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kinkfest2007-10-11 02:10 pm
skitz-phenom.livejournal.com) wrote in kinkfest2007-10-11 02:10 pm
Entry tags:
Young Riders: (Kid/Lou)
Title: Leave Your Hat On
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skitz_phenom
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Um, sex and gender issues.
Word count: 1,165
Prompt: OCT 11 - The Young Riders, Lou/Kid: genderfuck - Lou makes a pretty girl, and an even prettier man.
Summary: When he can’t see her face, she can be anyone to him.
A/N: I don’t know for sure why this prompt bit me. It’s been many, many years since I’ve even seen the show, and I don’t think I’ve ever even read any fic for it. It’s kind of a forgotten fandom – but the prompt piqued my interest, and this is what I ended up with. Dunno if it’s what the Prompter was quite looking for… Hope it meets the intent at least a little bit!
“C’mon.” Kid tugs at Lou’s hand, keeping his voice soft and his footsteps light as he jogs towards a barn that’s a black shape against a dark expanse of sky.
Lou trails after him, one hand just barely holding her hat on her head and the other clutching tight to his fingers, letting him guide her as she keeps an eye out for anyone who might be watching. “You sure Teaspoon’s down for the night?” she hisses back.
“Yeah.” He gives another, slightly impatient, tug. “All the boys are out too. Jimmy and Cody were passed out, I think.”
Her laugh is quiet and almost lost beneath the sound of creaking wood as Kid eases the door of the barn open. “That’s what them boys get for tryin’ to out drink Teaspoon.” She slips in behind him and even before he has the door closed again, she’s got her arms around his neck and her lips on his.
Soft, restless noises echo in the darkness of the barn as sleepy horses shift and snuffle, and despite the chill in the air outside, it’s dry and warm inside. Moonlight streams through breaks and gaps in the slat-wood roof, providing just enough light to see where they’re going. An angle of silvery light catches the two figures as they tread a familiar path to the back of the building, moving in uneven, tandem steps because they’re holding onto each other so tight, staggering and kissing at the same time.
“Please, Lou.” He whispers against her mouth, voice low and throaty with desire. He’s got her backed up against the barn wall now, practically pinned there by his strong thighs, where she’s writhing against him as his hands work at the buttons of her shirt.
Lou knows exactly what he’s asking for. She doesn’t answer for a few minutes as she’s groaning and clutching at his shoulders; but he keeps pressing earnest kisses down the line of her throat while working his fingers to loosen the band of cloth she wraps around her chest to keep her breast pressed flat. “Alright, Kid.” She consents, finally and only a little reluctant, after he teases her earlobe with his tongue and strokes her exposed nipples with his deft fingers.
He steps back, pulls her away from the wall and uses his hands on her shoulders to turn her unresisting form to face the low-hanging door of an empty box stall. Reaching around with both arms, he makes quick work of the belt that’s cinched so tight around her narrow waist, pulls her shirttails loose and shimmies the dun breeches down her slender legs. He’s ready, but for her he takes it slow and lets his hands trails up from her knees to the juncture of her thighs and his fingers delve into the thatch of dark curls. He’s impatient, but if he rushes her, she’ll squawk and fuss and won’t let him have her like he wants to.
His fingers have worked her to slickness and she’s rubbing her backside against his hard on so he knows she’s ready. He braces himself, wrapping his hands around her hips and squaring his feet. He’s got to keep his knees bent pretty low because she’s so much shorter, but the price of a backache is more than worth the cost. Besides, the pain works itself out after a few hours in the saddle. Her heels lift off the ground with the first thrust, and she digs her nails into the wood that she’s bracing herself on.
Curling himself over her back, he slides in and against her again and again as his hips piston forward and back in a slow but steadily increasing rhythm. The rough homespun linen of her shirt curls and bunches against his chest, rubbing him nearly raw in places. He tightens one hand over her hip bone while the other slips forward to splay across her belly, pressing and pulling her even closer and tighter to him. It’s only a few short minutes before he’s feeling the near to painful tension in his gut and the throb in his balls and he knows he’ll be coming soon. It never lasts long like this.
