1 - 20 of 146 Works by Red
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Summary
Ask him to speed up, just get this all over with. You can take it like a man.
Tell him to stop. It's too much. He'll burst you like a blister. Caltrops to a tyre. You'll die.
He tsks. The chiding reprimand, so familiar: in the field, in the bullpen, behind him in the motor carriage. Your mind is trained to it now, a dog to a whistle. Your attention is his.
"If you can't stay focused, we can stop."
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What happened between him and Jean. What happened between Jean and her...
In this life, there were few secrets left for keeping. It wasn't a secret.
All the same, they never spoke of it. What was there to say? It happened. They all had their reasons. It was different, anyway, after the shelling started.
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He reaches over for the vibrator and the set of sounds.
Should you be more nervous? You remember the first time you used the sounds on him. Harry was half-hard, too nervous for a full erection. Of course you'd seen such things in sex shops before. A popular fetish, at least amongst men. Well. At least those with urethras longer than yours.
Series
- Part 2 of Torque Dorks In Love
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You shift your weight, letting your thighs glide together. Soft. Silky. A reminder you're here, and alive. The pleated skirt brushes your skin. You aren't wearing any underwear.
See? It's fine. You shouldn't go out. You couldn't go out like this, anyway.
No? You could. Get the old blood boiling. Warm up those guns, big guy. Throw a couple punches.
Sure. Get your teeth kicked in. Now, there's something to look forward to.
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One full moon years into their partnership, Harry runs off to the forests outside Revachol.
Kim goes to find him (Jean is just along for the ride).
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The thing is, as long as there has been a Magda-and-Erik, there's been a Charles, too. Longer, really, since they both met Charles before they met each other.
Now, they just have to figure out how to get him in bed. Surely, it's as simple as that?
(Or: the fic we left in the shared doc for, well. Seven years? Also cowritten with firstlightofeos)
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During the case in Martinaise, Kim can watch Harry bloom into one of many different men. But no matter what forms out there on the sea ice, no matter if Kim trusts that animal or not—still, he can develop fascination, desire.
This is the story about the Kim who would get into the aerostatic with Icebreaker Harry and ride into the sunset as the world burns below. A Kim enchanted by war, by death, by the fictions he's told about himself, and by men like Harry—weak, closeted 'traditionalists' he can use for his own desires.
This story is also very much a "mind the tags" situation. No one is a winner in this story, not even the ghosts.
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Spending his days in Kim's yard, Harry has little to do but wait for him to get home.
Just a little ficlet I wrote a while ago as a sort of fluffy plotless something in Ric's farmer Kim/hucow Harry verse, and posting as it's... Halloween adjacent if you squint?
Series
- Part 2 of Hucow du Bois
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"Whatever happened to not a good idea?" Kim asks, sotto voce.
Judit smiles to herself, while no one will see it. Just four coworkers in an abandoned lot east of the river. Two of them absolutely doused in old vegetable oil. There is nothing to see here.
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Harry pauses for a moment, his hand on the boulder. His eyes are distant. Judit looks out at the bay. The topography protects them here, from the weather, from the sky. The early wildflowers sprout up amidst the grasses. When the wind shifts, she can hear it in the reeds.
"Gonna lay down."
Judit nods.
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Harry raises her eyebrows. You cannot avoid meeting her gaze, not now. The shirt is one of the old satin ones, but only half-buttoned, her cleavage and hair framed by the fabric. It is mostly unstained. Harry still wears it to the office.
She pats her lap, but still you hesitate. She snaps her fingers.
"You really are something tonight, aren't you? Bring me my hairbrush."
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"Ah-ah. Dogs don't talk, remember?" and you shake your head frantically, no, of course not. He reaches down and grips the base of your tail.
"That's a good boy. Now, if you can't control yourself... I suppose I can change my plans."
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"It's called a speculum," you say. The word means nothing to him, you can tell. He nods, filing it away. "It's used in medical exams."
He looks back at you. His thumb idly turns the screw the other way, narrowing the two blades.
"For like, haemorrhoids?"
You snort.
Series
- Part 1 of Torque Dorks In Love
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"Okay, okay." Kim pats his shoulder in anxious reassurance. He glances back at Jean again for a second. "Then you should have called me. You could really hurt yourself. We've been through this together before, haven't we?"
"Fuck! You think I didn't—it's different, now, Kim! Jean... I couldn't—"
"You could have called us, you sanctimonious prick. What, you think I can't handle a little para-fucking-natural cum pollen?"
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The pencil tip lifts again, pressing down on the back of his thigh. Four lines, then a diagonal over them.
Harry bites the inside of his cheek. He absolutely will not laugh. He can't think of five entire dicks that would go anywhere near this scrawny old ass.
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She tilts the candle again, this time gesturing the flame through the air. A stripe, crossing his low back. Over the kidneys, where the cane couldn't strike—he jolts under her as the wax lashes him. This time, he doesn't relax.
She smiles.
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"God," he rumbles thoughtlessly. "They're so big. Fucking enormous."
Under his hand, he can feel the muscles in Kim's side tense. A stifled sound.
Fuck, is he trying not to laugh?
"Enormous?"
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"You want something." He withdraws a little further. His fingers smear over your stretched lips. "I don't want to fuck you now. But I might have a, khm. A little treat for you. Would you like a treat?"
You nod your head furiously.
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"And do more work? After running your ass off for a double?"
"Who said anything about me doing any of the work?"
Jean scoffs, but shakes his trousers from his ankles before leveraging himself off of Kim's lap and out of the armchair. So much for 'no fucking on the armchair', he thinks. But this time, he keeps his mouth shut.
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He gives your whole package a nice little pat. Calming. Emasculating.
And then he pats the bed. You sit down, careful not to jostle him.
A wave of his scent washes up to you. There's no more pine in it.