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Hala Alyan, Salt Houses

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I was wounded early, and early I learned that wounds made me.

—Adonis, from “Celebrating Childhood“ (translated by Khaled Mattawa)

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Something i find so fascinating about sports is when a guy is like my dad was actually legit abusive but it made me the player i am today so i really respect his decision to abuse me. Like well ok do u want to talk abt anything

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Constantly obsessed with the concept of a man forced to be a myth. What do you do when every step you take is embedded into the text. Every word you say prose to read. You're part of something bigger than yourself. The narrative tugs you along like water currents. There is no time to rest, to be human. You must be great, you must be legend

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ON the subject of undernegotiated kink in fanfiction. i think we should talk more about how the concept of "not talking about it" is just as much wish fulfillment for some people as "in-depth, therapy-speak conversations where everyone is clear and understood" is for others

like yes, in reality the antidote to shame is open honest conversation with someone who will validate your feelings and wants blah blah blah but SOMETIMES what i want out of my fanfic is characters being understood without having to expose themselves in that way. SOMETIMES it's fun to not dismantle the shame and repression all the way and to instead treat that understanding-despite-not-being-clear as the fantasy

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Happy couple.

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“You never thought he was, you know… That way?” “I genuinely did not.” Jason shrugged. “Well, you know. He seemed like the type.” “The type. What do you mean the type. The type like you and I?” “The type like the type who would hide behind his professionalism and career and creep on young lads. Because his normal life is fake and doesn’t make him happy. And these lads like Anthony are the only ones he can feel powerful and content with.” “You think there were more?” “Well, Chelsea, for one, was full of them.” Eddie looked at him in disbelief. Chelsea’s class of 2019, full of young players from the academy during Frank’s first year. It made too much sense.

Franko might be That way.

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Am I going to tease and provoke you until you manhandle me mmmm fuck yeah

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"Why do men have nipples?🙄🙄" for girls to rub and pinch until their cock is throbbing, hope it helps

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what doesn't kill you makes you weird at intimacy

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the lamperry excerpt

“You’re too loving, Lamps.  Cause you love her and all.  But you know, that’s not always what the girls want.”

“I know what she wants.”  This can’t be the time when John tells him he’s known the whole time.  The secret.  Everything.  “I know what she wants.”

“Easy, Lampsy!”  He puts his arm around Frank.  This has happened before.  “Are you alright?”

No, Frank wants to say, but also Yes, because each second John’s skin touches his, and the only sounds he can hear are each other’s voices, each other’s breaths, makes him feel better.

“It’s mad, y’know?”  John says.  “My dick should be tired by now, but just thinking about it I’m hard all over again.  Won’t have anything left in these balls for poor Toni later.”

“Thinking about what?  My penalty?”

“Yeah, your pen…No, you idiot…about Christine.  You know, she’s not even my type, I like a good matching set, tits and an arse I can grab…” Frank’s not sure what to make of this, if he should play knight in shining armor and tell him to leave Christine’s body alone.  I like her just as she is.  And it’s true.  He’s a good fiancé.  “But tonight’s been something else.  I haven’t been open-minded enough.”

“Mmmm, yeah.  That’s all bullshit, John.”

“What do you mean?”

Frank’s exhausted from all the drink and wired from the coke.  It makes him reckless.  “Trying to cover your arse.  And nothing worth grabbing there, either.  You’re hard thinking of my pen.”

“Is that a genius sense of humor?”  John moves just a few inches closer and it’s close enough. He bumps his cock against Frank’s bare thigh clearly on purpose.  It’s hard.  Oh Jesus fucking Christ.  “Do I feel like I’m thinking about a penalty kick?”

“Yeah, a good one.”

John snorts and wraps his arm around Frank again, tighter.  “I love you, Lamps.”

But now his cock is pressed harder against Frank’s thigh and Frank himself is so hard he’s tenting the blanket in a way that’s got to be noticeable. 

And John notices everything.  “You’ve got the Champions League trophy hidden under the blanket there?”

“Y-yeah.  Want to lift it?”

“You are absolutely mad,” John says.  “Sure, why the fuck not?”  He tweaks at the tent.  Frank’s cock twitches and pulses.  “Woah.”

“I’m just kinda wired, you know…” Frank is putting in the effort of his life to make sure his voice stays calm.

“Enough to enjoy another lad’s hand on your dick, eh Lamps?”

“Sure,” Frank dares.  “It’s a crazy night, isn’t it?  And your dick’s touching my thigh anyway.”

“I guess it is.”

“So,” Frank says, his heart pounding so much he feels sick.  “You could move it.”

“I could.  Guess it’s just not ready to go to sleep yet.”

Frank’s cock pulses again against John’s palm.

“I can wake Christine up,” Frank offers.  Please say no.  “She’s fun when she’s sleepy.  Kind of lies there and smiles at you with her hair all a mess.” 

“None of that mouth when she first wakes up?”  John smiles.  “Nah, I don’t want to go through all the trouble.  And what if she’s not into me anymore?”

He’s got at least a semi now, nudging hot at Frank’s skin.

“I’ll tell her to be.  She’s a good girl.”  Frank turns over onto his side to face John.  Turns over onto his side and his cock collides with John’s.  His heart nearly stops.

John’s arm back around him.  His heart nearly stopping again.  “I fucking love you Lamps.  I can do anything with you and it’s not fucking weird.”

“This isn’t weird to you?”

John rolls his hips toward Frank.  Their cocks slide together.  John’s feels damp, sticky, and Frank thinks: some of that must be me.

