Fic: Trichomania
Jan. 25th, 2007 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mad_andyAs I know a lot of people on the Flist aren't Rockfic members, I thought I'd stick a few pieces on my journal for them to peruse, should they want to. If you're not a member and you like it, then I would heartily recommend getting a membership because there's lots and lots of awesome stories on the archive - even if slash isn't your thing, it's worth getting a year's membership!
Title: Trichomania
Fandom: Gamma Ray
Pairing: Dirk/Dan
Rating: Slash, NC17 (whatever that means. There's grown up activities involving willies and lube, anyway.)
Disclaimer: Although this tale features characters that share an awful lot of characteristics with the individuals who go to make up the featured rock band, it isn't them. I'm fully aware of that fact; they're completely their own people, and this is a fantasy based on their stage personas, interviews and other material in the public domain. No malice or impeachment is intended to the band, their families, friends, management companies or anyone else involved with them in any way, shape or form. No money is being made from this tale, it's written purely for the enjoyment of the author...and her readers.
It's fiction. Enjoy it as such.
Summary: Dirk teases, Dan suffers.
Trichomania
Dan had never seen anyone take quite so damn long working on their hair. Not Henjo with that unruly mop of fuzz, not Kai on those loose curls - although he was more often to be found grumbling about the way there was less every day - not even the two delightfully pretty Finns had lavished so much attention on their (admittedly gorgeous) locks.
So he lounged on his bed, naked but for his jeans after his own shower, tried to look like he was reading his magazine, and covertly watched Dirk with the ceramic straighteners, brushes and various bottles of hair products that he carted around.
Brush out a gleaming light brown lock, still darkened almost to chocolate from the shower, work on it with a succession of combs from the end back to the root. Once it rolled fluid under those long fingers - he’d run it through them a few times to make sure that there were no knots or rough places - then he’d put some kind of conditioner on it, smooth that through; at least, Dan thought it was conditioner. He’d never thought to ask.
His attention was grabbed back by the next stage in the long process. The straighteners had been lying on the desk, heating up; Dirk was perched on the edge of it, naked but for the towel around his waist, surrounded by bottles and cans that held all the - stuff - that he used. He picked up the tongs, and began to run them along the smooth, clean, conditioned strand, the ceramic surfaces stroking the ropes that gleamed with health, warming them and removing the natural waves to leave them straight and glossy.
The scent of warm, clean hair began to tickle Dan’s nose, and he tried very hard to focus on his magazine. It wasn’t working; he kept sneaking quick peeks, enthralled by the smooth fall of light brown that trembled in the half-light of the room.
Now the brush, and the broad paddle made the slow trip from root to tip, the light following the bristles as they made their way through the newly-straightened mass. He turned, slipped from the desk; now he stood in front of the mirror, and Dan got to watch the muscles along that straight spine and across those shoulders flex and bunch, the arm turned to bring the paddle along and through and down, along and through and down.
Torture.
The movement slowed, and Dan found himself watching a private porn show; Dirk may not have realised it, but Dan had a real... thing... for hair.
Dirk swayed in front of the mirror, each brushstroke languorous and slow, eyes heavy lidded; the skin of his chest was still moist from his shower, warm and clean just like the rest of him, and it too threw back the light in a wicked sheen of lustful imagining. He canted his eyes sideways, caught Dan’s gaze reflected in the mirror - and then he smiled, a slow twist of one side of his mouth that became a sly smirk, a teasing response to the heat he saw in his friend’s green eyes.
That was it. Dan was on his feet and across the room in two quick strides, wrapped that sinfully smooth hair around one fist and plucked the brush from Dirk’s hand with the other; one good pull and the other man was arched against him, throat vibrating as he swallowed but still with that wicked glint in those half-closed eyes.
Dan bit at the exposed skin on the side of Dirk’s neck, pulled the handful of hair to his face and nuzzled it with a growl.
“You fucking tease,” he muttered, and was rewarded with a breathless little laugh.
“I wondered how long you’d be able to just sit there and watch.”
Still making those deep, rough sounds in his throat Dan dragged Dirk across the room - the other man losing his towel on the way - and used the fistful of smooth, soft hair to force him down on the bed. Dirk let him do it, making sure to keep just enough pressure on to pull, not enough to hurt; he was relishing this as much as Dan, if the hard cock was anything to go by.
