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Jul. 29th, 2004 | 01:00 pm
mood: hornyhorny
posted by: lord_alexander in monaboyd

Title: Seven Seconds
Author: Serpentis lord_alexander
Pairing: Billy/Dom. Oh so much Monaboyd herein
Rating: So NC17 it isn't funny any more
Summary: A man thinks about sex every seven seconds, according to statistics. Billy tries to prove this wrong, with no success whatsoever.
Disclaimer: Not even the porn film in this is mine *sulk*
Feedback: I like it like iguanas like sea diving
Author's Notes: This is the most sexually explicit story I've ever written because, shockingly, it is all about sex. No plot for me, no sir. Just PWP written from one of those interesting thought processly ways that I love, and written for the lotrpschallenge number 15 - the Sex Challenge. So I warn you there is wanking, and porn, and thoughts about food, and actual shagging, in glorious technicolour detail courtesy of WETA.

*grins*


A man thinks about sex every seven seconds.

Billy’s always wondered about this, as if that is the case how does anyone get anything done? If copulation occupies the male human mind to such an extent, how did Einstein think of the Theory of Relativity? Shouldn’t that be the Theory of Women’s Knockers? The Theory of Nice Arse Shame About the Face? Something like that? If coitus is such an occupying force, surely everyone would be off wanking at least four time as day?

He tries then not to think about sex for over seven seconds. One...Two...thinking about sex. That doesn’t work because he’s thinking about sex so he can not think about sex. Trying not to think about it means that it is the occupying force in his mind. A little like the German invasion of Austria in 1938.

Sex is Anschluss.

So he tries again. One...two...three...four...pretty daisies...five...daisies, thinking of daisies, not sex and arsewankfuckbollockingballs! There he goes again. It is impossibly not to think of sex.

He’s sure he doesn’t when he’s reading, or watching a film with Dom...actually, watching a film with Dom makes him think about it because hell, it’s Dom for fuck’s sake. He’s a walking cock magnet. All tight arse and jeans that stay on with the power of the mind – not his own mind, because if Billy was in charge of his friend’s jeans he wouldn’t be wearing them and that’s a fact. But that’s beside the point. Billy knows that there are long periods where he doesn’t think about bending his best friend over and doing him on the settee/bath/public transport/horse/top of the Eiffel Tower. Long Dom-free periods full of non-sexy thoughts. Nunnish thoughts, like puppies and food and Dom eating and dropping baked beans down his naked chest and Billy licking them off and making the excuse that a nipple covered in sauce looks like food and here let me suck that for you no I don’t say that to all the boys and...arses!

Even swearing makes him think of sex. So much bad language is pure filth. Arse. Bollocks. Balls. Cunt. Well, scratch the cunt. Or don’t, impolite in public there, so bad. Or the words are to do with the act themselves. Fuck. Wank. Screw you. Or Dom. Or the other way round, Billy’s not fussy, he’s happy to switch if the occasion calls for it.

Maybe taking his mind off it will make him not think about sex, but he’s not sure. Only something like Margaret Thatcher’s autobiography could do that, and Billy’s very sure he doesn’t own a copy of that. Reading would be good, he’ll have a little read, everything will be fine then. But his books aren’t promising that. All he needs is a tome lacking in any sort of sexuality at all, but that small request, that simple tiny plea isn’t being answered. Even Shakespeare’s dripping with shagging. All these ‘nests of spicery,’ and ‘potato fingers.’ How can that stuff be taught in schools? It’s filthy.

So, reading’s out. Food, maybe? But then food also has sexual overtones. The act of eating, of licking fingers and lips, of gobbling down items like sausages and corn on the cob and noodle soup. Billy’s not so sure why noodle soup has this erotic allure, but at the moment everything is making him so turned on that it’s difficult to think of anything else.

All he needs is a good wank, then. Get all those little tadpoles into the open, and he can go back to being sex-free and perfectly normal.

