FICLET: Castaways
Hey! I'm still not really here! But I wanted to do a fic-I-wrote-this-year post, at like, the end of the year, and I wanted to include this little bitlet and for organizing purposes wanted it to have it's own post. So, you may or may not have already read it. It originally appeared in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
entrenous88's hot hot hot! thread, where she asked for ficlets about characters dealing with the heat. Different feeling in winter, I guess! Also, I gave it a title and edited.
Title: Castaways
Length: Short!
Rating: NC-17! Please mind.
Summary: Connor/Wesley!
Burnt and sweating, hot and tired, they could hear the ocean. “We could go in the water,” Wesley said. “Cool off.”
“Not that hot.” Voice, too young and tender, scratched like the sand on the bare boards of the abandoned boat house.
“Just for a little while.”
“I said no.”
“We could just go out,” Wesley pressed. “Sit on the shore. Better than cooped up in here, no breeze.”
“You’re that fucking hot, strip.”
“I just thought we could go in the water,” Wesley faltered.
“You want to?” Long limbs unfolding, coming toward him in a wave, the sea in his eyes. “I’ll show you.”
Hot lips on Wesley’s, coral precious in his mouth, tongue grainy and hot--made that voice like sand, Wesley remembered again. “First, sweet,” it said, sipping up the beads of sweat on Wesley’s sunburnt temple, wet and secret, like the inside of a clam, ready to snap shut, claim you and destroy you. Whisper like a seashell in his ear, “Then I call you Daddy.”
“Yes,” Wesley guttered, dry mouth, the wet and sand and heat crashing down to his crotch. Then he was turned around, slammed face first into the wall, bank of him giving into the breaker at his back. He was whimpering as his pants were pulled down past his ass, as rough, long fingers were suddenly inside him, too dry.
“I get your trust. Then I fuck you from behind.” The voice at his throat was stinging on the sunburn, small red pinches. “That’s how I get in the water.”
“I saved him,” Wesley protested.
“You didn’t save me. How about you get on that?” He’d damned him, Wesley thought, as the pain entered him, and he accepted it, welcomed it, drowned in it, this hot hell he had made for himself.
Connor might develop a tan. Wesley would always burn.
anxious
