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feverinfeveroutfic · 18 days

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flowers for alexander | chapter thirty-one

The steps creaked under Florence’s weight as she made her way back down towards the hull. The rounded shape of the pipes all around her made it seem smaller than it actually was, and to the point that she even ducked her head down from the rims of the joints. The light from the rest of the ship guided her way back down to the corridor down below, and she kept her eyes fixed on the gauges on the side to ensure all was well on the way down.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Alex. His softness. His sweetness. His heart and his kindness. And most of all, the way he displayed himself to her. In all his power and the way he threw himself against the face of the tombstone for her. Laying on his back with thick, curled tendrils of his black hair swept across his face like a wave, his arms folded over his chest and stomach, and his skin bare and delicate.

A tender, delicate boy who needed the bouquet over his body.

She reached the corridor itself and stopped with both hands clasped over her belly. She could feel Nathalie within there.

She pictured Alex back in his bunk, his long and lanky fingers lazily dangled down over the hem of his shirt. Such a brilliant boy whom she loved and yet she never could gel with him and the way his mind functioned for her. She still wanted to feel him and love his body. She still had so much love to give him, even if it didn’t feel that way with her eye out for Eric in the wings before her.

It was a strange feeling, such that she lingered back against the wall, right behind a bend in the pipes so no one would have to see her. It was a strange feeling, wanting to be next to Alex again and yet wanting to be next to Eric, wanting to feel the passion again and letting the tears fall when she even so much as came close to him. She tilted her head back and pressed her hands on her belly. Eric’s daughter within, and yet she still desired for Alex as if she had not a single swipe to her. She knew she couldn’t have him, either. No way she could let herself have him again, even if she was free again. But there was no ignoring herself, though. There was no ignoring him and the pain he had demonstrated back there.

Once one emotion leaked out, the rest followed suit in a torrential flood.

Florence pressed her hands to either side of her head as if the worst migraine had overcome her right then. Alex had rolled over onto his side, away from her and the door so he could be alone. If only she could be back there. If only she could better feel him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about a time they had gotten together after a recording session for Testament’s new album, right before she and Eric had found each other. It was one of the last times that she had found a moment with Alex, and yet she had inexplicably blocked it clean out of her memory. He had guided her back to the back room, complete with a twinkle in his hooded eyes and his lips slightly parted as if to seduce her.

He did. In hindsight, he had seduced her.

His lips were soft and smooth. His body was welcoming and warm. They never completely touched one another, but he was more than happy to have his lips on her and her tongue up inside of her own.

He was telling the truth.

And she knew that he would always tell the truth, and the flowers lay on the grave of their love as a result.

He never could give into her all the way. He never could give her everything that she wanted, from her marriage to her daughter on the way. But even though he never had the chops to leave her feeling fulfilled, she still desired him as she ran her hands down the sides of her face onto the sides of her neck and her shoulders.

If only she could feel his lips the way that she felt them there once again.

If only she could feel him again.

If only she had a different way of life, one that could gel to him, all because—

“I’m in love with you,” she said aloud. Her voice echoed upon the smooth surfaces of the pipes, and a part of her told her that Alex could hear her. Florence glanced up to the high ceiling over her head with her hands hanging off her shoulders.

“I’m in love with you,” she repeated. She wanted something more, the rush of sex, the exploration of each other’s bodies when the mood struck them hard, but her heart rang out louder than anything that emerged from in between her own lips. He never stepped out of his shadow with what he felt true, but Florence herself never said a word to him, either.

“I’m in love with you,” she repeated, that time with her eyes closed and her lips dropped open from the euphoria, something she hadn’t felt in quite some time. She could still feel his body, the softness, the delicate nature, the tenderness, the way he caressed the curvature of her back with nothing more than her fingertips. She had pressed her body against his own to feel his warmth.

She thought about the encounter back down in the mountains, and it was just like that last time, all the way down to the warmth of the sun on their bodies. The world stared down its own demise and raging oblivion, and she still could find the safety from it all in Alex’s body and mind. His mind. His mind!

The power of her hands could not gel with the nuclear reactor that was his mind, but she persistently found herself drawn to it. She still wanted to know how he ticked, just like the first day they met one another. The way that everything rolled around behind those bright blue eyes, so striking against his olive complexion and jet-black curls. She curled up next to Eric’s body and those big brown eyes. She knew in her heart that she always would do just that, but when he dozed off to sleep, she would roll over onto her back and watch Alex from clear across the room.

She still loved him. She still found him sexy. She still wanted it with him.

It was always so spontaneous with him. It was always so spontaneous with both men, but with Alex in particular.

There had to be room for both men in her heart. Her baby with Eric and the smallest piece of her heart with Alex. Always the softest, smallest part all for him.

Florence brought her hands up to the crown of her head and kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to think about it, but she thought it anyway. The world was falling apart, and yet she thought about Alex as if all had been going right outside of the airship. She thought about him as if she wasn’t about to be a mother in a few months’ time.

“I’m in love with you,” she repeated, that time in a louder voice.

“Florence?” Eric called out from down the corridor. The sound of his voice jarred her off to the side a bit, and she clutched at herself.

“Eric?” she called out in response. Silence. Silence except for the plumes of steam in some of the pipes and the low hum of the reactor down below.

Florence ducked out of the notch and back into the corridor. She gazed on at the network of pipes on the wall before her.

“Florence!” It sounded as though he had been entrapped in one of the pipes. She inched closer to the wall, and yet she held back as the memory of the steam plume on the street was firm in her mind and the skin of her foot.

“Eric?”

“Florence?” His voice echoed through the big pipe on the left side of the hallway. Gingerly, she leaned in closer to the pipe. She expected to feel the residual heat from the superheated water within, but she was instead met with a pocket of cold. Indeed, the entire cluster of pipes remained cold.

“These pipes are hollow,” she remarked in a low voice, and she turned her attention to the darkened corridor before her, to which a sinking feeling welled up inside of her. “Reactor’s probably running low.” A pit emerged in her stomach at that thought, as she knew that they didn’t have a lot of time. She knew that she didn’t have a lot of time.

“Eric, where are you?” she called out again, and her eyes followed the path of the big main pipe around the corner right before her.

“We don’t know!” he exclaimed.

“Stay where you are,” she advised him as she followed the pipe along. “Keep talking, though! I’ll follow your voice.”

“I’m losing mine, though,” he confessed. “It’s really dry down here.”

“Dry, you said?” The reactor was running dry, even though the radiation alarms were silent. She figured that they had to reunite and then jump ship when the time was right because they would sound off at some point. But they would cross the bridge when they reached there.

“Yeah, we’re dying of thirst down here!” Francine joined in.

“Frankie!” Florence declared. “Frankie, hold on, let me find you.”

She remembered her rainbow umbrella and Francine singing under the rain.

Francine singing with Mark.

Mark was down there somewhere as well.