Lou has asked him before, why he prefers to take her this way - from behind with her buckskins rucked down around her boots, and her hat still cinched on her head – and he made some flimsy excuse about how excited she makes him, and how he’ll come too soon if he sees her face. But the truth is that in the dark, as his hands skim down her narrow shoulders and her back is bowed beneath his chest, he doesn’t have to notice the slight swell of her small breasts, or the emptiness between her legs.
At first he tried to justify it. Told himself that the first time he asked her to turn over in her bunk it was an animal thing; all about the primal nature of the mating act. It was how a stallion took a mare, and they were horsemen, so it was no wonder he wanted to know her that way. That first time he didn’t even know why he asked, only knew that there was something about her low grunting noises that made him want to flip her on her stomach and fuck her hard. Lou practiced being a boy so often that breaking herself of the habit, even around him, was something she had to make an effort for. That night, in the dark, as she groaned into the mattress and he arched over her, she didn’t try so hard to be soft and feminine and pleasing. He learned that he likes it when she forgets, and he doesn’t have to think about what she’s playing at being.
He can imagine, instead, a taut, firm chest and thick hardness jutting up beneath. And in the dark, when he can’t see the roundness of her jaw, or the fall of eyelashes splayed against a high cheek, she can be anyone to him. Sometimes she’s got stringy blond hair, startling blue eyes and a dopey grin. Other times, she’s an argumentative loudmouth, with a square jaw and an uneven temper. Most of the time though, she’s just, Lou. With the same pert nose, and boyish mouth and gangly limbs; but the Lou he drinks with and the one who sits a saddle like a man, the disturbingly pretty boy who had them all fooled for a while.
Right now, that’s who he’s fucking. That’s who he’s pounding into and who is mewling and panting and whose body is bowing against his. That boy who’d made him feel powerful strange the first time they met. That boy he wanted so bad it was wrong and made him feel dirty and guilty and wicked. The boy who’d surprised, and sometimes disappointed, him by being a girl. And when he comes, body juddering and throat raw from holding back tight on a scream, he doesn’t feel guilty because it’s still her name he calls out.
Author/Artist:
skitz_phenomRating: Hard R
Warnings: Um, sex and gender issues.
Word count: 1,165
Prompt: OCT 11 - The Young Riders, Lou/Kid: genderfuck - Lou makes a pretty girl, and an even prettier man.
Summary: When he can’t see her face, she can be anyone to him.
A/N: I don’t know for sure why this prompt bit me. It’s been many, many years since I’ve even seen the show, and I don’t think I’ve ever even read any fic for it. It’s kind of a forgotten fandom – but the prompt piqued my interest, and this is what I ended up with. Dunno if it’s what the Prompter was quite looking for… Hope it meets the intent at least a little bit!
“C’mon.” Kid tugs at Lou’s hand, keeping his voice soft and his footsteps light as he jogs towards a barn that’s a black shape against a dark expanse of sky.
Lou trails after him, one hand just barely holding her hat on her head and the other clutching tight to his fingers, letting him guide her as she keeps an eye out for anyone who might be watching. “You sure Teaspoon’s down for the night?” she hisses back.
“Yeah.” He gives another, slightly impatient, tug. “All the boys are out too. Jimmy and Cody were passed out, I think.”
Her laugh is quiet and almost lost beneath the sound of creaking wood as Kid eases the door of the barn open. “That’s what them boys get for tryin’ to out drink Teaspoon.” She slips in behind him and even before he has the door closed again, she’s got her arms around his neck and her lips on his.
Soft, restless noises echo in the darkness of the barn as sleepy horses shift and snuffle, and despite the chill in the air outside, it’s dry and warm inside. Moonlight streams through breaks and gaps in the slat-wood roof, providing just enough light to see where they’re going. An angle of silvery light catches the two figures as they tread a familiar path to the back of the building, moving in uneven, tandem steps because they’re holding onto each other so tight, staggering and kissing at the same time.
