hhanon | Round 3 - Return of the Meme

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prompt post

Round 3 - Return of the Meme

Round 3 - Return of the Meme

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That's nearly the end of the storia, for onto the scene comes our much loved meme: HAIL TO THE QUEEN OF PROMPTIA.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He doesn’t think about it often.

Not that there’s anything wrong with liking another chap, he supposes, even if everybody seems so terribly appalled if ever the topic comes up. It’s not the absolutely traditional way of things, granted, but then few things are these days – and he very much doubts that any of those less than spiffing chaps bleating on about tradition would like to go back to actually hunting for their meat-!

…Not that he can say that, for those less than spiffing chaps would probably lock him up forever and ever if he dared come out in favour of those ‘sinners’.

Maltravers would lock him up forever and ever.

Not that Maltravers is anything less than entirely spiffing, really. Absolutely and brilliantly spiffing. Absolutely and brilliantly and utterly… Well, he thinks the picture is gotten. Maltravers is the best chap in the world, barring none.

…Which is where the not-often thoughts come from, actually.

And they really are very not-often, honestly! Only once a month, or twice a week, or a few times a day. Only short little flickers of thought, or mediumish moments of daydreaming, or occasionally long hours of musing. They aren’t dangerous, they aren’t horrible, they don’t change anything.

…Even if he does find himself dreaming of how Maltravers’ mouth would taste, or how his hair would feel, or if he’d make those noises that he’s often heard about but rarely drawn-

He’s always glad when the door creaks open before he can reach between his legs, and Maltravers finally steps through with slightly red cheeks, “where have you been, old bean?”

“Visiting friends, dear Blenkers,” he’ll always answer honestly, completely innocent of any of those thoughts as he turns to hang his sensible outer clothes up like a completely sensible adult who has never had to deal with such things as these.

“…Oh. Can I meet these friends one day, Peter?”

“One day, old chum,” and he’ll smile, so happily, as he rummages in the kitchen to get some lovely tea and some gorgeous biccies and all of it while not once thinking what it’d be like to be bent over one of the counters and thoroughly rogered with all the other chaps sleeping innocently upstairs.

He doesn’t think about it often.

It’s the middle of November, a cold and biting night, when he stretches up from the cushy chair and decides that this is the night when he should go out again.

He hasn’t been out since they got back the last time, hasn’t been out at all (considering that he’s been perfectly happy to spend most of his time with dear Blenkinsop), but today his very best chum has been particularly irresistible and… Well, if he can’t have Blenkinsop mouthing his name or Blenkinsop slowly entering him then he’ll have to make do with somebody else who looks remarkably similar.

“I’m going out to see some friends, Blenkers!” He calls when he’s already at the door, securely in that inconspicuous coat and with his scarf wrapped carefully around his face.

“Alright, Old Bean!” And he smiles, as Blenkinsop pokes his adorable head out from the kitchen and beams as brightly as possible, “Will you be back late again?”

“Probably. Do you mind?”

“Sir might…”

They giggle together for a second, because the thought of sir is annoying but not that authoritative, and then he turns back to the door. Opening it and slipping out with one final glance back at Blenkinsop smiling fondly from the kitchen.

…A pity that he can’t have that face.

It’s the middle of November, a cold and biting night, when he rubs a smudge of flour off his cheek and decides that this is the night he should try it.

He’s heard about it, of course, from disapproving whispers and awkward mutterings – but he’s never really tried it. Never slipped on old clothes, gone to some hidden bar, picked out a nice man (Short, with fairer hair than him, preferably with a moustache) and indulged in some rather private acts… But Maltravers has been being particularly brilliant today. And if he can’t have Maltravers groaning or Maltravers tight around him then he’ll have to make do with somebody else who looks remarkably similar.

“I’m going out to see some friends, Blenkers!” Maltravers interrupts his thoughts as he’s standing absently in front of the cooker. Makes him jump and stumble (and maybe start believing a little in fate) as he spins around and awkwardly darts to the kitchen door.

“Alright, Old bean!” And he beams, as he catches a glimpse of Maltravers wonderful face and just has to melt a little, “will you be back late again?”