Florence cleared her throat and leaned forward to the cluster of pipes before her.

Like a brave scientist facing the elephant’s foot.

“Frankie, listen to me,” she called out again, and she cleared her throat a second time. It was as if Nathalie guided her as she dropped her breath all the way down into her belly.

“Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya,” she sang into the pipes as loud as she could; she was off-key but it made no difference whatsoever to her. She had to get them out of there. “Bermuda, Bahama, come on now pretty mama.”

“Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go?” Mark’s voice echoed up the pipe to the left of her head. He was like an opera singer with his big powerful voice, and more so with the hot brass giving him a gratuitous amount of reverberation. She followed the sound of his voice along the corridor, down to the corner.

“Keep on singing, Mark!” Florence exclaimed as she rounded the corner.

“Off the Florida Keys,” Francine’s voice joined in right next to him, “there’s a place called Kokomo.”

Florence followed their voices down the grated walkway. All the while, she kept the pipe next to her. She held her fingers against the face of the cold metal, and all the while, their echoing voices grew louder and louder. The corridor seemed to twist and turn, and the air dried out more and more. They were away from the reactor, but she knew that the threat was real.

At one point, the pipe snaked up to the ceiling and then dropped down to a box of a room there near the hull of the ship. Mark and Francine still sang out “Kokomo” as Florence reached the door of the boiler room; next door stood what appeared to be Death Angel’s dorm. Indeed, everything in the spacious part of the hull creaked and cricked about as if the entire place was holding on by a thread.

“God, these ships are pieces of shit,” she muttered, and she pushed on the smooth surface of the door. Not a knob to be found.

“Guys, are you in here?” she called through the metal panel.

“Florence!” Eric called out.

“Florence!” Francine followed up behind him. Florence pushed on the panel and the door wouldn’t budge.

“We all wound up in here,” Chuck shouted through the panel. “We can’t get the door open.”

“Yeah, there’s no knob,” Florence declared. “I imagine it pushes open on my side.” She peered up to the left side of the door, and she knew the hinges were on the other side. “Yeah, it pushes open on my side. It looks like it’s stuck.”

She licked her lips and leaned her shoulder up against the panel.

“I’m going to need you guys to stand back away from the door,” she declared through the panel.

“Please be careful, babe,” Eric advised her.

Nathalie bestowed her with strength that she couldn’t even think about before then. One foot back, and one knee against the panel. The door was metal, but it faced no chance against her. She closed her eyes and pushed.

It was mere training for when the delivery date rolled around.

Her bones shook as she pushed firm and hard against the door with all of her might. Her heart pounded as she pushed harder, as hard as she ever could in her entire life. She breathed harder as well.

She could feel it giving way as her knees quivered and quaked underneath her. As far as she knew, her feet were slipping away from underneath her.

She peeked through her closed eyes to the floor below, and she saw that she had been standing her ground this entire time. She stood her ground against the cold metal, like the ferocious mechanic she had been born to be. She stood her ground against the steam and the falling nukes. She was winning.

She was winning as the door swung open and fell away from her.

Out of breath, Florence staggered forth and nearly lost her balance. Her eyes popped open in time to see Eric lunging for her so as to catch her.

And then she remembered why she married him.

“That’s my girl, holy shit,” he sputtered as he held her in his arms; out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mark propping the door open with his foot.

“Oh, god, you’re my hero!” Chuck declared.

“It needed a good push,” she panted, and her hand glided down Eric’s side to his hip. She kissed the side of his neck, followed by his lips. “We need to get out of here. The pipes are hollow and it’s dry as a bone in here, which tells me the reactor has nothing to cool it off.”

“Are we facing a meltdown?” Mark asked her, slightly worried.

“No, but the reactor can’t run on pure air alone,” she explained to him. “It’s going to overheat and maybe explode at some point, though. It’s quickly becoming like a big boiler so it’s building pressure as we speak. Anything to cool it off and it’ll just vaporize and then blow apart. That’s what happened at that power plant in Ukraine.”

“So, it’s beyond saving,” Eric followed along in a broken voice.

“Yeah… we’ll have to get out of here as is, and I worry about having nothing to get us down, either.”

“You know there’s an entire team waiting for you, right?”

They turned their attention to the gaping doorway behind them, to Alex and the other boys from Death Angel there.

“Alex!” Florence declared as her ex-boyfriend stood in the doorway like a hero, complete with his hands pressed to his hips.

“We heard your singing through the pipes,” he explained; behind him, the other men of Exodus as well as Greg and Louie emerged from where Florence came. “We—and by ‘we’, I mean, I—figured that things were going awry down here because we couldn’t hear anything from upstairs prior to then. I told them—” He pointed to the small group behind him. “—and we all put two and two together and followed it down.”

“Man, that brain never stops working,” Chuck joked.

And it saved him. Florence showed him a smile, and one that Eric would never see, either.

“Come on,” he encouraged them. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He turned to Florence. “And you’re going to bust us out of here.”

“Me?”

“Yes. And I’m going to direct you.”

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nuagederose · 4 months

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”flowers for alexander” 🥀☔️

ig: badmotorartist

#flowers for alexander #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic art #sketchbook art #sketchbook spread #traditional art #alcohol markers #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart

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josiebelladonna · 1 year

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paraselenae | camera lucida

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!oc (flowers for alexander)

genre: sci-fi/steampunk!au

fandoms: testament

*18+ only; minors dni*

Warnings: cross-dressing

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: a little mix-up in clothes between francine and alex 😉

Word Count: 2382

note: the tamest one of the bunch, but that's not really saying much as this is the crux of flowers for alexander: the real tension is between him and francine

The rule of the changing rooms in the airship was to change the clothes into the airship uniforms only one time when the ship was in the air, and why this was the case was never fully clarified to anyone on the tour party. The changing room up in the room part of Testament’s airship remained unisex, and theirs was the only one where this decision stayed in place: Exodus had one for the five of them as well as any of the female attendees on the ship behind them, and Death Angel had one separately for the five of them as well as any female children onboard, given that they were the youngest ones of the three bands on the airship tour. Florence and Francine thought that Testament’s predicament was rather laughable, given they were the only women onboard their ship for the entire tour, along with Chuck’s woman Tiffany: three women in a small sea of men on board a massive airship that Florence feared would fall out of the sky if no one in the operating room was careful.

“I still don’t even know why they have a changing room up here,” Francine was saying as she took her boots off.

“It’s so we all have our close time together, Frankie,” Florence joked with her. “We’re all on airships so we should look the part when we’re up in the air like we are right now.” She rested her hands upon her belly, which had swelled up a bit more with her advancing pregnancy, although it would be some time before she would show a lot more. Francine tucked the boots into the cubby hole before the two of them: it was one of those rooms where they had a row of gray-green lockers up against either wall and those long wooden benches before each of them, like a narrow little locker room. This was also the first time Florence had been in this room as well, as she had no idea which locker belonged to her or Eric.

