Fiction by Lorraine &
Disclaimer: "The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, and David Greenwalt Productions, 20th Century Fox, and whoever else may have a hold upon them. The situation is wholly mine, and I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights."
Pairings? Many. Snyder/Warren, Warren/Giles, Andrew/Snyder and more! No. We're serious, utterly, horribly serious.
A longer continuation of a Snyder/Warren drabble I wrote yonks ago. Squicky humor and general sillyness.
Do not read if you've just eaten.
Go on, we dare ya.
“God, your shiny head makes me hot,” Warren muttered, clawing at the ugly tie of the smaller man - the tiny, sweating, wee man.
“I know it’s wrong … bad boy,” Snyder muttered grunting, flashing his crooked yellow teeth, his sweat dripping down his nose as he tugged at Warren’s chest hair – not a difficult task as there was rather a lot of it.
“Harder,” Warren squeaked.
“Naughty, naughty boy,” Snyder giggled (no, really, giggled), and stroked Warren’s greasy skin - started to strip off his trousers to reveal an alarmingly tiny ...
Warren muttered under his breath, "This is just like that episode of DS-9 where Quark pretends he's in lust with that Bajoran when it's obvious all he really wants to do is stick it to Odo."
"What?" Snyder glanced at the boy kneeling at his feet, pale string of translucent goo dripping from his chin onto Snyder's new pair of brown loafers.
"Nothing." Warren sighed the sigh of Teenage Angst. "It's just, I know you're not thinking of me." The dark waves of loneliness rolled off his back like the sweat on a black-clad goth raver. "You're just wishing I was Mr. Giles."
Snyder unbuckled his own pants. "And? I feel it's part of my duties as your principal, boy, to accustom you to disappointment."
Warren closed his eyes and began his favorite fantasy, the one he knew would take him from this wretched place. Quark leaned against the bar on the Promenade deck....
"I'm so hollow and alone, so naked and ashamed," Warren muttered. Which wasn't entirely true because he still had his gym socks on - though, they were difficult to see under the matted clumps of hair on his legs and feet.
"Why?" Snyder asked, hyperventilating, his hands slimy with his own nicotine-laced spit.
"Because I'm a bad boy, whip me principal," Warren deadpanned. Snyder glared mid thrust.
"You know, Andrew has always been so much more enthusiastic. Although," Snyder continued, "Andrew desires a much darker form of love than even I can give. He actually begged me to dress him in the women's clothing in the lost/found box and call him my iddle pwecious while forcing him to blow me. Utterly distasteful."
Warren moaned beneath Snyder. All this talk of Andrew was making him even hotter, causing some rather embarrassing secretions to puddle on the floor underneath him.
"Still ... you have potential," Snyder muttered darkly, running his fingers through Warren's silky hair. Pubic hair, that is, because the poor boy was forced to condition everywhere after Snyder had expressed his distaste for coarse hair.
"Guh," Warren replied eloquently, imagining Andrew skipping around in a pink corset and black pumps with the gleam in his eyes he always got when he started talking about Jack in SG1. 'Drip, drip, drip' went the embarrassing secretions.
The sensations were almost too much for Warren--those bony fingers carding through his short hairs, the slippery puddle beneath him spreading until it threatened to dampen his jeans. He felt so close to the brink....
"Pay attention, boy. I said, Rupert has expressed an interest in you. Although is not attracted to the hirsuite, I told him the friction provided by your massive pelt can be quite stimulating. You will meet him in the library after school dressed only in this."
Snyder dangled a black lace teddy in front of Warren's face with two fingers.
"'Kay, sir," Warren gasped, trying to rub himself on Snyder's spindly knee. Snyder rolled his eyes and allowed his leg to be humped. Vigerously. By a boy who looked unnervingly akin to a particularly hairy collie.
"My Lassie," he murmured, patting Warren's head affectionatly. "Now, but this on. I'm principle, I get to test spin you," he said, pulling his leg away and watching as Warren moaned as he shucked off his trousers and pulled an offered red thong with a sequined picture of a grizzly bear on the front, a specific hole cut in a specific place.
"You know," he muttered, nasal whine irking an intent Snyder. "I was talking to Xander the other day, and you never made him wear the dog collar when you spanked him until he called you Auntie Snydie,"
"That's because Xander doesn't need the collar. He knows who he belongs to. I mark him properly each morning with a potent combination of my urine and manly oozings." Warren sighed. Xander gets the golden showers? Again he was only second-best in the rodent-like eyes of the man he both hated and adored.
"Now, I need to make a call to the Mayor. Don't even breathe - he doesn't appreciate my relations with students ... prefers cats himself, I understand," Snyder said, a dreamy far away look in his beady eyes - Warren knew he somewhere else with the Mayor, cats, plastic baggies, disinfectant and a tiny Nazi uniform.
He sighed again, loudly this time, angry flash because he was now third in the list of Snyder's desires. In his eyes but they were still vulnerable and bloodshot ... Warren always cried when he came. He read in Andrew's Cosmo that this it meant he had a sensitive soul - actually, also he vomited a little when he came and he wasn't sure what that meant.
"Should I come back later?" he asked miserably, hauling his stained, soiled khaki pants back over his red thong.
"Mmm, that may be beneficial. I have things to do this evening. Tell Buffy Summers I'm ready to see her now," Snyder said, eyes still glazed.
"Buffy?" Warren whispered, anger coursing through his body. "He likes her?" Buffy had taken the affections of his wee, rat-man he so adored and loathed. He would kill her. Kill her dead. Kill her really, really dead. But first, he had to go and see Mr.Giles and dance around in the library cage with a carrot sticking out of uncomfortable places. Again.
As Warren entered the library, he was met by a strange sight. Mr. Giles appeared to be licking the craggy overhang of a very tall, very broody, very pale man's forehead. Wait a minute. I've seen that dude with Buffy before. What's his name? Angel, or something?
To Never Be Continued. Don't worry. Breathe a sigh of relief and have a cookie and a bottle of bleach for your brain.