.

What if they drink off Lamont's cheek? hurrdurr

Lamont/evryone? YES PLZ

His team is all Sharpedos.

yes yes yes this a million times this, hnnnngh

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Posting from the pchat~

I don't understand 80% of what is said in there any more.

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There was a serious lack of porn in the last thread.

What does Lamont say gets vampires all high? I can't really read the handwriting. It looks like it says milling or something, but that doesn't make sense to me.

I was gonna write a ConWorth fic where Conrad gets high on Doc's blood after he does some heavy drugs anyway, but still.

Haha! Conrad looks like he's about to cry in the second panel.

/r/ing fic where Veser harrasses Conrad. Sexually, or course. Or Veser jacks off loudly EVERY NIGHT

File: 127692456612.png-(276.33KB, 649x473, bitetime.png)
and that's all for noww

he's talking about milling the bloodthorn- the thing lamont just got from cas, in the bag.

goddamn do i hope we get to see conrad all high and shit.

It does say milling. Basically just grinding the bloodthorn plant into powder, I guess.

Can't spoiler from phone. Being vague.
Doesn't actually say the name. The name was in one of the previous spoilers though

He's talking about the bloodthorn herb that he brought Hanna---milling it (i.e. grinding it up) would I guess release something that acts like catnip to vampires. Dear god I hope someone runs with this in porn. Is it just me or do the new sketch pages give us WAY more ammo?


I'm writing some Lamont/Conrad porn right now, just saying. These threads have seriously lacked porn as of late.

Yeah, it must of been because of the Ples spoilers.


Water team with Sharpedo and a Dugong included!

AYE and as an added note, I am open to fic/art prompting since I am feeling like contributing but unable to come up with anything at the moment. And that fic I was working on MONTHS ago is still stuck so I need to get something else going. Somebody give me some porn to write, I want to write porn.


I feel like I'm missing something obvious, but where are you guys getting the info in your spoilers?

Also what is going on with Conrad in the new strip. He looks like he's going a bit deredere at being thanked by Hanna.



Personally, I think it's the 'dinner' that's making him make that face.

It isn't like he's a fan of routine. In fact, these past few days of his life have been anything <i>but</i> routine--especially since Hanna stepped into it. But his feedings, they tend to be around the same time each week. He goes into that doctor's office, takes what he needs, and leaves. The hassle tends to be off and on. Sometimes Worth's in the mood to argue, and sometimes he's not. Conrad tends to prefer it when he's not.

About now, it's been approximately two days since his last feeding. Sure, he's kind of hungry, but he can last for a little while--especially at the expense of going to that <i>doctor's</i> place. It's nearly dawn, anyway. Just a few hours. He'd really rather not chance it.

So, nestled in at his desk with a new job open on his desktop and dressed in only pyjama trousers and a loosely fitting shirt, the vampire readies himself for a bit of work before...well, bed. He's never been too accepting of the idea that morning is bedtime and the evening is time to roam. Not that he has too much of a problem with it. Being a vampire has only been a minor nuisance in his life thus far--the real trouble is the people he's met as a result.

<i>Knock. Knock.</i>

...Speak of the devil.

Conrad excuses himself from the office chair and makes his way over to the front door of his apartment and opens it, preparing himself for the worst: Hanna, excited over some new job or discovery; Toni asking about what clothing brands he likes best; or, god forbid, Worth nosing his way into his home for whatever reason. Who he sees standing there is not anyone he would have guessed, but it's not like he's unaccustomed to surprises.

"Hey," greets Lamont Toucey, smiling genially at him. "Can I come in?"

Achenleck just stands there for a minute, wondering what one says to something like that. There's always "<i>No.</i>" or just "<i>Why?</i>", but he settles with:

"...Who the hell told you where I live?"

"A nice place you've got here, by the way." He's avoiding the question. Conrad just simmers irritably by the door as Lamont invites himself inside. It's about this time that the vampire catches a glimpse of a small black satchel at the other man's side. Mysterious, naturally, and for a moment he wonders what's in it. And then he remembers the main issue here. By this time, however, Lamont's chatting politely away at him.

"Oh, look at that decor. You're one of those artsy types, huh? I suppose I should've guessed that from the way you dress. A real fashionista, aren't you? Hahaha..." And then he dissolves into that unnerving laughter that Conrad had heard that night at the diner, when he'd been doing shady business with Hanna. The problem is, none of this inane talk is explicative of why he's even here, setting his little black bag on one of Conrad's sculpted-looking side tables. The graphic designer is sputtering incoherently, grasping for something to say to this intruder that doesn't sound stupid or poorly put together. He's probably doomed to one or the other, anyway.

"Look, I don't--"

"Oh, right. I brought you a little something." Cut off. But at the expense of Lamont digging into his bag and procuring something quite familiar. He doesn't give much heads up before he tosses the sloshy red packet to him, but Conrad seems to catch it all the same, looking down at it with an expression on his face that is both surprised and...well, pretty starving. Any vampire would if he just had a nice, full package of blood thrown to him. It looks just like the kind that Worth supplies, and Conrad wonders if these two have the same supplier.

He must have been staring at it for quite awhile, because that awkward chuckling has returned to the air, courtesy of Lamont Toucey.

"It's not going to bite, you know. Go on."

Very funny, Conrad wants to say. But Lamont's looking at him so expectantly that he can't really find the words. And there doesn't <i>seem</i> to be anything wrong with this blood--and it would save him a trip to the doctor's. With a bit of noticeable hesitation, he sinks his single fang ("cute, like a little vampire puppy's," he remembers) into the plastic and waits for the hot (why is it hot?) liquid to gush over his tongue and fill his mouth and pour like thick water down his throat. It's not long until he's <i>slurping</i>, making small, pleased noises as he devours his meal. Soon, he's lost in it, shoulders hunched over his prize, slowly forgetting that there's even another person in the room. That's how it is when he's feeding; his mind tends to render everything else completely unimportant, meaning that the slow, ordinary movements of others aren't as eye-catching.

So he doesn't notice when Lamont Toucey slips behind him, the sleeziest smile on his face. He does notice, however, when the man runs a flat, stocky hand over his chest and southward through the flimsy barrier that is his pyjama shirt.

At this, Conrad jumps three feet, dropping what's left of his precious blood. He extricates himself wildly from Lamont's touch, turning swiftly and backing up until the back of his thigh has roughly disturbed the same side table that bears his visitor's satchel.
"What's wrong, Connie?" questions the black-haired man, who is now advancing on the vampire surreptitiously. "Don't you like what I brought you?"

"The fuck are you...that's <i>not</i>--" But his head has suddenly just begun to spin, and he can't really stutter out the rest of that sentence. His body feels like it's just begun to float up to the ceiling and right through it. His vision is tripling and quadrupling. It feels <i>good</i>.

"Oh, good, then." Lamont seems cheerful. And then his hand is up Conrad's shirt.

(okay here's the first part of my lamont/conrad fill. i'll finish it later when i'm not passing out, i think.)

oh fuck me i didn't know that html doesn't work on coq. i hope that doesn't ruin that for you, hannafags.

What the fuck is up with all the kittens in the deviantart group lately.





Maybe I'm crazy, but after what Tessa's said about Conrad's sense of smell, I have the feeling he's blushing on the third page not only because of what Lamont said, but because he can probably smell Casimiro (and maybe Finas as well) on him.

Polite sage for contributing nothing but speculation.


sleezy Lamont is so awesome here, he shakes the foundation of my love for Worth. They're like the black market sleeze brothers. Hopefully, he doesn't steal Conrad's kidney while he's at it.

When comes the next installment? For I hunger for pornings.

Well if you're up for requests, you could do something with Con-Radical and Hanna, my favorite couple. I feel like they're a bit protective of each other because Cannie seems to see Hanna as easily broken and because Hanna feel guilty for cause Con's predicament...

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Cas/Mont WIP

Fuck, so sexy.

More please! Also a warning to those who skipped the spoilers, you may want to be careful of this fic. Just sayin'

Also, for those who bought the Worth and Lamont incentive comic, how long did you wait until you got it?


Polite sage.

Hnnghh...more of this please

(also needs a lusty looking finas in the lower corner kthnx)

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Boring drawfag delivers.

I've just gone through the whole of my HiNaBN smut folder (which is /huge/) and was utterly disappointed at the outrageous lack of VesHanna porn. :C
Sharkboy should have his way with Ginger Y/Y?

It does work, but you have to use [] and [/] to get it to work


Why isn't more Lamont/Conrad being made.

Workin' on it.
Stop complainin' and start makin'.

Hey guys, working on content, but I have a question re: the donation comic. I just got it and I was wondering if I should send Tessa an email as thanks? Like is it more dickish to not send it, or to send it and make Tessa read another pointless email? I KNOW IT'S A DUMB QUESTION BUT IT'S FREAKING ME OUT OKAY

I think the money is thanks enough.

If you're going to write it, just I don't write a email that evokes the tl;dr.

lamont/conrad writefag here--i hope you lot can wait until this evening. I have work all day ugh.

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Lamont/Conrad fanartist reporting in, lack of content is due to an essay I have to write/seeing a movie later tonight. Perhaps tomorrow I'll have some free time and I'll finally get around to finishing the three FSTs I have in the works (just have to draw the cover art and they'll be ready to go).
I'll attach this little Hanna doodle so that this post isn't COMPLETELY WORTHLESS.


Send her a thankyou at Deviantart. She knows no real business goes on there, so she won't get bogged down with your email all up in her grill when she's trying to do money related things.

I can't write worth a crap, so I'm too terrified to post the whole thing...but a small..erm..I dunno..I'll draw stuff later when I have a more stable internet connection. I'm all hot for Lamont/Cas/Finas content though.

“Take your time, boys. I‘m in no hurry.” Lamont assured, putting up his arms in a shrug.

Finas, who’d read the lie on that smiling face from all the way across the alleyway, grimaced and turned his back on the two.

Casmiro watched his companion for a moment before he turned his gaze back on Lamont. “Looks like it’s just me this time, Monty. Good for you, right?”

Lamont’s cheesy grin widened, the friendly expression not nearly reaching his eyes. “Awh, you know I don’t really like that nickname.”


Oho, I'm not sure I could break my Zombie/Hanna OTP long enough to do a convincing Conrad/Hanna. But if anon is craving it I could certainly give it a go. I could see that pairing being fairly fluffy and I do love fluff.

Seconding, DO WANT. Do want real bad.

Oh, do want, do want! Maybe a lil' hurt-comfort-fluff...?

I might then have the bravery to post my music based Con-radical/Hanna fiction I wrote a while back. <3

Ha! You read my mind. That's totally what I'm writing. It'll probably be fairly short (in comparison to my ridiculously long Conrad/Worth fic, anyway), but I'm finding that I'm enjoying it. Expect at least part of it in the next day or so. :)

Hey, I was wondering, how long does it take for the comic to arrive?

i've been wondering the same thing, donated on the new site but no joy yet. maybe it's not automated and an actual person has to respond individually?

delayed reaction to spoiler page 140: are they in finas and cas' apartment? cannot freaking wait for that

Thank you so much! You are such a doll! <3

You have made my day, you see, I rather recently **cough**5daysago**cough** and re-reading HiNaBN has been the only thing to even make smile slightly tug at my lips...

You are literally making my month!

Uhm, I've never posted porn!sketches on the internet before, but would you guys be averse to a bit of Ples fapping?
Asking before posting because newfag and possible low quality.


Do it pleeeeaaaaaaasssseee
This is a porn board, you having porn makes us happy

Salutations. Newfag here, possibly writefag. Any fic requests? Can't promise I'll get around to 'em though.

I have some ficlets tucked away that I could try editing and posting if anyone is interested. Angsty Ples/Ca$h, violent Lamont/Worth, rapelicious Abner/Conrad. Have to edit them first though, since I honestly just let my brain vomit on the keyboard while writing them. And as you can tell I like weird pairings.

So yeah. :I -twiddles thumbs-
also /r/ing more slut!Ca$hy. It's my weakness.

Can everyone just post their porn already? Sheesh. We will love you and want to have your babies for it!



... Wasn't this a porn thread?

Should i just start posting some of the things from my collection?

Its stuff from old threads but its better then nothing

>>45200 >>45202
...okay, straight from the 4DE site "You will receive instructions via email within 10 business days of purchase". Weekends are generally not considered business days.

Guys. Guys. This is a porn board. You don't need to ask if your porn idea sounds good, you just post it. SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE wants it.

sage for oldfag grouching

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Dudes, proper porn. Post it.

YES. I didn't get to see some of the things from the old threads...

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Alright then! i will commence the dump at once! (none of these are mine, so credit to the artists obviously)

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(derp. i had to go through all the files and change the extensions; stupid duplicates :l )

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also forgot to namefag

File: 12770664189.jpg-(81.52KB, 753x900, conradfacial.jpg)

File: 127706655888.gif-(25.47KB, 394x299, diiiick.gif)

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apologies if these were on any still active threads. I'll remove the ones that are if you need me to

File: 127706679388.gif-(46.42KB, 800x600, hxz.gif)

File: 127706686959.gif-(31.66KB, 800x600, hxz2.gif)
if you can't tell already, my main OTP is Hanna/{...}

File: 127706705595.jpg-(66.15KB, 764x535, Offensivebunny - PlesVes Cherry Flavoured.jpg)
...and anything with Ples

File: 127706712059.jpg-(68.40KB, 510x668, Offensivebunny - PlesVes More Porn.jpg)

File: 127706717251.jpg-(57.20KB, 559x619, Offensivebunny - PlesVes Porn.jpg)

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Annndd i have to go get my other jumpdrive with the rest

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here's more~

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oh man, I think I save too much

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Alright, last one for now; I've art dumped enough


Just tell me all when you're ready.. i have a couple more left

dear /coq/,

here are the first ten hanna threads:

you'll need to download safari to open them:

relive the glory days~* or something! i have the webcomic ones too, if anyone's interested.



can i have the webcomic one's please?




thank you chav C:

So uh wow, for someone who ships Zombie/Hanna and Conrad/Worth so hard it hurts, I'm actually really enjoying breaking both my OTPs for this fic. Some Conrad/Hanna hurt/comfort (C/H/H/C?) in progress, for dear anon. NO PORN YET GUYS but it's coming up in the next part I promise, don't eat me, wait for dessert. <3

Warning: contains extreme fluff and bawwwwing.


Conrad tenses up even before he hears the knock. Maybe his senses have been somehow heightened by his newfound vampirism (though he doubts that, seeing as how he finds that he still needs his glasses to see anything two feet in front of his face). Maybe it's just that he's been on edge ever since he fell in with the particular crowd he now considers---well, not friends, exactly, but...companions? Fellow freaks, the only people he feels comfortable around anymore, though he'd never admit it to them or anyone else. He wonders which one of them is at the door. Please god let it not be the doctor.

He cracks open the door and is startled to see Hanna---alone. He realizes this might be the first time he's ever seen Hanna alone. He stares for a moment, then pokes his head out just enough to glance up and down the hall. The zombie is nowhere to be seen. He wonders if something's happened, if Hanna's undead partner has gone missing or been injured or---

"Uh. Hey."

Right. Hanna is still standing in the doorway, looking both slightly embarrassed and a little confused. Conrad snaps back to the present, manages a small smile. "Hi. Um. Where's...ah...where's your..."

Hanna's frown of confusion deepens, then recognition dawns on his face and he smiles. "Oh! Estragon. He's waiting back at the apartment. Probably reading. I, uh, I just came to..." The smile is gone, replaced by a look that makes something twist uncomfortably in Conrad's stomach. "Can I come in?"

"Y-yes. Sure. Of course." Conrad stands aside, and with a sudden burst of speed Hanna shoots past him and into the living room. Conrad lets the door swing closed, completely baffled. Turning, he sees that Hanna is already sitting on the sofa, knees bouncing slightly, hands fidgeting, eyes darting all around the apartment.