*****

Lesbian Biker Leather Bikini Vampire Babes From The Planet X Part II: When Vibrators Attack! is a connoisseur’s taste and a damned good film. Naked girls. Naked girls cavorting with other naked girls, with added bad Hammer Horror plot and gratuitous frisking on the balmy beaches of Bognor Regis. Naked sandy wet bike-riding girls doing each other with strap ons. As far away from one Dominic Monaghan as physically possible. No boys here, than you very much. Just buxom butch vampire wenches in black leather bras and their lipstick wearing prey. What more can you ask for in a film?

Lube is Billy’s friend. He likes it, it likes him, it’s a beautiful partnership. When he was younger he did experiment with different things like olive oil, or butter – that was after a hard day’s night of watching Last Tango in Paris - but he always comes back to that nice neat little tube of KY. So handy. Olive oil feels good but is a bastard to get off the soft furnishings. Butter runs and reminds him of naked and overweight Marlon Brando as opposed to slim and sexy and ambiguously sexed Marlon Brando. A shame for all, especially Billy’s cock.

Perky cock now, as the butch red-haired lesbian with the nice line in corsetry is doing bad things to the nicely plump girl with the dark bob on her motorbike. With added strap-on goodness. Oh yeah, that’s it baby, you use those cobbled streets to your advantage...

All lubed up and feeling rather frisky, Billy lets his hand do the talking, down the length of his penis, then back up. A nice, firm action, not going to go out of fashion for a long time, that one. Then, he adds a little twist of his wrist, a neat little wriggle, oh and that’s even better, that is. He can go on like this for hours. Naked. In front of the telly. Lesbians banging each other for his own pleasure.

Not thinking of Dom at all, see him not thinking of one scruffy and sexy Mancunian with a sexy voice and sexy eyes and...bugger.

Fixing on the girls, liking the way the brunette’s unfeasibly large (but natural, none of that silicone line) bosom jiggles as she’s getting it. Nice girls. Soft girls with breasts and hips and soft sucking mouths, and blue eyes laughing up into his as a scratch of stubble against his inner thigh almost send him into orbit.

This isn’t funny.

This is made even more less funny, somewhere on the scale of the average Adam Sandler film, when a boot nudges Billy’s thigh.

Oh fuck.

*****

Dom’s there, damn him, and Billy’s gone the colour of mouldy cheese, a sort of stiltonny complexion that doesn’t suit him all that well to be honest. Sure he looks good in grey, but as a skintone it is most unflattering. Dom’s there, and Billy’s wondering how he can get out of this one alive. The lie that he could say – that he accidentally fell over, and this was in the video and left by someone else and it turned on, and that wasn’t lube but moisturiser and he was just rubbing it in – wouldn’t really wash. Especially as Dom’s laughing, all white teeth and wide grin and eyes warm like the Aegean.

Unfortunately that look has an effect on Little Billy, who perks right up. The poor mite had wilted with shock when registering that Dom of the Cute Arse was standing there, but now he’s excitable and ready to burst with it.

Not sure what to do, Billy does the only thing he can think of. He offers Dom a seat.

Curses on his natural politeness!

*****

At least Dom shakes his head, which makes the erstwhile hero of the endeavour hope that his delicious and perfect and edible friend will just bugger off and leave him to die in a pool of semen and embarrassment. What Billy doesn’t count on is that Dom will unbutton those jeans (comfortably loose, faded, kept up by a prayer by a God that Billy doesn’t think should exists when it comes to jeans) and plop onto the carpet next to him, grinning, making a comment about the brunette’s tits that are still bouncing and jiggling like two plates of jelly having a fist fight. Because that’s what the Mancunian does, and it stuns Billy into gaping. He’s guppy-like. He’s like a smited smollet. There hasn’t been so much shock since some German bloke in Spain wired his cock into the mains and gave himself a heart attack.

And then he asks for lube! Obviously he’s making himself comfortable, whipping his willy out, Billy not staring, not at all, indeed he’s just looking at the smooth patch of skin above Dom’s cock, all pale and lickable and looking as if it’ll taste of mint.

Fumbling the tube over, the Scotsman goes back to looking at lesbian action.

