[timed to some weeks before christmas]

[funny_herman]

It was that time of the day when the Kit Kat Klub was at its emptiest and quietest, like a cold mausoleum containing the remnants of the revelries from the previous night. The only source of warmth and light that remained in it, though, was Herman, steadfastly working on musical arrangements to occupy his long hours of (mostly) solitude until evening.

As he worked away, wayward thoughts inevitably seeped in, his concentration becoming misty at the edges until a dense fog forced him to put his pencil down and stop what he was doing. He blamed himself for this relapse into semi-hermitism. If he would only relax and not keep to himself so much, this sort of thing would probably be easier to handle.

Those dreams about Fritzie had been waking him up again lately. They weren't unpleasant -- far, far from it -- but he could never seem to finish them without waking up. He wondered why they always ended so abruptly before the climax, and so he would have to finish the job himself. It was beginning to annoy him, in a petty, amusing way.

This is what he was contemplating at the piano instead of writing music, replaying dreams in his head and creating happy endings.

Quite engrossing.


[OOC: Plotlocked for Fritzie.]

Comments

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

In time with the slow drag of Herman's tongue, Fritzie's fist pulls upward on his cock, her thumb following the track of a pulsating vein until she reaches the tip, where it gently worked at that sensitive ridge. Her other hand is plunged into his light hair, holding his mouth to her chest and guiding him lower, his humid breath dampening the lace of her bra.

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

A hard shudder runs through him, causing him to exhale a shivery moan against her breast, his fingers inside her curling in response. He plants moist kisses where the edge of her bra meets her skin, his tongue flicking out to taste.

[hot-lil-fingers.livejournal.com]

When his fingers move inside her, her hips jerk roughly in reponse, and her loud cry echoes off the walls of the Klub.

Calming down, her strokes take on a rhythm of their own, steady but unhurried, the pads of her fingertips memorizing and cataloguing and searching for the next hot spot. The hand in his hair slides out and down the side of his face, around and under his chin to the topmost button of his shirt, which she flicks open in the same leisurely manner she did his fly.

[funny-herman.livejournal.com]

Her cry raises goosebumps up and down his arms, thrilled that he could produce that kind of response in her, yet even that thrill is quickly replaced by another and another as her fingers quite expertly find nearly all the right spots to coax him to almost full hardness. Panting and sighing heavily against the pit of her throat, his free hand joins hers to help undo the buttons of his shirt.