"Wow, Connie, your place is so---I mean I know I've been here before but I see new stuff every time, I mean it's oh man how would you say, minimalist? But there's still so much to look at and---"

"Hanna." He hadn't meant it to come out sounding so stern. Just like that, the momentary facade of energy and enthusiasm crumbles. Hanna looks miserable. Conrad is almost sorry he spoke, but he needs to know whatever it is Hanna really came here to tell him. "What's going on?" He sits down on the far end of the sofa from his now clearly dejected guest.

Hanna looks at the floor. It's as if he wants to look the vampire in the eyes but can't bring himself to raise his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "Shit. I'm just...I'm just really sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" Conrad racks his brain but he can't seem to come up with a reason for the diminutive paranormal investigator to look so...well, guilty.

Then Hanna looks up at him, incredulous---"For this! For killing you!"

Oh. Right.

"---I mean I know I didn't exactly kill you but it was pretty much all my fault and then I turned you into this to save you but seriously I am such a fuck-up and I know I already apologized but it's just, it's just I can't stop thinking about how much you must hate me and---"

Hanna looks as if he's about to cry. Conrad can barely wrap his head around it---he's never seen Hanna like this, never imagined that Hanna could look so broken up. For a moment he has the sense that something else---something that lies deeper than Hanna's guilt over the whole vampire incident---is at work here, but he pushes that aside. Whatever that is, it's too big, too far back. Even if some memory of it set Hanna off tonight, it's the present they have to deal with now.

"Hanna." His voice is firm but gentle this time, and he's surprised to see that he's taken the younger man's hand. It's not even a lie when he says, "I do not hate you."

Impossibly blue eyes stare into Conrad's for a moment, and then suddenly Hanna is crying---sniffles giving way to full on sobs as he pulls away and buries his head in his hands. Christ, thinks Conrad, what did I do wrong? Fucking hell, what now, oh shit...I'm no good at this sort of thing, what do I do? But even as he thinks it, he's edging closer to Hanna, reaching out---what's come over him?---and his hands find Hanna's shoulders. Hanna's breath hitches and he stifles a sob, looks up at Conrad in bewilderment, but he barely has time to open his mouth before Conrad has pulled him into what might possibly be the most awkward hug ever. Hanna is pressed tight to Conrad's chest, the tears on his cheek leaving damp marks on the fabric of Conrad's shirt.

Conrad's eyes are shut tight. He has no idea what he's doing, still mentally cursing in confusion, but he realizes that Hanna's breathing has slowed. He feels movement, looks down to see that Hanna's arms have wrapped around his thin frame, and Hanna is...curling up, slightly, settling himself against Conrad, face buried and unreadable. Conrad feels the tension that had been coursing through him start to leave his body, his shoulders slackening and jaw relaxing. It's as if his whole being is sighing. He notices that everywhere Hanna is touching him, he feels incredibly warm, like the smaller man somehow radiates heat.

Hanna sighs audibly, muffled slightly by Conrad's shirt but still conveying all the relief that has suddenly permeated the room. Then, a small laugh, and he turns his head a little to speak. "S-sorry, man, I...I'll leave in a minute, I know this is...awkward...I just..." He pauses, takes a deep and still slightly rattling breath. "It's been a really long time, since anyone..." And he can't finish, just lets it hang there. Conrad nods, unable to respond.


So yeah, expect the next part (with the actual sex) sometime hopefully later tonight or tomorrow? <3

File: 127707898826.jpg-(235.41KB, 720x546, whatisfap.jpg)


Here it is.
(Hope it's okay. First internet!porn ftw.)


>Ples wondering what the word "Fap" means
>Veser in a top hat

This picture is made of pure win. There is no fail here


I-is his pinky out? Like, elegant fapping?



D'awww, thanks guys.

Ples is my fandom bicycle (or would that be 'fandom velocipede'?). GQMF dapper gentleman.

Have some fic, /co/mrades. You deserve it.

"Your apartment is always so freaking quiet, dude. Like, unnaturally quiet. Did you soundproof it or something?" Veser pauses. "Heh."
"Unsurprisingly, Veser, it was quieter before you got here."
Veser sighs. "Can I dig through your CDs or something?"
"...You got a record player?"
"What? Thought I'd try."
Conrad rolls his eyes and goes back to scribbling furiously on his tablet.
"You know," Veser says, glancing out the window, "It's going to start storming soon. It'd be hilarious if the power went out.
"I don't think it would be."
Raindrops go plink-plink-plink on the window, and Conrad extracts himself from his chair and closes the blinds, then goes back to the chair and begins to dig his headphones out--
"It's like seven at night. You'll be fine."
"It is not 'like seven at night'. It's ten-thirty." The headphones are broken. Conrad frowns.
Thunder louder than Mrs. Blaney yelling insults sounds outside, and the lights flicker and die.
"Oh, fuck me." Conrad facepalms--literally facepalms. He glares over at Veser. "You made that happen, you twat. You--I don't even know. You angered Thor."
"Did not," Veser mutters, curling up in his favorite chair. He pulls his knees to his chest and pouts.
"Where did you put the flashlight? I need to see what time it is."
"Why the fuck would that matter? And besides, can't you see in the dark and shit anyway?'
"Because I just need to know what time it is, okay? And I can, but I'll be night blind for a few minutes because of the computer. Stupid."
"Well. Don't have a shitfit, princess," Veser said, and stumbles around looking for the flashlight. He knows he had it last night--he was making shadow animals--but he can't remember where it is.
"Wait a second," Conrad says. He'll ignore the 'princess' comment for now.
"What now?"
"Do you hear that?" Conrad holds up his hand to stop Veser complaining any further.
"H-hear what?" Veser swallows; his mouth has gone dry because god damn it, he's scared of the dark for a fucking reason.
"There's no sound--there shouldn't be, anyway--"
"What are you even talking about?"
"Look. The clock's been broken since you threw your fucking DS at it, right?"
"Uh, yeah. I still don't get what you're saying, though."
There is the soft sound of polished shoes tmp-tmping, and the door clicking against its frame as if it were gently shut by a zephyr's cool fingers, and, above all, a tick-tocking sound that's way louder than it has any right to be, even if you leave out the fact that it shouldn't be there in the first place.
"I'm saying, if the clock's broken, then what's ticking?"

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>I'm saying, if the clock's broken, then what's ticking?

oh shi-!


Are you going to end this, or was that the end?



Oh man, I love it.

>>45321 OH, THE SUSPENSE. :O



There, fixed that for you. lol.



(and on a side note, very In Character)

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Saw Toy Story 3, and couldn't take my eyes off little Hanna.


I-I... I think I might love you. o_o

MUCHO MUCHO THANKIES! <3 I shall begine beta'ing my story as I said I'd be brave post my little snigglit!

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I post over on dA all the time but uh, thought maybe I'd try throwing stuff over here, too. Anyway, this was before it was revealed that Cas was Italian, and I assumed he was a Spaniard. OH WELL. Take this.


There were many redeeming qualities when it came to the dark skinned vampire he'd come to call friend (he was tall, handsome; confident- the works), but the thing he found he liked most about Casimiro was the lovely fact that he was bilingual.

"Mmnn, si si si-!"

Those moments when they were in the throws of passion and Casimiro would just revert back to his native tongue, mumbling things in Spanish that Finas had no hope of possibly understanding were the best. He loved the way Casimiro could roll those words right out of his mouth with a perfect accent, never missing a beat as he'd gasp and arch into his touches, speaking rapidly in a language Finas didn't understand.

"Mas mas mas por favor!"

His voice was melodic, beautiful, especially when it took on that Spanish twinge, and he couldn't help but oblige those needs Casimiro expressed so wantonly.

"Vamos vamos, mi amor-!"

The way his dark, lean and lithe body flexed and twisted beneath him was hot all on its own, but coupled with that exotic, almost hypnotic hispanic accent, Finas could barely control himself; found that maybe he didn't want to.

"Me gusta mucho tu s-sabor-!"

It was highly erotic, even if he didn't know what Casimiro was saying. He'd often told himself that he'd remember to inquire about what his dark skinned partner had said later, but always seemed to forget. Casimiro always managed to fill his mind with thoughts of other things as they reached the end of their romps, those facial expressions of his always managing to imprint themselves in his mind before he could even think to ask. And anyway, a part of him didn't want to know; he felt that perhaps it would take away from that deep enigmatic emotion it managed to conjure up inside him, and that was something he didn't want to lose.

"Ay que rico- ah!"

He noticed early on when they started this little fuckship that Casimiro liked breathing during their relations, and that he absolutely loved making panty little moans even if he didn't need to breath. Not that Finas minded any; in fact, it made him love the man all the more for doing so. The way that he could just let go and let that normally cool and composed face fall apart, with his mouth open wide in silent moans of ecstasy with gasping breaths and half-lidded eyes was a sight he loved to behold, even if he didn't care to admit it.

"Dámelo dámelo- si si!"

Even after they were done and were laying in bed, Casimiro breathing lightly for the affect, each enjoying their respective post-orgasmic highs, the Spaniard would still mutter soft, barely-there words to the other, eyes closed as he nuzzled up into Finas' chest.

"Te quiero, te quiero, Finas."

Though he knew not at all the words Casimiro may have spoken earlier, he felt he had a pretty good general idea of what his friend turned lover meant when he muttered those, as he spoke those few words quite often. The goatee'd man smiled then, a soft and small twinge of the lips as he put to use his babelfish skills.

"Si, si, señor," Finas would murmur, turning and rolling over to bring Casimiro closer to him. "Te quiero también, Casimiro."

The soft appreciative kisses on the back of his hands spoke for themselves.

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I can't even- Oh god.

"ay que rico"? seriously??


Yup. I took all the Spanish spoken bits from that one Rammstein song, Te Quiero Puta

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first time drawfag bringing sketchy porn.

any requests? i'm kinda bored.

I came

This would be so much better if it was in Italian. The Spanish sex appeal has worn itself out, I think. Lovely writing though! Finas/Casimiro needs more love

That was lovely. Thank you for writing and posting this, Hanna/Conrad anything is a (relatively) rare treasure.

THAT ENDING IS TERRIFYING. If that was a movie I would be curled up in my seat and covering my eyes with terror.

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>Finas/Casimiro needs more love.

I agree so hard.

"Mistah Cross."

The voice that greeted Hanna at the bar was unfamiliar. It was rich and deep and chocolately, and despite carrying absolutely no hint of aggression was still more than a little intimidating. Its owner was much the same. Tall, dark, well dressed, smiling warmly as he held out a hand clad in many silver rings.

"Uh - hello? I don't think we've met?" Hanna shook his hand hesitantly. There was a hint of the inhuman to the handsome stranger, and so vague it put his teeth on edge.

"Never directly, Mistah Cross, but we certainly have run rings around each other. I have a little... proposition for you." He smiled again, and his teeth flashed gold and silver.

"Well I'm kind of in the middle of wrapping something up right now but if it can wait then I'd be happy to take on whatever it is you want me to consider."

The stranger leaned back, sipped an incredibly golden drink, and considered the skinny detective.

"Let me buy you a drink, and we can discuss it."

Hanna got a proper look at the man's rings as he ordered drinks for the two of them. Spider, snake, scorpion, skull, snake-eyes dice. A meshwork tattoo was just barely peeking out from under his sleeve. This was all triggering some kind of memory, some kind of instinct, and Hanna couldn't for the life of him remember what it was his instinct was trying to tell him.

The drink the dark man bought was rum, from a bottle that was old enough to still have woodcut style pictures of a jolly black slave on it. That stuff was expensive- forty dollars a measure or more! The stranger lifted his glass of golden rum in salute.

“You’ll drink with me for those boys that gave their lives for this fine rum, Mistah Cross, I’m sure.”

“I- um- sure?” Hanna sipped it, and it burned warmly down his throat. He’d never tasted anything like it. He knew he was a lightweight, and he could feel it clouding his senses after only a few sips. The dark stranger was still talking, and that sense of threat had increased. Hanna started to notice things he could have sworn hadn’t been there before. Top hat. Silver-tipped cane. And then he knew he had to be hallucinating, that the rum was too strong or there was something in it, because no way could that massive snake have been hiding somewhere, and the stranger hadn’t had time to put on that skull-makeup, and there were patterns, meshes and grids and sinuous lines traced in the spilt liquid on the bar…

“You may have heard of me, Mistah Cross. My name is Samedi, and I have use for you. Ever been ridden by the loa?”

He passed out.


When he woke up there were candles. There were drums. Pictures of saints and movie stars and offerings of pepper and rum and vodka and cigarettes. A range of markers in lovely rich colours, the sort he could never afford but looked at longingly anyway.

“Now, you may be wondering what you’re doin’ here. And that’s a perfectly fine thing to wonder. But it’s not important, not right now.” That rumbling, deep voice again. Warm and menacing and with no readily visible source. “What you need to do right now, Mistah Cross, is create me a veve, bring me a gate. There’s trouble going down out in the world, Mistah Cross, and even my very own houngan asogwe isn’t as good a gateway as you.”

Hanna snapped to sobriety. This was voodoo. This was not his territory, he worked with runes, not spirits. An unseen hand gripped his wrist and guided him to the pack of markers.

“You’re gonna do this for me, Mistah Cross. Like it or not, tonight you belong to the loa.” His hand snatched up the red marker, vibrant and visceral and vermillion rouge. There was a strong sense of exactly the image to create, the veve to draw, and he did. Voodoo was not his territory, but a veve was only so far different from his runes and glyphs, and he knew better than to argue with someone like Baron Samedi himself.

His hands moved almost of their own accord, and he was so, so conscious that they were really mostly moving of someone else’s accord. Gold, silver, red, black, white, the ink skittered over the floor and onto Hanna’s skin, gleaming wetly for a moment before drying in.

And then he was aware of someone else being in his skin, of being the wrong shape and size, aware of being halfway alive and halfway dead and striding that borderland. His hand reached out with uncanny accuracy and spun the tophat onto his head, twirled the cane in his hand, and he knew his face looked like a skull even though he saw no mirrors.

The drums played themselves in the empty room, and feet that were far more co-ordinated than Hanna’s had ever been tapped out a beat in his battered check sneakers.

“Now, boy, I’m gonna borrow you a little while. You smell of death and you just keep walking, and you have your fine etching style. I’m needing that right now, and you can have this skin of yours back when I’m finished.”

Hanna’s body danced in the flickering candlelight, and his hands moved so fast in their drawing and sketching that he knew his fingers were going to bleed. When they did his hands didn’t slow, they kept going, mingling blood and ink over walls and floor, all circling around a single little shrine with a photo and some trinkets and a bit of hair and dry blood and clipped nails.

He didn’t know what happened. Samedi encroached, and Hanna was pushed back into his own mind. Last he knew, he was heading to a nightspot he’d never heard of armed only with rum, markers and, for some reason, a wide selection of condoms.


He woke in his own bed, for which he was incredibly grateful. The inkstains all over his body attested that it hadn’t been a strange dream. He was also… sticky? And Christ, he didn’t think he could even move his legs.

Bits of the previous night flashed back. Under Samedi’s influence he’d – god, had he really done that? And… oh, wow, he’d never thought anyone could be that flexible. Ancient rum, hot flesh, and the taste of salt on skin. He knew he hadn’t been the only one under a loa that night. He’d been surrounded by the loa of the Ghede branch… Masaka and Oussou, the incredibly energetic bisexual companions, and Ti Malice with that… that… what could only be described as that unique sense of humour. Ohh, and there’d been Ghede Nibo, and that had been… exhausting. Exhilarating. Ghede Nibo had been insatiable, so far as his little shards of memory could tell him.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful that he could only remember fragments or if he desperately wanted to remember more.

“Hey, fetch me a mirror.” Samedi’s voice. Hanna crawled across his bed and grabbed the mirror he sometimes used when trying new runes on himself. In his reflection, the black loa was overlaid against his own face. “You’re never getting that whole night back. Belongs to us Ghede boys.” He grinned, and Hanna felt his own face contort weakly in response. “But you did well, you half-dead boy. I know I’m not digging you out of your grave any time soon, so I’ve got a different type of thanks for you. One of mine, other side of death from you. You look out for him- he’ll treat you right. You do the loa honour, and you’ll do well by us.”