At least the lesbians haven’t got any lickable looking patches over their cocks. Concentrate on the women, Billy remonstrates. Look at the curves and the wet lips and eyes rolling back with pleasure and that tiny little cry Dom’s giving as he strokes himself. Fuck this for a game of soldiers. How the hell can he concentrate on frolicking Sapphic delights when there’s something a little more Alexandrian happening right in his own mind? Actually, no, Billy’s a little too tall for the conqueror of the known world, and Hephestaeon or however the fuck it’s said was definitely eunuch-like. And with that nice looking erection all perky Dominic’s not really going for the no bollocks thing there.

Shite, staring at His Domness again.

Back to the women. The redhead and the brunette are covered in blood and he’s a bit worried about that but then he remembers that these butch leather-bikini babes from the Planet X are vampires, so that’s perfectly fine. But then if they are vampires, they really are messy. Billy’d play far less with his food. Smearing all the redness over overly rounded breasts, and cutely rounded tummy, and turning ivory skin scarlet looks pretty, but then where’s the nutritional value? It’s a waste of good blood. Even if it all gets licked up, there would be splashes that would escape. If Billy went for ripping out someone’s jugular and drinking their blood, he’d carry a drip bucket, and a napkin. None of the unnecessary mess.

But the licking is good, mind. The licking is nice and he’s wondering what being licked all over would be like. He’s into being touched, and stroked, and caressed, is Billy. A petting thing, perhaps. Foreplay, after all, is almost as good as shagging. And to have someone slowly running their tongue over his chest, down the trail leading from his navel to his groin...

A weight on his thigh, and he jumps, wide eyed, as Dom stares up at him, grinning. Really making himself comfortable, now, sprawled out on the floor, jeans pushed around his knees, one hand twisting over the foreskin and the other coddling his balls. Gaping, Billy tries to stop almost leering, switching his gaze to Dom’s eyes. In making himself much more at home, the Mancunian has made it so that Billy’s frozen. Popsicle Bill. Like a fucking cartoon character. His hand’s stilled on his prick, he’s tensed, and there is eye contact not broken as Dom shivers all over, fist pumping.

How the fuck can he not look now? When there’s all these meaningful looks between green and blue, when Dom’s laying there, sprawled and edible and open for Billy to see? When his friend’s eyes leave his own and trail along the length of the Scotsman’s cock and he salivates? Wide lush mouth a little damp, tongue licking over the cushion of his lower lip, the teasingly over the upper, before another of those shudders of pleasure and Dom’s eyes close and lips part wider in a soundless gasp.

Christ all mighty. Here. With Dom. Naked. And now Billy’s hand moves like it is possessed – he’s fairly sure he’s not moving it because he feels numb all over, like he’s shot to the eyeballs with novocaine. Some phantom is stroking his own hand over his own throbbing prick in perfect synch with Dom, and if he closes his eyes, Billy can feel his own hand on his best friend’s cock, Dom’s hand on his. Perfect. Sweet perfect wanking in metronomic time to each other.

A grip around his wrist stills the crescendo of movement, just as that tingle in his stomach moves a little lower and into his balls.

Dom looks up at him, eyes like blue fire, and then pounces.

Oof!

Okay, change of angle here! Billy’s never noticed his ceiling has quite the most obscene Artex whorls on it. As he’s making that strange and detached decision to have something done about it, a grinning face hoves into view like the Queen Mary, looking down at him with a tumble of strangely dyed hair and the squashed features of a demonic jelly baby. The way they have fallen means that half of Billy is wedged against the settee, and the other half in the space between the sofa and the table, so, in fact, he’s trapped. A Scotsman in the wicked trap of an Englishman, and for some reason everything starts feeling like Braveheart.

You may take my body but you’ll never take my freedom!

The cry confuses Dom, who frowns, shaking his head as Billy is tickled pink, snorting, trying to contain the mirth. All he needs is some woad, and his kilt, and a fuck-off sword. But if he’s Wallace, then Dom must be Edward Ist...no, the second. Though he’s fairly sure that William, the Scourge of the English, wasn’t a raving poof with a fine line in buggery, he’s positive that the son of the Hammer was. Raving nancy of a king, that one.

Dom wriggles back, searching blindly with a hand for something and leaves Billy’s available viewpoint, and he’s able to finally think about what the hell’s going on. Half hour ago he was merely a bloke with a crush on another...no. He was a bloke with a major hard on for another. Much better, much more truthful my lad. And now? Half hour has passed and he’s naked and wedged between some furniture, with the aforementioned lust object happily being lusty. And. FUCK! COLD!

