Kink Bingo: Feathers
Sep. 27th, 2012 10:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
escapedsnake911by: escapedsnake911
fandoms: Sherlock/Cabin Pressure
kinks: Feathers
title: The Side of the Angels
pairing: Martin Crieff/Richard Brook
rating: PG-13
summary/preview: Martin's new boyfriend makes his dreams come true.
content notes: None
“What do you like most about my apartment?”
Martin blushed and tried to bury his face in the pillow. He had made one off-hand comment, days ago, and Rich was still teasing him about it.
“It’s a nice apartment. I’m used to living in student housing, and this place is practically a palace in comparison.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t start asking you to call me ‘your highness’. Although I could probably drum up a crown somewhere.”
Martin elbowed him, and their conversation devolved into a mess of tickling and light kisses.
Rich pulled away to smirk at him.
“I think you’re a sucker for the bed. And not just the activities that take place in it.”
Martin paused and considered his next words. Could he just say that he liked the bed because it was big and soft (reasons that were certainly part of it)?
Or did he trust Rich enough to tell him the real reason. He did not think he would laugh at him, but they had only been dating for a few months. He had helped Rich move into this very apartment, taking two trips all the way from London to Fitton. That many hours in a van gave you plenty of time to meet someone, but did he really trust Rich with one of his oldest dreams?
Rich watched him with large eyes, waiting for the reason. Martin took a deep breath.
“It’s the feather bedding.”
“It is nice, isn’t it? Positively decadent.”
“Yes, but not just because it’s soft and comfortable. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had sort of a…a thing for feathers. They’re just so tied up with the idea of flight, something that gets you up in the air without having to depend on a machine. I would collect feathers all over Wokingham, clean them and save them, just so I could look at them and touch them. And think what it would feel like to have them growing out of my skin.”
He said it all in a rush, and didn’t look at Rich. A long silence fell after he finished his story. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the laughter. Silly little man, even his fetishes had to do with flying.
Instead, he heard Rich fumbling in the bedside drawer. A clicking noise and a flash of silver, and Rich was holding a switchblade over him.
“Rich, what-!”
Martin jumped off the bed and half out of his skin as Rich stabbed the knife down into the bedding. He dragged it down, tearing the fabric and spilling white feathers everywhere. He stuck his hands in the rip and tore further, opening the cloth to expose the whole downy mess.
He tossed the knife to the other side of the room and held a hand out to Martin.
“Come on in.”
Between the knife, the feathers, and the heady expression in Rich’s eyes, Martin’s heart was racing. He gently took the offered hand and lay down on the eviscerated bed. He lay flat, directly over the tear.
His skin was covered in pinpricks and everything felt alive and intense. He wriggled in deeper, letting his arms and legs be covered.
Rich leaned over him. His voice sounded strange, colder, with a hint of an accent. His eyes still looked caring, but with a certain hunger behind them.
“Don’t you look just like an angel?”
“Hardly. An angel would have real wings.”
“Not necessarily.”
He leaned over Martin and pressed him down into a kiss. Martin felt like he was drowning in a sea of clouds, floating in the air with nothing but feathers and Rich to hold him up.
He pulled away from Rich and looked into his eyes.
“How did I get so lucky to find you? I’m serious, nothing like this ever happens to me.”
Rich smiled down at him.
“And I feel like you were made for me. My own little angel.”
fandoms: Sherlock/Cabin Pressure
kinks: Feathers
title: The Side of the Angels
pairing: Martin Crieff/Richard Brook
rating: PG-13
summary/preview: Martin's new boyfriend makes his dreams come true.
content notes: None
“What do you like most about my apartment?”
Martin blushed and tried to bury his face in the pillow. He had made one off-hand comment, days ago, and Rich was still teasing him about it.
“It’s a nice apartment. I’m used to living in student housing, and this place is practically a palace in comparison.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t start asking you to call me ‘your highness’. Although I could probably drum up a crown somewhere.”
Martin elbowed him, and their conversation devolved into a mess of tickling and light kisses.
Rich pulled away to smirk at him.
“I think you’re a sucker for the bed. And not just the activities that take place in it.”
Martin paused and considered his next words. Could he just say that he liked the bed because it was big and soft (reasons that were certainly part of it)?
Or did he trust Rich enough to tell him the real reason. He did not think he would laugh at him, but they had only been dating for a few months. He had helped Rich move into this very apartment, taking two trips all the way from London to Fitton. That many hours in a van gave you plenty of time to meet someone, but did he really trust Rich with one of his oldest dreams?
Rich watched him with large eyes, waiting for the reason. Martin took a deep breath.
“It’s the feather bedding.”
“It is nice, isn’t it? Positively decadent.”
“Yes, but not just because it’s soft and comfortable. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had sort of a…a thing for feathers. They’re just so tied up with the idea of flight, something that gets you up in the air without having to depend on a machine. I would collect feathers all over Wokingham, clean them and save them, just so I could look at them and touch them. And think what it would feel like to have them growing out of my skin.”
He said it all in a rush, and didn’t look at Rich. A long silence fell after he finished his story. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the laughter. Silly little man, even his fetishes had to do with flying.
Instead, he heard Rich fumbling in the bedside drawer. A clicking noise and a flash of silver, and Rich was holding a switchblade over him.
“Rich, what-!”
Martin jumped off the bed and half out of his skin as Rich stabbed the knife down into the bedding. He dragged it down, tearing the fabric and spilling white feathers everywhere. He stuck his hands in the rip and tore further, opening the cloth to expose the whole downy mess.
He tossed the knife to the other side of the room and held a hand out to Martin.
“Come on in.”
Between the knife, the feathers, and the heady expression in Rich’s eyes, Martin’s heart was racing. He gently took the offered hand and lay down on the eviscerated bed. He lay flat, directly over the tear.
His skin was covered in pinpricks and everything felt alive and intense. He wriggled in deeper, letting his arms and legs be covered.
Rich leaned over him. His voice sounded strange, colder, with a hint of an accent. His eyes still looked caring, but with a certain hunger behind them.
“Don’t you look just like an angel?”
“Hardly. An angel would have real wings.”
“Not necessarily.”
He leaned over Martin and pressed him down into a kiss. Martin felt like he was drowning in a sea of clouds, floating in the air with nothing but feathers and Rich to hold him up.
He pulled away from Rich and looked into his eyes.
“How did I get so lucky to find you? I’m serious, nothing like this ever happens to me.”
Rich smiled down at him.
“And I feel like you were made for me. My own little angel.”