Dan could feel the uncomfortable tightness at the front of his jeans, and shifted so that his crotch was in front of Dirk’s face - never letting up on his grip in all that wonderful, smooth, clean mass of hair.
He didn’t need to be asked, and Dan felt long fingers pluck at his belt, his buttons and his zip - then the jeans were pushed down and his hand was tugged forward as Dirk leaned in to lick the head of his cock. He arched, gasped; eyes squeezed shut he beat out a tattoo of frustration on his thigh with the hairbrush that he still held. Dirk licked up and along the prick that trembled in front of his face, and grinned.
“I can think of something else you can do with that brush,” he said, and Dan almost broke his neck when he kicked off his jeans and got on the bed behind him.
And Holy shit, but who would have known that Dirk could howl so prettily when the flat of a hairbrush was applied to that behind? He arched and wailed and spread his legs, head still confined by Dan’s death grip on his hair, but the rest of his body? No, that writhed and rubbed against Dan’s skin, the bedcovers, anything to stimulate, to excite.
Dan stopped, his breath coming in thick, hard pants; he was so hard he thought he just might die, but he was having far too much fun to just fuck and fall asleep. There must be something--
His eye fell on the handle of the hairbrush, still lying across his palm.
It had a rounded handle.
He grinned, and leaned forward to nuzzle the back of Dirk’s neck, whisper a suggestion in his ear; the laugh he got in reply was enthusiastic and delighted, and both men scrambled for the nearest open bag which held something - anything - that could be pressed into service as lube.
Dan won (his bag was nearest), and he dragged his captive back on to the bed once more, wielding the tube with a wicked flourish.
“Lube!”
“Pervert.”
“Says the guy getting off on having his hair pulled.”
Dirk just laughed, and pushed himself flat on the bed, thighs spread and head tilted back to ease the tugging on his head. Dan had to let go for a moment, which brought a whine from further up the bed; he smacked the presented arse once, sharply, which made Dirk hiss and wriggle with anticipation.
Which was nothing to what he did when - Dan’s fingers once more tangled in his sweat-soaked mane - the handle of the brush nudged, poked, then pushed past the obstruction of his ring, and began to ease inside of him. Dan had to use his greater weight to pin him to the bed, tangle their legs together, cover that mouth that spilled excited obscenities with his own before he woke up the rest of the hotel, let alone the rest of the floor.
He worked the handle in and out, Dirk bucking beneath him, eyes rolled up into his head, lost in the sensations of pain and pleasure that the combination of pulled hair and carefully-applied hairbrush were bringing him. The sting of his slapped arse was even sharper under the heat of Dan’s body, pushing him down, holding him almost still against the cheap coverlet of the hotel bed. He groaned when the brush was removed - gently, sliding from him with no more than a twinge of regret - then drew in a great gasp when something thicker, hotter, heavier replaced it, inched in and drew back, advanced in careful steps until he felt balls press to his arse.
And then Dan yanked his hair like reins, lifted his head back until his spine formed a snakelike arch, and began to ride him hard.
With all the foreplay it was no surprise that neither man lasted long. Dan threw his hips forward, his last thrusts hard enough to drive Dirk along the bed, his neck forced into an ever sharper angle from the drag on his scalp; he shrieked and came, the shots splashing as high as Dan’s pillow, spurting from beneath his body where he arched back and tried to force more of his skin into contact with Dan’s, ease the sweet yank on his hair.
They collapsed, face down, panting.
Dan felt an elbow poke at his ribs, and rolled over; his cock came free from Dirk’s arse with a soft noise, a trail of come sliding along the crease of his thigh when he wriggled for the loss of the prick that had filled him so well. He curled into Dan’s chest, and sighed deeply; it was a contented sound, and made Dan smile. That, he thought, was a well-fucked sound, and if he had the energy to lift his head he had no doubt that the other man would be wearing a well-fucked expression to go with it.
“You smug bastard,” murmured Dirk, sleepy.
Dan just grinned, then gave Dirk a gentle shake.
“What?”
“I messed up your hair, right?”
“No shit,” growled the drowsy voice.
“So you’ll have to do it again in the morning, won’t you?”
The only answer he got was a pinch to his stomach, and a somnolent growl from somewhere in the region of his chest. Dan let his face settle into the smirk it had been wanting to assume for quite some time now, and let himself drift.