A whiff of unfiltered cigarette smoke drifted by him, a scent of rum and habaneros.

“You look out for our little gift to you. He’ll keep you right.”

Baron Samedi’s face faded entirely and Hanna finally felt like he was on his own in his own skin.

Two weeks later, he got the most awesome sidekick ever.


The moment I saw "baron samedi" I just about went nuts holy fuck

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Was waiting for this parody :3

I swear Veser looks like a hunter everytime i see him in the poster image

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Also I agree with a general need for more FinCas. Am working on some. Meanwhile, have some angst.

Tonight, I'm gonna try my hand at filling a prompt from the kink meme or drawing some more.
This is all so thrilling and new and exciting!
Thanks, HiNABN fandom, for making me want to write and draw porn. :D

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YES, YES YES YES oh my god I love you. Holy fuck. The ending made me grin like a maniac.

Aww, thanks, I'm glad you like it so far. <3 It's taking me a little longer (and filling up more pages) than I expected but I am into the sexings now and will post soon(ish)?

Ho. Lee. Crap. That was the most awesome explanation I've ever seen for Zombie coming back to... unlife. The descriptions were rich and beautiful, I could tell you'd researched the figures mentioned, and you are a master of that little thrill that makes you think "oh my god I know what's coming and it's going to be awesome" and then delivering.
tl;dr You're still amazing and I love you.
Sage no useful content.


Haha, thanks so much! I look forward to your next instalment, too!


hee, thanks. I'm really into studying voudou, and reading up on Ghede Nibo makes me want to trade my usual favourite loa (Ogoun, loa of masculinity, politics, ironsmithing and war) for Nibo the sexy sexy trickster.

Holee shit. That... whoa. I wish I could write like that.

But you'll all just have to put up with my notion that alliteration is cool for now, and also my inability to write porn.


He liked precise numbers.
Their calculated company captivated him, and had since he was small. He happily hashed hordes upon hordes of numbers for what surely seemed like hours on end, and the oddest part was that he, unlike most children his age, derived enjoyment from dividing and deriving dozens of delicate digits.
So, it was succinctly simple that his choice of career would be--naturally--an accountant.
He had another passion--a maudlin mistress to that malkin Mathematics--and her name was Clockwork. She came to great use when he first showed up.
Oh, it was uncomplicated at first--; it started with wearing two watches--three, five; increasing integers immersed and immured him in ticktockticktocking, and he stayed down for a quiet while.
Then he came back brutally, and he battled the brute bravely. He did things he forgot; he forgot things he did. It was dizzying, dismal, distressing, disturbing.
Then the ticktocking toppled the tipsy Tibenoch into Clockwork's measured breathing. He read things; he did things--for himself; to himself. It was simple self-surgery that seemed suddenly serious after the sixth shaky swig of Smirnoff.

Presently, he pockets the ticking timepiece that tends to seem more like a timebomb.
Fortunately Maths is frankly forgiving. She doesn't mind his affair with Clockwork--she encourages it. The two are fond of each other. Maths may meet with Clockwork at the corner of Frequency and Hertz, for instance; Clockwork can calmly climb the spidery branches of Maths' tree Statistics.
He tends toward liking Clockwork out of her virtue of various vigilance against him (--to say nothing of his attraction to Alcohol.)
She, Clockwork, has taken up a permanent residence--she tersely announces her timely tenancy with a deliberate
and a grievous, ghoulish grinding of gummed gears when he gets his way, which is increasingly often.

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just wanted to say you guys are awesome
also have a craptastic doodle

NOW we are starting to get into the sexytimes, folks, though I regret to inform you that that REAL porn will be in the next installment. Because I am so lame and take my time with this shit because I have an anticipation kink. Also, so happy to see more fic cropping up in this thread, keep writing people! This is a collaborative effort! <3

(continued from >>45303)


Neither speaks. Conrad is listening to Hanna's heartbeat, loud and steady, focusing on its rhythm the way he used to focus on his own heart during moments of panic. He isn't panicking now, but his mind is spinning and he clings to the stability of that beat. He tries to name the things he's feeling, to qualify and control them. Awkward is certainly an apt description of the situation. He's confused, yes, and maybe embarrassed. He finds that he feels sorry for Hanna, sorry for whatever pain it is that's bound up inside him, and there's a tenderness in that feeling that startles him. He looks down at the tangled mess of red hair and that tenderness blooms further in his chest. He doesn't remember ever feeling like this, feeling this protective of another person.

There's something else. It's hard to put this last feeling, what is quickly becoming the strongest feeling, into words, and Conrad isn't sure he wants to name it and own it. He knows Hanna's words ring true for him as well---he tries to picture the last time someone embraced him. There's a sudden, terrifying image of his mother, and a feeling of suffocation that he mentally shakes off---no, no, that was nothing like this. That wasn't even real affection, much less...whatever this is. He's electrified by the physical contact. If his heart still beat, it would be racing now.

As if in response to his thoughts, Hanna's heartbeat starts to quicken, and he feels Hanna begin to pull away. Something inside him sinks as the contact breaks. He sees that Hanna is flushed, wonders if his own face shows any similar sign. Hanna looks away, starts to get up, and it takes every ounce of strength Conrad can muster just to choke out---"wait."

Hanna stops short, poised on the edge of the sofa, ready to leave or stay at a word and the expression on his face equally expectant.

"You don't have to leave," Conrad manages.

"No, really, it's okay, I know that was probably really weird for you and I'm....I mean, I came here to apologize and I messed that up too so I should probably just go home now and---"

"I want you to stay." There. No taking it back now. Conrad shuts his eyes, bites his lip (mercifully the fang does little damage---he's learning to work around it). He's sure Hanna will leave now, this cannot possibly get any weirder, but all he can think is how badly he wants to feel Hanna curled up in his arms again, close and warm and alive.

"...why?" Hanna's voice is small, uncertain, but not unkind. He sits back, bringing himself that much closer to Conrad, only inches away now and it's insane how Conrad can feel his warmth even without touching. The vampire opens his eyes again with a pained expression. Hanna's face is a picture of innocent concern, but Conrad thinks he catches the faintest glimpse of something hopeful there. He stares for a moment and then suddenly he has the powerful, unbelievable urge to kiss Hanna. He blinks. No. No no no. Out of the question. He's ashamed of himself. There are still tear-stains on Hanna's cheeks. A drop glistens at the corner of his left eye. As if in a trance, Conrad lifts a hand and gently wipes it away, fingers ghosting delicately over Hanna's reddening cheek.

"Conrad?" Hanna breathes. "Are you okay? What---"

The words are cut off by the sudden press of Conrad's lips against Hanna's. Hanna lets out a small startled "mmph!" but doesn't pull back. It's Conrad who breaks away, hovering entranced with their mouths barely touching, feeling Hanna's breath enter his own mouth for a moment and then getting a hold of himself and turning away in shame.

Then there's a hand on his face, pulling him back, and then Hanna is kissing him. He loses himself in it, desperate and hungry for this incredible warmth and softness. One arm slips around Hanna's waist to pull him closer and the other hand finds the back of Hanna's head, fingers knotting into red curls. Hanna's hands are pressed flat against Conrad's chest. They begin to slide slowly up, brushing either side of Conrad's neck and coming to rest gently cupping his face. Conrad feels as though he's on fire everywhere Hanna touches, craves the contact of their skin.

After a little while, Hanna breaks the kiss to breathe. Panting shallowly, he rests his head gently on Conrad's shoulder. "Woah. Uh. Wow," he stammers. "That was..." He lifts his head again and laughs, dazed eyes full of bewildered affection. "That was awesome."

Conrad can't help but smile. He feels every bit as confused and shocked as Hanna looks, but he can taste Hanna on his lips and the sensation is overpowering. He's not sure what to say, in light of how many lines (both personal and interpersonal) they just crossed. His whole body is aching now, and he's surprised at how aroused he's become. Amazed that it's Hanna---reckless, naive, frustratingly energetic Hanna---who's called up such a storm in him. It's a strange, new Hanna that nestles into him now...soft, gentle, vulnerable Hanna, Hanna who needs to be touched just as much as Conrad needs, never knew he needed so much.

"God, you're warm," he says quietly, and finds his voice is uncharacteristically breathy and low. He doesn't want to scare Hanna, doesn't want to rush or push or do anything that might send him away, but it's getting difficult to keep his mind from straying to what Hanna's unclothed body would feel like pressed against his.

Hanna shifts position, maneuvers a leg to the other side of Conrad and slides up and into his lap so he's straddling him. Conrad is startled by the confidence of the movement, what might seem like an overtly seductive gesture if not for the utterly rapt expression on Hanna's face. Hanna kisses him again, gently. Conrad strokes Hanna's back appreciatively, trailing down until he reaches the hem of his shirt, and then he can't help himself. He slips a hand under and up, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin.

A soft "ahh" escapes Hanna and he arches back into the touch. "C-cold..." he breathes. Conrad starts to retract his hand, but then "no, it feels good. Hnn." And Hanna reaches down and under the front of Conrad's shirt, palm smoothing its way up his stomach. Conrad moans a little at the touch. He's getting hard, sure that Hanna can feel it the way they're pressed together. He hopes Hanna realizes what he's doing, hopes desperately that this is really as mutual as it seems. His hands find Hanna's hips, fingers curling about the bone to pull him in and down, and there, he can feel Hanna's erection, stiff and hot through the fabric of his jeans.

"Unnnhhhh..." Hanna's face is flushed, eyes squeezed shut. He looks almost pained. Conrad watches him through half-lidded eyes, waiting, wanting Hanna to make the next move. Stillness for a moment, and then Hanna slowly rolls his hips forward, grinding himself against Conrad, and Conrad lets his head tilt back against the sofa and shudders with pleasure.

"H-Hanna," he moans, and then leans forward to plant a kiss on the side of Hanna's neck. He starts to lift Hanna's shirt, and feels the younger man's body tense up, looks up to see a slight edge of panic in his eyes. "I'm sorry, we don't have to..."

Hanna looks conflicted. "It''s not that. It's just I...well..." And he takes a deep breath, then slowly takes the hem of his own shirt and lifts, exposing a massive, zig-zagging scar, held closed by what look like giant staples. Conrad's eyes widen, but he isn't shocked---he'd caught a glimpse of the edge of this thing once before, wondered about it but felt it best not to pry. Now he very gently touches the tips of his fingers to part of the scar, just above Hanna's navel.

"Does it hurt?"

Hanna shakes his head, letting the shirt fall back down to cover him up again. "No. It's...pretty old. It's just...yanno..." And he looks resigned, the expression of someone who stands in front of a mirror and hates what he sees reflected there. "It's okay," Hanna mutters, "if you...I mean if you don't want to, I understand..."

By way of response, Conrad pulls Hanna into a fierce kiss, then keeps his eyes focused on Hanna's as he lifts the shirt up and over, letting it fall to the floor. For a moment Hanna just stares, looking both relieved and self-conscious, but then a smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he helps Conrad out of his shirt. Now it's Conrad's turn to feel uncomfortably self-aware---he sees that his skin is even paler than Hanna's very fair shade of pink, the contrast between the living and the dead so obvious this close. But Hanna doesn't even seem to notice, much less care---he's busy exploring, soft warm hands running over Conrad's cool chest and stomach. Conrad caresses Hanna's sides, so thin he can feel the protrusion of ribs, and he's struck by how fragile Hanna seems. There's power in him, though, Conrad can feel energy coursing through Hanna and he wonders whether it has anything to do with his magic ability. Such a bundle of contradictions.

Hanna presses his hips against him again, hands gripping his shoulders, and Conrad's musings are lost in a wave of need. Their kisses are becoming quicker, more frantic, hands straying lower and playing about the waistbands of their pants. Conrad hesitates a moment, fingers tucked ever so slightly into the front of Hanna's jeans, and then he starts to undo the fly.

"Um," says Hanna, and Conrad looks up from what he's doing to see the most radiant blush. "I...I've...actuallyneverdonethisbefore," he blurts out. "I mean I want to, I really really want to," he adds quickly before Conrad can retreat. "I just. Thought you should know."

Conrad smiles, really smiles, relief written all over his face. He puts a hand on the back of Hanna's neck, draws him in and tilts his own head forward so that their foreheads are just touching. "Me neither."


Next up: they do it. I PROMISE. <3


How did I miss this before? I LOVE IT! Can't wait for part 2!


Oh god never stop writing. <3


oh you cocktease you. Stopping just short like that.

can we have some more soon?

Working on some Worth/Ples right now. I'll try to hurry it up.

Hey guiz, this thread is sexy. So much more content than I'm used to in a day.

I come with a question though... has Hanna ever been bitten in any fic/pic? Apparently he reeks pretty bad when using magic but that's not ALL the time, right?

I have a raging hard-on.
So don't keep me waiting too long.

(Wrote this for myself for fun, and I think it sucks. But someone encouraged me to post so I will. Hope it's not too horrific)

Icy cold fingers ran over Lamont’s shoulders, making the dark haired man shudder. The sure smile on his face wavered a little as the venturesome squeeze turns into a possessive push. His lower back is pressed into a stack of boxes that were piled high in the darkened alleyway.

A quick flash of fangs puts his nerves on edge. So impatient.

“Alright, easy fella…” He tried to warn the vampire in the most non threatening way possible, his grin widening. “I wanna keep working with you ask much as you want to with me….”

“He’s right, Casimiro.” Came a gruff reply from the other side of the alley.

A slightly irritated looking Finas was waiting, his back pressed up against the wall of the apartment building. His glistening red eyes, shrouded in shadow, watched the street with an inept paranoia.

“Is there no better place to do this?” He growled.

Toucey shrugged and grinned apologetically around Casimiro‘s thin frame. “Sorry about that. This was on short notice……..and the most convenient place to meet…..I‘ll let you pick it next time.…..” In truth he’d chosen this location in hopes that Finas’ paranoia would lead to a faster negotiation.

“Enough worrying. Don’t you ever learn to loosen up a little?” Cas grinned toothily to his partner.

Finas glowered, his arms crossing tighter. “Just make it quick.”

Cas laughed. The sharp sound made Lamont wince a little, especially as that one red eye focused on him.

“Take your time, boys. I‘m in no hurry.” Lamont assured, putting up his arms in a shrug.

Finas, who’d read the lie on that smiling face from all the way across the alleyway, grimaced and turned his back on the two.

Casmiro watched his companion for a moment before he turned his gaze back on Lamont. “Looks like it’s just me this time, Monty. Good for you, right?”

Lamont’s cheesy grin widened, the friendly expression not nearly reaching his eyes. “Awh, you know I don’t really like that nickname.”

Cas laughed and flicked a small blade forth from inside his coat. He reached out to grip the edge of the bandage on Lamont’s cheek and with a quick swipe he pulled it off. The lack of bandage revealed a deep, old scar. The vampire knew he didn’t need to hold onto Lamont to prevent him flinching away from the blade. There was something satisfying about the way the man even leaned into the steel to hasten the wound. This particular vampire was dangerous and unpredictable. There was no guarantee that he’d follow the rules, but hopefully Finas would step in if he decided not to.

Within moments of glimpsing the first drop of blood, Casimiro’s long lanky body was upon him. A cold tongue pressed against his cheek, not letting a single drop of the precious warm fluid escape.

Nothing tasted better than the fresh blood. The real stuff. Taken right from a living being who’s heart was still beating it through their body.

These droplets were undoubtedly delicious, but they only served to tease Casimiro’s taste buds.

Lamont’s broad chest rose and fell against the vampires cooler one. He had to keep him talking.

“How’s that today, eh? Tastes just like chicken, right?” The man chuckled and felt a small relief to hear a resulting snicker from Cas.

Lamont felt teeth scrape against his face and quickly derived a distraction by fumbling with Casimiro’s long fingers. He pried the knife gently away. Cas’ brow rose an inch or so before he quickly caught on that it wasn’t a threat.