And yet, she remained there on the bench with her hand on either side of her, and she watched Francine change out of her clothes in exchange for that long bronze and black coat and the matching trousers to go with their boots which they took with them on the tour. She opened the locker door before her and took out the coat and the trousers, one right after the other, and she lay them on the bench next to Florence for a moment.

The black blouse went on first, although it looked as though it was hugging her curves a bit more than what Florence remembered with it the first time. The V-neckline hugged and accentuated the full look of her chest, and the seams along the sides hugged her curves, and the bottom hem raised up a bit to show off the little bit of skin between her underwear and her belly button. When she put on the jeans, it was even more jarring.

“It’s going to be a while before I can fit into these clothes again,” Florence said with a shake of her head and her hand on her belly. “I’m going to be big here pretty soon before we know it...”

“These are a bit snug; don’t you think?” Francine then asked her out of the blue, and Florence flashed a glance over at her and the trousers that she had just put on. Though they fit her rather well, they still seemed a bit tight up at the crotch and all around her waist. The legs looked rather narrow, as if they were her size but they had been designed wrong.

“Yeah, they are,” Florence noted as she knitted her eyebrows together. Francine hitched up the trousers and extended her legs out on either side of her to better adjust to the snug fabric.

“Put the jacket on,” Florence encouraged her, and she picked it up from the bench and slung it around her body. It latched with the shiny bronze latches from the knees up to the collar, but not without Francine sucking in her stomach a bit.

“Damn. This is so tight.” She shot out her arms and tugged on the sleeves so they would fit her better, and yet they only bunched back towards her armpits.

Before she could do anything else, however, the floor hummed and Florence could feel her feet lift off the hard surface. Francine ducked for the locker door and pushed it closed. They steadied themselves as the airship ascended through the air once again, and once again to the next stint on the tour.

Once the hum stopped, Francine let go of the locker door, and she extended a hand to Florence. She stood up and, with her free hand to her lower back, she held still for a moment to gather her composure before they walked out of there and into the dining hall outside of there. There was no way that they could change back into their clothes from that point forth.

The two women ambled into the dining hall, and right as Alex emerged from the side of the room, dressed in that black and bronze coat as well, but there was something about the coat that made them stop for a second for a better look.

“Are those my clothes?” Alex asked Francine with a wag of his finger to her. She examined him from head to toe, and then she chuckled at the sight of them.

“I think they are,” she replied, and he showed her a little smile in return. “Are those my clothes?”

He glanced down at his body and the loose look to the trousers: when he unlatched the coat, he showed off the fact that he wore a black shirt that hung off his body and trousers that clung to his hipbones, even if they were held up by a black leather belt.

“It’s a little late to change now, though,” Florence pointed out with a shrug. “We’ve already taken off.”

“I’m comfortable, though,” he assured them with a little raise of his dark eyebrows.

“Yeah, I am, too,” Francine confessed, although it was obvious that Alex’s pants put a bit of strain onto her legs and hips. She adjusted the latches of the jacket, and all the while, Florence couldn’t help but look over at him and the sly little smirk on his face. She glanced back at Francine and the way that his clothes hugged her body to of great extent: though she wasn’t nearly as heavy as Florence herself, the seams still strained a bit on the curves of her body.

It was right then Florence pictured her and Alex getting alone together, dressed in each other’s clothes, when no one was looking their way. It had to be in the cards at some point.

Alex himself meanwhile strode on back to the other side of the room for the bar. Florence watched him over her shoulder every so often, and the way that Francine’s clothes seemed to hang off his body. Though they had broken up, she could still look over at him and see the curves of his body, the look of his body, the way that she used to feel and desire him all for herself. She returned to Francine there at the seat right next to her.

“Did you see him undressing you with his eyes?” Florence asked her in a hushed voice, and Francine rolled her eyes at that. “Frankie, he was! He was undressing you right then.”

Something caught her eye, and Florence turned her head for another look over at the bar there. She couldn’t help but feel the warmth blooming in her face at the sight of him there, the first time she had felt that same familiar warmth for him in a long time.

“He’s looking at you,” Florence informed her, and Francine turned her head for a look at him over at the bar. He nodded his head towards her, and that smirk returned once again. Francine returned to Florence with a puzzled look upon her face.

“What do you think I should do?” she asked her in a near whisper.

“Kiss him,” she encouraged him.

“What!” Francine hissed.

“Kiss him, Frankie. Go over there and kiss him.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Francine shook her head, and she squinted her eyes at her.

“Well, at least—do something. He's over there, looking at you and—I used to date him, too. I know what desire looks like in his eyes. He's got it, Frankie. He's got it. Go over there and at the very least talk to him.”

Francine sighed through her nose, and then she stood up to her feet, and she walked on over to him.

Florence could see it in his eyes, even from clear across the room. She propped her chin up in the palm of her hand and gazed out the window next to her to make it look as though she wasn’t watching them. Eric was elsewhere in the ship, but she had her eyes on only one prize, and it sat there clear across the room from her.

Every so often, she flashed a glimpse over there again, and all of Alex’s smiles and wandering gazes, all of the ways that he brandished his hands about whenever he spoke, all the little twinkles in his eyes... there was no way that Francine could resist him.

She envisioned him next to Francine, with his hands all over her, and the two of them still donned in each other’s clothes. They could feel close to one another.

He stood up and showed her the shape of his body, and especially the way that Francine’s trousers slid down his hips and revealed a slight sliver of his slim lower belly to her. Florence's gaze directed over to Francine herself, in particular to the way that her eyes dropped down to his skin there.

She could feel it. She could feel it in her bones, even from clear across the room. Francine was stubborn, however: she wasn’t so easily convinced of boys and their behavior, especially with a boy whom she only knew through mutual friends. Francine laughed at something he said, and yet, she leaned back rather than towards him.

Alex set a hand on his chest, and he ran it down towards his stomach and the loose, low-slung belt around his hips. Florence flashed back on another time where she caught him wearing her clothes, back when they were a couple at one point: she had caught him wearing one of her camisoles, as if he had woken up under some sort of spell that morning and he tried one on. He had told her that it was completely out of curiosity, and he confessed that he only did it to feel closer to her as a woman, but she still saw him in that little piece of black velvet, which was a bit too small for his tall, wiry body, and she couldn’t resist him right then and there. She even put on one of his pairs of blue jeans for the same feeling, and she recalled him touching her bare upper body, and the one time that he had touched her in the most tender way she could ever remember with him.

She knew the tenderness in him, even if it only showed itself to her at a specific moment in time. But underneath that cool demeanor was a soft boy who yearned to feel the same love that she had found with Eric shortly after him.

Alex bowed his head and tucked his hands into the loose pockets as Francine chatted to him about something.

She had forgotten how good of a listener he was, and she knew that he felt something for Francine as he inched closer to her. Her jeans on his legs and hips, and her coat wrapped around his little body, and she knew that he was feeling closer to her. Francine needed to move in for the kiss, or Alex had to. Florence could feel it between the two of them, as they stood before each other in each other’s clothes.

