This requires a bit of an
explanation. I was discussing live action gay tentacle porn
in my LJ and I joked about a
HtLJ/Harry Potter crossover featuring Deimos and the squid from the
Hogwart's lake. Then I thought, "What the hell?" And wrote a snippet
just for laughs.
Then Darkamber thought it would be
funny if Ron showed up. Again, just for giggles, I wrote a bit more.
Then Candace asked for a cumshot. At
that point I plead insanity.
Tentacle Porn
crossover with
Harry Potter
September 2004
------------------------------
Deimos leaned back
against the tree, tapping his fingers against the side of his thigh.
"So, nice digs." He glanced at the castle beyond the lake, the moon
rising overhead. "Real mood setter."
He tittered softly, then dropped his gaze when he felt something slide
around his lower leg. The tentacle was slick with water and bits of
scum from the pond, both dripping onto his boot.
"You're a friendly one,
aren't you?" He grinned as he met the large eyes of the squid bobbing
just above the surface of the water. "Hey, works for me. Bet all those
arms are real...useful, huh? Let's find out."
He began to quickly
unlace his pants--
-------
Ron knew he should've stayed in bed. Or
maybe he still was in bed. That would explain things, if this were all
a dream. He'd never drempt of the squid in the pond before though, and
even if he had, he wouldn't have added some naked blond bloke who
giggled like a girl when the squid did...that.
If it was a dream, he wasn't waking up.
He'd just have to leave. But he couldn't make himself look away, not
when the squid was doing things that would make any teenager a little
envious.
Then large, luminous eyes turned towards
him and it was too late to run. A tentacle rose from the water and slid
around his legs.
"Oooh, it's a party now," said the naked
blond, clapping his hands together with another high-pitched giggle.
-------
The bark was rough against Deimos' back, scratchy and sometimes painful
but he couldn't help rocking back against it, the pain a sharp,
delicious counterpoint to the sweet, hot mouth around his cock, the
tentacle so far up in him he could feel it wiggle in the back of his
throat.
A moan around his cock making him gasp. "Yeah, baby." His voice broke
on the last word as that tentacle wriggled and pleasure shot up his
spine, nearly making him come in that mouth that was far too
experienced for someone that innocent looking. Whatshisname...Ron, that
was it, had mentioned something about someone named "Harry" before
Deimos had put that mouth to a better use, so maybe that explained it.
Another swallow around him, another moan and Deimos forced his eyes
open to look at the young man kneeling in front of him. Tentacles
wrapped around them both, Ron shivered and moaned every time one of
those tentacles moved and...oh yeah, he was getting the same treatment
that squid was giving Deimos.
The tentacle writhed inside him and Deimos' head fell back against the
tree. That wiggle again, another deep moan, vibrations around and
inside him and Deimos had just enough time to pull out of Ron's mouth
before he came, splattering that freckled face, those swollen lips,
drops catching on long red eyelashes over closed eyes.
"And Ares says the mortal world sucks," Deimos said, a soft, breathless
giggle escaping him.
Kiss
January 2005
--------------
It was easy, kissing Jett. Far too easy. Joxer just leaned forward,
cutting off the steady stream of words, the old lecture on handling
weapons that Joxer had heard once too often and it was so much nicer to
hear nothing at all. Nothing beyond the soft, shocked gasp that he more
felt than heard, warm breath against his lips as his mouth closed over
Jett's.
He wanted to see Jett's reaction but he was equally afraid of it and
Joxer kept his eyes tightly shut. He just stood there, close enough to
feel the heat from Jett's body, lips pressing but not demanding.
Anyone could've walked into the armory, their father, the servants, but
Joxer didn't let it stop him from stepping just that much closer.
Tilting his head for a better angle, he shivered as the leather of
Jett's vest brushed against his bare chest, sliding against sweat
slicked skin.
Joxer couldn't help the faint moan that escaped him, muffled against
Jett's lips. It all felt so...so
right
in a way Joxer knew should've been very wrong. His own brother.
