Title: The Nature of the Complaint
Characters: Darkling, Icefeather, Frostburn
Warnings: The internet is for…?
Notes: I didn’t think I was done with this, but Frost insists it’s perfect as it is, and I should post it. The Winterborn have a little bit of fun, while their dear Darkling watches.
Darkling tucked his blond hair behind his ear, watching the two Winterborn play, in a mixture of lust and uncertainty. He chewed at one of his nails, absently, as Icefeather hauled back on Frostburn’s long, black hair. Icefeather was tiny, but by no means anything less than dominant and arrogant, and next to — or in this case, behind — Frostburn, the midget complex was even more pronounced.
"Ice, you’re going to hurt him," Darkling complained.
Icefeather stopped moving and glanced at Darkling in confused amusement. "That’s kind of the point, Dark. Do you hear him complaining?"
"Yes!" Frostburn howled in frustration. "Ye do hear him complaining! Why did ye stop?"
Icefeather gestured with the his free hand. "See? Does that sound like ‘stop, it hurts’ to you?"
Frostburn pressed his hips back, impatiently grinding against Icefeather. Icefeather leaned down to kiss his back.
"Besides, I’m not the one who made that ankle mistake…" Icefeather lifted an eyebrow, teasingly.
"That wasn’t—! I didn’t—! I was drunk, and he wasn’t complaining!" Darkling protested. "Besides, I’m not the one who kicked—"
"Complaining. Back to complaining, which I’m doing now," Frostburn griped. "Jaysus, Ice, move!"
Icefeather grinned, pushing in, slow and hard. "You want to shut him up, Dark? I think there are much better uses for that gorgeous mouth."
Darkling stroked himself lazily, watching Icefeather have his slow and torturous way with Frostburn, who pleaded for more. "I don’t know, you’ve got him begging. I don’t want to stop him before he gets to sobbing."
"Oooh, sobbing." Icefeather pulled Frostburn’s hair, again, pinning the taller Winterborn against his rolling hips. "I surely wouldn’t want to deprive us of that pleasure."