#lemon adjacent

[anqelbean]

Happy Pride Month to White Lotus Binghe and his wet dreams of tying his shizun with red immortal binding cables that haunted him for years after the fact ONLY

[sushiandstarlight]

Finally and Timely

Read this story on ao3

A gentle fluttering of fingers on his hip woke Crowley in the dark of the morning.  A sleepy little twitch of skin-on-skin followed by a soft snuffle and sigh.  Maybe it shouldn’t have been enough to wake someone, but in all his years on earth he hadn’t slept once with someone else in his bed.  That was a level of trust that he could only have imagined with one person: the current occupier of the other half of his blankets.

Crowley thought back to the day before: they had won, they had dined, and they had returned to his flat.  Somehow, the angel had known that Crowley wasn’t ready to go back to the bookshop just yet.  Not so soon after the flames and the terror of losing him.  Or maybe even he, himself, hadn’t wanted the face the place where he had realized, once and for all, that no one from heaven was on his side.

Either way, they had wound up on Crowley’s uncomfortable but stylish sofa.  Wine had been drunk and both of them had melted into the cushions.  Inane chatter had risen and fallen over the peaks of the evening hours.

Then silence.  The air thick with quiet ponderings.  Crowley didn’t know what drove his boldness, but he found his hand covering Aziraphale’s between them on the sofa cushion.  He wasn’t even sure he’d commanded his hand to move, but once it was there he couldn’t imagine pulling it back.

Aziraphale turned to him slowly, studying his face.  Wrinkled pulled his eyebrows together and as the seconds ticked by in eternity Crowley wondered if he could smooth them away with his fingers.  And then he wondered, again, if he should pull his hand back.  Aziraphale’s head cocked to the side as he went on watching him, eyes dipping here and there, taking in different angles of Crowley’s face.  Crowley wanted to know what the angel was looking for.  He would give it if he knew.

But then Aziraphale’s lips were on his.  They were sloppy from the wine, but the hand on Crowley’s cheek was startlingly steady and warm.  Crowley’s happily traitorous hands hauled him closer, kissing him back with relish even as he wondered if this was them or the drink or the stress of the world nearly crashing around them.  

Aziraphale threw his thigh over Crowley’s lap and now rested fully against him and Crowley couldn’t believe he was questioning this, but if it was happening- really happening- after all this time, it needed to be real.  It needed to be honest.  If they woke tomorrow and Aziraphale walked out, making excuses, into the morning light... It would shatter him.  He would go on, of course, being functionally immortal.  And he wouldn’t leave the angel unless that’s what he asked of him.  But the mark would be indelible.

He pushed against the angel’s chest even as he pulled away from his kisses.  The sight of Aziraphale’s closed-eye pout nearly had him diving back in.  Really, it took all of his gather strength to keep any distance between them.  It had been harder still, and he wasn’t sure how he found the extra willpower, when Aziraphale had blinked open his eyes and they were clearly clouded over with want.  Aziraphale wanted him.  He was looking at Crowley in the same way he peered at cases of baked goods.  Like Crowley was laid out on a serving plate, drizzled with dark chocolate and caramel.  It sent a hot jolt down his spine and into his trousers that had him gasping for air.

“Have I overstepped, darling?”  Crowley had never heard the dark, gravely edge that hung on every word the angel now spoke.  It vibrated through him, chasing and nipping at the wits he was desperately trying to cling to, “do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want... I want to be sure this is what you really want.”

There was a moment of incomprehension.  Incredulity as Aziraphale took in where he was sitting- pressed close in Crowley’s lap.  And then his eyes slid over the empty bottles on the table and he figured it out.  He took a deep breath and shuddered as he sobered up, one of the bottles refilling as Crowley watched.

“Crowley,” he turned back to him and slid a hand through his hair, tugging it softly to expose his throat where he planted soft little kisses in a trail to his ear, “I want you to take me to bed.”

“B-bed?”

“Mmhmm.”

And then he’d nearly dumped the angel on the floor in his haste.  Despite his minimalist decorative style, they’d managed to bump into several things on the way to his bedroom- especially since he’d forgotten for a moment where the bedroom even was.  One thing had tottered over and smashed, but it wasn’t as important as the hand pressed against him, over his zip.  That, too, was forgotten when he was pressed against the threshold of the bedroom.