Jett didn't push him away but there was no response either, other than
that first light gasp, and eventually Joxer couldn't drag it out
anymore. He had to draw back, open his eyes and face whatever Jett
would do to him for daring to presume...so much.
But Jett's expression was unreadable. Eyes narrowed, but not in anger
as he looked closely at Joxer.
Breathing harder than he thought he should, Joxer had to look away, at
the
floor, the weapons hanging along the walls, anywhere but at that intent
gaze so focused on him. He could feel his cheeks heating and knew he'd
screwed up, same as always. Although he'd never done it quite like this.
"Sorry," he said, but his voice was soft and he didn't really mean it,
not for his actions anyway. He wasn't sorry for stealing a kiss, one
he'd wanted for...too long now, but he would regret losing his
closeness with Jett, that thing, that
something
that felt like "brother" to him -- felt like it should be so much more
than that.
Jett's hand closed around his upper arm, grip firm but not even close
to bruising. Joxer's eyes went first to that hand, then back to Jett's
face, taking a deep breath as he readying himself for whatever Jett
would do.
Jett licked his lips, a slow, drawn out movement that left them
glistening with moisture and left Joxer suddenly short of breath. All
thoughts of bracing for a confrontation fleeing his mind at the simple
sight of Jett's tongue.
"Is this why you watch me, Jox?" Jett asked softly, no judgment there,
just...curiousity.
Joxer nodded, not trusting his voice to keep its normal timbre instead
of taking on a husky, aroused tone.
Then the corner of Jett's mouth quirked up into a half smirk. "Okay."
Joxer didn't have a chance to respond, to even think. Jett tugged him
forward, arm sliding around his waist, holding him tight, close. And
Jett kissed him.
Lips pressuring his open, Jett's tongue sliding across, over his, wet
and slick and anything but the neat and chaste kiss Joxer had given
him. And where had Jett
learned
to kiss like this? To hold someone so tight that it hurt to breathe in
a good way? To get someone hard with a flick of his tongue, a twist of
his hips? Joxer had thought his fumblings with the servants had given
him experience, but Jett
knew
this, in a way Joxer's imagination hadn't touched on, a way no one had
ever touched him.
Eyes falling shut without conscious decision, the image of Jett's
intent, hungry gaze burned into his mind, Joxer dug his fingers into
Jett's shoulders, into hot skin and slick leather, wiry muscles flexing
beneath his grip. He just held on. And let Jett show him.
Bondage Fun
Written while in withdrawl from LJ
during the system crash.
January 2005
--------------
"So," Deimos said, fingers steepled in front of him, "what do you
think?"
Strife would've told him exactly what he thought, that it lacked
originality, that it'd been done a hundred thousand and one times
before, that it really wasn't that impressive at all. He would've said
it in his most scathing tones, sneering as he spoke to give Deimos the
full effect of his contempt -- but Strife found it difficult to do more
than growl and even that was muffled around the leather gag in his
mouth.
"You don't sound too appreciative there, cuz." Deimos rubbed his hands
together once, then leaned over Strife, the brown leather of his shirt
filling Strife's vision. "It's...some of my best work." His voice
lowered as he lightly dragged two fingers up Strife's bare arm,
lingering a moment below Strife's manacled wrist before sliding his
fingers up to the cool Hephaestian metal.
"Not the chains." Deimos drew back just enough for Strife to see his
face, see the satisfaction spark in those heavy lidded eyes. "You, I
mean." Deimos smiled, something close to a smirk, one that looked too
familiar. Just how long had Deimos been watching him, studying him? How
long to know enough to trap him?
The fringe of Deimos' shirt was trailing over Strife's bare chest and
Strife didn't think for a moment it was accidental, not the way it was
slowly brushing back and forth, again and again over his nipple.
"You're easy, cuz," Deimos said, his fingers drawing back from Strife's
arm. "Just in case you want to know."
What Strife wanted to know was if was possible to choke another god,
but there was no give in the manacles around his wrists, around his
ankles even, no slack, no room for the slightest movement, no escape.