Yes, hair porn; he couldn’t get enough of it.
~~Fin~~
Title: Trichomania
Fandom: Gamma Ray
Pairing: Dirk/Dan
Rating: Slash, NC17 (whatever that means. There's grown up activities involving willies and lube, anyway.)
Disclaimer: Although this tale features characters that share an awful lot of characteristics with the individuals who go to make up the featured rock band, it isn't them. I'm fully aware of that fact; they're completely their own people, and this is a fantasy based on their stage personas, interviews and other material in the public domain. No malice or impeachment is intended to the band, their families, friends, management companies or anyone else involved with them in any way, shape or form. No money is being made from this tale, it's written purely for the enjoyment of the author...and her readers.
It's fiction. Enjoy it as such.
Summary: Dirk teases, Dan suffers.
Dan had never seen anyone take quite so damn long working on their hair. Not Henjo with that unruly mop of fuzz, not Kai on those loose curls - although he was more often to be found grumbling about the way there was less every day - not even the two delightfully pretty Finns had lavished so much attention on their (admittedly gorgeous) locks.
So he lounged on his bed, naked but for his jeans after his own shower, tried to look like he was reading his magazine, and covertly watched Dirk with the ceramic straighteners, brushes and various bottles of hair products that he carted around.
Brush out a gleaming light brown lock, still darkened almost to chocolate from the shower, work on it with a succession of combs from the end back to the root. Once it rolled fluid under those long fingers - he’d run it through them a few times to make sure that there were no knots or rough places - then he’d put some kind of conditioner on it, smooth that through; at least, Dan thought it was conditioner. He’d never thought to ask.
His attention was grabbed back by the next stage in the long process. The straighteners had been lying on the desk, heating up; Dirk was perched on the edge of it, naked but for the towel around his waist, surrounded by bottles and cans that held all the - stuff - that he used. He picked up the tongs, and began to run them along the smooth, clean, conditioned strand, the ceramic surfaces stroking the ropes that gleamed with health, warming them and removing the natural waves to leave them straight and glossy.
The scent of warm, clean hair began to tickle Dan’s nose, and he tried very hard to focus on his magazine. It wasn’t working; he kept sneaking quick peeks, enthralled by the smooth fall of light brown that trembled in the half-light of the room.
Now the brush, and the broad paddle made the slow trip from root to tip, the light following the bristles as they made their way through the newly-straightened mass. He turned, slipped from the desk; now he stood in front of the mirror, and Dan got to watch the muscles along that straight spine and across those shoulders flex and bunch, the arm turned to bring the paddle along and through and down, along and through and down.
Torture.
The movement slowed, and Dan found himself watching a private porn show; Dirk may not have realised it, but Dan had a real... thing... for hair.
Dirk swayed in front of the mirror, each brushstroke languorous and slow, eyes heavy lidded; the skin of his chest was still moist from his shower, warm and clean just like the rest of him, and it too threw back the light in a wicked sheen of lustful imagining. He canted his eyes sideways, caught Dan’s gaze reflected in the mirror - and then he smiled, a slow twist of one side of his mouth that became a sly smirk, a teasing response to the heat he saw in his friend’s green eyes.
That was it. Dan was on his feet and across the room in two quick strides, wrapped that sinfully smooth hair around one fist and plucked the brush from Dirk’s hand with the other; one good pull and the other man was arched against him, throat vibrating as he swallowed but still with that wicked glint in those half-closed eyes.
Dan bit at the exposed skin on the side of Dirk’s neck, pulled the handful of hair to his face and nuzzled it with a growl.
“You fucking tease,” he muttered, and was rewarded with a breathless little laugh.
“I wondered how long you’d be able to just sit there and watch.”
Still making those deep, rough sounds in his throat Dan dragged Dirk across the room - the other man losing his towel on the way - and used the fistful of smooth, soft hair to force him down on the bed. Dirk let him do it, making sure to keep just enough pressure on to pull, not enough to hurt; he was relishing this as much as Dan, if the hard cock was anything to go by.
Dan could feel the uncomfortable tightness at the front of his jeans, and shifted so that his crotch was in front of Dirk’s face - never letting up on his grip in all that wonderful, smooth, clean mass of hair.