“Alright…I like where this is going. You‘re welcome to start.” He grinned and began pulling at the man’s open collar. Lamont’s chest and shoulders were exposed quickly, giving him plenty of space to work.

Ever careful, Lamont dug the tip of the knife into the flesh of his shoulder and cut an opening. The blood immediately began to flow.

In his excitement over the trickle of blood, Casimiro finished relieving Lamont of his shirt and grasped on to his shoulders. He leaned in and licked up the escaping trail, following the line all the way up over the rise of Lamont’s chest. He reached the wound, not leaving a single drop of blood on the man’s skin as he began nursing the cut with his lips and tongue.

Lamont only cringed a little as the vampires tongue delved into the cut, making it deeper. His breath hastened. Casimiro, in the mean time, was getting more and more excited and pushing his body closer and closer.

“I can’t promise I’m not going to bite.” Cas whispered. There was a dangerous inhuman hiss in the tone.
“Just k-keep out of the veins………..” Lamont instructed. “There’s no deal making if I end up dying here, y‘know……”

“Heh..I’ll be careful….”

That jaw extended and exposed the long fangs of the predator. Lamont watched the points find the area of flesh just over his collar bone. There were important channels for blood here. He counted on Casimiro knowing exactly where they were and where not to bite this time.

He winced and put all of his weight back on the boxes as those thick needlelike structures sank deeply in. They quickly pierced the skin and muscle tissue, drawing a lot more blood forth than his own attempts upon his own flesh.

Casimiro’s body emitted another inhuman hiss. The warm blood pumping from this living body was thoroughly igniting an insatiable hunger in the vampire. He eagerly gave in to the calling of his nature and took what he wanted, which included a lot more than just the man’s blood.

The thin vampire was pushing him back further and further upon the boxes, and after a quick adjustment, Lamont found himself loosing his pants. He groaned in annoyance.

“Really now? A-aren’t we a little busy with dining at the moment……..?”

Casimiro growled around his mouthful of flesh, his eye flashing up at Lamont‘s face, making Lamont grin apologetically. “Alright alright……”

A moment of anxious fumbling followed in which Lamont felt an intensely uncomfortable and cold penetration. He was forced to hold onto Casimiro’s coat as he took it all in. That lubrication that he’d applied early proved to be a really good idea after all.

Lamont cringed and winced under the combined pain of the teeth in his shoulder and the cock in his ass. After a few quick thrusts, the cool flesh inside of him warmed up to his own body temperature and this at least became more bearable.

Lamont cracked an eye open after a few long moments, finding the most unnerving sight of Finas watching the whole little event. He did not look happy about it. But he didn’t often look happy about anything. Lamont forced a grin and a little wave, as bits of his unruly hair fell across his face at the pace of the thrusts.

Finas glowered and walked over, reaching out to tap Casimiro on the shoulder.

The smell of the fresh blood was unbearably tempting enough without having his partner groaning and making various wet expressions of his pleasure.

“Cas………….that’s enough. Either finish up or back off…………he’s looking really pale………”

At first, Cas let out an enraged growl and gripped on tighter, but Finas’ quickly put him in his place with a sharp: “Casimiro!” and a slap to the back of the head. “You’ve had your fun….”

“Alright! Geez…..”

There was the disgusting noise of those long teeth being jerked loose from Lamont and the equally sloppy noise of the vampire pulling his cock out of the man, leaving him to gasp and fail to regain his composure.

Lamont was looking pretty dizzy. His hair and body were quite the mess as well as his expression that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to grin or frown. The result was a strange mixture of the two. He tried to bandage up his wounds as he was given the moment to, still unable to stand up.

Finas sighed and took matters into his own more capable hands. He pushed the blood drunken Casimiro a few more feet away and went about bandaging up the nasty looking wounds.

Lamont held his own fore head and let him as the world continued to spin. “T-thanks…..’m f-freaking useless r-right now……”

The broader vampire just frowned and kept bandaging Lamont up. When he was done he backed off. “Do yourself a favor and get something to eat…………soon.”

Lamont stumbled forward, keeping his hands braced on the boxes. He reached out to catch Finas before he could leave.

“C’mon………wouldn’t be much of a deal if y-you didn’t get some part in it…….”

“Don’t tempt me.” Finas growled.

“I am.” Lamont grinned dazedly.

Finas turned to glare at him, only to catch the man as he wavered a little. “Mr. Toucey….you are in no condition to…..”

“Alright…” Lamont laughed and put his hands up, going back to lean on the boxes. “If you insist…………”

Finas stared over the man a moment. He could hear his heart beat and smell the sex and just taste the warm blood in the air. He glanced over to Casimiro who was buttoning his pants and licking his fingers. When his partner caught him looking, he just shrugged and adjusted his pants. “Sorry buddy….heh…should’ve stopped me sooner..”

Finas glared and turned his attentions back on Lamont. Even though he was a man of cold humors, Finas couldn’t help but find some slight, strange fondness for the dark haired man. If it was only his pathetic willingness to give everything up in return for a simple favor. Lamont always gave first and left the trust in their hands that they would uphold their half of the bargains.

It was stupid and bold. And he could not help but admire it.

“Could you turn around, Mr. Toucey?” He questioned.

>>45520 OH god why is it so long

Part two (I KNOW. Why is it so long? Agh)

Lamont blinked up. It took only a second for the man to begin turning about. “Yeah, yeah! Sure thing……..” He didn’t sound sure.

Thick, powerful fingers gripped onto his sides and held Lamont steady. Lamont soon felt the mans chest firmly against his back and arms tightly braced about his middle.

He found himself more eased onto Finas than Finas actually entering him. The vampires arms and body guided his down.

It didn’t change the fact that he was being slowly impaled upon a much bigger individual than what he was used to, but the previous fucking had opened him up enough that this transition was not only easy going……but almost kind.

“How are you holding up?” Finas questioned.

Lamont, whose front was braced down on the piled up boxes, emitted a little tense noise. “G-great……..t-thanks…..”

“Geez, Fin. He’s not somebody’s little china doll….hit him harder..he’s not gonna break!“ A giddy fit of mean laughter signaled Casimiro regaining interest. The lanky vampire was still sporting a lusty expression.

“You sure feel special, eh, Lamont?………..Finas barely ever does stuff like this…”

Lamont grinned and winced blearily over at Cas. “C-charmed…’course…..”

Finas gripped down tighter about Lamont’s body and the man was sure he felt the vampires cock twitch, throb and tighten inside him. Embarrassment did it for everybody, didn’t it? “Shut your fucking trap, Casimiro…………Can‘t you see I‘m busy?”

Finas’ deep voice rumbled with hidden pleasure though, despite the irritation. Lamont’s insides were slippery and overheated. Just the heat itself gave Finas’ body the intense sensation of being alive. Really alive. He felt the strongest desire to steal the blood that was pumping through those throbbing veins. He desired the intense pleasures that fresh blood straight from a living host gave him.

This warm ecstasy was good enough for now though.

“Hey Monty……..” Casimiro pushed his way into the situation. He leapt onto the boxes and seated himself right in front of Lamont. “You really get anything outta this?”

Finas growled and bore his teeth at his friend, possessively delving another thrust inside Lamont. It was rough enough to make the dark haired man grit his teeth and gasp.

“Chill out, Fin……” Casimiro slid under Lamont, feet first. He managed to wriggle his way down in front of the man, pushing Lamont up into a more standing position in the process.

Lamont knew better to argue as Casimiro’s front pressed against his own front. The thin vampire liked to get up and personal.

“Little I-itsy bit busy…..” Lamont made sure to grin. He was to remain submissive in such situations.

Casimiro grinned back, only much meaner, and seized Lamont’s face. “Never too busy for me, Lamont.”

Cold, grey lips locked into his own. He tasted iron and patiently accepted the kiss from Casimiro. How he managed to breath while Finas kept steadily screwing him, while being suffocated by Casimiro’s mouth at the same time, was beyond him.

Light headed, Lamont gave up trying to hold himself up at all. He was aware his body was being adjusted again and mostly ignored it until his groin connected with the area between Casimiro’s thighs.

His attention returned. Finas had apparently given into the idea of Casimiro making himself welcome. He seemed used to it.

At a each deep penetration, Lamont became aware of his own flaccid dick receiving pressure from the push of Cas’ inner thighs. As his attention returned, he also became aware of the distinct pushing and pulling inside him that was rubbing and massaging his prostate.

Good thoughts, Toucey. He told himself. Good thoughts. Good thoughts.

Breasts, brightly colored bikinis and nailing Worth in the face with a good punch all came to mind. Lamont let out a sharp bark of a noise as he felt his slowly tightening member being forced into Casimiro‘s entrance.

“C’mon.. You can do it.” Came a teasing hiss from Casimiro. The vampire grinded down on him, seeming to really love their dramatic contrast in temperatures. “Fuck damn, Finas………it’s hot as hell……….hehe. Lamont can do anything.”

A long fingered hand squeezed his face, drawing blood from his pale cheeks for Casimiro to lap up.

The smell compelled Finas to release his hungry frustration out on Lamont’s ass. The increase in internal pressure may have been quite painful if not for the pleasurable distraction from the front.

Casimiro grinded down, taking Lamont in easily as he went from limp to reluctantly hard. His wounds hurt, but he could more than handle them. He could learn to enjoy them for a moment.

With two vampires on either side, Lamont was undoubtedly in for more trouble than he could handle. No one was coming to help him however. He’d learned to deal with such situations alone.

He ventured to kiss and grope Casimiro while squeezing himself as tightly as possible around Finas. It was tough work and he was quickly exhausted and worn down to the point of groaning and gasping, all but begging for mercy.

His nerves might not be so intensely on edge if he hadn’t have had two sets of dangerous teeth scraping over his skin. Finas was pressing his mouth far too close to his neck. Casimiro’s teeth were scraping his shoulder every once in awhile.

Finas’ admittedly lost himself somewhere between Lamont’s pained sounds and warm body and watching Casmiro so thoroughly enjoy himself.

He opened his jaws, the long teeth seeming to just extend in preparation.

Lamont caught a glimpse of white and tensed up dramatically from head to toe. “N-no! T-the teeth!”

Finas stopped and clenched his jaws shut, realizing what he was doing. He’d almost made a terrible mistake. “Sorry……” He growled.

His resulting anxiety was enough to put him completely on edge again, but just enough to send a last wave of adrenaline through him. Lamont managed to survive his body’s own painfully violent climax and the resulting horrible spasms were what satisfied his inhuman clients.
Worn out, Lamont felt desperate to get out of this situation. “I-I’m calling it guys…..g-gonna have to assume you are s-satisfied……………”

Casimiro wriggled on him a moment and grinned as he felt the extremely warm semen keeping his insides wet and toasty. “Yeah….hehe”

Finas looked ashamed as he pulled out and situated himself. “Beyond expectations, Mr. Toucey………I must apologize that it was at your complete expense though………….”

Lamont laughed weakly and pulled himself loose from the thinner vampire. “D-don’t apologize………..just confuses me……..”

Finas nodded and continued making his own adjustments. “Understood……”

File: 127717212241.jpg-(77.05KB, 600x491, dalley_bloody.jpg)
Hurf durf. His name is Dalley Endo.He's some pastry guy.

File: 127717259218.jpg-(85.25KB, 500x563, dalley_heh.jpg)

File: 127717358450.png-(264.25KB, 572x643, CasimiroRealistic.png)
Erm, just me messing around with a more 'realistic' style.

>>45521 >>45520

Namefag, pleeeeeeeease namefag. You are a GOD. That was insanely, unbelievably hot.

Wow. Hot Damn.

Oonf I dig it. Love those lips.

Umm... I think Stone has a bit of a kink for seeing guys beaten up... The HRNGH next to Dalley...



Here you guys go!

In Which Worth Decides to Embarrass Ples for Fun and Profit and Also Sex

In Which Worth Decides to Embarrass Ples for Fun and Profit and Also Sex

It was a necessary evil, visiting Doc Worth. Ples could usually manage fine on his own; all he needed to stay healthy was a tool kit, oil, and a few extra cogs. But today was different. He’d had the horrible, hacking cough since last week, and going to a ‘regular’ doctor was certainly out of the question for him. Ples quickly took a swig of liquid courage (kept conveniently in the flask in his pocket, and nowhere more necessary than scenarios like the one at hand) before hesitantly knocking on Worth’s door. Ples really, really hoped that Doc Worth would keep a civil tongue about him, and that the place smelled better than it had when last he visited.

The door opened.

“Wha’ th’fuck d’you want?” The good doctor stumbled into sight, his stench of dried blood and nicotine preceding him.

Ples knitted his brows, and tried to put on a brave face. This was going to be worse than he thought.

Doc Worth hadn’t even bothered to get dressed properly. The man was still in his boxers (stained), and the ratty undershirt and omnipresent fur coat did not lend themselves to a professional air, Ples thought. Worth’s eyes were red and bleary, his hair mussed. The man looked and smelled like the personification of a sewer.

“Well don’ just stand there looking like a dog took a shit on your poncey-ass shoe. C’mere.”

Ples tried to smile congenially, but the end result was more of a terrified grimace that ended in a hacking cough. He stepped into the darkness of Worth’s place.

“S-sorry if this is an inconvenient time for you, Doctor Worth. I s-seem to have caught something of a cold, and, seeing as y-you cater to a different sort of clientele than most professionals, I…” Ples tried, speaking to the back of Worth’s head as they made their way to Worth’s hospital/living room.

The lights were dimmed, due more likely to cost efficiency than worry over atmosphere. There was a beat-up operating table-looking thing in the middle of the space, but, other than that and a few dilapidated chairs, no furniture to be seen. There was still that horrible smell. “…I could pay you,” Ples finished lamely.

“In wha’, pretension?” Worth was busy dragging a bag of what looked to be medical tools out of goodness-knows-where. “Sit up on th’ table, Tibenoch.”

Ples shrugged, and delicately situated himself on the greasy metal. Dear lord, he thought to himself, is there anything here that hasn’t been stained?

At this point, Worth turned to look at his patient. The tall, thin, angular man was perched precariously on the questionably hygienic operating table, fidgeting with his starchy sleeves and looking unquestionably out of place.

Worth narrowed his eyes and grinned. He had the sudden, powerful urge to make Ples as uncomfortable as humanly possible. Must be the accent, he thought, and the classy as fuck clothing.

“A cough, huh?”

Ples drew a rattly sigh of relief, glad that things were going to proceed on-topic.
“Y-yes. I’ve had it for about, ehm, about a week now. I’d normally take care of it myself, but I’ve tried everything.”

“Hurm.” Doc Worth approached the table again, carrying an especially nasty-looking metal contraption. “I’ll be needin’ to check your throat. Say ‘ahhh.’”



Ples complied, and he felt Worth pushing long, dirty, dirty fingers into his mouth. Worth squinted into Ples’ throat, taking, in Ples’ opinion, more than the normal amount of time fishing around.

“Been drinkin’, Tibenoch?”

“Ynnnnhrhr,” Ples tried to respond as best he could with Worth’s hand preventing more eloquent discourse. He suddenly felt self-conscious. Of course he shouldn’t have been drinking before visiting! His breath must be so bad! Mentally cursing himself for not having the courtesy to bring mints, Ples began to flush in mortification.

“I’ll have to take a closer look a’ your throat,” said Doc Worth, pushing something cold and metal (Ples presumed it was the contraption he saw earlier) into Ples’ mouth (“to hold things open,” Worth explained, somewhat dubiously, a strange glint in his eye).

Ples tried, and failed, not to gag around Worth’s fingers as they slid farther down, probing in a decidedly unpleasant way. It distracted him, at least, from the fact that worth was scant inches away, pressing all of his scrawniness onto Ples and practically sitting in his lap.

“Yeh. I see what your problem is. It’s in a pretty advanced stage an’ shit.”