The flame had to ignite at some point. It had to.

But then Alex turned his head, and he peered down the corridor next to them.

He raised a finger, and he ducked over to the doorway with his hands on his belt to keep those jeans up his legs. Francine then turned to Florence and shrugged her shoulders, but Florence could feel the heat between the two of them. She knew that the ice had been broken between them, and they needed to find that flame within to further melt it down so they could swim in each other’s oceans.

Still with her legs stiff as boards, Francine strode her way back over to the table and ran her fingers through her dark hair.

“I forgot how nice of a body he has,” Florence confessed once she came within earshot, but Francine shook her head.

“That was intense,” she remarked as she took her seat across from her. “You were not exaggerating, Flo—he really does have this air to him that I couldn’t resist for a whole second. He's hot, especially when wearing my clothes.”

“Especially when he’s in women’s clothes, yeah,” Florence chuckled. “So, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Francine continued. “I’m not looking for anything, but—Alex is sweet, though. Sweet and spicy. And yeah, you’re right, I can’t stop thinking about him wearing my clothes.”

Florence reached across the table and clasped her hands on either side of Francine’s, and she kissed the backs, one right after the other.

“Oh, Frankie,” she muttered. “Oh, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie...”

“I will say this, though,” Francine vowed. “Next time he and I see one another, I'm going to grab his crotch.”

“You should,” Florence said with a wink.

“He also told me that he wants to do a photoshoot with me with his clothes on, too,” Francine added. “You know, when we’re down on the ground again. Apparently, he’s really into photography.”

“You should!”

#fuckuary #fuckuary '23 #fuckuary 2023 #day 11 #fanfic #fanfiction #testament #testament band #alex skolnick #oc tag #unresolved tension #flowers for alexander #flowers for alexander fanfic #also on ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 #writing #text

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zegalba · 1 year

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Alexander McQueen Spring/Summer 2015 Marc Quinn: "Prehistory of Desire" & "Etymology of Desire"

#Alexander McQueen #sculpture #marc quinn #flower #white #ss15 #2015

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hanelizabeth · 2 months

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i felt zachary and alexander needed their own flower cards so that’s exactly what i made them 🤍

Zachary Carstairs ~ Baby’s Breath ~ Everlasting Love

Alexander Lightwood ~ White Lily ~ Purity

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all-this-panic-still-no-disco · 10 months

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fellas is it gay to visit the graves of achilles and patroclus with your personal bodyguard/bff who you named second in command to your empire and compare yourself to achilles and him to patroclus and also lose your mind when he dies and die yourself not eight months later

#other things alexander the great has done:#kiss a eunuch in public #was apparently ‘keen on boys’#he and hephaestion actually laid flowers on patrochilles’ graves #married once for love then twice more for politics but treated his wives with respect and didn’t force himself on them #(surprisingly great behavior for the time)#this man is very bisexual #alexander the great #hephaestion #achilles #patroclus #patrochilles #song of achilles

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dozydawn · 10 months

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Bride’s Magazine, 1986.

Model: Karen Alexander.

#karen alexander #bridal #wedding #flower hair #1986 #1980s

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ovrarches · 1 year

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i'd like one order of that good hamburr juice please. i need them soft not toasted.

I give you soft Alex and Aaron being a lil flustered about it 😳🙈🥰

#alex bought the tulips but the white flowers were picked from under the bleachers where everyone smokes #hamburr #alexander hamilton #Aaron burr #hamilton #hamilton musical #myart

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ratsnu · 3 months

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picnic date jamilton fluff <3

#hamilton #hamilton musical #hamilton fanart #thomas jefferson #alexander hamilton #jamilton #thomas jefferson x alexander hamilton #ft. the laziest background yall’ve ever seen #cosmo and wanda core too #Alex spends the whole time putting flowers in thomas’s hair until he gets bored with being cutesy and starts putting weeds and grass into it #this results in a raspberry being thrown into his eye

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goddammitjosef · 4 months

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love is love

#napoleonic memes #napoleonic shitpost #napoleonic era #napoleonic wars #napoleon bonaparte #josephine de beauharnais #tsar alexander i #joachim murat #i had no clue what to put for yuri couple #then i remembered a post i made #sorry to flower for no bessimu

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 months

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flowers for alexander | chapter twenty-eight

The words haunted Florence as they sailed all the way up along the spine of California: the volcanic mountains that surrounded the alpine valleys below seemed to tower around the ships as they trekked towards the gateway to Yosemite as well as Mono Lake. A shiver ran up her spine as everything seemed to grow colder beyond the ship. Though she was cuddled up next to Eric in the safety of their bunk, she kept on thinking about Alex. She kept on thinking about what she could do for him to fully open up everything to give forth the fruit of his truth.

Behind that cool, logistical demeanor was a boy with a broken heart. A distant memory and one that also seemed so close and so familiar still even in that moment. If only she could have looked past her own obsessions with the mechanical and nuclear worlds, then she could possibly give to him what he so wanted. He could probably give to her what she wanted as well.

Florence lay still as Eric ran his hand down the curvature of her hip. Though she could have her marriage intact, and she could live and let live with him as well as their new daughter on the way, she still wanted to know what lay behind Alex’s piercing blue eyes. She thought about the spice cake that she had bought for him, and she hoped that he wouldn’t eat the whole thing while they were sailing along the vast escarpment of the mountains towards the next vast array of valley and June Lake.

At some point, she dozed off with Eric’s arms wrapped around her, and she awoke all to crane her neck for a look out the window. She beheld the sight of the pastures down below as well as Twin Lakes, and she knew that they had just cleared Bridgeport and that big hill that led up to it. Eric was sound asleep, but she still had to be careful not to jar him awake lest she have to explain what was going on right there. She was going to have to tell him about Alex’s note at some point, but she had to confront him there in the safety of his bunk.

Florence slithered out from the grip of his chubby hands, to which he followed it up with a roll over onto his back towards the window. She examined his chubby body and the way that he rested his hand upon his chest, as well as long and lanky legs, and she showed him a smile. He would do anything for her, especially save her from the pain of the steam in the ground, and she knew that he would take it all to heart.

She hoped that Eric and Alex would find their closure as well, and soon enough to boot. She carefully opened the door and stepped out to the quiet, dimly lit hallway. There was a light softly filtering out from Alex’s room across the floor, and she fetched up a sigh to steady herself and calm herself down. Florence padded closer to his door, and she knocked on the panel.

“Alex?”

“It’s open,” he called out in a low voice.

She opened the door, to which she saw Alex there on his bed with a book plunked open on his lap. He had taken off his shirt and let his inky black curls sprawl over his shoulders onto his chest. He lifted his gaze to her there, and he raised his eyebrows at the sight of her there before him. Florence pressed her hands against her belly as if to hide her baby from him; they slept with each other, and thus, once she did it, it seemed particularly pointless to do it.

