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2. leaf and vine, Ollie/Dick

3. "Knockin' on Heaven's Door", Batfam

6. not a flaw but a feature, clark/zee

8. by halves, bruce, ollie

Date: 2013-03-27 12:44 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

Ollie helps Dick get past his fear of figging

Ollie/Dick, "Leaf and Vine"

Date: 2013-05-01 07:34 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
"How long has it been?" Dick asks, and Ollie removes his hand from Dick's plush ass, letting the cheek spring back to its natural position as juicy as a ripe peach. "Barely a second or two," Oliver tells him, even though when Dick raises up on an elbow to curl around and look, the older man isn't bothering to check his Patek Philippe.

"Lie still," Oliver instructs, giving the plump cushions below Dick's hips a tug, a straighten and a pat. They provide a comfortable and stimulating base, a contrast of satiny fabric and rougher embroidery against Dick's length, but more than that they serve as a way to lift and present his ass and set it as a centerpiece on display.

Oliver moves away from the bed to sit in one of the hotel suite chairs, completely out of Dick's line of sight. It's a switch from a few minutes ago, when he was standing next to the bed so Dick could watch as he deftly and swiftly took the thin skin off the prong of ginger, carved a groove into the exposed fibrous flesh to make it more of a plug. Touched it lightly to his tongue with a grunt of satisfaction before dragging the peeled plug against Dick's lower lip. The scent was fresh, peppery, a thick woodiness to the smear on his mouth as Ollie took it away, leaving only the aroma in the air.

It's been more than a second or two and Dick is ready to inquire again about it when he starts to feel a warmth between his firm cheeks. A slight glowing sensation, as if he's just been stretched, and then it starts to build. He hears the rustle of a newspaper (is Oliver not even watching?) and the older man informs him, "You should be feeling something about now."

"I think I am," Dick mumbles, folding his arms under his face so he can bite his bicep as the heat mounts. The sand-colored warmth is getting steadily more yellow, then orange, and Dick feels his hole contract on the plug of ginger. But it's not going anywhere, secured inside him by the shape of its carving. All he can do is squeeze and release, helplessly milking more of the thin fearsome liquid into the soft, sensitive inner channels of his body. "I can't...Ollie, please, I can't!..."

"Yes, you can." Oliver's voice is sonorous, somewhat detached, as if he's enjoying the show but has no desire to be part of it. As if Dick is...a circus performer, not to fall back on the obvious. There as a display, for the archer's voyeuristic pleasure.

Dick doesn't know if this idea angers or excites him. But then the sensation of the ginger moves through orange into red, and he throws his head back with a wail. "Please!" Dick begs, throat strained, his thighs tense as his pointed feet beat against the mattress. He reaches out blindly, fingers catching straggled in the curls of the wrought-iron headboard, and his hips raise and fall, humping against the cushions in a desperate attempt to escape.

"That's it, sweetheart," Oliver says, sounding pleased, and through the delirious haze of torment Dick realizes that his cock is rising, scraping along the embroidery and sliding across the satin of the cushion below him. He's still panting and moaning, but even he can hear the shift in the coloration of the sounds, from shocked to desperate, from protest to want.

Oliver finally puts down the newspaper and comes over to the bed. "Hold still," he says, and the words are hardly out before he's spreading his strong fingers over Dick's ass again, holding the cheeks open, and Dick feels a soothing cool drizzle of oil slip into his crack, along the edges of the plug of ginger. It makes the fire into something silkier and wetter, and as the oil winds down between his legs, he realizes that it's full of juice from the ginger. Oliver moves up to the head of the bed and detaches one of Dick's clinging hands, crossing it over the other at the wrist so when Dick's fingers cling again, there's the feeling and illusion of having his wrists bound together. The older man pushes the heel of his hand against Dick's back, under the shoulder blade, then trails the backs of his fingers down the groove of Dick's twisting spine.

"Keep moving," he murmurs, and Dick tosses his head in frustration because he's doing that, already. He can't stop rutting into the cushions and spreading his legs wider, smearing the scented oil around, hearing it drip onto the expensive sheets. "I want more oil," Dick gasps, and Oliver obligingly pours more onto him, more and more until Dick feels slick and wet as a sea lion and oil is lubricating his hole, his cock, his balls. The sheets will be ruined, the cushions definitely as his hard length pushes rudely against them.

Ollie hasn't sat down again and Dick feels the hand on his back turn, palm-down, and press firmly against the rise of his ass. "It won't do anything else now," the archer says, and takes hold of the ginger plug, wiggling it, rocking it and twisting it before pulling it out entirely. Dick gives a long, drawn-out groan and bows his back, ass raised and cock dug into the cushions. He's half-mad from sensation, the burning warm of the ginger combined with the cool soothing oil, the tickling heat receding into something more pleasant, more stimulating, spreading over his skin. And as much as the ginger plug had been a torment, now that it's gone he feels empty, his soft and opened hole waiting to be filled.

"So." Oliver reappears within Dick's sightline, and he tries to raise his head to look at the older man, but Ollie presses his head back down. All Dick can see is his midsection, still dressed in suit trousers and a pale blue shirt. "What did you think about your second time? With somebody who knows what they're doing?"

He licks his lips, pushing his ass out invitingly, flexing his fingers on the wrought iron like he can't remove them. Oliver is unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. "I think," Dick begins, then has to stop and turn his face against the mattress as a surge of the gingered warmth heats his insides, drips down his cock. "I think I don't give a fig for the first time, in comparison."

Oliver is still only midsection when Dick turns his head again, but he swears he can hear a smile in the man's voice when he says, "Atta boy." Then the older man shifts, down behind Dick, and Dick closes his eyes to imagine what it looks like when he feels two thick fingers sink inside him, eased by his soft, slick openness, testing and stretching before easing out. The cold metal of that expensive watch presses briefly against his thigh.

When Dick hears a belt being unbuckled, he licks his lips, and tastes the ginger there.

Re: Ollie/Dick, "Leaf and Vine"

Date: 2013-05-01 03:04 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
It's figging time! Love the descriptions of the heat by colors. This whole thing was definitely hot!



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