The tip of Deimos' tongue flicked out, wetting the corner of his mouth
as he tilted his head to the side, staring closely at Strife. "Maybe
too easy?" One hand rested on his bare knee for a moment, fingers
tapping once, twice, then stilling. "Did you want me to catch you,
Strife?"
The growl didn't sound any less muffled the second time around and
Deimos didn't pay any more attention than he had to the first one. He
swung a leg over Strife, straddling his waist. He felt...light, or
maybe Deimos was taking most of his weight on his legs.
"You're a total tease, cuz." He laid his hands on Strife's stomach,
spreading his fingers out in a slow slide that sent an involuntary
shiver through Strife, spreading from his belly outward.
"The way you move, how you talk, those eye fucks you're always giving
me -- I think you were just waiting for me to do something about it,
weren't you?"
Deimos leaned down, close, and Strife willed himself not to flinch back
when Deimos' cheek brushed against his. He had the odd, fleeting
thought that Deimos had surprisingly soft skin, just as Deimos began
speaking again.
"Well, I'm here, Strife, and I'm doing something now."
Deimos' lips pressed against his cheek, high up near his ear and
Deimos' hands were sliding upward, nails dragging against Strife's
skin; he could feel the marks they were leaving, the burn of scraped
flesh -- and Strife moaned.
Talent
Written for the "Deimos
Short-short challenge" on strife_lust.
March 2005
-------------
The rain
slid down Deimos' naked skin like a wet waterfall. The ridiculous thought
skittered through Discord's mind and she almost laughed, but then
Deimos' fingers pushed deeper and she could only gasp, pant and arch
her back.
Naked,
powers scattered to the four winds along with her rational thoughts, on view
in a half burnt out shell of a house where any mortal could wander
by and see her. See her splayed out on a mud floor, nipples
peaked and glistening from the rain and Deimos' mouth, reddened from the
pull of his fingers. Legs spread wide, trembling on the cusp of yet
another orgasm as Deimos held her down, fingers and tongue buried in
the damp curls between her legs.
She tried
to grip his hair, to pull him in more, but she couldn't get a grip on the short
blond strands. They slid through her fingers like wet silk. She
would've moved, sat up and grabbed him by the neck, forced him closer,
but he had her. His free hand was tight on her waist, fingers
digging in hard enough to turn her skin a bloodless color where they
gripped her. As if he could bruise her, a goddess, his superior in
every way.
Discord
jerked, uncontrollably, a high, thready cry escaping from her as she clenched
around his fingers, coming again, and again after that. Fingers
digging convulsively into the mud as she trembled beneath him.
Deimos
lifted his head, stared up at her, cheeks and chin wet with her juices. He licked
his lips. Slowly.
She just
stared back, gasping sharply for air.
"More?"
He finally asked, already moving his fingers again, rocking them in and out of
her, steady, slow pace. Building.
Discord
nodded. "You're not bad at this," she said, pleased that her voice didn't sound
as breathless, as eager as she'd thought it might.
"So, I'm
not totally incompetent, huh?" Deimos grinned, although, it was more of a sneer.
"Oh, I
wouldn't go that far," Discord said, pushing herself up on one elbow. "I mean, if
this is your only talent, I
doubt Ares is going to be all that
impressed."
Deimos
giggled, and that was definitely a sneer now. "Oh, you'd be surprised." He bent
his head again before she could reply, tongue swirling around her
clit, flicking against it before he set to sucking at it like a
favorite treat, fingers pushing even harder into her.
Discord
fell back with a helpless cry, barely feeling the mud as it squished beneath
her, splattering over her heated skin.
Maybe
she'd let him bruise her after all.
The Watcher
Written while testing out an old
email addy, to make the post more on-topic.
August 2007
--------------
Jason woke abruptly, knowing--
feeling
that something was very wrong. It only took opening his eyes to find
out what.
"Morning," Strife whispered, his face so close that Jason's eyes nearly
crossed trying to focus on him.