The fingers tightened their grip on his hip, like the angel was remembering, too, in his sleep.  And then they pulled Crowley backwards and the hand wandered up and over his chest possessively.  Aziraphale made a happy, contented little noise that sounded like he’d been given an extra slice of something nice.  Maybe, thought, Crowley, he had.  And that was the last thought Crowley had before he drifted back off, Aziraphale’s warmth seeping through his skin and tugging him back to his dreams.

[rhinky-thoughts]

Link gettin stoned at the creative house while listening to music cuz he needs to unwind and chill after a rough week. Rhett finds him but instead of getting mad or being judgy like he knows he can be, he plops onto the couch and grabs the stuff and takes a big hit. Link just watches with these big round eyes, surprised, and bursts into giggles when Rhett just sits back against the couch with a grunt.

So they pass it every once in awhile, not saying much, just enjoying the music together. But link is a tactile stoner. His fingers start playing with the hem of rhetts shorts, up to the hem of his shirt, vaguely commenting on how soft both are, how good they feel under his fingers. Rhett doesn’t stop him.

Instead let’s his fingers keep wandering. Link let’s his hand wander, tugging on the shirt pocket, tucking under the collar and brushing rhetts collarbone, those blue eyes trained on his own hand the whole time. He doesn’t stop until he gets to rhetts beard. There he pauses for a second, hums a lil, then tugs and buries his fingers in the beard til he can cup rhetts jaw. Rhett then stops him, big hand wrapped around links wrist, his breathing labored in a way link hasn’t even noticed. He’s been so focused on his own hand moving across rhetts body that he missed the way his chest was heaving, the way his heart was pounding under his ribs, the way his pulse was rushing under his collarbone, the way his eyes were fixed low and dopey on Link’s face.

And Rhett tugs link forward by the wrist, over, closer, and bends to kiss him. Link hums in appreciation at the softness of rhetts lips on his, the vibration of a moan against his own chest. He feels good but knows if he just shifts his hips just right, angles his body a certain way—there, he can rub against rhetts hip, get his jeans moving over his half hard cock and get off that way. Rhett knows what he’s doing and pushes him onto the couch, settles with one thigh between links legs and the other braced on the floor, attacks links neck with sharp little teeth and works his way down, rucking up links tee so he can get at nipples. Link rocks up into rhetts thigh and gets his hands in rhetts hair and is so blissed out it doesn’t take long for him to shudder through his release and cum in his pants like a teenager. He sinks into the couch afterwards and Rhett rides his thigh until he’s stiffening and cumming with a growl that makes link laugh a little. Then he’s rolling onto the floor onto his back and they’re both laughing so hard at the ridiculousness of the situation, with cum sticky in their briefs and heads floating in the clouds.

[captainsourwolf]

“So have you put it anywhere else?”

Link nearly chokes on his tea when Rhett turns to him and asks. He coughs and splutters, eyes watering as he tries to swallow, chest tight. Rhett laughs at him and smacks him on the back, a little too hard and forceful.

“What?” Link clears his throat the best he can as he stares at Rhett. Rhett shrugs, suddenly red in the face and swiping away invisible dirt on the table. It’s one of his most obvious tells. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Another shrug and another swipe and Rhett mutters out a terse, “Well, yeah.” He shrugs again, won’t look at Link just yet.

“You really want me to tell you?” Link shifts in his seat and reaches back into his jacket, taking the thing out and laying it flat on his palm, feeling its weight. “Want me to tell you how I got off with it when I was alone at the creative house?” He twists it this way and that, rolls it in his hand, thumbs over the button teasingly. He hears Rhett’s breath catch for a second before it’s released in one shaky exhale.

“I mean—“ Rhett pauses and Link glances at him, a flush warming his cheeks when he sees how fidgety Rhett has gotten.

“Want me to show you?” He’s often confident in his ability to render Rhett speechless, but he’s never felt as much satisfaction as he does now. Rhett clamps his mouth shut and his eyes go wide and round, his hands clench together on top of the table. “Nothin’ to say this time? You were really into it earlier.”

Link can see when Rhett swallows and takes a breath and he smirks, leaning back in his seat and rolling the device between his fingers. A little tingle of arousal flutters in his belly feeling it under his fingertips. Just thinking about it—about the vibrations and the smooth head and the way it nestled so perfectly in that one spot—makes his cheeks heat and his dick twitch in interest.

Clearing his throat, Link grips the thing too tight in his hand and opens his jacket. But Rhett’s hand closing around his wrist stops him.