He didn’t need to be asked, and Dan felt long fingers pluck at his belt, his buttons and his zip - then the jeans were pushed down and his hand was tugged forward as Dirk leaned in to lick the head of his cock. He arched, gasped; eyes squeezed shut he beat out a tattoo of frustration on his thigh with the hairbrush that he still held. Dirk licked up and along the prick that trembled in front of his face, and grinned.
“I can think of something else you can do with that brush,” he said, and Dan almost broke his neck when he kicked off his jeans and got on the bed behind him.
And Holy shit, but who would have known that Dirk could howl so prettily when the flat of a hairbrush was applied to that behind? He arched and wailed and spread his legs, head still confined by Dan’s death grip on his hair, but the rest of his body? No, that writhed and rubbed against Dan’s skin, the bedcovers, anything to stimulate, to excite.
Dan stopped, his breath coming in thick, hard pants; he was so hard he thought he just might die, but he was having far too much fun to just fuck and fall asleep. There must be something--
His eye fell on the handle of the hairbrush, still lying across his palm.
It had a rounded handle.
He grinned, and leaned forward to nuzzle the back of Dirk’s neck, whisper a suggestion in his ear; the laugh he got in reply was enthusiastic and delighted, and both men scrambled for the nearest open bag which held something - anything - that could be pressed into service as lube.
Dan won (his bag was nearest), and he dragged his captive back on to the bed once more, wielding the tube with a wicked flourish.
“Lube!”
“Pervert.”
“Says the guy getting off on having his hair pulled.”
Dirk just laughed, and pushed himself flat on the bed, thighs spread and head tilted back to ease the tugging on his head. Dan had to let go for a moment, which brought a whine from further up the bed; he smacked the presented arse once, sharply, which made Dirk hiss and wriggle with anticipation.
Which was nothing to what he did when - Dan’s fingers once more tangled in his sweat-soaked mane - the handle of the brush nudged, poked, then pushed past the obstruction of his ring, and began to ease inside of him. Dan had to use his greater weight to pin him to the bed, tangle their legs together, cover that mouth that spilled excited obscenities with his own before he woke up the rest of the hotel, let alone the rest of the floor.
He worked the handle in and out, Dirk bucking beneath him, eyes rolled up into his head, lost in the sensations of pain and pleasure that the combination of pulled hair and carefully-applied hairbrush were bringing him. The sting of his slapped arse was even sharper under the heat of Dan’s body, pushing him down, holding him almost still against the cheap coverlet of the hotel bed. He groaned when the brush was removed - gently, sliding from him with no more than a twinge of regret - then drew in a great gasp when something thicker, hotter, heavier replaced it, inched in and drew back, advanced in careful steps until he felt balls press to his arse.
And then Dan yanked his hair like reins, lifted his head back until his spine formed a snakelike arch, and began to ride him hard.
With all the foreplay it was no surprise that neither man lasted long. Dan threw his hips forward, his last thrusts hard enough to drive Dirk along the bed, his neck forced into an ever sharper angle from the drag on his scalp; he shrieked and came, the shots splashing as high as Dan’s pillow, spurting from beneath his body where he arched back and tried to force more of his skin into contact with Dan’s, ease the sweet yank on his hair.
They collapsed, face down, panting.
Dan felt an elbow poke at his ribs, and rolled over; his cock came free from Dirk’s arse with a soft noise, a trail of come sliding along the crease of his thigh when he wriggled for the loss of the prick that had filled him so well. He curled into Dan’s chest, and sighed deeply; it was a contented sound, and made Dan smile. That, he thought, was a well-fucked sound, and if he had the energy to lift his head he had no doubt that the other man would be wearing a well-fucked expression to go with it.
“You smug bastard,” murmured Dirk, sleepy.
Dan just grinned, then gave Dirk a gentle shake.
“What?”
“I messed up your hair, right?”
“No shit,” growled the drowsy voice.
“So you’ll have to do it again in the morning, won’t you?”
The only answer he got was a pinch to his stomach, and a somnolent growl from somewhere in the region of his chest. Dan let his face settle into the smirk it had been wanting to assume for quite some time now, and let himself drift.
Yes, hair porn; he couldn’t get enough of it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-26 07:53 pm (UTC)(Or in other words, can we have one of the long ones next please? ;) )
no subject
Date: 2007-01-26 08:29 pm (UTC)