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akatnamedeasterGreetings and welcome to
Kinky Kristmas 2018: Comment Kink Edition!Our members have made requests for stocking stuffers that would help make their holidays happy -- and kinky, of course! Now you all -- both members and watchers -- have the opportunity to play Santa and fulfill those requests. In the form of comment kink!
How to Stuff Our Stockings:• Request fills must be a minimum of 200 words (if fic) or a sketch equivalent (if art).
• There is no maximum limit, but remember that long pieces are in no way required. Please don't hesitate to participate because you can "only" write a few words or do a simple sketch!
• Since fills may be short, we're not going to be strictly policing the rating of each piece. Just remember this is Daily Deviant and we want to see some sex!
• Each request may be filled
twice -- once by a member and once by a watcher.
• When filling a request, leave it in a comment directly in a
reply to the request you're filling.
• When filling a request, note whether you're filling it as a watcher or a member.
• If you are now or have ever been a posting member of Daily Deviant, you'll be filling the requests as a member.
• Prompt claiming is available but
optional. What this means is that you need not claim a request in order to fill it, but if it's already claimed by someone else, it's off limits.
• In order to claim a request, comment directly in a
reply to the request stating that you're claiming it. Be sure to note whether you're claiming it as a member or a watcher.
• Since we want as many goodies in our fishnet stockings as possible, there will be an expiration date on claims. One week after a claim is made (as per the time stamp on the comment), if the prompt has not been filled, the claim expires and the prompt is open for claiming or filling by someone else. (We'll try to keep track and delete the expired ones, but we may miss a few, so you can just keep an eye on the time stamps.) So if a prompt you really love appears to be taken, remember to check back.
• If you've made a claim that has expired, you may still post a fill in reply to the prompt
as long as no one else fills it or claims it first.
• Participants may have a total of
two outstanding claims at a time. I.e., you may claim two requests, then when you've filled one, you may claim a third, etc.
• Additional prompts will most likely continue to appear throughout the month depending upon participation levels and demand.
•
Commenting, interacting, and generally having fun is welcome and encouraged!! Fandom is all about interaction with like-minded
perverts people. Let's enjoy some friendly, smutty holiday merry-making! ;D
Got all that? Okay, good! Now...
LET THE STUFFING COMMENCE!
(Double entendre totally intended, naturally...)
“Full of surprises, aren’t you love?” he purrs, tugging harder at the metal.
Kingsley growls. He releases his grip on Rabastan’s hair and attacks his clothes instead. Death Eater robes are voluminous, and under them, Rabastan is wearing little. Kingsley pushes them up around Rabastan’s waist and shoves his hand into his underwear. Rabastan’s cock is hot against his hand, shorter and thinner than his own, and circumcised. Kingsley strokes him hard, fast; considers, for one moment, getting down and taking Rabastan into his mouth, before reconsidering. It would be suicide – probably. Not that Rabastan seems to care: he bucks his hips and whines softly, letting his head fall back against the wall.
His wand twitches against Kingsley’s hip. He tenses, gripping Rabastan hard in the process, but all the spell does is finish opening the fastenings of his robes. He relaxes. A glance at Rabastan’s face, still mostly obscured by shadow, shows the dips and traces of a grin.
“Want you to fuck me,” Rabastan says by way of explanation. “Couldn’t do that with those in the way.”
“Got anything to ease it?” Kingsley asks.
Rabastan just shrugs. “Magic –“ he says in a sing-song way, and he rakes his nails down Kingsley’s front to rub him through the cloth of his boxers. “Though it might not be enough, hmm?”
It’s an odd feeling, he thinks, to be infuriated and nostalgic for the same person. Even stranger to be feeling it while holding their cock in his hand and pinning them to the wall. Azkaban has, more likely than not, left Rabastan madder than a bag of cats, but it’s currently hard to tell. He was always a weird, vicious, irritating little shit, and it’s part of why Kingsley’s always been fascinated by him.
It occurs to him that, once they’ve done this, they’ll go their separate ways and Kingsley will have to at least try and capture Rabastan; arrest him and send him back to Azkaban until his precious Dark Lord breaks him out again. It’s… uncomfortable.
He removes his wand from Rabastan’s throat long enough to cast lubricating and preparation spells, anyway.
It’s something of a blur from that point; an endless, desperate cycle of panting and scratching and thrusting. There are some things, though, that he knows he’ll remember forever: the high, keening noise Rabastan makes when he pushes into him, and the way he sounds when he’s sobbing and cursing Kingsley’s name. The way Rabastan’s blood tastes when he bites down too hard by accident, and the noise Rabastan makes when he comes.
They cling to each other, just a little, in the aftermath; Rabastan presses kisses to his collarbone as he leans against him, unable to stand on his own, and Kingsley gives in to the temptation to press his face into that wild hair. Rabastan smells, inexplicably, of cardamom. At some point, they’d both lowered their wands, and there’s a moment when they’re standing together where it’s hard to remember why he’d needed it.
The memory brings with it a wave of guilt and nausea, but he still doesn’t push Rabastan away. He lets the Death Eater cuddle against him a moment longer, reminding himself of the times before the war when, huddled over joint projects or hurling taunts at each other on the Quidditch pitch, he could pretend that Rabastan was a good person. He freezes when Rabastan pulls back and raises his wand. Again, though, the magic is harmless; cleansing their skin and righting their robes. He returns the favour, healing the bruises and bitemarks colouring Rabastan’s neck. It’s possible, in the dark, that he misses one or two, but the thought of Rabastan carrying a souvenir of this away with him is pleasing somehow. He intends to keep the scratches all up and down his chest and back for as long as he can, after all.