Basically this is the pornier version of this. ALSO, I'M LOSING MY PORN-WRITING VIRGINITY HERE, SO BE GENTLE. ♥
_________________
Fa la la LA la la la!
David was singing his scales again.
Fa la la LA la la la!
At 7 o'clock in the morning.
Fa la la LA la la la!
"David." Keith gritted his teeth.
"What?" David asked, a hint of defensiveness already in his voice.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Singing at me. This early in the morning." Keith stirred creamer into his coffee and took a gulp of it as if it was a shot of whiskey.
"Well, I'm sorry,” David said curtly. “The Chorus is having a show in two weeks, I have a chance to get one of the solos, and I have to practice." David hated when Keith added "at me" to the end of that sentence. At present David was just singing to himself, but he only ever sang to Keith, not "at him." Now he had two choices: stop singing and feel bad for the rest of the day (the usual option), or keep singing in hopes that it will annoy the fuck out of Keith.
Today he was going with the latter.
Good mornin' / Good mornin'! / We've talked the whole night through / Good mornin' / Good mornin' to you!
Keith sighed heavily and took his toast out of the toaster.
If you're blue and you don't know where to go to / Why don't you go where fashion sits / Puttin' on the Ritz!
Keith buttered his toast with fervor, pieces of bread flicking off every which way.
Don't know why / There's no sun up in the sky / Stormy weather--
"Alright, you know what--?" Keith fumed, letting the butter knife drop with a clang onto his plate. Before David knew it, Keith strode across the kitchen and covered his mouth with his own, walking him backwards and pinning him against the cupboard. Keith's tongue invaded David's mouth, licking and swirling and dancing around David's. He reached a hand down David's pyjama pants and cupped his balls over his underwear, eliciting a gasp from him that broke their kiss.
"What does it take to shut you up, huh?" Keith asked, running his hand once down David's length before letting go of him. David breathed heavily and smirked at him, beginning to hum another tune. Keith quickly replaced his hand around David's cock, beneath the underwear this time, and started to stoke him slow and hard. The only sounds that came from David's mouth now were moans and pants. Keith watched David as he pumped him faster; David always bit his lip when he was close, and Keith was waiting for that as his cue. He rhythmically tightened and loosened his fist around David as he worked him harder, David’s head lolling back and forth against the cupboard door. When David's bottom lip finally twitched upward towards his front teeth, Keith leaned in so that his lips barely caressed David's ear. He hovered there for a second before whispering melodically:
Oh, can't you see? / You belong to me.
With that, David let out a long, drawn-out moan and spilled into Keith's hand. He slumped forward and rested his forehead on Keith's shoulder, his body heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
With his free hand, Keith grabbed a paper towel off the counter and cleaned the mess off his other hand. "Don't get any ideas," Keith said. "I'm not giving you a hand job every time you start singing at the fucking crack of dawn." He pulled up a chair for David, sat him down, and walked away.
David was still too blissful to retort, but he resolved to see if Keith was a man of his word the next morning.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Six Feet Under, David/Keith, music (with a hint of d/s), R
Date: 2010-04-22 06:01 pm (UTC)Fa la la LA la la la!
David was singing his scales again.
Fa la la LA la la la!
At 7 o'clock in the morning.
Fa la la LA la la la!
"David." Keith gritted his teeth.
"What?" David asked, a hint of defensiveness already in his voice.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Singing at me. This early in the morning." Keith stirred creamer into his coffee and took a gulp of it as if it was a shot of whiskey.
"Well, I'm sorry,” David said curtly. “The Chorus is having a show in two weeks, I have a chance to get one of the solos, and I have to practice."
David hated when Keith added "at me" to the end of that sentence. At present David was just singing to himself, but he only ever sang to Keith, not "at him." Now he had two choices: stop singing and feel bad for the rest of the day (the usual option), or keep singing in hopes that it will annoy the fuck out of Keith.
Today he was going with the latter.
Good mornin' / Good mornin'! / We've talked the whole night through / Good mornin' / Good mornin' to you!
Keith sighed heavily and took his toast out of the toaster.
If you're blue and you don't know where to go to / Why don't you go where fashion sits / Puttin' on the Ritz!
Keith buttered his toast with fervor, pieces of bread flicking off every which way.
Don't know why / There's no sun up in the sky / Stormy weather--
"Alright, you know what--?" Keith fumed, letting the butter knife drop with a clang onto his plate. Before David knew it, Keith strode across the kitchen and covered his mouth with his own, walking him backwards and pinning him against the cupboard. Keith's tongue invaded David's mouth, licking and swirling and dancing around David's. He reached a hand down David's pyjama pants and cupped his balls over his underwear, eliciting a gasp from him that broke their kiss.
"What does it take to shut you up, huh?" Keith asked, running his hand once down David's length before letting go of him. David breathed heavily and smirked at him, beginning to hum another tune. Keith quickly replaced his hand around David's cock, beneath the underwear this time, and started to stoke him slow and hard. The only sounds that came from David's mouth now were moans and pants. Keith watched David as he pumped him faster; David always bit his lip when he was close, and Keith was waiting for that as his cue. He rhythmically tightened and loosened his fist around David as he worked him harder, David’s head lolling back and forth against the cupboard door. When David's bottom lip finally twitched upward towards his front teeth, Keith leaned in so that his lips barely caressed David's ear. He hovered there for a second before whispering melodically:
Oh, can't you see? / You belong to me.
With that, David let out a long, drawn-out moan and spilled into Keith's hand. He slumped forward and rested his forehead on Keith's shoulder, his body heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
With his free hand, Keith grabbed a paper towel off the counter and cleaned the mess off his other hand. "Don't get any ideas," Keith said. "I'm not giving you a hand job every time you start singing at the fucking crack of dawn." He pulled up a chair for David, sat him down, and walked away.
David was still too blissful to retort, but he resolved to see if Keith was a man of his word the next morning.