“Probably. Do you mind?”

“Sir might…”

They giggle together for a second, for sir is hardly scary no matter how much he rumbles, and then Maltravers turns back to the door. Opens it and slips out with only one final, happy smile thrown back.

…A pity that he can’t have that face.

Liking this, can't wait for more.

Thank you!

*claps far too excitedly*

:DD Thank you!

The bar is crowded tonight, pleasantly crowded and full of men looking that tiniest bit shifty, and he edges through it only with difficulty – using his elbows and heaving a low sigh of relief when he finally gets to the bar.

The barman, an understanding chap named Wesley who is used to all the things that people have to do to get just a little company in this world, gives him a bright smile as he settles down. Fetches his usual without a single word exchanged – does it comfortably, happily, quickly so that a familiar glass is soon placed before him and he can subtly scan the crowd with mild alcohol going down his throat.

…And now he just has to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until, on his second glass and briefly turned back to the bar to see if the coy approach will work better tonight, a skinny, tall, perfect form edges up besides him. Awkwardly leans on the bar and fiddles with his fingers as if he’s not quite sure how to act.

Ah, a new one then. And a good thing that he’s so lanky and bony and perfect, for there can be dark sorts around these sort of places and he’s loathe to let a poor lad get led into that sort of business.

He takes a slow sip of his drink, smiles to himself as he slowly feels those eyes flicker across to watch him.

…Frowns a little as he hears a sharply indrawn gasp, for he doesn’t need love at first sight at this point (what with Blenkinsop waiting at home), but neatly pushes it down. Perhaps it’s another new chap thing, perhaps the lad has just had a violent attack of nerves – and so he can turn with his most soothing smile on and-

Damnation.

…Blenkinsop. Blenkinsop standing there with wide eyes and gaping mouth and an expression more commonly seen on fish dragged from the river in a quite terribly sudden way.

He stares back for a moment, feels his eyes bulging.

He gawps back for a moment, pretty sure that his brain is about to explode or do something equally messy and hard to explain.

And then, before he can quite think about it, he grabs Blenkinsop’s arm hurriedly, throws some money on the bar for Wesley to pick up later and drags his friend towards the door so fast that the world darn near blurs around them.

“Maltravers?” Blenkinsop asks in a low, stunned voice when they’re a few minutes from the bar – their pace finally slowing and his hand finally starting to unclench from around Blenkinsop’s bony wrist.

…Poor Blenkinsop’s bony wrist.

He slows further, further. Finally grinds to a halt in the middle of the dirt road and turns to face Blenkinsop with a hopefully apologetic expression writ upon his face, “sorry, old chum.”

Blenkinsop only continues to stare, expression so absolutely befuddled that he quite wants to cuddle it and kiss it better and take it home for some nice warm chocolate (or something a lot warmer, wrapped in a bed instead of comfortable on that ratty old settee) “…Maltravers?”

…He resists the urge, just barely, “are you alright, Blenkers?”

Another long pause, Blenkinsop simply continues to stare “…Maltravers. Why were you there, Maltravers?”

…Ah.

“John…” He looks down at his feet, finally releases Blenkinsop’s wrist (and it must hurt by now, why didn’t he think more before flying off the handle like a right buffoon?) and clearing his throat awkwardly as he does so, “do you know why available men often go to that bar?”

Please, please…

“Yes,” Blenkinsop says, in a very small voice.

…Ah.

Ah.

He keeps looking down at his feet, draws in breath after breath of cold air through his nose and desperately tries to resist the urge to shudder (because this is where it all falls down, and this is when he loses everything in such a helpless way) “…I’ve been going there for years, John. Every time that I went out at night without you I was there, or going home with chaps who I found there.”

He hears Blenkinsop breathe in sharply through his nose, squeezes his eyes shut because he knows that he deserves it.

“Does that mean…?” Blenkinsop’s voice is slow when it comes. Slow and shocked and with just a hint of anger.

He’s never heard anger from Blenkinsop before.