“Don’t give a shit right now,” John grumbles.  “You’d stop your best friend from getting off?”

“I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good—”  John cuts himself off.  Frank wonders what he was about to say.  Good boy?  Good girl?  “Good Lamps.”

Frank takes a moment to steady himself, and then rolls his hips back toward John.  He accidentally lets out an oh that will probably make John think he is…what Dad always used to call him.

“…Your girl all over my cock,” John is saying.  “You like that don’t you, Lamps my sick fuck?  You’re imagining Christine I bet?”

What?  No!  This has to be one of the funniest things someone’s ever said.  Frank’s not imagining anything.  For once.  He’s feeling the slide of the vein on John’s cock, each bit of the texture awakening every nerve in his body.   He hasn’t been more present anywhere off the football pitch than he has right now.

“Mmmm.”  John doesn’t wait for an answer.  He spits into his palm and holds their cocks together in his fist.  “Always thought this must feel good.”

In Frank’s mind, the universe has decided to love him.  Every bit of pain and sadness, every tear, every night jerking off alone in his room, his fingers playing fearfully with his rim, every word Dad and people like Dad have said to him…maybe it was all worth it if it led him here.

His cock touching John’s and John’s touching his.  They’re both damp and the heavy, sweet, human smell of sex is nearly suffocating.

“Y-you always thought your cock would feel good rubbing some other bloke’s?”

“Yeah?  Who the fuck hasn’t?”

“I n—”

“C’mon Lamps, you’re lying if you haven’t.  But it don’t mean you’re that way or anything, you know?”

“Oh.”

“You’ve imagined it too, you can’t fool me.  Feels good?”

Frank just moans and jerks his hips, rubbing his calves against John’s.  He wonders if John enjoys the way all his hair feels. 

“Nice, Lamps.  Fucking passionate you are.  I don’t think you came enough tonight.”

Frank finds his tongue poking out of his mouth.  This isn’t quite uncommon for him, but he’s starting to drool.

John’s hand moves firmly, expertly.  The friction feels like a warm hug around his cock and around all of him.  “Fuck,” he moans.  He wants to tell John he’s better than Christine.  And Christine jerks him off well, he suddenly remembers the little glint in her eyes, the proud smirk the first time she got her hand down his pants, the shivers down his spine at her drunk whisper So I fancy you just a wee bit, d’you know that? but there’s no comparison to this and now he’ll never stop comparing, never stop comparing, never stop comparing.

“My balls hurt I’m so hard,” Frank pants.  John John John John Terry touching him all around all over the man he is in love with is touching him and the man he is in love with is going to make him come.

“That’s it Lamps, that’s it.  Got a huge fucking load in there for me?”

“Yeah…” And finally, after almost 34 years, Frank can say the truth.  “Yeah I fucking do.”

“Bet I got more.”

“How, you freak of nature?  You’ve been fucking coming in my girl all night it feels like.  You’ve got one little squirt in there if you’re lucky.”

John puts his palm over Frank’s mouth as though Frank was Christine.  “Shut your pretty face up.”

Frank’s leaking precum into John’s fingers.  This is the best sex he’s ever had and it’s barely sex.  His whole body is fluttering.  There’s a heavenly choir singing inside of him.  The way John’s hand feels, the way his voice sounds, the way he talks to Frank; this could all be Frank’s one day, maybe, maybe, maybe—

“You’re fucking wet aren’t you?” John whispers.  “Just like your girl.  The two of you so fucking ready for me all night.”

Yes he has been.  He’s always been ready for John, doesn’t John realize this?  ‘”Fuck,” Frank says, “oh fuck John I’m gonna come…”

It is the greatest release of tension, of pressure, he’s ever felt. He explodes, shooting thick and hot through John’s fingers, onto the sheets John has ruined fucking Christine, probably onto John’s beautiful toned godlike stomach and thighs.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck he wants to raise his fists in the air and shout like he’s got a pen won a game finished first in a marathon.  His head has never been clearer than in this very moment.

“Lampsy, shit, that was impressive.  Think you’re gonna beat me,” John pants.

“Well, let’s find out…” Frank says in his low voice, and with that clarity still shimmering inside him from head to toe, with that heavenly choir still singing, it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to tighten his fingers around John’s sweaty, sticky fist.  He squeezes.  “Come on, captain.  Impress your Lampsy.” 

John jerks against him and Frank rubs the tip of John’s cock like he was made to do this.  Because he was.  This is what he should be doing.  “I was so wet and ready for you, wasn’t I?”

“Nice and wet.  How does your hand feel so good?  That rubbing thing?  Shit.”

“I practice on Christine.”

John is twitching, shuddering, and then he groans long and low and vulgar and comes into his fist.  His fist and Frank’s fist.  Frank whispers yeah, that’s it, Captain, and feels giddy.  He is full of helium—could lift off and fly away at any moment.  He is free.

“Fuck me.  You beat me, Lamps,” John says, his voice shaky.  He wiggles his hand out from under Frank’s and wipes it on the sheet.  “You come the way you kick a ball.”

Frank grins.

“You alright?  I’ve never seen you smile like this before.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  I’m a fucking balloon floating up into the sky.  I’m free.  “It just feels so fucking good to be a champion.”

“It’s the best feeling in the world, isn’t it?”

If Frank is free, then he can say whatever he wants, and he’s trying to keep his eyes open but he’s smiling even with them closing.  “I love you, John.”

“And I love you, Lamps…”

He doesn’t hear John leave.

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reblog if those man tits make you irrational

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fine i'll rewatch bojack horseman again