Bloody Dominic and bloody sodding cold fucking arsecunting cold lubricant. Okay, sure, the cold’s kind of sexy he thinks, shivering, skin over his body pimpling as his nipples pucker into surprised hardness. But not without frigging warning! And what about kissing but...Jesus. Dom’s got a finger in him and he’s buggered if Dom hasn’t done this before the sly bastard. He’s doing it well, like Billy’s seen in those gay porn films he accidentally bought and then accidentally watched over half a dozen times each on pure accident, of course. Nothing strange there, mate, move along. So he’s being finger fucked, and really nicely, with lots of lube so the friction’s nice and not making him climb the walls. That’s a good start, that is.

More movement, the sound of the carpet being crawled over, and Dom Looms. Capital letters. He Looms like some great sexy crooked-faced beast and grins. Billy, caught between rapture and squirming like an impaled fish, replies with one his smiles, and the blue eyes flicker. Just a little. Nothing too noticeable, really, and then the Scotsman’s aware that Dom does taste of mint.

It’s a tiny kiss, that first one. A mere brushing of lips in a tormenting manner, Billy growling in his frustration and trying to communicate through his look and mouth the desperation of this situation. That mere tease of minty promise, from some chewing gum or something, and then another. Deeper now, though still nothing as advanced as tongues, slowly building up to where Billy parts his pretty little mouth and Dom follows suit. Oh bliss. Oh joy and rapture. The mint is stronger, and he’s panting and gasping into the increasingly passionate melting of lips, and then tongue. Just a little. A flicker over the tip of his and then Billy can’t cope any more because it isn’t fucking fair because the bastard’s playing with him and he tangles his fingers in Dom’s fashionable hair, drawing him into a moaning and sucking and biting kiss. Teeth rake down his tongue gently as Dom tries to capture it, a giggle building in Billy’s chest before it is chased away by that delicious miniature blow job that his tongue’s receiving, and he’s going wild, thrusting and grinding and not even realising there are two fingers embedded in him.

He lost his reasoning at the taste of mint at the side of Dom’s tongue, and he’s just on some sort of plane now, almost watching himself. Things like this don’t happen to Billy. Things like tax happens, or small acting jobs in obscure films, or kilts. All that stuff happens. Being snogged and sucked and probed doesn’t happen; it happens to sexy and attractive men with full heads of hair and huge cocks the size of salami. Not short hobbity types from Glasgow but fuck, if it isn’t happening, it’s a brilliant, beautiful dream, and he’s not going to wake up.

The fingers pull away, as does Dom, and to Billy’s eternal shame he whimpers. Like a bloody girl. Jesus, if he was any more wet he’d be Daryl Hannah and starring in Splash. But Dom’s fucked off and that’s not a finger.

Okay. It hurts. It hurts more than watching that sadomasochistic video with the evil machine made by Nine Inch Nails. It’s like someone taking a blowtorch and welding his arsehole with liquid solder. Fuck. Huge. Fucking hell. Dom’s back into view, petting his face and sweating and his cheeks red with effort as Billy grits his teeth and concentrates on trying to count sheep. Little gay leather-sheep with bright blue eyes and cheeky grins, the little bastards. And then inching out, which drags with friction but the lube is helping a wee bit and there are kisses. Little tiny ones that are like queer moths, landing and taking off, over his mouth and chin and down onto his throat. Right there, right on the hammering pulse at the base of his throat.

Weird detachment is settling on him like a blanket, warm and fuzzy, and another thrust in, and then another, and Billy’s arching up mindlessly, flexing and saying nothing that makes sense but is babbling all the same. His cock is crushed between them, massaged by the damp skin of both of their stomachs and it feels so good. So good, and so fucking right that he’s swallowing air to try and keep himself from coming and thinking about those little gay sheep that have Dom’s annoyingly grinning face. The reality when he focuses is that his friend is pinker, and gasping, and slightly frog-like in the throws of sex. The laughter bubbles, dissolving as soon as it reaches his throat, over and over, following the rhythm. Sweat means their bodies make strange noises, suction and vacuum between their chests and stomachs, and he’s laughing properly now, high pitched and hysteric, and so is Dom, before their mouths meld and stay like that. At least Billy’s able to breathe through his nose, shaking gasps that make his head spin even more than it is.