“Hey,” she greeted him, and his face fell at the sight of her.

“Hey…” His full voice was gentle but distant. “I’m guessing you got my note.”

“I had no idea you feel this way,” she confessed. “Like, this is heavy to even think about on my own terms.”

“You have no idea,” he told her in a near whisper.

She took her spot right next to him there on the edge of the bed.

“I wish you didn’t feel this way,” was all she could muster right then.

“I wish I wasn’t lonely, either,” he confessed to her. “I wish I could just… just be, you know?”

“Yes…” she assured him, and she rested her hand on his knee. He held still as she slid her hand up his thigh. She reached his crotch and the inside of his thighs when he grimaced and lingered back away from her. She could tell that it was difficult given the headboard behind him, but she wanted to touch him regardless of anything.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“I have to make this right,” she told him as she lay her left hand on his other thigh.

“On Eric? No!” He rolled over onto his side as if to get away from her, but Florence climbed upon him to hold him down. She rested her hands on his chest, and she ran her fingers down his skin.

“You go and sleep with Eric after this,” she advised him.

“Florence… Florence, two wrongs don’t make a right.” He shook his head and tried to writhe out from under her grip, but she had a firm hold on him. She held onto him like a mother holding onto her baby.

“You feel the desire for him just as he feels it with me and I feel it with you,” she pointed out. “The three of us need sex with each other before mine and Eric’s baby comes. It’s the only way the three of us can achieve closure—”

“No—no! No, dammit! I can’t! I won’t!”

She held onto either side of his face to look right into his eyes.

“You already fucked me in the woods, you silly boy,” she pointed out to him.

“Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off, and then he locked eyes with her.

“But what?” she asked him in a light little voice. He swallowed, and he showed her the tip of his tongue. His eyes were big and wide; she then ran her finger down the side of his neck and onto his chest. “But what?”

“I—” he sputtered out, and he could hardly talk all the while.

Florence dropped her lips down to his for a tender kiss. He shifted his weight underneath her; she could feel him opening his legs as if he was welcoming her into him. She lifted her head for a look into his eyes and the spacey look to them. He parted his cherry lips to which he treated her to a light gasp.

Her belly holding Eric’s baby aside, she lowered herself onto his body to feel him.

He was warm and soft, and his spindly hands crawled over the middle of her back to keep her close to him. His fingertips glided over her spine towards the arch of her back as if he was about to undo her bra for her. But the joke was on him in that she only wore her camisole and her pants: he lifted the hem of her top, and she knew it was to better feel her skin. She never realized the utter passion that ran through him before then, and she wondered if her being pregnant only added to it. She knew that he couldn’t have her, and yet that made him want her more.

Alex moved his mouth away from her own and he let his tongue lap out from his lips like that of a dog. Florence let her hands slither up behind the back of his head, and her fingers found their way through the roots, right up against his scalp.

“Let me… let me…”

“No, I can’t,” he blathered. “You’re with Eric. You’re pregnant with his kid. I can’t.”

“What about this?” Florence opened her lips all the way and slithered her tongue into his mouth. She could feel a little bit of extra saliva on his bottom lip, and she had no idea if it came from her or him. She moved her head back a bit for another look into his eyes.

“Oh, man,” he groaned out, but then he shook his head again. “I can’t. Even if I still…” He pursed his lips together as if to hold back a secret from her.

“Still what?” she sweetly asked him.

“…still feel the need to—”

“To what?”

“—to taste you,” he stammered out, and he gazed off to the side at that. Florence moved a piece of hair out from his forehead, and she stroked his soft skin. She eyed the roots of the gray streak, the tiny light plume on the right side of his head about the size of a quarter.

“To taste me?” she echoed him.

“I still want to know how you taste,” he continued, and his voice was in that low, silky tone, the tone he used whenever she knew he was turned on. He never moved his head back for a direct look at her but he did look at her from the corner of his eye. “The feeling that you give me… the feeling that you have always given me… and yet…”

Florence finally let go of his head and his chest so he could sit up and breathe.

“And yet, the way that we broke up will always haunt me,” he continued. “I remember you saying that you were in love with my mind, but it felt like you didn’t really mean it, though.”

“What makes you think that?” She knitted her eyebrows at that.

“You’re the… hands-on one and I’m the brainiac,” he said with a gesture to her. “It’s apples to oranges with us, and I’ll never forget you saying that, either.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” she confessed with a shake of her head. Alex stared back at her with a wounded look on his face.

“Florence, I remember you distinctly saying, ‘Alex, I love you but I can’t do this with you.’”

She tilted her head to the side at the sound of that.

“You don’t remember?” he demanded. “It’s practically engraved on me. ‘I love you but I can’t do this.’ You said that to me as you were wielding a wrench and fixing a hydraulic valve.”

“Wow, I… don’t even remember that,” she admitted with a shake of her head.

“Of course you don’t,” he scoffed. “You split up with me and went off with Eric, wing bang boom. Wham bam thank you, ma’am.” He folded his arms over his chest and turned his head away from her; Florence could see the look of pain on his face. She then held back away from him to give him space, and he rubbed his eye with the base of his palm.

“I’m… so sorry, Alex,” she told him.

He shook his head at that and sank down in the bed. He turned his head towards the pillow, and she sighed through her nose. Florence climbed off the edge of the bed and walked on back to the door. She stepped out to the hallway, only to find Francine there before her with a book in one hand.

“Frankie,” she remarked.

“Flo! What’re you doing here?”

“I was just… going in there to talk to him about… something,” Florence said in a low voice, and she squirmed at the sound of her own words.

“I was just returning a book to Alex,” Francine answered, and all the while, she had the look on her face as if she didn’t know what to think or do right then.

“Frankie… what did you do with Alex last night?” Florence asked her in a near whisper because she knew that either Alex or Eric could be overhearing them.

“I saw him in front of your door and I walked up to him and talked to him. He just wanted someone to unload on. Someone that wasn’t you or Eric.”

Florence paused for a second.

“He talked to you about… what exactly?” she asked her.

“We just chatted,” Francine continued with a shrug of her shoulders. “He told me about reading into Miles Davis and wanting to watch a show from him during his electric era. I told him about books I was reading and wanting to read. He told me about growing up in the Bay Area, like his being the only Jewish boy for miles around and his having parents who are both teachers.”

“He told you the same things he told me when we first met, basically,” Florence said.

“But I don’t really feel the same thing that you feel with him, though,” Francine continued on. “I mean, I can admit that he is a very good-looking guy. If anything, he’s one of the better looking guys I’ve seen. If anything, I’m more inclined to say that he’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.”

Florence raised her eyebrows at that.

“Really?” she asked her in a hushed voice.

“Yeah.”

“Did you actually say that to him?” Florence asked her as her heart skipped a few beats.