“Thought you were gonna show me?” Rhett lets go, tilting his head towards the device, eyebrows raising in a challenge. A challenge Link isn’t afraid to take.

That flutter in his belly goes from zero to sixty in about two seconds flat. Link groans and shoves the thing in Rhett’s hand for safe keeping as he shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes quickly. He hears Rhett chuckle followed by the scraping of his own chair legs across the floor. He’s making room, giving Link the space he needs to show off.

Link spares no thought to whether or not the studio is locked, or if their podcast crew is out of ear shot, or even for how ridiculous this is. Instead he watches Rhett watching him, eyes dark and cheeks ruddy and pulse ticking in his neck, and rids himself of his shirt. The rush of cool air makes him gasp and goosebumps pimple up his skin.

By the time he’s down to his undies Rhett is cherry red and starting to sweat along his hairline. Link smirks, runs his thumbs along the waistband of his briefs just to watch his eyebrows hitch up and his bottom lip get pulled between his teeth.

“You know, Rhett, I did this in the shower the first time,” Link starts as he leans against their round table. He palms himself through his briefs, head tipping and a sigh escaping at the relief his own touch brings. He’s not quite there, only half hard, but it’s enough to make his heart beat just a bit faster and his breathing hitch in his chest. Rhett’s attention is on his hand, eyes glued to the way he cups himself and teases his fingertips along his length.

“Yeah?” Rhett licks his lips and his gaze flicks briefly up to Link’s face.

Link nods and grasps the waistband so he can pull his underwear off. “Yeah, it’s waterproof, might as well.” He shrugs, kicks the garment away, Rhett’s eyes never leaving his body. Even when he’s seating himself on the table, legs spread, Rhett’s eyes continuously roam Link’s body, from his cock to his waist to his chest and face and back down again.

Link lets him have his moment to stare. Finally, he reaches out for the device, snapping impatient fingers at Rhett to hand it over. Grinning, he takes it from Rhett and makes sure he’s watching before pushing the button once.

It thrums to life, vibrations low and barely audible. He holds it up in front of him and hums in thought. His cock twitches against his thigh and Rhett licks his lips.

“Let’s get started, then.”

[sunalsolove]

Fitzsimmons and 12: “ I hate you. ”

An accidental triple drabble. Imagine it’s the very end of their last year at the Academy. 

-

“I hate you!” Jemma said, frowning at the returned homework inFitz’s hand as she stood in his dorm room. “How did you get 106 out of 100 andI only got 105?”

He shrugged from where he was sitting on the bed. “Brains.”

“I…” Hers all went out the window as she tackled him. Therewas a short tussle before she managed to pin his legs with hers and snag hispaper from hands.

Jemma flipped through the pages rapidly, reading thecomments.

“Simmons?” Fitz said weakly.

“What?” Jemma looked down at him. He was flat on his backwith her straggling his hips and a very pained expression on his face. It feltlike he was trying to push himself down into the mattress.

“Um—”

“Fitz, what?” She sat up straighter and felt exactly what itwas he was trying to hide.

“Help,” he squeaked.

She dropped the papers in her hand, not sure what they werefor anymore. Her hips swiveled and Fitz moaned, his body arcing beneath hers.

A second later all the color drained from his face. “Sorry!Simmons!”

She immediately wanted the lost-in-bliss Fitz back. Shescooted down, and Fitz looked relieved until she attacked the front of histrousers to get them undone.

“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing her hands.

Jemma paused. “Having sex?” How could he not be clear onthat? Wait. Had he said he wanted to? Her eyes met his. “If you want to?”

His lower lip trembled. “I’ll be terrible and then you won’twant to be my friend anymore.”

She dropped her gaze to the bulge in his pants. “I don’tthink you need to worry. And I’ll always be your friend. We’ll just be the kindwith benefits now.”

“Then yes. Hurry up, Simmons.”

[anqelbean]

My favourite flavour of bingqiu smut is probably shen qingqiu feeling neglected because binghe has been busy for SoOo long (usually like a week or two) so he sulks like a neglected concubine

[anqelbean]

Shen Yuan would love having his hair pulled in bed, but SOME of you are not ready for that conversation

[anqelbean]

Binghe would probably be into choking, but he wouldn't know how to do it safely and he'd end up almost actually choking Shen Qingqiu. And then he'd cry.