And then he’s coming, shameful ecstasy because Dom isn’t and he’s so premature bloody hell! Embarrassment twisted together with climax and the only word he can scream is Dom, and it is swallowed by his friend’s...no...lover’s mouth. Lover now. They’ve screwed, it’s lover even if this is a dream or one time, and he’s limp, like week old celery, apart from his clenching arse and Dom wriggling and fucking and thrusting still into his own messy and screeched climax. The scream almost blasts Billy’s eardrums to smithereens, and if he wasn’t so shattered and unable to do anything, he’d wince.

He’s heavy, is the bastard, soaking wet and knackered and sliding down until he’s out of Billy and not touching him, and it’s like a slap in the face with a wet haddock. No cuddles. Fucking men. Always the same. Shagging and turning over, well, not that Billy’d know, what with that being the first time ever apart from his own fingers and various sex toys that he’s treated himself to over the years. Never in a gay way though. Just exploring his masculinity. Honest guv, that’d stand up in court, Bible swearing and all.

Something grabs his ankles and drags the prone and shagged-out Scotsman forward, and he gives a little groan as the skin is burned from his backside by the treacherous carpet, but then it is made a little better by a skull pressing against his ribs and an arm around his waist.

On the telly, there is nothing, only static. But it’s on, and the law is that when the telly is on, you watch it, even if snow blizzards are the only thing on, and he’s transfixed in his exhaustion. The black and white trails, and the dark roots of Dom’s hair, and the laboured panting of his own breathing.

Every day has eighty six thousand four hundred seconds, he thinks, that sounds about right though his mind is grumbling as he makes it do the mathematics. If a man thinks about sex every seven seconds, he thinks about it, on average, for twelve thousand three hundred and forty three seconds, give or take a decimal point and rounding up. That’s about three and a quarter hours of the day, thinking about sex. A long time. And he’s been thinking about sex, and doing sex, which is the same thing, for about fifty eight minutes. So that means he has about two hours and ten minutes of sexual thinking left in the day to look forward to.

Billy blinks and wonders if gay porn films have the same effect on Dom as lesbian ones.

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Comments {90}

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Katja

(no subject)

from: thelinus
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 07:19 am (UTC)
Link

*cheers and pants*

that was so very funny, and even more hot. mmmhmmmm.

*ded*

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:45 am (UTC)
Link

*fans you with a leaf. A small one*

You remind me of my Jack Russell.

*grins*

Reply | Parent | Thread

Owen

(no subject)

from: theboysgonehome
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 08:20 am (UTC)
Link

ilshfblzSIhdvL:AIorfg ;AOjdgb;sifyvgbdfkb!!

Jesus. Christ.

I love it! I love the way you throw in the random phrases (Popsicle Billy) and the like (the sheep!). And, of course, teh hotness.

Mmhmmm. Verah hot.

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:47 am (UTC)
Link

I'm not really Jesus, I only look like him sometimes.

*grins*

So going to hell there...

Reply | Parent | Thread

Mrs. Dominic Monaghan

(no subject)

from: mc_honky
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 09:46 am (UTC)
Link

Hot. And Funny. And Hot.

"...and to Billy’s eternal shame he whimpers. Like a bloody girl. Jesus, if he was any more wet he’d be Daryl Hannah and starring in Splash."

Greatest line EVER. Oh this was wonderful...and hot. I'm not sure if I've voiced how hot this was...but well, it's hot.

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:52 am (UTC)
Link

After that I started getting bunnies about Tom Hanks/Billy, and then it went into Big, and I had to stop in case I got accused of paedophilia.

Reply | Parent | Thread

WTB [WANG] x1 PST

(no subject)

from: cool_like_dom
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 09:49 am (UTC)
Link

*applause*

funniest smut ever. and you still managed to keep it hot. cheers to you.

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:52 am (UTC)
Link

The icon! Argh!

*dies*

I had one of Brian/Curt in bed, and I lost it. Dammit.