Ples’ eyes went wide under Worth as the doctor retracted his fingers and his equipment. Ples shuddered when the doctor wiped his still-wet hand off on Ples’ (very nice) pants.

“What is it, doctor? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” The doctor drawled, watching Ples squirm. “I’ve got a cure, tho’. Don’t think you’ll be too interested, what with your prissy ways an’ bein’ too good for it.”

“I’ll try an-anything. It’s been quite a bother.”

Worth grinned his dirty, crooked grin, and Ples became aware of just how close together they were. He tried to scoot away discretely, but Worth was having none of that. Worth gripped Ples’ shoulders as if to shake him, but, almost gently, wrapped his fingers over the man’s collarbones. “Anything?” He whispered.

“Erm, y-yes, if, I mean, I don’t want to be a bother or anything, but I—” Ples suddenly hunched inward, coughing hard. It was a few seconds before he could look back up at Worth again, his glasses askew and hair out of place.

“Shh, shhh,” Worth pulled Ples closer until his face was buried in the ratty fur of Worth’s coat, and Worth could practically feel the tick-tick-ticking of Ples’ watch. “There’s a good man. Now, you’ll have to strip for me.”

Ples stiffened into Worth. “But it’s just a cough!”

“Do you want th’ cure or not?” He pushed Ples away and started fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll even help you.”

“Th-that really won’t be necessary, Doctor Worth. I believe I can manage.” Ples flushed again, suddenly becoming very interested in the ceiling. He brought his hand to his neck to stop Worth’s wandering fingers, but was slapped away immediately.

“None of that now.” Worth worked off Ples’ vest and shirt painfully slowly, watching with undisguised glee as the man below him twitched in embarrassment. When Ples felt his pants being dragged out from under him, he decided it would be a good time to protest.

“I-is this really needed, doctor?” Ples looked down at Worth, who was inspecting Ples’ crotch with more than a professional level of interest.

“Yes, it fucking is. Now, here’s how it’s going to work. Your throat… thing can only be cured by a special medicine, t’be taken orally.” Worth paused to let the message sink in, but Ples only looked at him with that same mix of pointed humiliation and confusion.

“Short story: I am going to stick my cock in your pretty mouth an’ if you’re good at wha’ I want you t’ do, I’ll return th’favor. ’T’s part of th’ treatment. I’ll give you some pills t’take home, too. Consider this payment for my expert services.”

“Wh-what? I can just pay you, doctor. It’s n-not a big deal.” Ples, again, tried to shift away, but Worth was faster. He grabbed the back of Ples’ neck, digging his fingers in just enough to bring discomfort.

“D’you want help, or not?” Worth again was at justhisclose away. Before Ples could protest again, the doctor licked a strike from Ples’ collarbone to ear, inwardly pleased at the sharp gasp he got in return when he bit down slightly.

Worth didn’t break contact as he pushed Ples further onto the table, glad that he’d already made short work of the man’s clothes, and even more glad that he himself was hardly overdressed. The ticking was louder now than ever before.

He was now essentially sitting on Ples, thighs on either side of him. Worth loomed over the taller man, again with the creepy smile. “I will have t’do an invasive procedure. Gotta fuck the problem away. Always worked for me.”

Ples looked ready to faint from embarrassment. Here he was, naked but for his underwear, in arguably the filthiest place he’d ever been, with a questionable college dropout doctor menacing him.

But, it should be noted, he didn’t try to get away again.

Which was good enough for Worth.

Worth opened his boxers and began stroking himself over Ples, hardening into his own hand.

“I’ve been thinkin’ of doing this awhile now. I’ve wanted to get you all hot ’n twitchy an’ watch you be all proper about it. Maybe I’ll just cum on your face ’nstead, make you walk out’f here like that.” Worth pumped faster. “An’ you’d have to come up with some sorta fancy excuse as to why you’re covered in my cum.” He laughed, reaching behind him to give Ples an experimental grope.

To his everlasting horror, Ples found himself getting hard. He bit his lip to stop from making noise, but could not help bucking into Worth’s hand.

“D’ya like that? Figures.” Worth repeated the action, slower this time. “Figures some dignified repressed Victorian screw-up would totally get off on this.”

And then Worth remembered that he wasn’t one for foreplay. He stopped molesting Ples and scooted closer, positioning his crotch right in front of Ples’ face.

“Do I really have t’tell you what to do?”

Ples shook his head. He leaned forward, slowly licking Worth. It had been awhile since he’d done this, and that was in a completely different situation.

Worth hissed at the contact, encouraging Ples to take more of him into his mouth. Ples complied, feeling Worth slide where his fingers had been just minutes before. Worth made a strangled noise above him.

Just when Ples thought he was getting the hang of it, Worth grabbed the back of his head and shoved it forward.

Ples gagged and coughed, glasses again falling off. But Worth didn’t let go.

“Breathe through yer nose, pansy!” He encouraged. “It’ll get rid of yer cough an’ yer gag reflex. Two birds with one stone an’ all that shit.” Worth gripped the back of Ples’ head tighter, enjoying the spasming of Ples’ throat around his cock.

Worth rocked back and forth, shunting his cock deeply into Ples’ throat, riding out the coughing fit.

“Nnngh, yes, just like that…”

Ples caught a glimpse of Worth through the blur of cough-induced tearing. The doctor’s head was arched back, skin flushed. For all the seediness and filth, the man had some… occasionally attractive moments, Ples had to admit. He watched as Worth’s movements became more and more fluid, pumping in and out of his mouth. He just lay there and let himself be used by Worth, trying to ignore the burning in his throat.

Suddenly, worth tensed in him.

“F-FUCK,” Worth shouted, almost triumphantly, as he came. Ples felt Worth’s cum in his throat and, again, he tried not to gag, deciding it was the gentlemanly thing to do to swallow.

Worth slumped over, lying on top of Ples, still flushed from the effort.


Lovely, Ples thought, it’s over. Now I can get my pills and go before I do something else thoroughly undignified.

“Your turn!” Worth shot up in a way that Ples would have called ‘gleeful’ had he not been talking about Worth. For such a thin and for all intents and purposes unhealthy man, Worth had a lot of stamina when he wanted to.

He turned around and gripped Ples in a way tight enough to hurt, for Ples to see sparks. He was still traitorously hard, good god, even with Worth’s cock down his throat.

Worth casually flicked the tip, laughing when Ples let out a slight moan.

Worth worked Ples’ length with one hand, watching with an almost scientific detachment for the man’s reactions. Ples looks positively debauched, his normally coiffed hair sticking out in odd directions, breathing heavy, glasses by this point discarded.

Worth bent down to watch Ples more closely, never releasing his hold on his cock.

“Tell me wha’ y’want.” Worth punctuated the thought with a quick jerk.

“I—nnhh—I-I would very much like w-whatever you can give me.” Ples managed. He was so close, could feel his orgasm building.

“Exactly wha’ I wanted to hear.” Worth leaned in even closer, bit Ples’ ear (hard), and felt the older man shudder against him.

And for a split second, the ticking stopped.

Ples’ eyes squeezed shut as he came, hard, silently, into Worth’s hand.

“Yes, yes, tha’s it, tha’s perfect, y’dirty ponce.” Worth’s words of encouragement fell on deaf ears; Ples’ ears were full of a dull, heavy ringing.

When they’d gotten their clothing back on, Ples finally got up the courage to ask.

“S-so, what exactly IS wrong with my throat?”

Worth blinked once. Twice.

“You know, what I came to you for, for help?”

Worth nodded in recognition before laughing a hacking, nicotine-tinged laugh.

“Oh, ’s just a common sore throat. You’re just oversensitive. I was fuckin’ with you.”

Ples’ worried look turned to one of consternation.

“You—you lied?”

“I didn’t lie, sweetie, I jus’ stretched th’ truth a little. I did get your mind off your throat.”

Ples couldn’t manage more than an indignant “WELL, I NEVER” before storming out, slamming the door on his way home.


Note: please be gentle; this is the first written!porn I’ve posted to the internets. I hope you guys like it. Also, pretty sure I got Worth’s accent wrong. He sounds more like a pirate than an Australian (not mutually exclusive), so sorry about that.

They hadn’t even been on a case. Weren’t being paid to be there, weren’t doing it for some poor citizen in need, weren’t investigating some odd events out of curiosity, weren’t even on some tangentially paranormal errand run. No, Hanna and his undead companion had been on vacation, of all things, when the incident occurred.

Spelunking. Wandering around, in the endless dankness, deep underground, rocks and drops of water occasionally falling on their heads or slipping out from underneath their feet, probably lost, flashlights as their only means of seeing what was in front of them.

Hanna saw it different, naturally. Saw it as a brave exploration of a vast, uncharted labyrinth of tunnels where you never knew what would be around the next corner, and everything echoed in the niftiest way possible. Plus, he just loved the word. Spelunking.

His nameless partner, meanwhile, was beginning to feel a bit of mild dislike towards the word, and the entire experience. The water covering the floor of the cave had slowly come to soak right through his shoes, dampening the soles of his feet, which he truly preferred to keep dry, especially considering the unique circumstances of his existence.

He never mentioned this to Hanna, mind you, wouldn’t even dream of disrupting the young man’s excitement, even after hours had already passed and it seemed as though said excitement really ought to have run out on its own. And besides, it wasn’t even the most pressing reason why Spartacus, as was apparently his name until the next time he was formally addressed by Hanna, wanted this to end.

Nothing felt safe. They couldn’t see anything not directly within their beams of artificial light and the excessive echoing coupled with the loose, rocky state of the ground made it so that their footsteps alone made quite a bit of clamour. It would be just so easy to sneak up on them. Not to mention that Spartacus had the distinct feeling that this entire time, they’d been walking along a downwards slant. For someone whose first memory was waking up six feet under, he was peculiarly uncomfortable being so far underground, with absolutely no means of contacting those above. Hanna’s increasingly blatant avoidances of his queries regarding where exactly they were certainly did not help. He resolved to try once more before he’d be forced to resort to confrontation.


“Yeah, Copernicus?” Chipper, energized, somehow, impossibly.

“Are you positive you’ll know the way back out when the time comes to turn around?” Calm, casual, monotone.

“Hey, woah!! Look at what I just found! Look, it’s a, uh... well when you look at it just like this... isn’t that a fossil, maybe?? Look! Like one o’ those neat little trilobite guys?”

Copernicus sighed in only-somewhat-repressed exasperation while Hanna squatted down near the edge of a rather large puddle, holding a slimy rock and repeatedly beckoning for his friend to join him.

Upon bending down next to Hanna, however, something aside from the clearly-nothing-but-a-rock caught his eye. He could have sworn he saw something slither out of sight, just in the peripheral of his flashlight’s beam. Could it have been a snake? If it was poisonous and Hanna got bit, it would be hours before the very earliest time they’d be able to get him medical attention...

Acting quickly, he put a gloved finger to his partner’s lips, immediately silencing the constant stream of tactless deflection which was apparently still ongoing. His eyes never left the spot where he’d seen the thing slip away though, and Hanna soon caught on and followed his gaze. After a moment of tense silence, he lifted his flashlight to illuminate the area where he assumed the snake had gone, only to discover that they were in fact squatting not ten feet from what looked almost like a gigantic pile of snakes, but which most certainly was not. Copernicus felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of vine-like offshoots winding along the far walls of the cavern, as well as the ceiling and even the far corners of the damp ground. Some seemed to be shorter and thicker, others so long that the duo could not see where they ended, but all emerged from the same source, the mountainous pile towering before them. For the time being, much to the nameless man’s great relief, every one of the tentacles was still as stone.

“...... What IS that?” Hanna asked, looking, of all things, somewhat off-put by the thing in front of them, so tall it brushed the ceiling of the cavern.

“I’m not sure, but we should really—” And then, all at once, every single one of the creatures apparently digitless limbs began to move. “—RUN!”

There was no time to think or plan, no option but to tear their eyes away from it, turn and make a mad dash in the opposite direction, running blindly and kicking up rocks and long-stagnant water as they went.

The tentacles reached Hanna first. He felt rather than saw the first one wrap around his ankle and tug with more strength than he would ever have expected. Screwing his eyes shut, he braced himself for impact with the wet stone floor of the cave.

It never came however, and the next few moments were a blind confusion. He’d dropped his flashlight. There was no hard ground, only smooth tentacles, more and more of them grabbing at his own limbs, pulling them apart to force a spread-eagle position. He felt himself being whipped through the air like a ragdoll, flipped sideways and possibly upside down. He caught brief glimpses of twin beams of light far below him whenever he dared open his eyes for brief snatches, could hear the hollering of his name behind the whistling of air against his ears.

Hanna couldn’t remember the last time his heart had pounded away at his ribcage with such intensity. He vowed never to ride a rollercoaster again, prayed he wouldn’t lose his lunch in front of Gregory.

Oh, Gregory.

His eyes flew open suddenly, armed with the snap reflexes of someone who rolled over in bed to discover that their bus arrived in 10 minutes.

“Gregory!” It was a desperate, terrified scream. Terrified for what might have happened to his closest friend.

“Hanna, I’m right here. Are you alright?”
Hanna’s brain was still spinning, the adrenaline buzzing through his system finding no way to express itself except through premature panic. He turned his head, possibly the only part of his body he had complete control over, towards the sound of the urgent voice. He discovered four things:

One, that the creature had stopped flinging him around wildly, and that he’d come to rest, suspended maybe a dozen feet above the ground, held steadfastly in place.

Two, that Gregory was in a similar position, just out of arm’s reach.

Three, that Gregory seemed physically unharmed, and was wearing an expression (if you knew what to look for) of worry, as well as one of relief, which Hanna knew he must have now been mirroring.

And four, that both of their packs and flashlights were strewn across the cave floor beneath them, thankfully giving off enough light to be able to see each other by, but unfortunately leaving them completely helpless. Belatedly, he realized that he’d been asked a question.

“I’m fine, just disoriented. Um. But... is this thing going to eat us now? Does it even have a mouth?”

“I’m not sure. Do you—”

The undead man was cut off abruptly by a noise from Hanna which could only have been described as a yelp. The tentacles had sprung from their temporary stillness in order to slip underneath the fabric of Hanna’s shirt and violently rip it off, reducing it to shreds which floated dejectedly to the ground, landing in murky puddles.

“Hey, I – what are you— HEY! I loved that shirt!” Gregory could only watch powerlessly as his enraged companion fought valiantly, but ultimately uselessly, against the vine-like appendages holding his arms in place. Not only did the creature hold steady, but it decided to retaliate.

Hanna’s subdued grunts of effort and exertion turned to a surprised scream of pain within a nanosecond. He caught himself quickly though, gritting his teeth to avoid crying out any further, too aware of his partner looking on with that darn expression on his face.

The creature was now pulling each of his arms in a different direction, his shoulders on the brink of dislocating. It just kept pulling, and the intense, burning pain was agonizing to the point that he was physically unable to utter a single reassuring word to Gregory. He could only hang there pathetically, panting loudly, trying not to move an inch as each movement sent jolts of additional fire up his arms. Mentally begging for it to stop before his limbs were ripped clean off his torso.

His partner, hanging across from him, was equally still but for different reasons. Dull terror ate away at his already maggot-chewed insides, along with concern and helplessness and even a bit of rage. There was nowhere to look but at Hanna, as much as he wanted to look away. As much as he didn’t want to see the muscles jumping in the man’s jaw as he clenched it still more, the roll of sweat down his forehead, the tightening and stretching of skin around the impressive scar that marred his entire front as his body was contorted unnaturally. Gregory found himself suddenly wishing, irrationally, that the flashlights below would burn out.

Finally, after what felt to both like fourteen and a half eternities, the monster stopped it’s pulling, returning to simply holding Hanna’s arms out loosely at his sides. He immediately went limp, unable to stop the long, drawn-out groan from escaping. From the way his entire body sagged, Gregory could no longer see his face, but he still heard the quiet chuckle and ridiculous comment muttered between deep, shaky breaths of air.

“ Note to self: don’t try struggling. Heh. That goes for you too, Darwin. Your arms really would come right off, and I didn’t pack my needle and thread!”