“No I couldn’t,” Francine admitted with a shake of her head. “There was no way that I could confess something like that to him.”

“Did you show him the ring?” Florence added.

“Kept it in my pocket,” she confessed. “That’s another thing that I could literally never show to him, especially when we know where it came from as well.” Francine ran her fingers through her hair and turned her attention to the door behind Florence: Alex was in there, alone. Florence then gazed past her to the compartment door across the hall, and she knew Eric, while still asleep, was waiting for her. She hoped that they would land soon just so she could feel the cool mountain air on her face again.

“He really is a beautiful boy,” Francine whispered the words so softly, that Florence believed that she had breathed it.

“Who, Alex?”

“Yeah. Someone as beautiful as him has gotta have a great deal of angst within him to show it on his face and body.”

“I guess you could say that with Eric, too,” Florence pointed out, to which Francine cracked her a smile.

“Always, of course,” she replied, and she flashed her a wink. “Go see him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

Florence sighed through her nose and walked on to the compartment door. Even as she climbed into the bed next to him, she still thought about Alex, and she wondered how Francine would fare with him, at least until they landed again.

#flowers for alexander #flowers for alexander fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #testament #testament fanfic #testament band #alex skolnick #oc tag #writing #also on ao3 #text

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nuagederose · 1 year

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“’It’s called the Cherenkov effect,’ Florence explained. ‘It’s basically gamma rays through water droplets. For whatever reason, it glows blue, and it’s always very unsettling to see, especially since it’s not common in nature. During the Manhattan Project, the scientists were always wary about triggering a criticality incident when building the bombs and they knew it happened when the core was glowing blue. When Chernobyl happened a couple of years ago, bystanders said the gaping hole where the explosion happened radiated that same blue light, high up into the sky as far as the eye could see. It’s seemingly innocuous things like that that keep me awake at night, even though my background is in mechanics and not nuclear science.’” -chapter 9 of flowers for alexander

it’s been pointed out to me that i like to use blue light in my sci-fi writings, mainly because of this: it’s creepy and unnatural, sinister even, and often talked in junction with electronics but never radiation, though.

top left clockwise: alex and those black glasses in xenon dreams; flowers for alexander; chris in the artist; joey in now it’s dark—i also used prussian blue in the inktober drawings, as prussian blue is used to treat radiation sickness.

“the blue lights are turning us on.” 💙🤍

ig: badmotorartist

#sci fi #sci-fi #science fiction #art and science #xenon dreams #xenon dreams fanfic #flowers for alexander #the artist #now it’s dark #blue #science nerd #fanfic #fanfic art #fanfiction #ink drawing #colored pencil #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart

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josiebelladonna · 1 year

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paraselenae | rose quartz

pairing: eric peterson x alex skolnick (flowers for alexander)

genre: sci-fi/steampunk!au

fandoms: testament

*18+ only; minors dni (especially here, holy god)*

Warnings: sex toys, boys being hot

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: eric and alex having a little fun together in the middle of the night (this is one of my biggest hang-ups, too: eclipse and black moon had toys and i had trouble with both of them)

Word Count: 4228

There was a moment before the rise of the ship to the skies over San Francisco and ultimately, the California coast, a moment which Eric had found in the midst of the patch between him and Florence, and he believed the whole thing was over and done with, and he knew that he had his work cut out for him in the end if he let the whole thing drift forth. He needn’t lose Florence, not to something so arbitrary and something that was so far outside of context, either. Those divorce papers still stayed within his mind: there was no way that he could lose her, not to this.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but relish it. Florence was suspecting him of cheating, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was with a woman, as well.

If only he could show her that that simply wasn’t the case at all.

And yet, the moment came about right before the papers were even in consideration, and Eric thought he could go about with the actual affair with no strings attached and no problem at the helm.

There was a shop in San Jose which he had visited on a whim: he had gone out for a cup of coffee at the nearby café there while Florence was at the garage where she worked, and there was nothing better to do back at the rehearsal space, especially since it was all about to take place on a giant airship over the Bay Area and most of the West Coast as far as he knew: and as far as he knew, it was all about to carry itself out over the country as well.

A light marine layer had sunk all around the corners of the valley, and the sun shone all around the area before him. Given the marine layer burgeoned on the absolute lowest level of the fog, there was a bit of a chill in the air: Eric zipped up his jacket as he walked to the center of town, right to the corner which beheld the view of the shop. He looked all around him to ensure that no one was watching: though the street was deserted, it felt as though everyone was looking and waiting to strike him sideways for even so much as considering it.

The sex with Florence was alright, but nothing to write home about: but then again, there was the other side to it.

The other person.

The other man.

It was a man.

Eric bowed inside of the shop as if he was running for cover from torrential rains. He shut the door behind him and looked around at the shelves about the floor there before him. All manners of toys and things, things that never would have crossed his mind one time during the honeymoon part of the relationship, although he had considered them at one point. Florence was more fixated on the challenges of the mind rather than the body at first. All it took was one round of vanilla sex, missionary position, to get her moving forth on his bed.

There was a whole manner of vibrators over on the shelf closest to him, such that he shivered at the sheer sight of them.

He turned his head again, and that time around, he spotted the woman behind the counter with a devilish grin upon her face and a little twinkle in her eye, as if she knew something that he didn’t. He swallowed and shivered again.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah, I'm just—a little bit chilly is all,” he sputtered, and she giggled at that.

“Have you ever been in a place like this?” she continued.

“Not really, no. My wife hasn’t mentioned it, neither has, uh—my lover.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, two is better than one, if you ask me, especially since I like both.”

“Ooh, it’s not the first time I had a bisexual in here, and I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last, either. What'd you have in mind?”

“Well, um... what do you recommend?” The warmth of the room washed over his head and shoulders, and to the point that the rims of his ears radiated with the heat of embarrassment. She squinted her eyes at him.

“Nothing to be alarmed of,” she told him with a shake of her head.

“It’s just... I never really told my wife about him—” He stopped himself right there.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You’re in a place that’s taboo already, babe. Nothing is off-limits in here.”

He closed his eyes and let out a low whistle.

“Come on, come with me,” she gently coaxed him. Eric opened his eyes, and he took her by the hand, and she led him to the nearest shelf to the front counter, and she showed him a series of black boxes all about the surface there. It looked like a small shoe store if nothing else; albeit the boxes had a rich sheen to them, as if they had been crafted out of the finest stone known to the entire continuous Bay Area.

She handed one of the boxes to him, and he opened it up as if he was revealing a little nugget of buried treasure to the world. He swallowed at the sight of the things tucked inside of there.

But she assured him that it was all for the best.

“Don’t you dare tell the wife, either,” she encouraged him in a low voice, and he nodded his head and swallowed down his fears.

The blanket of night fell over his head and shoulders as he made his way out of the house to the street beyond. The orange lights which penetrated the pillars of steam about the horizon beyond there followed him about like the lights from ghosts. Eric tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked along the sidewalk towards the end of the street.