“Please, Lou.” He whispers against her mouth, voice low and throaty with desire. He’s got her backed up against the barn wall now, practically pinned there by his strong thighs, where she’s writhing against him as his hands work at the buttons of her shirt.
Lou knows exactly what he’s asking for. She doesn’t answer for a few minutes as she’s groaning and clutching at his shoulders; but he keeps pressing earnest kisses down the line of her throat while working his fingers to loosen the band of cloth she wraps around her chest to keep her breast pressed flat. “Alright, Kid.” She consents, finally and only a little reluctant, after he teases her earlobe with his tongue and strokes her exposed nipples with his deft fingers.
He steps back, pulls her away from the wall and uses his hands on her shoulders to turn her unresisting form to face the low-hanging door of an empty box stall. Reaching around with both arms, he makes quick work of the belt that’s cinched so tight around her narrow waist, pulls her shirttails loose and shimmies the dun breeches down her slender legs. He’s ready, but for her he takes it slow and lets his hands trails up from her knees to the juncture of her thighs and his fingers delve into the thatch of dark curls. He’s impatient, but if he rushes her, she’ll squawk and fuss and won’t let him have her like he wants to.
His fingers have worked her to slickness and she’s rubbing her backside against his hard on so he knows she’s ready. He braces himself, wrapping his hands around her hips and squaring his feet. He’s got to keep his knees bent pretty low because she’s so much shorter, but the price of a backache is more than worth the cost. Besides, the pain works itself out after a few hours in the saddle. Her heels lift off the ground with the first thrust, and she digs her nails into the wood that she’s bracing herself on.
Curling himself over her back, he slides in and against her again and again as his hips piston forward and back in a slow but steadily increasing rhythm. The rough homespun linen of her shirt curls and bunches against his chest, rubbing him nearly raw in places. He tightens one hand over her hip bone while the other slips forward to splay across her belly, pressing and pulling her even closer and tighter to him. It’s only a few short minutes before he’s feeling the near to painful tension in his gut and the throb in his balls and he knows he’ll be coming soon. It never lasts long like this.
Lou has asked him before, why he prefers to take her this way - from behind with her buckskins rucked down around her boots, and her hat still cinched on her head – and he made some flimsy excuse about how excited she makes him, and how he’ll come too soon if he sees her face. But the truth is that in the dark, as his hands skim down her narrow shoulders and her back is bowed beneath his chest, he doesn’t have to notice the slight swell of her small breasts, or the emptiness between her legs.
At first he tried to justify it. Told himself that the first time he asked her to turn over in her bunk it was an animal thing; all about the primal nature of the mating act. It was how a stallion took a mare, and they were horsemen, so it was no wonder he wanted to know her that way. That first time he didn’t even know why he asked, only knew that there was something about her low grunting noises that made him want to flip her on her stomach and fuck her hard. Lou practiced being a boy so often that breaking herself of the habit, even around him, was something she had to make an effort for. That night, in the dark, as she groaned into the mattress and he arched over her, she didn’t try so hard to be soft and feminine and pleasing. He learned that he likes it when she forgets, and he doesn’t have to think about what she’s playing at being.
He can imagine, instead, a taut, firm chest and thick hardness jutting up beneath. And in the dark, when he can’t see the roundness of her jaw, or the fall of eyelashes splayed against a high cheek, she can be anyone to him. Sometimes she’s got stringy blond hair, startling blue eyes and a dopey grin. Other times, she’s an argumentative loudmouth, with a square jaw and an uneven temper. Most of the time though, she’s just, Lou. With the same pert nose, and boyish mouth and gangly limbs; but the Lou he drinks with and the one who sits a saddle like a man, the disturbingly pretty boy who had them all fooled for a while.
Right now, that’s who he’s fucking. That’s who he’s pounding into and who is mewling and panting and whose body is bowing against his. That boy who’d made him feel powerful strange the first time they met. That boy he wanted so bad it was wrong and made him feel dirty and guilty and wicked. The boy who’d surprised, and sometimes disappointed, him by being a girl. And when he comes, body juddering and throat raw from holding back tight on a scream, he doesn’t feel guilty because it’s still her name he calls out.