Title: An awakening
Author: Tara Bradwell aka Tara-chan.
Rating: dunno the American system, I guess the one before NC17
Warnings: Slashy, very slashy, but not who you'd expect
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Go ahead, sue me if you dare, Flame me please I've never been flamed before. Flamers are dumb, the lot of them. Reviews would be great, I am a review junkie.
Notes: Written because of my own sick 'n' twisted mind, it's all a joke and something that's been stewing for a while, since they're some of my fave chars, lots of huggles to those of you who actually like me, cookies to anyone who admits they couldn't guess, or who is telling the truth when they guess who it was before the end.
Rincewind awoke. It was an unusual awakening in that it did not involve screaming or running away. In fact it involved warm sheets and a - Rincewind realised suddenly - reassuring presence curled around about his middle.
He sighed heavily, but did not open his eyes. Maybe because he was trying to recall the events of the night before. Slowly they came back to him.
It was just after the second Roundworld incident, the faculty had gone to get riotously drunk somewhere, and he had gone to stare at the Roundworld now back in his study. He knew what the future was for the people who lived there, but he still pitied the little things. Oh well, at least he was safe.
Someone had come to see him, he remembered blearily. No, not to see him at first, to see the project, because they had felt sorry for it too. So they had stood there, looking gloomily into the project until Rincewind had decided that they should have a drink and fished a bottle of something belonging to the previous owner of the study, and a the last two glasses he had, from a dusty cupboard in the corner. Then they had got drunk.
Until they got to the stage where one of you makes a move. Rincewind couldn't remember if it had been him who had started it, but he definitely knew that he had continued it. He remembered being kissed until he couldn't breathe, and the feeling that his consciousness was melting out of his ears.
He remembered to, the fumblings, and crashing into his desk as they weaved towards the door to his bedroom. He remembered being pressed against the door a mouth attached to his, tongue trying to suck out his tonsils and hands removing clothing. He remembered falling back onto the bed beneath them, and the feeling of a tongue swirling all over his skin, setting every single patch of it on fire. He remembered himself doing the same, nipping at the neck, kissing the face, taking off the clothes, and looking at the body beneath them.
He remembered the sex too, hot and sweaty, much gasps, muffled groans and cries in the night. He remembered curling up and falling asleep. He remembered the last thing. A press of lips against forehead and a whispered promise.
"We're doing this again."
If only he could remember who.
He opened his eyes. And looked back into chocolate-charcoal ones, grey-brown. And glasses, a smart, but slightly worried expression and a smile, no a grin.
"Good morning Mister Stibbons."
"Good Morning Rincewind. As I said last night, we're doing that again."
And Rincewind smiled, as his lips were crushed again into a familiar kiss.