Reply | Parent | Thread

misstrixi

(no subject)

from: misstrixi
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 10:28 am (UTC)
Link

This isn’t funny.

Oh, I beg to differ ;)
And hot too, what more could one want?

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:54 am (UTC)
Link

An island in the Caribbean so I can have my evul SMERSH lair. Death to spies and all that jazz. Time there was a female Bond villain who wrote gay porn and showed him what him and Alec really got up to in Goldeneye.

Reply | Parent | Thread | Expand

Stace

(no subject)

from: magikalcrab
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 10:40 am (UTC)
Link

*dribbles and dies*


Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:54 am (UTC)
Link

Please don't die? I love my readers.

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a cat-like creature - almost human

(no subject)

from: tigertale7
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 11:37 am (UTC)
Link

Trying not to think about it means that it is the occupying force in his mind. A little like the German invasion of Austria in 1938. Sex is Anschluss.

Best pwp lines EVER!!

This cracked me up and made me squirm at the same time. Lovely. Thank you.

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:55 am (UTC)
Link

It gave me plotbunnies, and I've got another AU on the go at the moment involving Dom in uniform. German uniform. Circa 1941. Ah, nice.

Reply | Parent | Thread

Krystal Shay

(no subject)

from: krystalshay
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 11:42 am (UTC)
Link

hot and dirty, just the way I like my monaboyd...

::fans self::

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 06:57 am (UTC)
Link

*fans with ostrich feathers*

Reply | Parent | Thread

the ever-cynical uber-fangirl

(no subject)

from: melody2tds
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 01:14 pm (UTC)
Link

massive giggle fic this is. and VERY hot. but i was even giggling during the hot parts. wonderful!

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:00 am (UTC)
Link

Sex is funny. Think about it - it is ridiculous.

Reply | Parent | Thread

Never give up; it's such a wonderful life.

(no subject)

from: rane_ab
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 01:40 pm (UTC)
Link

Very hot, oh yes. *cheers you on*

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:02 am (UTC)
Link

*dances to the cheers and looks like Xander from Buffy. Scooby Dancin'*

Reply | Parent | Thread

charlottemay

(no subject)

from: charlottemay
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 02:12 pm (UTC)
Link

and for some reason everything starts feeling like Braveheart.

You may take my body but you’ll never take my freedom!


LOL!! You even managed to get historical references into a PWP! :-) I adore your 'stream of consciousness' way of writing - it completely cracks me up. I particularly liked the fact that there was no dialogue in this whatsoever.

Brilliant. Good luck with the challenge. :-)

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:06 am (UTC)
Link

...*whispers* it's cos I'm crap at dialogue...

Reply | Parent | Thread | Expand

Hello I'm Cindy Raaum :D

** thud**

from: crsty1961
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 03:02 pm (UTC)
Link

This person has officially spontaneously burst into flame, and will not be able to offer intelligent feedback for some time!

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

Re: ** thud**

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:07 am (UTC)
Link

*does cool fire-extinguisher thing on you and throws foam all over the place*

Reply | Parent | Thread

Malin

(no subject)

from: thewayforwards
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 03:05 pm (UTC)
Link

so incredible funny and hot!
Good work!
-- Malin

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:08 am (UTC)
Link

Thank you!

Reply | Parent | Thread

blue bird sitting on my windowsill

(no subject)

from: kashmir1
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 07:04 pm (UTC)
Link

Best. Smut. Ever. EVER!

*adds to memories so she can read over and over and over...*

And this? "Shite, staring at His Domness again."

Kee-rist! I love that! Should be made into an icon.

Just... guh.

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:09 am (UTC)
Link

One day there will be one, when I can make the laptop with the pics on work...gah, stupid thing!

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Fantastically Irreverent

(no subject)

from: ali_jayne
date: Jul. 29th, 2004 08:48 pm (UTC)
Link

Fucking. Hell.

Yeah. Erm. Right.

*points to icon*

Reply | Thread

Serpentis

(no subject)

from: lord_alexander
date: Aug. 2nd, 2004 07:15 am (UTC)
Link

Wake up!

*shakes you*

You can't die!

Reply | Parent | Thread