Before Darwin could reply to this, one of the tentacles near Hanna was moving again, a particularly thick one this time. It darted into his mouth and seemed to empty itself through a pore near the tip, forcing some sort of mysterious liquid down Hanna’s throat. The shirtless man coughed and sputtered, spitting out as much as he could as soon as the appendage had withdrawn and making a positively disgusted face.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwww what was that for??”

Darwin chose not to comment, instead losing himself in thoughts of what could possibly have been going on. What could the creature want? Unfortunately, the most likely option seemed to be that it did, in fact, plan on eating them. Why else would it have begun by attempting to remove Hanna’s clothing? But if that were indeed the case, then there was a good chance that the substance that Hanna had been injected with was some manner of paralytic, or otherwise a digestive acid. Darwin did not like either of those options.

“Hanna, listen to me carefully. I need you to report any strange things you might experience, no matter how inconsequential they may seem to you. Alright?”

“Okay, yeah, sure. I can do that!”



“...Do you feel anything strange right now?”

“Well actually, now that you mention it, I’m starting to feel pretty warm, hehah.”

And indeed, he was in fact feeling uncomfortably warm. Alarmingly warm, even. Considering the fact that he was in a dank cave underground with no sunlight, and now no shirt, he felt that this qualified as strange. His skin was beginning to colour a much rosier shade of pink than usual, bordering on red in places, and he could feel the sheen of sweat rapidly accumulating on his skin. There was one other peculiarity he was beginning to notice, however, that he dared not mention and in fact prayed would remain unnoticed.

“Hm. Are you sure that’s all? You don’t have any stomach pains? Can you still move your fingers and toes?”

“Y-yeah, my stomach’s just fine now, and uh, hey look at that! Can you see? My toes are wiggling! Haha! You worry too much, I’m feeling just fine!”

“Hanna, you look like you’re burning up. Are you absolutely positive you’re alright?”

Darwin was right, Hanna felt almost as though he were running a high fever. His thoughts were becoming increasingly clouded and jumbled, his mouth was dry, his back slick and wet. He couldn’t help but pant ever so slightly, as if the oxygen in the cavern had thinned. And then, of course, there was the thing in his pants, so hard it was an absolute miracle that Darwin hadn’t pointed it out already.

He tried to string together a satisfactory deflection, but it was much more difficult than usual. Before he was able to come up with anything, the tentacles around him were alive again, tearing viciously at his pants and the pokemon-themed boxers underneath. He didn’t even have time to struggle this time; within seconds he was hanging there in nothing at all but his pink socks, hiking boots and digital watch, sporting what was most certainly the most painful erection of his lifetime, adolescence included.

“ACK, don’t look!! Turn around!”

But it was too late, naturally. Feeling the eyes on him, on that part of him, he couldn’t bear to meet the gaze. He hung his head, ashamed by his condition, and berating himself for saying something so stupid. Surely, aside from looking like an idiot, Darwin was going to think he had some freaky vine fetish now.

“Hanna, I think that liquid you were forced to ingest must have been an aphrodisiac.” Calm, composed, rational, non-judgemental. Hanna literally laughed in relief, before reminding himself that he was still dangling naked with a boner. Apprehension set in: just what the heck was going on here?

“Are you in any pain?” Theodore asked, face slightly scrunched with worry. He obviously didn’t like the turn this situation was taking any more than Hanna did.

“N-not really, no,” Hanna began, still embarrassed beyond anything he’d felt before in his life despite the fact that Theodore didn’t seem to be perturbed by his obvious states of undress and arousal. “I just – hggnnnnaaaaaaaaaAAAHhh!!”

A sentient tentacle had just pinched his nipple. Sentient, cave-dwelling tentacle monster. Erotic nipple-pinching. What.

Several tentacles were now slithering along Hanna’s body, sliding up and down his sides, along his spine, repeatedly over his nipples. He was unfortunately failing miserably at keeping his breathing under control, though he managed not to cry out anymore, after the initial surprised squawk.

Everything was on fire, in the best and the worst way possible. He’d been turned on before, of course he had. He’d been horny beyond belief – he’d been a teenaged boy, once! But all of those times... they didn’t even come close. This was nothing at all like those times; it was a whole different galaxy. Every touch, regardless of where on his body or how light, sent shivers down his spin, a tingling sensation traveling beneath his skin, a maddeningly pulsating pressure to his groin. And it was all so much better and so much worse than ever before. All so much more, more, more, more.

But the tentacles weren’t touching the one part of himself that he needed touched. They traveled along the inside of his thighs and dipped across his lower stomach, but never touched him there, not so much as a passing brush. It was to the point where everything was simply making it so much worse, that feeling. Stronger, more painful, more urgent. It was endlessly frustrating, to the point where he just wanted to scream, would have given anything in the world for the ability to reach down and touch himself. He felt as if he were going to go insane if this didn’t end immediately, if he didn’t get that relief. Somehow, impossibly, that pressure just kept growing and growing and growing with every passing second.

A tentacle with a rougher texture brushed over one of his nipples, hard, and he simply could not contain the hitch of breath and subsequent groan it drew forth. In that moment, hearing himself and how pathetic he sounded, he remembered his partner.

“Theodore.... god, fuck, Theodore, I’m so sorry. I’m just... so, so, so sorry. F-fuck.” He never lifted his head to look at the man he was addressing. He’d never been so humiliated in his life, not even in high school when he’d been relentlessly tormented by bullies whose goal in life it seemed to be to humiliate him. He couldn’t even keep his voice from trembling, couldn’t stop the growing lump in his throat, the burning behind his eyes. Pathetic, pathetic, how could he be so pathetic.

To Theodore, this was the closest thing to heartbreak he’d ever experienced. Never before had he heard Hanna sound so frustrated, helpless, hopeless, lost, self-loathing, defeated. He’d apologized before, many a time in fact, but never like this. Never so impossibly miserable.

“Hanna, you have absolutely no reason to apologize. This is my fault at least as much as it is yours, and you are the one experiencing the brunt of the suffering. But you need to listen to me, Hanna: it’s going to be alright.” His voice was as calm as ever, slow and steady, every syllable properly enunciated. He sounded so sure of himself, so sturdy and unchanging. For Hanna, it was the most reassuring thing possible, and he immediately began to feel a little more like himself.

“Y-yeah, I know that, as long as you do, h-haha! We both just gotta, y’know, hang in there and wait it out, right?” His breath hitched sharply at the end, and his entire body shuddered uncontrollably for a moment. “Fuuuuuuuuuccckk,” he whined pitifully, then tacked on an embarrassed “sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Theodore ordered gently, before continuing. “Whatever you think will help you, even in the smallest of ways, I want you to do it, alright? If cursing, or yelling, or anything else helps you get through this, then you do just that. Do you understand me?”

Hanna nodded slightly, released a long, shaky sigh, and then finally lifted his head to smile crookedly at his friend. It was small and pained, but somehow entirely genuine. Theodore returned the smile, attempting to convey as much reassurance as he could, and it seemed to do the trick.

“Aha!! That’s smile number –” He cut himself off with an agonized cry, unable to keep from beginning to struggle again. Theodore, alarmed, glanced around sharply for the source of Hanna’s pain before his eyes came to rest on the rather thick tentacle which had inserted itself into the man’s anus.

“Hanna—!” In just that one word, all of his concern and fear finally trickled out into his voice. He just wanted to reach out and touch, to thrash and fight, to protect and shelter. But he knew he couldn’t. Choking down his own pain, he regained control of himself. “Hanna, listen to me, you need to stop struggling. It would require much more than a needle and thread to reattach your limbs.”

Hanna barked out a short laugh before stilling himself as best as he could manage, Theodore’s attempt at ill-timed comedy apparently having worked.

“M-man, I – aagghnn – I just love it when you use your funny bone.”

“You’re going to be alright. I promise.” Words were all that Theodore had at the moment, bound so tightly that he couldn’t even have scratched his own nose if he’d wanted to, let alone reach out to Hanna physically. So he reached out verbally, offering his voice as an anchor, what he hoped would be a comforting reassurance. At the very least, a helpful distraction.

Hanna laughed again in response, in between gasps and grunts. It was obvious, just so obvious that he was in agony. The primary cause of this, that offending tentacle, was now thrusting in and out viciously, causing a perfectly rhythmic utterance of pained noises to issue forth. Theodore caught himself staring at it, entranced, when he spotted a trickle of blood on his friend’s inner thigh.

He quickly snapped his eyes back up to Hanna’s face in time to catch the end of another apologetic look. “I a-already know that--” A pause as he choked down air frantically for a moment, “—remember?”

He elected to ignore the question. “We’re going to go home tonight, and I’m going to make you breakfast for dinner. How do chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup sound?”

Hanna had his eyes shut tightly now, face scrunched in concentration. Whether he was trying to picture the dinner or just deal with the pain was uncertain. He did, however, let out an appreciative “Mmmmmmmm I c-can’t wait. And bacon too?”

“Of course. There will be several nice, thick, salty strips on the side. You can have as many as you’d like.”

Hanna let out a low hum/moan hybrid that Theodore assumed was at least partially in response to his words. Then, all of a sudden, the abused man’s tightly closed eyes flew open wildly. His mouth opened in what might have been a soundless scream, and his hips bucked spasmodically. The tentacle within him had started to feel around, change directions, explore, and apparently it had found exactly what it had been looking for.

Seeming to be consciously aware of what it had found, the appendage began attacking the spot within Hanna with zeal. All the pain of penetration was miraculously gone in an instant, but the feeling that replaced it was somehow so, so much worse. He was on fire again, worse than before, inside and out, everywhere. Even the parts of his flesh not being touched by anything but the air around them tingled and burned with intensity. Before today, he wouldn’t have imagined that it was possible to feel so much.

He bucked uncontrollably, whilst simultaneously squirming to get as far from that feeling as he possibly could. That damn vine was prodding, ramming and stroking him towards insanity, and he couldn’t escape it. He was reduced to a writhing mess, physically unable to hold still for as much as a second. It was Hell. It was worse than any demon he’d faced, any nightmare he’d had, any pain he’d experienced. And he was completely powerless to do anything about it.

Every new touch to that muscle caused his body to spasm. His toes curls, his limbs jerked and twitched, his entire body trembled and thrashed. It was sensory overload. Too much stimulation. He couldn’t take it; it was too much, too much, too much. Something was going to happen if it didn’t stop. He didn’t know what, but he knew something would, this couldn’t possibly continue, it just couldn’t. He was losing his mind, he knew he was, he could feel it. It was too much, too much. It needed to stop NOW.

He screamed. Not in pain or in pleasure, just in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He yelled at the top of his lungs for a full minute before he was forced to stop in order to suck in desperate, shuddering breaths of air. His throat felt raw and abused, he’d barely caught his breath, but he started up again within seconds. Just hollering, screeching, wordless.

He had to stop sooner the second time, close to passing out from not getting enough oxygen. He wished desperately that he could pass out, fall into unconsciousness. He didn’t even care if he never woke up.

Then he finally heard it, something outside of his own self. Heard his most cherished friend’s voice, sounding so broken and desperate. Fritz had never sounded like that. Never. It was more than enough to shock Hanna out of his lapse.

“Hanna, please, please—”

“F-Fritz, God, I-I’m so sorry.”

He still couldn’t hold himself still, writhing and jerking violently as he spoke.

“Hanna, don’t you dare apologize again.” Fritz took a short moment to compose himself, before starting again in a voice much more like himself. It was like a knife in Hanna’s heart, knowing how much he was just pushing down below the surface. “Just focus on me, alright? I need you to do that. For me.”

“A-alright.” It was all he could manage. Couldn’t even summon a smile.

“Good. Now Hanna, this is going to be over soon.” Hanna didn’t show any signs of responding, eyes screwed shut once more. “We’re both going to be alright, and we’ll go home tonight and have that supper I mentioned, and you’ll fall asleep in your own bed.” When he failed again to illicit any reply, he slowly asked, “Hanna, are you still with me?”

“Ngghhhnnyes, yes I’m listening, yes. Yes. Just please, keep talking. Don’t stop.” What started as a drawn-out, petering whine ended in a desperate plea.

“Alright, I will. I promise. You just concentrate on my voice, and this will all be over before you know it. You’re doing wonderful.” Hanna choked out a disbelieving laugh, proving that he had, in fact, been listening.

“Tonight, only if you are positive you’re alright with it, I’d like to sleep in your bed with you.”

Hanna started to cry then, finally. Tears spilled over and rolled down his beat-red cheeks in fat streams, and his shoulders shook with great, shuddering sobs. The urge to hold him, to rub his back and run fingers through his hair was nearly overwhelming.

“Hanna, you’re doing fine, just hang in there. You’ve beaten much worse than this; I know you can do it. I’m right here. This too will end, and we’ll both be alright.”

At that exact moment, a new tentacle ventured over towards Hanna, and both sets of eyes were immediately on it. It meandered ever closer, seeming to take it’s time, heading in the general direction of Hanna’s throbbing erection.

The redhead, still shuddering from head to toe and sobbing uncontrollably, let out a stream of shameless encouragement.

“Please, oh God, please, please, pleasepleaseplease—” He broke off for a particularly heavy sob, choking and shivering disturbingly, before recommencing. He begged the tentacle, the creature, whatever Gods might be out there; he begged the Universe.

And someone, somewhere must have been touched by his desperation, because the tentacle wrapped firmly around the base of his cock. It slid down, squeezing hard, and Hanna’s eyes rolled back into his head. He was absolutely silent, hands balled so tightly into fists that his fingernails bit into his palms until they bled, back arched so intensely it was a small miracle the staples holding his chest together didn’t pop out. And he came.

Following that moment of ultimate stiffness, his body went entirely limp, and he distantly thought that he may have felt the tentacles recede. He had the foggy impression of falling, falling, falling...

When he awoke, he was still naked. Still naked, still sore, and still covered in hours-old sweat and dirt and dried blood and cum and tentacle-monster goop.

But he was on his own saggy mattress, on the floor in the corner of his own cramped apartment, underneath his own ratty blanket, being held tightly by his own perfect zombie.

Which was odd, because Sullivan almost never even touched him. Maybe to hold him back from doing something crazy or to push him out of harm’s way, occasionally, but... this was different. He’d woken up with the dead man’s arms around his waist protectively protectively, his chest flush against Hanna’s back.

He made absolutely zero attempt to move, too exhausted and sore and absolutely content in every possible way right where he was. But he felt a need to say something. Anything. “Sullivan...?” His voice came out hoarse and scratchy and awful. He sounded like someone who’d smoked a dozen packs a day since age one.

“Hanna...” He sounded caught off-guard. “I’m so sorry. I should have taken you to Worth’s right away.” There was so much guilt there.

Sullivan had always been one to make sure Hanna was safe and healthy before worrying about the man’s comfort or hunger or whatever else, including his own health and safety. This... this was completely out of left field... And Hanna loved it!

“Sullivan, don’t you dare apologize again!” There was a beat, then snickering from Hanna. “Man, do I ever sound hilarious.”

He didn’t actually say anything else all night, not a word. He never questioned how they’d gotten here, why exactly his friend had decided to skip the Doc’s office. He simply hunkered down against Sullivan’s cool, dry corpse and felt safe.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hello /coq/, yet another fanfiction newbie here!

Although I must admit, though I've never posted, I've been here since thread #4. That's a lot of lurking moar.

Anyway, this'll be my first fic ever... no idea why I decided to start off with tentacle rape, but I digress.

Please be gentle, and I do apologize if anyone hates this. Cheerio, you magnificent bastards.

File: 127718650668.jpg-(93.86KB, 600x435, im-pleased-as-fuck.jpg)
All of a sudden, writefag porn EVERYWHERE.


they warned me, they did.
"you hang around a place like that too long, you'll see tentacle porn". Yeah, I was bracing myself for it, waiting for the day...
and what a glorious day it was.
That was beautiful, dear anon. Beautiful. sick and perverse? Probably, yes. but mainly just beautiful.