Jason was all too aware of the weight of Strife on him, Strife's
leather-clad arms crossed on top of his bare chest, straddling his
waist, pinning the covers over Jason's legs. Strife wasn't heavy enough
to keep him down if Jason fought to free himself, and Jason tensed
further, ready to throw Strife off, call out at the same time,
wake Iolaus and Hercules.
"You don't really want to do that." Strife's voice was still a whisper,
but he pulled back a little, giving Jason a better look at him.
The early morning sun, only just now peaking into the dorm windows,
gave Strife's skin a hint of warm color, made his eyes seem less like
chips of blue ice and more like the pale blue of a cloudless sky. He
was...smiling. Not the taunting smirk they'd all become used to seeing
from him, but a small, knowing smile.
"You think I never knew?" Strife asked.
Jason frowned, not understanding.
"You used to watch me when I 'slept,' when you thought I was Nysus."
"We--we all watched you those last few days," Jason protested, although
he kept his voice as low as Strife's. "We knew something wasn't right."
Strife made a little hum of agreement, his smile widening. "True. But,"
he leaned forward again, even closer than he'd been before, and when he
spoke, the warmth of his breath ghosted over Jason's lips, "you, Jason,
were the only one who went back to your bunk and whacked off
afterwards."
Jason went tense all over, his breath stuttering in his throat, eyes
widening. It--he--no. He shook his head in denial, but he still
couldn't help turning his head slightly, enough to see across the small
room, check that Iolaus and Hercules were still deeply asleep, hadn't
heard any of that, weren't witnessing...this.
Strife chuckled, a sound Jason felt all down his body. "Don't worry."
One of Strife's arms shifted on Jason's chest, and a moment later,
long, warm fingers slid over Jason's chin, turning his head back. "This
isn't about them," Strife said, his face filling Jason's vision once
more.
"This is you." His thumb stroked slowly down Jason's jaw line, sending
a shiver through him. "This is me." His weight shifted, hips rocking
down, just once. Once was more than enough. Jason gasped silently, his
body instantly reacting to the motion.
"This is us." Strife leaned even closer and there was no way to focus,
Jason had to shut his eyes. But it remained vivid in his mind, the
image of blue eyes being slowly eclipsed by inky black pupil. And even
as Strife's lips touched his, so much softer than he'd imagined,
Strife's eyes were there, intense in his mind's eye, watching him.
Written for the 2nd
Deimos Short-Short Story Challenge.
Love and War
September 2007
---------------
In all his long, immortal life, Deimos had never heard the words, “I
love you,” after a quick fuck. Cupid, however, heard it all the time.
From gods and mortals, male and female alike, they all gasped, spoke or
screamed it, and always with devotion-tinged awe. It was a form of
worship Cupid had obviously come to expect from everyone he “graced”
with his attentions. So Deimos made a point of never saying it.
He’d shared Cupid’s bed more than anyone else over the centuries, and
it wasn’t due to any great sexual skill on his part or any emotional
attachment on Cupid’s, it was simply a matter of control, persistence,
and Cupid’s never-flagging determination to get those three little
words out of him. Not that Cupid had ever come straight out and
said that -- that would smack too
much of begging, but the extra effort he put into their encounters, the
way he
worked at it, leaving
them both gasping and near exhausted, that said it as clearly as words.
And it wasn’t easy on Deimos’ part, either. Oh, he didn’t love Cupid,
but damn if he didn’t love what Cupid
did
to him. The way Cupid could arouse him to the brink of coming, then
hold him there, for hours at times, before sending him tipping over
into the most incredible orgasms he’d ever experienced. There was no
one as good in bed as Cupid, no one who could make Deimos come so close
to passing out from pleasure. But if Deimos ever said that, ever
mentioned love in
any way --
even if it was just to say that he loved what Cupid could do with that
ridiculously mobile tongue of his -- it would be over. Cupid would
interpret it as the declaration he’d been looking for, he’d consider
the battle won, and he’d move on. Deimos would never get near him
again, at least not with any nakedness and fun touching involved.