He had told him to meet up with him near there, near the same place where they had eaten muffins together that one morning. The middle of the night only served as his cloak every step of the way there: Eric reached the corner and his heart pounded in his chest from both the excitement and from the thought of being close to him, that time with something special tucked in his coat pocket.

He took another turn around the corner before him, and the orange light of a streetlamp washed over the span of his head, which in turn gave his smooth jet-black hair a healthy bright sheen at the very crown. He shivered from the feeling of the cold breeze from the bay all around him, and he thought about the prize that awaited him there at the very end of the line.

He reached that one stretch of sidewalk before it wound into the heart of town, and he turned his head for a glance across the street. Underneath the shadows, there at the front porch, there he was, seated in a spindly wooden chair with something sprawled across his lap. Eric swallowed and stood there on the sidewalk with his eyes fixated on his dark silhouette over there, a lingering demon ready to take him down to the underworld, the world which held his deepest, darkest secrets and the place where he never explained to anyone else ever, not even dearest Florence.

There was a light plucking noise, the sound of a banjo, there from the shadows. Eric glanced about the street once again, that time to the pillars of steam on either edge of the horizon. The only trees there on the block with them were those scraggly oak trees that were beginning to shed their leaves with the impending autumn all around them. He sighed through his nose and padded across the black pavement to the sidewalk there: another pluck of the banjo string and he caught a glimpse of those bright eyes, bright as diamonds through the blackness around him.

“I was hoping to find you here,” Eric declared as he reached the other side of the street and stood before Alex with his hands pressed onto his hips. Alex himself stopped plucking at the banjo and held still with his gaze fixed on the crown of Eric’s head there before him.

“It’s just a regular thing, my man,” Alex told him, as his low, velvety voice caressed Eric like the softest fingers on his skin. He climbed up onto the sidewalk and the step before him: his eyes adjusted to the rich darkness, and he rested a hand on the edge of the table next to Alex. The glow from the orange lights washed over his dark silhouette, all to where Eric could see the body and neck of the banjo against Alex’s wiry, lovely body. His oval face looked like that of a ghost, pale and slightly rounded, and with the plume of gray at the top of his forehead and those bright eyes, he legitimately resembled the devil to Eric. To dance with the devil as he brought forth the sinister wilderness through the doubled banjo strings.

“Where’d you get the banjo, by the way?” he asked.

“Same place where we always get our guitars,” Alex replied without a moment of hesitation. “There’s this whole line of banjos near the back of the front room. I had never played banjo before so—you know—nice little change of pace.”

“You have to pluck the strings really quick,” Eric suggested.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘really quick’ but if you want to play effectively, it’s imperative not to freeze up over the strings. You know—” Alex held his fingers over the neck of the banjo, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Eric watched him with close intent, complete with one hand rested on the top of the table between the two of them.

Alex plucked at the strings for that classic banjo sound, and then he picked it up a bit. Eric nodded his head along to him, and then Alex picked up more and more for something that sounded like a piece straight out of a bluegrass song. He barred his teeth and then he stopped and shook his right hand around.

“Too much too soon?” Eric asked him.

“Nah, it’s just some adjusting to do,” Alex replied. “Like when I first learned how to play bass.” He flexed his fingers, to which Eric nibbled on his bottom lip as he had no idea where to go forth from there. “So, a little bird told me that you have indulged in a little bit of shopping of sorts. Shopping at a place to enhance all that is fleshly and powerful.”

“And that little bird would be correct,” Eric declared with a slight drumming of his fingers on the tabletop.

“You know, this building behind us here has a back room where we can—” Alex plucked at the strings again, and then he followed it up with a straight strum like he would with an actual guitar. “—do the thing.”

“You really wanna do that?” Eric asked him, taken aback.

“Eric, it’s twelve-thirty at night. I'm wrapped in black velvet and playing a banjo when I've never played one before in my life. I want to know what you have for me.”

Through the darkness, Eric could see Alex turn his head towards him: that time, he genuinely resembled a ghost, a spirit straight from the lacy veil to help him indulge in all that he held in his hand. With that cool gaze fixed onto him, Eric reached into his coat pocket for the black box, and he set it down on the table between the two of them.

“What’s in the box?” Alex lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.

“You tell me,” Eric challenged him.

“My ticket to ride?”

“Maybe. How ‘bout you show me that back room you were just talking about?”

Alex never moved for a good, long minute. Then he held onto the banjo by the neck, and, further in ghostly fashion, he stood up and walked over to the edge of the step, and then the sidewalk; Eric followed suit out there to the orange lights, which began to collect a heavy haze within his eyes. There had to be a better light in that back room because it felt as though he was sleepwalking.

Alex led him around the building to the alleyway between it and the bakery next door, but he kept going to the very end and the sight of the door right there at the corner.

“Watch this,” Alex told him; through the dim light, Eric could see his fingers fan out as far as they could before he pressed his hand up against the panel of the door, which opened in utter silence. It seemed unimpressive in the least, that is until Eric closed it behind them, and Alex turned the light switch on next to the door.

“That thing is heavy,” Eric remarked, and he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He blinked against the bright golden light from the ceiling and faced Alex right before him, still with the banjo in hand. The room was small but cozy, complete with a tweed couch in one corner and a soft rug underneath their feet: the makings of a hideaway in the event of a collapse in the Bay Area.

“Surprised me, too,” he assured him with a shake of his black curls about with the flick of his head: the golden light washed over the crown of his black hair in the form of a soft sheen; his gray plume swept over the right side of his bangs in the form of a little wave against the rich black of his curls. “But when I spread my fingers out like that and push against the side, it nudges open no problem. From what I'm told, it’s an alloy of chromium, cobalt, and nickel—and it’s a lot heavier than it looks.”

He glanced down at the black box in Eric’s left hand and swallowed. Eric then showed him a smirk and opened the lid. Alex peered inside and raised his eyebrows at what was in there. Eric peeked in there himself, and he noticed something was missing.

He reached into his pocket and felt it. He showed Alex the ring, to which he raised his dark eyebrows at the smooth silicone surface.

“I want you to put this on,” Eric told him.

“What for?” Alex asked, and he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed about a bit. Eric moved in closer to his face, and he could smell the cologne on the smooth side of his elegant neck.

“I want you to wear it and look at me as it’s vibrating,” he explained in a low voice. Alex swallowed again and shifted his weight.

Not only was that door behind them heavy, but it blocked out most of the noise from outside. Silence settled over them. Alex leaned the banjo against the couch next to them.

Slowly, he dropped his jeans around his legs, right in front of Eric’s eyes. His underwear came next.

Eric nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight there before him, out there in plain sight for him to see for himself.

Alex took the ring, with its light blue silicone surface and the little black switch on the side. All it would take was the flick of his finger to switch it on. He shifted his weight a bit and then he slid it over the head and the shaft. He wrinkled his nose: it was a tight fit, but he managed to slide it over the head.