Thanks guys! So sorry to keep you waiting on the, aherm, important bits. I just want to make sure I do it right, yanno? <3

Oh. Oh my god. Okay, I knew there would eventually be tentacle porn in this fandom but I did not expect it to be GOOD tentacle porn. This alternately made me actually laugh out loud, and really kind of want to cry. Guh. What. You, dear anon, win.

File: 127719067493.jpg-(176.96KB, 612x443, veser_mermaid.jpg)
Thought I'd share more of my Photoshop faggotry to you (after delivering a lousy Seal!Veser and Ples' pimping Chevy ride, some of you might remember).
THEME: Disney Princesses! xD fff
Spoilered for shell-boobs?

>>45520 >>45521

This was amaaaazing. In so many ways. Would love a continuation of some variety if you're up for it ever.

This thread is sexy.

That looks /extremely/ like Veser's mom. I lol'd

UNF. Now that was soo hot. This gotta be my favourite Lamont fic, exactly the type of pairing and writing that I love. Thank youu so much for sharing!

i somehow missed this the first time i looked through this thread, and let me tell you, if it does not appear somewhere where i can favorite it and then read it everyday i will cry.

so maybe not everyday but jeez that was fantastic. and i learned about voodoo! AWESOME AND EDUCATIONAL

OH SWEET JESUS. Please, never ever stop! How you managed to fit all that fluff underneath all of the tentacle rape, I'll never know. But it was amazing!

File: 127721586111.jpg-(157.56KB, 600x600, Taco - THE FUUUUTUUUURE.jpg)

"Sentient, cave-dwelling tentacle monster. Erotic nipple-pinching. What."

My new favourite quote.

>>45477 >>45303
You have single-handedly caused me to ship this.

(so... since I raided someone else's religion yesterday, I figure I may as well raid my own heritage today. None of the nice bits, though.)

You'd think that midsummer might be Hanna's favourite time of year, for all sorts of reasons. The readily available ice cream, the lovely sunny weather, the trips to the beach... unfortunately, you'd be wrong. Oh, he loved summer, sure. Summer in general was pretty damn awesome, had so much cool stuff. But midsummer? Oh no. No no no. Midsummer was Not Good.

This was because of fairies, so far the only thing Hanna had ever disagreed with Disney movies over. Fairies were not cute little giggly balls of sparkles and light and magic dust. They were horrible, sadistic, with social mores totally alien to mere human morality. And Midsummer was their time. The Summer Solstice, the longest day on earth, would burn with their power and malice, and quite often would burn in a more literal sense as well.

Arson attacks and other mystery fires tended to happen a lot more at Midsummer. Some people put that down to mere hot, dry weather and human carelessness, but cigarette butts and unattended barbeques could not explain the sheer hike in fire around this time.

So Hanna was not fond of this particular point in the season. The fairies had been an import from the Celtic traditions that Irish and Scottish immigrants had brought to America. Unlike the mostly genial and hard working (if rowdy) Celts, the fairies had all the trouble-making skills and none of the friendly nature. Their proper name was sidhe, the unseelie court, the Fair Folk, the Shining Ones, the Beautiful People. Because you never, never called a sidhe ugly in appearance or temperament. You never, never wanted to incite their wrath.

All this in mind, it was only normal that dread tempered Hanna's usual summer cheer as Midsummer approached. The calendar pages wandered through June, and all too soon it was the twentieth, Midsummer Eve, and he was in a frenzy of preparation.

Milk left discreetly by doorways. Salt, everywhere there had to be salt, even if no one would notice it. Iron- mostly filings, rescued out of bins and dumps and so on. And it was impossible to count how many flowers he'd picked and woven and distributed around the places the faeries liked best. Some to flatter and charm them, some to ward them off, and plenty more just for luck. Hawthorn sprigs as well. Schools, hospitals and anywhere else where the young and weak gathered all had some kind of rudimentary ward hidden nearby. He'd taken the precious little time off his job allowed him to make sure he got it all done, and he was exhausted and there was still so much to do and oh god it was Midsummer Eve...

He chugged down another energy drink. Worth forbade the things, but this was too important and it would really be better if he was hyper because he didn’t want to face the damn sidhe feeling tired. There was always somewhere he missed, and always something that got through, and always he had to go deal with it- bargain, persuade, goad, threaten, plead, offer, whatever it took to get the fairy back of the world. He couldn’t face them tired.

Midnight struck after a day of ever more frantic groundwork. He felt his hackles rise, felt the tingle of old, raw, vicious magic starting to fill the air. And this even in his little flat with all the warding runes he knew painted on the doorways and windowsills. The air fizzed. If the sidhe that loved his city best weren’t such particularly unpleasant specimens, he’d have loved it. Midsummer was a time of pure power- it was why the sidhe could get through, and why so many of those pagan types worshipped it. Every little spell worked at absolute maximum capacity at this time of year.

He stuck a spare XXL tin of liquid caffeine in his belt, filled his pockets with iron and flowers and all the little salt sachets he’d taken from canteens in the previous few months, and left his flat for the night. It was too early for them to cause much trouble, and they were just feeling their way out of their strange world. It was normally impossible to ‘sense’ magic, but these things were like fireworks in a napalm factory. There’d be a blaze, and it would be visible to anyone with even a remote sense of the supernatural world.

Hanna saw the first explosion of cackling, giggling, malicious glee and ran for it. One of the plants he carried was catnip, and he gathered a following of curious city strays as he ran. Never hurt to keep cats around, they could distract or even ward off some types of fairy.

This one was a standard thing, just an idly wicked little half-beast. It would do no more damage than knocking over bins, stealing the match to every sock on a washing line, tearing out the seat on wicker chairs. It was a good thing they hadn’t learned about how cars worked, or the vicious thing would cut the brake lines for fun as well. As it was, this was the most the little fairies could really do. It retreated rather face an actual human magic user.

Several more were like this. It was always the little ones first, sent to test the waters before their older, wiser, madder masters dipped into the mortal world. Sometimes, if he got enough of the little ones and they exaggerated his abilities far enough, the biggest ones wouldn’t bother. They’d save up for Samhain, even though they’d not be able to generate the same level of entropy later in the year.

Red fireworks, and this one really was like fireworks in a napalm factory. It was drawing toward 4am, toward the earliest dawn in the whole year, pre-light touching the sky, and he came through to the world. This was something Hanna was not prepared for, and he knew he’d never be prepared. It was the Master of the Wild Hunt, and where he trod he would rule. Hanna knew he hadn’t much chance, but he had to try. The Hunt always took someone back with them, and he couldn’t bear the thought that someone would end up stolen by the fairies because he hadn’t tried hard enough.

The Huntsman, when Hanna found him, was tall, dressed in pelts and skins, and his features shifted and blurred like shadows under trees. He seemed animalistic, then human, then neither at all but something far worse. His eyes gleamed brown, green, grey, red, and he held bow and spear with arrogant pride. He smiled.

“Hello, little prey. Shall I give you a head start?”


You guys have so delighted and overly-flattered me. I will definitely have to do more writefagging. Cause I love you guys. -baw- I'm still in the process of finding a name to stick with.

AND SO MUCH CONTENT. It is so wonderful.


That was all the hint Hanna needed to flee. It was one thing to try and distract the Hunt, to discourage or trip them or try to help their prey, but being the prey it was an entirely new and entirely terrifying concept. He heard the Huntsman’s laughter as he ran. Back to his home, maybe? It was warded, he’d done everything he could to make sure it would be okay. Maybe Worth’s? Not Worth’s. Worth was easily one of the most intimidating people on the planet, but he was human and way too vulnerable and god it was so tempting to try to stand at bay and maybe hide behind the scalpel-wielding Doc. No. No, not Worth’s place.

He wove through the alleys, trying to form a plan and make sure he didn’t get lost and not let himself end up anywhere without another escape route and not not not think about what happened to the last prey he didn’t manage to help in time oh god. There was a howl. Well, that was the Hounds out then. Shit. He scrambled up a fire escape and started a rooftop pattern instead. Yeah, he was now way more visible to whatever birds of prey the Huntsman fancied, but at least it would be harder for the Hounds to track him, even if they could climb up somewhere.

He heard laughter, and realised the Huntsman was pacing him easily over the rooftops on the other wide of the street, and the Hounds were still below, barking up at the rooftops they couldn’t reach. He grabbed his favourite marker and scribbled something on a few hawthorn twigs and tossed them over the ledge as he jumped to the next stretch of roof. There was a sharp yelp, and the Hounds fell back a little. The Huntsman laughed again, sounding genuinely amused.

“You know us, little prey! So you know you can’t evade us!”

Hanna wanted to yell something back, but it was taking all the air he could get just to keep running without falling off anything. What else what else what else could he do? There had to be something. He couldn’t lay his own false trail. Might work for other people, but you needed two people or more and he didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. Likewise most of his other distraction tactics. What else, what else, what else?

Water. Yes. Maybe holy water? Where was a church when you needed one? No. Normal would do. If he could get to the river... well, if he could get to the river he’d probably end up hemmed in and trying really hard to hold his breath and hide underwater, but at least they couldn’t cross or enter moving water and he might have a chance of safety even if he’d be totally soaked to the skin by the time he got out. Yes. Water. Right.

With an unpleasant start, he realised the Hounds were between him and the river, driving him away from it. They knew what they were doing. Okay, so, no water unless he could circle around them somehow. He felt in his pocket and grabbed a little posy he’d tied up earlier. Stuffing it liberally with catnip, he threw it as far away from the river as he could, then bolted sideways while the Hounds debated fighting with the oncoming horde of cats or following their proper prey. It got him a few moments. He snagged a strand or two of hair, tied it round a twig, scribbled shapes in silver, wedged it into the airvent of a passing building and kept running, circling the vent twice, retracing his steps to the edge of the building and then taking a massive leap to another.

They’d think he’d tried going to ground in the human-sized air vent, hopefully. Stay there, snarling at the empty metal passage while he continued on in a wide arc toward the river. And on he ran. Several streets later, just as his pace slowed, he heard a furious cawing. Annnd that was his cue to speed up again, wrestling open the energy drink and gulping it, heedless of how much spilled down his shirt and praying he wouldn’t flag any time soon.

And there was the river, oh yes that gorgeous strip of sluggishly flowing water, shining and sort of polluted but that was okay because at least it was mostly water and that was good enough. And, uh. There were the Hounds, and there was the Huntsman, and there was Hanna angling off again in another new direction, maybe that new water feature at the city hall or maybe if he tried for that new grove in the park that had all the sorts of trees that Fae didn’t much like, but the trees wouldn’t bother the Huntsman, only the Hounds, so that was right out and oh hell where could he go?

Home. It was the only choice. And from the very second he turned in that direction, he knew it was exactly where the Huntsman wanted him. Prey brought to bay in his own den. But there was no other choice. At least at home he had a bit of warding, maybe enough to keep off the rest of the Hunt if not the Huntsman himself. He had no idea what to do about the Huntsman.

“We’re catching up, little prey! My Hounds can smell your blood already!” The Huntsman was laughing, and the sounds of horns were echoing, only audible to those who knew what Midsummer really was.

Hanna leapt onto the roof of his own building, stumbling down the stairwell even as he heard the Hounds crashing in at the bottom of it, fled for his own room, emptied his pockets onto the floor outside and waited, hoping the combined weight of every single thing he could think of covering his doorway would work. The Hounds yelped and snarled at his door. They weren’t in. Good. He put every lock on it to be certain. It broke casually inwards, the locks tearing gently from the wall as the Huntsman opened it.

“You put up a good chase, little prey. We’ve not had one like you in years.” He approached, stinking of sweat and animals and blood. “You could be wonderful sport for us. We might even bring you home with us.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere!” Hanna waved his elderly iron frying pan like a combination of sword and shield. “You can’t take me with you!”

“Oh, but we can.” The Huntsman grabbed the rim of the pan. He winced as skin met iron, eyes flaring red and teeth flashing as fangs for a moment before he wrenched it from Hanna’s grasp and threw it behind him. “We can have whatever we want.” He leaned over the unarmed Hanna, cornering him and grinning. “And what I want, little prey, is you.”

So, so good. I'm on the edge of my seat.

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More please, holy fuck.

Auwghah, I guess I'm just not one for tentacle porn..
I'm just going to go sit in my corner with a blanket over my head and hide now. Aghuh.
The writing made the situation less painful, though.

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Yo, Veser, I'm real happy for you and imma let you finish but--


Veser looks so Jersey in this for some reason. I need to hop on it like now.

I agree whole heartedly with >>45635 . Wow.

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I.... yeah idk, guess this is reason enough to delurk


You just went from my favorite writefag to my INSPIRATION FOR LIVING. Please have more?

I can't get over how perfect this song is for ConWorth:

Um, have another bit of punk!AU, if that's okay. Sorry it's not the last bit of Midsummer (which I think will only be three parts, but I haven't decided on an ending and there are several options including rescue, rape, and being spirited away to the Fairy Realm)


It was certainly an unexpected sort of discovery.

The broken-limbed Hanna had been at Jayne’s flat for a week, spending most of his time trying to get used to scribing runes with arms that didn’t work. Provided he was left with adequate paper and enough pens, he was surprisingly little trouble. He would find a comfortable spot on the sofa and sit there, scribbling and refining, and be in that exact spot, as if he’d not moved at all, when Jayne got home at night.

The evening of the discovery, Jayne came home a little earlier than usual, intending to get to work on dinner and spend the evening reading, or maybe attempting to entertain his invalid guest. Hanna, however, was not on the sofa he usually rested on. Nor was he in the kitchen, and the bathroom door was ajar as well.

“Ahh… hn… Jayne…” It didn’t sound like a cry for help after some accident or further injury. Curiously, and perhaps a little more quietly than was really necessary, Jayne approached the door to his own bedroom.

Hanna was on the bed, visibly frustrated by the casts that limited his wrist movement as he touched himself and murmured his host’s name. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t notice that Jayne stood in the doorway, taken aback by the discovery.

Jayne knew he should do something—maybe go back to the kitchen and start dinner, pretend he’d seen nothing—but this was captivating. The little breathy sounds, the taut, pale skin, and, and his name being repeated in that voice. Whatever was going on in Hanna’s mind, the cop featured heavily.

Hanna’s eyes opened as he stopped what he was doing to swear at the casts that bound his arms. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, neither quite sure who should feel more embarrassed.

Hanna was first to break the silence, not bothering to cover himself. “Well? Seen enough?”

Jayne didn’t know what to say—he took a couple of steps forward, faltered, stopped. He recognised Hanna’s defensive posture emerging. Squared shoulders, chin tilted defiantly, a scowl rapidly forming.

“Stop fucking looking at me, Christ. If you have a problem, just fucking say something.” Hanna glared. “Help out or get out. I don’t need you making this scene worse by just… just standing there.”

He knew—he absolutely knew that “help out or get out” only really meant “get out”, but the challenge was there.


Hanna’s angry exclamation was silenced by Jayne’s lips pressing against his. He tensed, frozen for several seconds, but the kiss didn’t stop. He started to fight back, kissing more aggressively, forcing his tongue between warm lips into a hot mouth.

God, he’d wanted this. Well, not this, not the broken arms and the being caught trying to jack off while unable to even use his hands properly and the weirdness of the whole situation, but he’d wanted Jayne. He felt it was wrong somehow because, you know, policeman, but Jayne was so patient and always so kind and so incredibly fucking thoughtful and just nice and was like a genuinely good person or something, and besides that he was gorgeously tall, and he had that body, all made of tight muscle, and Hanna knew he kept fit because he woke up each morning to Jayne coming back from his morning run for a shower before work. And now here he was, kissing Hanna.

Jayne’s hands were on his body, one on his waist and one on the back of his neck, tangling in the remains of the unkempt mohawk while they kissed. He broke away, and Hanna bit his tongue so he wouldn’t make that little whimpering sound that he just knew he would otherwise.

Jayne looked uncertain.