“Leaving so soon?” Cupid asked, although he was breathing hard and his
arms visibly shook with the effort it took to push himself up. His
wings were limp, one hanging over the edge of the bed.
“If I don’t show up soon, Ares’ll lose his temper.” Deimos shuddered
dramatically -- and ended up staggering into the wall when his wobbly
legs proved too unsteady to hold him.
“Well, hurry back, dude,” Cupid said, his eyes narrowing with renewed
determination. “I’ll clear my schedule for tomorrow.
All of tomorrow.”
“Oooh, how can I resist?” Deimos grinned as his leathers appeared,
sliding their way up his body. It wasn’t a nice grin, more of a
challenge, really.
Cupid smiled back, showing teeth. “Looking forward to it.”
“Mmm, likewise.” Deimos waggled his fingers in farewell before
transporting himself away, the imaged of a naked and sweaty Cupid
locked firmly in his mind.
It was worth the intense control it took to keep his mouth shut, biting
his tongue, forcing his mind to blankness, paralyzing his voice,
whatever it took to stop those words from spilling out, because no way
was Deimos losing this.
Written for the 2nd
Deimos Short-Short Story Challenge.
Declarations
September 2007
------------
In all his long, immortal life, Deimos had never heard the words, “I
love you,” after a quick fuck. He’d sure as Tartarus never said it,
either; sex was just sex, after all. It was just fucking, just bodies
and sweat and come and emotions didn’t enter into it, except for how
good it felt. It was all about getting off -- all about
him getting off. The other guy was
just a convenient hand/mouth/hole and what did Deimos care if whatever
his name was came or not? Well, okay, if it was another god, Deimos at
least made some effort to reciprocate, otherwise he’d never get that
piece of ass again. But if it was just some mortal, then who gave a
crap?
So why the fuck -- why in Kronos’ name -- why -- just--just
why had those three little words
slipped out? He’d just...
said
it. He’d opened his mouth and there they were, spilling out without any
conscious thought, hanging in the air like a bad smell, like an ugly
wound, like dirty laundry, like--
“Well, of course you do.”
“
What?” Deimos jerked upright,
sending the pillows flying off the bed. He must’ve looked as appalled
as he felt, because Autolycus was chuckling as he dropped down beside
him, leaning back against the headboard.
“Oh, come on now, you aren’t really
surprised,
are you? Of course you’re not,” Autolycus said with supreme confidence
as he stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles.
“You’re a
mortal!” Deimos
said, shuddering in disgust. Well, he made an attempt at it anyway. The
shudder...didn’t quite happen, it was more of a shiver, and that had a
lot more to do with the sight of all that tasty nakedness laid out
before him.
“And not just
any mortal, the
King of Thieves. The most talented in the business, and best looking if
I do say so myself, and I do,” Autolycus said as he smoothed out his
mustache. “Ah, face it Deimos, you’ve had the good sense and excellent
taste to fall in love with the best of the best.”
Autolycus grinned at him, a thoroughly possessive look, and Deimos
recoiled backwards. Or, at least he tried to. The arm Autolycus dropped
around his shoulders held him in place.
“You’re about to lose that arm,” Deimos warned, raising a hand, blue
sparks dancing around his fingertips.
“Sure I am.” Chuckling again, Autolycus yanked him close.
Deimos fell against him with a yelp, surprised enough that he lost his
concentration and his hold on his powers slipped; the sparks
disappeared.
“Are you
insane?” Deimos
stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You know, it’s amazing how many people mistake genius for insanity,”
Autolycus said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Now gimme some
sugar, baby.”
Anything Deimos might’ve said was cut off by Autolycus’ lips covering
his. Deimos started to shove away, but when his hands touched
Autolycus’ chest, they just kind of...stayed there. Fingers rubbing
against a nipple, another hand sliding down low and Autolycus murmuring
encouragement into his mouth the entire time.
What the Tartarus, Deimos figured; they could “discuss” this later. A
lot later.
Written
for the Spooky Strife Halloween 2007 Challenge.
Bad Moon Rising
October 2007
------------------
“Why am I out here?” Discord flicked wet leaves off her chest,
grimacing at the damp patches left behind on her leathers.