It makes him squeeze his eyes tighter shut, and bite his lip ever so hard, and maybe feel like his heart is shattering quite horridly inside “…I’ve slept with several men from that bar, yes.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, in one jerky movement, Blenkinsop starts forwards – and kisses him so hard that he has no option but to be tilted back and hold on as hard as he can.

…But only for a few moments, of course, for this is Blenkinsop kissing him and he’d be a darned fool if he pushed away his dreams when they were standing right in front of him. He kisses right back, as hard as he can, finds himself walking Blenkinsop backwards and pressing him hard against the nearest stone wall – the height difference a bit awkward but nowhere near awful enough to make him stop doing this.

The kiss carries on for seconds.

Long moments.

Minutes.

And when they draw back, only to gasp for air, Blenkinsop’s hands immediately trail up his arms, cup either side of his face so tenderly that he can barely believe it, “I know I shouldn’t have done that, Old Bean, I know. And I know I shouldn’t be angry, not considering what I was going there to do-“

“John,” he breathes, in faintly stunned tones.

“-But just the thought of you with other chaps…”

“John,” he breathes again – and watches his best friend, the most important chap in the world, grind to a reluctant halt with such wonderfully wide eyes “…Do you like men?”

Another long pause “…Sort of.”

…He has to check, “Sort of?”

“I generally prefer chaps, yes, but…” Blenkinsop has gone bright red, they’re so close that he can see it even through the dark, “I mainly like you.”

…Oh.

Oh.

There’s another, yet another, long pause – and then he leans in for another searing kiss that has never been so perfect with any other.

Within a few seconds, for he is a vaguely sensible man and Blenkinsop does tend to follow after a little prodding, they manage to reverse their positions. Blenkinsop timidly pinning him back against the wall as he holds onto those bony hips. They pass a happy few moments that way – clinging onto each other with nobody else in the world and nobody likely to change that.

And then they have to break for air again, and he decides to step things up a notch.

It takes a bit of arching, maybe a few moments on his toes, for him to reach Blenkinsop’s jawline. But when he does get there it is entirely worth it – soft and sweet and with just the slightest hint of stubble grazing his lips. He gently kisses along it, trails lower and lower with Blenkinsop’s hands gripping at his arms until he reaches the soft line of neck and is able to feel his best chum’s gulping right under his lips.

“Peter…” Blenkinsop breathes above him, as he takes a few moments lingering there.

…And ah.

This isn’t the place for foreplay, or even anything more but he’s not really acknowledging that at the moment, and as he draws back he realizes that Blenkinsop might not even want foreplay. He’s looking a little worried, after all, a little trembling and frightened and timid and… Well, he’s never been the type to take advantage of a chap with reservations about anything.

“John,” he says calmly, and waits until Blenkinsop looks down at him with wide eyes, “we don’t-“

“We do,” Blenkinsop interrupts immediately, and then looks needlessly embarrassed – like he has no idea of how impossibly endearing he just looked “…Um, please? I just- I just-“

“John.”

“-Need you.”

…An affectionately long pause this time, as he just has to brace himself on Blenkinsop’s shoulders and lean up for yet another kiss that somehow leads to Blenkinsop’s coat being unbuttoned and his shirt almost falling off his shoulders and warm hands on bare skin in a way that sends the both of them gasping.

“Please?” Blenkinsop asks again, low and needy and with head warmly buried into his shoulder.

And, well…

He’s never been able to resist Blenkinsop, not when it counts.

With a bit more shifting, shifting that Blenkinsop picks up with thankful ease, they get into the proper position against the wall. With a few more shifts, and Blenkinsop is as helpful as he expected again, he trousers and underwear are sliding slowly down his legs and Blenkinsop’s are soon following – leaving them both almost naked (and together) in the middle of nowhere with nobody to see.

…It’s a pity that it’s too dark to admire Blenkinsop properly, but he does hope that there’ll be another day.

For now, though, there are more practical matters to focus upon – and the tube clutched in his hand, the one just rescued from his falling trousers, plays a major part in them. He reaches awkwardly back over his shoulder, feels Blenkinsop timidly take the offering from him and swiftly falls back to bracing against the wall, “slick your fingers with it, okay?”

“…Um.”

“Blenkers?”

“How many…?”