“I… can stop, if you want.”

“No, shit, no, keep going. Where did you even learn to kiss like that, it was amazing, man, don’t stop now, seriously—” The words stumbled out of Hanna’s mouth and relief blossomed on Jayne’s face. He wasn’t used to acting impulsively, and feared that single slip could have soured their comfortable friendship. He kissed Hanna again, but more carefully this time. It was slow and thorough, and by the end Hanna was whining softly, wanting something more.

Hanna’s hard-on hadn’t softened with neglect, and Jayne remembered it only when his hand brushed past it on the way to Hanna’s thigh. His fingertips wandered over it, stroking and exploring so-so-gently and hesitantly. Hanna keened through the kiss, squirming even as Jayne’s other hand still held him around the waist.

Growing more confident, Jayne deliberately held back. He wanted to tease Hanna, to see the younger man’s reactions. He wanted to hear his name called out again.

It didn’t take long.

“Nnh, Jayne, please, you can’t keep me on edge like this, come on,” Hanna mumbled, half chewing on his lip even as he spoke.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Get me off. I don’t care, just do something, don’t keep me hanging, do something, anything…”

Anything? Jayne’s hand wrapped around Hanna’s cock, stroking in earnest now, and Jayne continued to kiss Hanna for a moment while he considered an unfamiliar idea.

He’d had a few girlfriends in the past, and they’d gone down on him; he was familiar with the concept and the mechanics, but he’d never gone down on another man before. He’d never really felt tempted before (well, that wasn’t strictly true… he had to admit, he’d had more than a couple of untoward thoughts about his houseguest), and certainly he’d never really had the chance before now. But the sounds Hanna was making, the way he responded just to simple touch… He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t tempting.

“Hanna? Would you mind if I… if I sucked you off?” The shape of the words was unfamiliar, alien. He should have phrased it differently. Should have found a different way to say it. He should—

He was interrupted by a strange little ‘gnee!’ sound from the redhead and an outpouring of enthusiastic encouragement. “God, yes, please, man, go on—”

He kissed Hanna’s throat and the sharp dip of his collarbone before bending down to cautiously lick the tip of Hanna’s painfully hard cock. The strokes of his tongue became bolder, swirling around the head in a manner that made its owner gasp his name again. Oh, he could get used to that reaction, could definitely hear it more often. He took the entire head into his mouth and started to suck, moving a little down the shaft and back.

Hanna’s voice got higher, faster, words tumbling out without even forming first, just sounds and syllables. The sounds started to fade in and out as his uneven panting stole even that from him, and he came utterly silently, catching Jayne by surprise as the hot spurts hit the back of his throat. He crumpled in around the taller man, shivering as the orgasm ran through him.

Jayne pulled away slowly.

“Was that… all right?”

Hanna collapsed back on the pillows of the bed, laughing, barely even wincing as his injured arms were jolted. What a stupid question.

“It was fucking awesome, man.”

Christ. I feel guilty derping the place up with all my Hyde!Ples shit while Ziggy and all the other writefags are actually (incredible) porn. D:

He sat idly at the piano. No music was coming to mind.
Everyone who'd ever seen the piano was astounded at what a beautiful piano it was: it was always tuned, always perfectly cared for--just like everything else he owned.
The room was dim, and what little light there was glinted on the piano's keys.
A minuscule brown spider crawled over the back of his hand, which was perched to break the lock on the piano's sweet silence.
Most would've flung it away. He was not most.
"Hello, there," he said.
The spider paused, unsure as to whether she was being addressed. It seemed so. She waved one of her legs at the blackandwhite ticktockman.
"Whatever are you doing on the piano, love?" he asked as softly as the notes the piano produced when he caressed the mellifluous music out of it.
She shrugged as well as spiders can.
He turned his hand over and she climbed into his palm, enjoying its warmth.
He smiled ruefully. "Seems you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, then," he said and closed his hand into a fist, crushing her tiny body.
He sneered and dropped her corpse onto the floor.
He played a threnody, using his own ticktocking as a metronome.

Just noticed the irc channel address is wrong in the first post. So if you wanna ircfag like all the cool kids
is where you wanna be! Sorry for no content, I promise to deliver some tomorrow.



My bunk. I will be in it!

Dude. Yes.

>"Whatever are you doing on the piano, love?"

Oddly enough, I read this in Murdoc Niccals' voice...



It's so beautiful...
Thank you, thank you, this is everything I could have wanted in a continuation of the AU, OMG the kiss, you are amazing-
*one hour later*
- and Jayne being unsure, that was just great, really realistic, and the 'gnee', and -
*one day later*
- and have I mentioned that I love you? And you are now in the top three of my favorite authors for this fandom, which is hard because they're all so frikkin' amazing.
Thank you.


Tentatively, an spontaneous Part 2.

Along came the spider; he sat down beside her.
Well, that was how it was supposed to go, but things never really did.
"I--I apologize. For killing you."
She was silent. Her mahogany-colored lace gloves stood out boldly on her chalk-white skin. Her thin lips were pressed into a stern line; she refused, it seemed, to look at him, because she stared at the mist in the distance.
Sensing that there was probably nothing better to do, he kept speaking.
"I wasn't myself, you see."
He adjusted his glasses. He fidgeted.
Her eight-eyed gaze was ice-cold and glassy-black; obsidian sharp, it was, too.
"D-do you forgive me, Madam Spider?"
"I might."
Her voice sounded like a thousand-million screaming insects, yet somehow it also reminded him of the sound of the piano she'd been forced into calling her grave. It was soft, but its dangerous volume couldn't mask the hostility within it.
"I really wasn't myself."
"Who were you, then?"
That caught him off guard, he had to admit. He wasn't expecting that question of her, certainly--and even if he had been expecting it, he probably wouldn't've known what to say anyway.
"I... can't say as I know, Madam Spider."
She blinked her eight eyes slowly, carefully, deliberately. "Perhaps a re-examination of your psyche is in order, Mister Tibenoch."
He hesitated. "You m-may be right."
She smiled cruelly. "You are forgiven, I suppose. What you must deal with is worse than death, I fear. Perhaps it would be best to wake up."
"Oh, you're not saying this was all a dream, are you?"
"Afraid so."

He woke up in a cold sweat, panting, and prayed to whatever god would have him that he hadn't been listening.

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What is this I am not good with computers.



Okay, the third and final part. I swear.

Dualistic cognitive dissonance is an awful, awful thing, especially when one is forever forced to play the villain.
I had, in reality, done nothing wrong, but he seemed intent on avenging the poor, pitiful spider I'd killed. Honestly--it was only a spider, hardly worth rebelling entirely over.
However. Digression is one of my tendencies.
It started, this amateur rebellion of his, with sluggishness in moving out of the way.
Normally, if he wasn't under the influence of alcohol--and I constantly tried to ensure he wasn't--, he'd hop to it right-quick. He knew his place, and that was bloody good for me.
For him, not so much, but bear with me. Always I'm shoehorned into the villain's role.
He woke us up in a cold sweat and breathing heavily, which was unusual. I was vaguely aware that he'd been dreaming--of his next trip to that wretched liquor store, no doubt!--but I paid it no mind. Our heartbeat and mechanical frequency seemed as thought their paces had increased.
"What have you done?"
"N-nothing. I've done nothing."
His mind tasted like dread. Normally, I enjoyed the particular savory flavor of his shaky nervousness, his apprehension--his emotions were always so human, and even if they did taste like polished metal every once in a while, I didn't mind.
"Why am I hesitant to believe that?"
"I-I don't know. Perhaps you're distrustful."
"Perhaps you're lying to me." At my words, the scent of guilt filled the air around us. "I thought so."
"She forgave me."
"The spider."
"Is that all she did?" He hesitated, and that was all I needed. "What else did she do, hm?"
"She said to reëvaluate m-my psyche." His voice was quiet and sharp enough to cut.
"And you won't be doing that, will you?"
"N-not if you have anything to say about it. And you always do."
"I thought as much. Now go back to sleep, dear boy, haven't we plans with Veser tomorrow?"
He sighed. Defeat. "I su-p-pose I--we have."
I had won for now. Whether or not I would win next time was thrown suddenly into a harsh, judging light as he drifted off uneasily.
He was tired, exhausted, plagued by his human needs; I was not. He had the spider, Hanna, Veser, Conrad, and very possibly the zombie on his side.
I, ever the villain, had no one but myself.


I love this. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT andmaybeamstartingtoshipitjustalittlebit.


Ples' face oh my god I died laughing.

This is not my definition of derping. I honestly love Jekyll and Hyde stuff, and the "other" being scornful of Ples's alcoholism was hilarious to me for some reason.

This is kinda petty but would you put line breaks between paragraphs/dialogue next time? It makes it easier to read.

Oh wow I came. Literally.

>first written!porn
Are you saying you're a drawfag as well?! Poooost

MORE! Lovelovelovelove! <3

And this nicely punctuated how my seemingly dream man fell into my lap a mere few days after Joey broke of his intensely emotionally abusive relationship with me...

I just... it's so.... there needs to be WAY more Conrad/Hanna HC Fluff!


*blushes liek woah*

I drew the silly!awful pun!Ples and the fappingtoVeserinformalwear!Ples from last thread.

(I think I'll stick to drawfagging. Writing porns is not my strong suit.)

Aaaaaand the moment we've all been waiting for (sorry about that, I found this rather more difficult than expected so I hope it's up to snuff). I <3 you all, this thread is kicking ass right now.

( continued from >>45303>>45477 )


"Oh," Hanna says quietly, almost a whisper, but Conrad can hear the smile in it. "Well. Then...I guess..."

"We just...take it slow?" Conrad murmurs, and there's a quick nod and a gentle, almost chaste kiss on his cheek. His head spins for a moment---this is Hanna, Hanna, what am I doing?---but then his attention is quickly drawn back by the fact that Hanna is standing up, beginning to peel out of his jeans himself.

Finally it occurs to Conrad that something difficult to clean up might be about to happen to his sofa. "I do have a bed, you know."

Hanna grins sheepishly, the top of his dinosaur boxers peeking out from the sagging waistband of his pants. "Ha! Right. Sure. Um..." and Hanna looks about for a moment, locates the door to the bedroom, and bounds off in that direction. Conrad sits for a moment staring after him, head cocked to one side in mild disbelief. After a moment he stands and follows.

Conrad pauses in the doorway. Hanna is sitting on the edge of the bed looking up expectantly, lower lip slightly tucked up under his front teeth. He's removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand---something about seeing Hanna without his glasses makes him look even more exposed, more vulnerable, and Conrad suddenly has the ghost of a second thought. The last thing he wants is to hurt Hanna, in any way. He reminds himself that Hanna is not a child, however much he may sometimes look and act like one. He pictures the way Hanna looked only moments before, flushed and needy, and feels a low sweet ache that draws him forward towards the bed. He takes off his own glasses---so much for seeing each other clearly---and sets them down next to the other pair. Grinning, Hanna reaches out to pull him into a playful kiss, drawing Conrad down onto the bed on top of him.

The delicate brushing of their stomachs sends a chill down Conrad's spine. He lets himself sink into Hanna, into the comforting warmth of him, then arches up again to begin trailing kisses down Hanna's torso. Hanna giggles a little as Conrad reaches his stomach, then moans softly as his lips move lower, down to the place where his jeans lie half-open. Conrad looks up, locks eyes with Hanna for a moment, then starts to slide Hanna's pants and boxers down over his hips and legs. With a little kick from Hanna they settle to the floor. Conrad straightens up to slip out of his own remaining garments, eyes roving hungrily over Hanna's bare form. Hanna watches him disrobe with equally unwavering attention. He begins to sit up, but Conrad gently grips his shoulders and pushes him back down.

Conrad has only a general idea of what he ought to be doing, but seeing as neither party has any sort of experience to judge by, he supposes it's safe to simply give it his best shot. His hands curl around Hanna's hips and he lowers his head, admiring Hanna's now painful-looking erection. His tongue finds the base of Hanna's cock and he licks upwards, slowly, enjoying the salt of Hanna's skin and the way Hanna cries out and has to dig his fingers into the bedspread to keep from bucking his hips. He reaches the tip, and slowly takes Hanna into his mouth (he's going to have to be careful of the fang, he realizes almost too late, but makes the necessary adjustment in angle).

Hanna moans and turns his head, brow furrowed, desperately trying to keep himself from coming too soon. Conrad's own cock is aching for attention and he reaches down with one hand, feels it jump and throb against his palm, tries to concentrate on what he's doing to Hanna while gently keeping up a steady rhythm on himself.

"Hnnnhh, ohh! C-Conrad, nnnnggg, don't s-stop," Hanna pleads, gasping as Conrad sucks a little harder out of curiosity. He wishes he could see Hanna's face more clearly, but settles for listening to the incredible sounds he makes, soft low moans and high breathy whines. One of Hanna's hands has found the back of Conrad's head and his fingers work through Conrad's hair, stroking and clinging. Conrad licks and sucks at the head of Hanna's cock and then swallows him down almost to his full length, causing Hanna to shudder and pant and curse softly. He repeats the motion a few times and then suddenly Hanna's hips thrust forward and his breath catches in his throat, and he's coming---Conrad can taste him, hot and salty on his tongue and he swallows it down, pulls back just in time to catch a glimpse of Hanna's face, eyes shut tight and mouth forming a perfect O in ecstasy.

Conrad licks his lips, stretching up and sprawling on the bed next to Hanna, who is still breathing shallowly and recovering from the force of his orgasm. He watches fondly as Hanna's eyes open and his head turns to look at Conrad. Hanna sighs, eyes glassy, a lazy smile creeping across his face, and then his eyes widen in realization. "Oh!" he starts. "You, uh, you didn't..." Conrad certainly hadn't forgotten about himself, cock still half-hard, but Hanna looked spent and he supposed he could finish himself off. He's undeniably pleased as Hanna props himself up on his side, begins to kiss Conrad's neck and shoulder, hand trailing down his stomach and brushing against his stiffening erection.

Hanna's fingers trace the length of his cock, almost maddeningly lightly, and Conrad is embarrassed to hear himself whine breathlessly, anxiously. Hanna's grip gradually begins to tighten, and he works the shaft of Conrad's cock slowly, lubricated by the pre-come that has begun to leak from its tip. Conrad moans and writhes, thrusting into Hanna's hand as he speeds up his strokes---"nnnhhh, fuck, FUCK ohhhh"---and then Hanna is kissing him, muffling his cries. Conrad is beginning to see white on the edges of his vision, and he's having too much trouble focusing on trying not to come to be careful about his fang anymore. It catches on the edge of Hanna's tongue and draws blood---barely a drop, the lightest of scratches, but the taste of it pushes Conrad over the edge and his eyes roll back. He comes hard, so hard he thinks he might faint. When it's over, he sees Hanna above him, looking thoroughly startled, sucking gently on the tip of his wounded tongue.

"Woah," Hanna breathes, and then smiles amusedly.

"Sorry...about your..." Conrad manages, but Hanna shakes his head emphatically.

"No! It was an accident. I'm fine. That was...amazing, though. Wow." He falls back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling, and laughs quietly. Conrad nods slowly and closes his eyes. They lie side by side for a few minutes in silence, Conrad listening to the sound of Hanna's even breathing.

After a little while, he turns to Hanna. "I...I really can't believe we just did that."

Hanna rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, expression utterly earnest. "We're going to do it again, though, right?"

A pause. "Absolutely."




I vote for rape... then rescue? Or maybe just rape

Lovely ending! A++++ <3


Oh Conrad.
I feel the pain.

no, successful rescue, sex. YES.


I love how delightfully eager Hanna is, right there at the end. Thank you for writing this, it was amazing from start to finish!

ffffffffffffffffffffff... still hard. need more.
polite sage for no contibution.

I vote for rescue and then consensual thank you sex in the missionary position.

Also, I think we're autosaging.

New thread?

oh no we're off the front page D:

There you go.

>>45530 OHFUCKHOT. Raging metaphorical hard-on.

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