“I told you, I had some fun last night,” Strife said, hopping over a
decaying log.
“I mean, why am I out here with
you?”
Discord walked around the same log, careful not to let the rotted wood
touch her boots.
“Because you’re curious.” Strife smirked at her, ducking around a tree.
She wrinkled her nose in response.
Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was curious, just a little.
Strife wouldn’t ask her to come for a walk at dawn, in the rain, out in
the ass end of Greece if he didn’t have something interesting to show
her. But so far there was nothing but forest and damp and if she didn’t
see something soon, she was going back to Olympus for a hot bath.
“I went to see Hecate a couple days ago,” Strife said casually,
dragging his hand against a thorny bush as he passed.
“Good for you.” Discord yawned with pointed boredom.
“I played a few rounds of dice with her.”
“With Hecate?” She snorted. “Have I ever told you that you’re insane?”
“Often.” Strife’s smirk widened.
“Somehow, I don’t think it’s sinking in -- and what is that smell?
It’s...familiar.” Frowning, Discord sniffed at the air.
“If you spent more time on the battlefields, you wouldn’t have to ask
that,” he taunted.
Before she could formulate an appropriately scathing response,
something landed on her head. She reached up to yank the leaves out of
her hair -- and came back with a stringy hunk of overripe flesh.
Strife giggled brightly when she tossed the thing aside with a
disgusted sound. “Recognize the smell now?” He grinned and waved a hand
around them.
Stopping to clean off her fingers and hair with a flex of power,
Discord glanced around, her eyebrows rising as she took in the carnage.
Bits and pieces of flesh hanging off tree branches and stuck inside
bushes, most of it unrecognizable, but there was a part of a hand on
the ground near her, a bit of bloody hair with some scalp still
attached in a bush a few paces away. A single ragged piece of blood
soaked clothing was stuck to a tree trunk.
“This is the ‘fun’ you had?” She raised an eyebrow, making certain not
to look
too interested, even
if it was a little impressive. Slightly.
“Mmm-hmm.” Strife slid a short way across the dead leaves, stopping
abruptly at her side. “Isn’t it delicious?” he whispered in her ear.
“It has a certain...artistic appeal,” she conceded. “What did it used
to be?”
“Well, that’s the cool part.” He linked his fingers and cracked his
knuckles one at a time. “So, I challenged Hecate to a game of dice.”
“You said that already.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you that I won.”
“
You? Against Hecate? I don’t
think so. You cheated, didn’t you?”
“Me cheat? With Hecate? Do you think I’m insane or something?” he
scoffed and twirled away from her, wrapping an arm around a tree to
slow himself to a gradual halt. “I had a streak of good luck. Two out
of three throws; I won.”
“And what did you win?” Discord prompted, because, with the expectant
look he was giving her, she doubted he’d say any more unless she asked.
“I asked for her to curse Hercules.” He smiled sweetly.
“How, exactly?” She crossed her arms, giving him a skeptical look.
“An oldie but a goodie.” Shoving away from the tree, he strolled back
towards her. “I wanted him to turn into a ravenous wolf at the full
moon.”
“Hecate would never agree with that,” Discord said dismissively.
“True. Not permanently anyway. But I only asked for one time.”
“What’s the point of that?”
“The point,” Strife stopped in front of her, “is who does Zeus’ brat
always hang out with?”
Discord’s eyes widened in comprehension. She looked around them again,
seeing the carnage in a new light, a far more appreciative one.
“Yeah.” Strife laughed softly. “Oh yeah.”
The air was suddenly split by a nearby scream of deep horror and grief.
“
Iolaus!”
Hercules shrieking his friend’s name, over and over, his voice breaking
on deep sobs.
Discord normally didn’t care to show Strife that she approved of him or
anything he did, but there were exceptions, and this was definitely one
of them. She laughed brightly, the sound nearly drowned out by the
continuous wailing.
Strife sighed happily. “Ahh, the former children of the night; what
awesome screeching they make.”