“God damn it,” Alex groaned.

“Hold still,” Eric advised him as he offered to put it on the rest of the way up his shaft.

“Phew, that’s tight!” Alex stood still with his arms held out on either side of him, even though there was nothing to hold onto from there. Once Eric had the ring secure right smack in the middle of the shaft, Alex took a glimpse down and let out a low whistle.

Eric then held back and reached for something else, something long and with a handle on one end. Alex parted his lips at the sight of it: Eric took a glimpse down to the ring around his shaft and he could see that its grip was tightening more and more. He shoved his own jeans down his legs and revealed his truth to him.

“Is that a—a—”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Eric said as he held the vibrator next to his own dick. “It is—exactly—what you think it is.”

He clicked it on, and then he reached for the ring around Alex’s dick and clicked it onto the lowest setting.

“Oh, god, that tickles!” Alex burst out laughing. He then gasped and inched back from him as the ring picked up the pace. Eric held still before him with the vibrator going at a low level, and he locked eyes with him for a good long minute. Alex sank down to the floor with his legs wide open. He breathed harder as if he had gone out running for a time.

He reclined back onto his elbows: all the while, Eric stood over him, still with the vibrator up against him. The feeling only made him rise more and more, and he wondered if that ring went any higher or if that was the sole setting.

He lunged for the space between Alex’s legs and brought the side of the dildo up against the side of his shaft. He turned it up to the middle setting.

Alex clenched his teeth and lay his head down on the floor underneath him.

“Fuck... fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

“Yes!” Eric declared.

“FUCK!” Alex shrieked, the loudest that Eric had ever heard him shriek before since they had known one another. Eric giggled as he kicked up the dildo to the final notch and then moved it along the side of the shaft. Alex rolled his head to the side and let out a low groan that sounded as though it came from somewhere: as Eric moved the tip of it along the side of the shaft towards Alex’s thigh, the moans grew louder. He tilted his head back to show off his Adam’s apple, and Eric flashed him a grin even though he couldn’t see him.

The feeling only made Alex breathe harder, as if he was running in a marathon somewhere. His chest heaved, rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath from the feeling. The heavy breathing led to a fit of hearty laughter as he rolled his head back forth and a few stray locks of dark hair spread over his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

“You bastard!” Alex cackled out. “You bastard! You bastard!” He let out the softest, lowest, most mellow moan that Eric had ever heard from him: he glanced down and found the little pearly puddle of cum right underneath his knee. When he moved his leg back, he was met with a little streak of it on the front of his bare knee.

“Want me to try on you now?” Alex offered to him in a broken voice.

“You know I want you to,” Eric said with a slight chuckle. “And I know you want to, too.”

Alex wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; Eric meanwhile lay back down on the floor and spread his bare legs apart.

Alex’s inky black hair sprawled over his shoulder and his upper arm down to his elbow: he held that long thing vibrator up against Eric’s shaft, and all the while, he had it turned up to the middle setting.

“Higher,” Eric told him, and he clicked it up to full speed. He massaged it along the shaft towards his nuts and that space where his thigh met with his hip.

“Higher!”

“I’m right on top of your balls, Eric,” Alex said.

“There’s a toy over there for the—the—the prostate.”

Alex frowned at that.

“You want me to shove something up your ass,” he declared in a flat tone.

“Please do,” Eric told him with a clearing of his throat. “I need it because this just isn’t doing it for me. And it’s not just something, either.”

He rolled over onto his stomach, so his bare ass pointed up towards him. Breathing somewhat harder, he lay there face down as Alex made his way over to the other vibrator on the table there, long and thin and blunt on one end. He watched Alex pick it by the handle with a slight quiver to his hand and wrist, and then he turned his attention back to him.

“There’s a switch on this thing,” he told him. “Does it vibrate?”

“You bet your cute booty it does,” Eric assured him with a swallow and a nudge of his jet-black hair away from the side of his neck. “There’s a little tube of some lube there, too. No way you’re putting that thing in bone dry.” He then rested the side of his head upon the backs of his hands and awaited Alex and that vibrator. Alex himself, meanwhile, swallowed down again as he wiped some of that water-based lubricant onto the blunt end of it. He let out a low whistle, and he crouched down over Eric’s thighs. He ran his fingers along the bare skin to steady himself there on the floor.

The blunt end went in, and he clicked it on at the low setting. Eric breathed a little harder, but Alex knew where he was going with this. He wrinkled his nose as he pushed it further in.

“Higher,” Eric commanded; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alex shooting out his tongue.

Middle setting next, and he buried his face in the carpet. The vibrating was almost too much to bear, but Eric knew that he could do more with it. So much more.

Eric raised his head and opened his mouth for a soft moan of sorts. Alex let out a low whistle and Eric knew that he was being aroused by the whole thing as well. One of them was going to come first, and Eric hoped that it was him.

“Higher?” Alex asked in a hoarse voice still.

“Please!” Eric exclaimed, and Alex turned it up to the highest setting.

“That’s it! That's it! That's it! That's the spot! THAT’S IT!”

He pinched his eyes shut and spread his arms up over his head and body. He shrieked right into the carpet below them; though it was completely muffled from the get-go with the door behind them, he knew that there was no way anyone would hear it. No one would hear or know what went down there in the room.

The single line of cum shot out from the tip of his dick onto the carpet between his legs: he felt the plug being pulled out from his ass, and that was followed by the hot feeling of Alex’s dick in its place. Eric let the boy ravage him with the deepest euphoria and rapture all at the same time. The finest razor to walk along, especially since this was the first time either of them had done anything that involved their asses outside of a light spanking of sorts.

Alex thrust in as if he was about to churn up some butter: all it took was three times for Eric to let out a loud yelp and another ejaculation that emerged from in between his legs. Alex gasped and let go of his grip on him: Eric felt him fall back away from him and onto the floor behind him.

“Oh, god,” Alex groaned out. Eric coughed and lifted himself up from the floor, and into a push-up position. Alex pushed his long black hair back from the side of his face and neck: the little plume of gray at the crown of his head still resembled a little wave.

“You okay?” Eric asked him.

“Yeah. That was—oh, god, that was something.” Alex stayed reclined back onto his elbows, and still with his legs open for Eric to see the ring still firmly in place on his dick.

“How’s your dick? You clean?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Amazingly, yeah,” Alex replied. “I’m still going to wash, though. There's a bathroom around the other side here—I'm guessing we wash these, too.”

“Well, yeah,” Eric said with a little flutter of his eyelids at him. Alex nudged his hair back from his forehead once again and let out a low whistle. Both the vibrators lay on either side of him: it looked like a photograph straight out of Playgirl magazine.

“There’s a part of me that just wants that thing to stay shoved up my ass,” Eric groaned out.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Alex said with another clearing of his throat.

“No, not you—the plug.”

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