“Three of them should do fine for now, old chap,” he smiles affectionately at nothing in particular, shifts up on the wall as he hears Blenkinsop carefully obeying behind him, “Now, press them into me.”

“Into-?”

He gestures behind him, hopes against hope that it makes vague sense and he won’t have to try and go into more depth…

Ah.

…And is glad, splendidly glad, when it does. When Blenkinsop nervously, gloriously, slides one finger inside him and, as he gets more confident, adds another in a way that makes his back arch and a slightly embarrassing groan slip out into the dark night.

“Peter…?”

“John,” he gasps in return, briefly screwing his eyes shut and trying to regain some sort of composure “…Try to wriggle them around a bit, alright, Old Chap?”

And-

Ah.

Ah.

Ah!

By the time that Blenkinsop deems him well prepared enough, and that should be well prepared enough, he is shaking against the wall. The slow, steady slide out of those fingers draws yet another groan and the slow realization that he is tremendously hard – in a helpless, helpless way that feels as glorious as anything he’s ever known “…Old Bean?”

“Um,” he grunts… And remembers, just briefly, that he does have some composure and should probably regain it at some point, “coat yourself in the stuff too, dear Blenkers?”

And Blenkinsop obeys yet again, as he knew the sensible chap would.

“Now,” leaving him to only close his eyes, and brace himself afresh with fingers digging into the cold stone, “you should be ready to come in.”

Blenkinsop hesitates for only a moment…

And then positions himself, so gloriously that he has to beam, and slowly presses in – so perfectly that the world could be tumbling down around them and he wouldn’t care a single bit.

There is a shaky moment, as Blenkinsop pauses as if getting used to the heat.

And then the man, the best man on this world or any other, starts to thrust - and all words and thoughts and outside distractions rather tumble away at how truly perfect those brilliant movements feel.

When he comes, and it does not take long, he howls his release so loudly over the fields that he’s sure several delightfully trembling ghost stories will spring up around the sound. Luckily Blenkinsop follows a few moments after, a bit quieter but only because he muffles the desperate sob into the readily presented neck before him and clenches his teeth so hard that he can feel it.

They tremble together for a second, skin warm on skin, Blenkinsop still panting happily against him.

…And then a kiss is pressed to his shoulder. And he decides, as Blenkinsop slowly pulls out and he spins around for a proper meeting of the lips, that he is never going to one of those bars ever again.

... :D

... :DDD

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

*flails a lot and fails to say anything coherent beyond EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE OMG SO AWESOME*

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD Thank you very much! I am very, very glad that you enjoyed it! <33333

ALSKDJFASL;HFSDL

OP here! That was amazing. My brain has actually melted from this, so I am just going to flail about incoherently for a while and maybe try for a coherent comment a bit later. I can't promise anything, though, because this was so wonderful I might never recover enough brain to be coherent.

Oh, thank you very much! <3333 I'm really, really glad you enjoyed it and don't worry about the brain thing! :DDD (My brain is... Never present. <<)

Oh my, that was so hot.

Could really use more of this.

Great writing.

Thank you very much! There won't be more of this, unfortunately, but I'm glad you enjoyed it!

HOW HAD I MISSED THIS <3 <3 <3

:DDDD Thank you!

SDJLHLKHSA SO GOOD. SO GOOD I CAN'T EVEN WORDS.

♥♥!!!!!

Thank you very much! :DDD I'm really glad that you enjoyed it! ♥♥!

*Grins like a mad thing*

So adorable! I LOVE the symmetry in this.

And I loved this para: "And they really are very not-often, honestly! Only once a month, or twice a week, or a few times a day. Only short little flickers of thought, or mediumish moments of daydreaming, or occasionally long hours of musing. They aren’t dangerous, they aren’t horrible, they don’t change anything."

Thank you very much! :DDD I'm glad you're enjoying it, and the symmetry, and that paragraph!

<333

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Round 3 - Return of the Meme

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [2/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3A/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [4A/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [4B/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [4C/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [4D/4]

FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, NC-17 [4E/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]

Re: FILL: Pining For Your Face, Blenkinsop/Maltravers, Eventually NC-17 [3B/4]