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dethoratsPrompt: Sight
Pairing: Skwisgaar and Murderface
The rest of the guys liked to make fun of some of the pussy he got but Skwisgaar never paid them any mind. They were just jealous of the sheer amount of tail he scored and of his reputation as a real lothario. Besides, the truth was, Skwisgaar was honestly attracted to the women he fucked. Oh, not enough to devote more than a few hours to them, but they definitely got his dick hard. It was because they were fat or old or ugly or some combination of all three, not in spite of it. He could appreciate a slim figure, a nice pair of tits, and a firm round ass as much as the next man but those things had a sad tendency to chill rather than fire his blood unless he was well-prepared.
The ravages of age had left Serveta with sagging, vein-tracked breasts and a wrinkled face, seemingly Skwisgaar’s ideal, but whenever he looked at her, he saw what he’d always seen. A beautiful woman fighting off the beginnings of middle age with every tool modern science and money could throw in her direction. And his mother HAD been lovely on the outside, all of her, a body Skwisgaar had known and seen nearly as often as the skinny pimply youthful form of himself. Most attractive women invariably took on Serveta’s face and in that path lay a descent into the deep dark corners of his mind where he feared to tread. And so, self-preservation had changed his perceptions, made what most wouldn’t touch into objects of desire.
That was why Skwisgaar was so attracted to Murderface. The bassist had it all. He was more than a little chubby, had a face like an abused bulldog, and he was over thirty. Best of all, there was no mistaking Murderface for a woman, let alone for his mother. William’s hairy ass, rancid feet, and thick, spit-flecked speech were deliciously repugnant and Skwisgaar loved his hateful invectives and his greasy hair that was nearly impossible to comb a hand through. Most of all, though, he loved the scars. The pale silvery lines and jagged red ones, the freshly scabbed cuts and the sight of blood dripping over a thick forearm or down stocky legs; all of it was beautiful. Murderface showed his pain to the world, the pain that Skwisgaar hid away and buried deep inside, and that pain, those wounds, called to something inside the Swede and found an answer.
It didn’t take much. A few beers, a couple shots of whiskey, maybe a joint or one tab of E. Despite his frequent protestations, Murderface just wanted someone to notice him, anyone, and it was more than acceptable for that person to be a man. Skwisgaar coaxed him back to his rooms, the bassist all the more out of place amidst the sterile whiteness, wrapped his hand around the thick, rough skin of William’s cock. He looked directly into Murderface’s eyes when they came and felt safe.
For the OPY100 Topic of 'Rainbow' and also cross-posted there:
Title: Touched in the Head
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 155
The side of Shanks’ face was a veritable rainbow of colors. The bruises were largely to blame for that. The worst was the dark purple fading into blue around his eye but there were fading greenish and yellowing spots on his cheekbone and at his temple. Add in red hair and the shifting shades of the captain’s hazel eyes and Ben felt safe in his comparison. It looked damn painful but the first mate remained impassive as he handed over a slab of cold bacon that Shanks immediately and gingerly placed over his eye. The captain sighed in relief, relaxing back into his chair, and then had the gall to whine for a bottle of something ‘to take the edge off.’ Ben grudgingly went to find one but, as he plucked an errant bit of hay out of his hair, couldn’t keep from getting in the last word.
“I told you that cow looked dangerous.”
Pairing: Skwisgaar and Murderface
The rest of the guys liked to make fun of some of the pussy he got but Skwisgaar never paid them any mind. They were just jealous of the sheer amount of tail he scored and of his reputation as a real lothario. Besides, the truth was, Skwisgaar was honestly attracted to the women he fucked. Oh, not enough to devote more than a few hours to them, but they definitely got his dick hard. It was because they were fat or old or ugly or some combination of all three, not in spite of it. He could appreciate a slim figure, a nice pair of tits, and a firm round ass as much as the next man but those things had a sad tendency to chill rather than fire his blood unless he was well-prepared.
The ravages of age had left Serveta with sagging, vein-tracked breasts and a wrinkled face, seemingly Skwisgaar’s ideal, but whenever he looked at her, he saw what he’d always seen. A beautiful woman fighting off the beginnings of middle age with every tool modern science and money could throw in her direction. And his mother HAD been lovely on the outside, all of her, a body Skwisgaar had known and seen nearly as often as the skinny pimply youthful form of himself. Most attractive women invariably took on Serveta’s face and in that path lay a descent into the deep dark corners of his mind where he feared to tread. And so, self-preservation had changed his perceptions, made what most wouldn’t touch into objects of desire.
That was why Skwisgaar was so attracted to Murderface. The bassist had it all. He was more than a little chubby, had a face like an abused bulldog, and he was over thirty. Best of all, there was no mistaking Murderface for a woman, let alone for his mother. William’s hairy ass, rancid feet, and thick, spit-flecked speech were deliciously repugnant and Skwisgaar loved his hateful invectives and his greasy hair that was nearly impossible to comb a hand through. Most of all, though, he loved the scars. The pale silvery lines and jagged red ones, the freshly scabbed cuts and the sight of blood dripping over a thick forearm or down stocky legs; all of it was beautiful. Murderface showed his pain to the world, the pain that Skwisgaar hid away and buried deep inside, and that pain, those wounds, called to something inside the Swede and found an answer.
It didn’t take much. A few beers, a couple shots of whiskey, maybe a joint or one tab of E. Despite his frequent protestations, Murderface just wanted someone to notice him, anyone, and it was more than acceptable for that person to be a man. Skwisgaar coaxed him back to his rooms, the bassist all the more out of place amidst the sterile whiteness, wrapped his hand around the thick, rough skin of William’s cock. He looked directly into Murderface’s eyes when they came and felt safe.
For the OPY100 Topic of 'Rainbow' and also cross-posted there:
Title: Touched in the Head
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 155
The side of Shanks’ face was a veritable rainbow of colors. The bruises were largely to blame for that. The worst was the dark purple fading into blue around his eye but there were fading greenish and yellowing spots on his cheekbone and at his temple. Add in red hair and the shifting shades of the captain’s hazel eyes and Ben felt safe in his comparison. It looked damn painful but the first mate remained impassive as he handed over a slab of cold bacon that Shanks immediately and gingerly placed over his eye. The captain sighed in relief, relaxing back into his chair, and then had the gall to whine for a bottle of something ‘to take the edge off.’ Ben grudgingly went to find one but, as he plucked an errant bit of hay out of his hair, couldn’t keep from getting in the last word.
“I told you that cow looked dangerous.”
