sparklebutch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sparklebutch) wrote2008-01-13 07:55 pm
sparklebutch) wrote2008-01-13 07:55 pm
Entry tags:
Full Moon Over Black Lake; Old Gregg/The Moon
Title: Full Moon Over Black Lake
Fandom: The Mighty Boosh
Pairing: ....Uh, Gregg/Moon. And no, not Howard.
Rating: Oh, adult.
Warning: might scar you for life.
Disclaimer: I'm a newbie, I'm a newbie. Bright eyed and Booshy tailed.
Can't be waitin' around for a fisherman all his life. Here's what Gregory sometimes does, in between infatuations:
He climbs from the big Black Lake onto the shore, seaweed trailing behind him, leaving a path of watery footsteps in his wake. He arranges himself comfortably on the bank, on a nice soft patch of grass, damp from the evening's dew. He looks up at the night's starry skies...
Soon enough, he shows, his big smiling face already lit up in expectation. Gregg plays with his seaweed demurely, but when his midnight lover draws near, he throws caution to the wind. The wind catches it. Old Gregg grasps the hem of his skirt and pulls it up over his waist, exposing himself to the cool breeze and the Moon's glow.
At first their lights mingle, Gregg's shine and the Moon's rays, and Gregg's scales flutter. The Moon shivers, his surface now covered in goose bumps, which confuse the hell out of some astronomers on their quiet night shift. By morning it'll all be gone, and the astronomers will vow never to bring tequila into an observatory again.
As the Moon moves closer between Gregg's skinny legs, he eclipses the light emanating from there, hiding it from the view of any passerby, not that there are many. The big shiny face breaks in a stupid smile, peeking from underneath the pink tutu. "You smell like a fish."
Gregg lifts his head to gaze directly at the lunar face. "I am a fish," he croaks.
The Moon dives back in to lick at Gregg's salty, wet downstairs mixup. "But you taste like Baileys," he says with a grin.
"You gonna licklick ol' Gregg, or you gonna talk all night?" Gregg demands.
The moon sets again between slim, shapely legs. He laps the tingling radiance into his mouth, and Gregg's howls of pleasure echo between the rolling hills. Back in the village, the fishermen cower in fear.
[end]
Fandom: The Mighty Boosh
Pairing: ....Uh, Gregg/Moon. And no, not Howard.
Rating: Oh, adult.
Warning: might scar you for life.
Disclaimer: I'm a newbie, I'm a newbie. Bright eyed and Booshy tailed.
Can't be waitin' around for a fisherman all his life. Here's what Gregory sometimes does, in between infatuations:
He climbs from the big Black Lake onto the shore, seaweed trailing behind him, leaving a path of watery footsteps in his wake. He arranges himself comfortably on the bank, on a nice soft patch of grass, damp from the evening's dew. He looks up at the night's starry skies...
Soon enough, he shows, his big smiling face already lit up in expectation. Gregg plays with his seaweed demurely, but when his midnight lover draws near, he throws caution to the wind. The wind catches it. Old Gregg grasps the hem of his skirt and pulls it up over his waist, exposing himself to the cool breeze and the Moon's glow.
At first their lights mingle, Gregg's shine and the Moon's rays, and Gregg's scales flutter. The Moon shivers, his surface now covered in goose bumps, which confuse the hell out of some astronomers on their quiet night shift. By morning it'll all be gone, and the astronomers will vow never to bring tequila into an observatory again.
As the Moon moves closer between Gregg's skinny legs, he eclipses the light emanating from there, hiding it from the view of any passerby, not that there are many. The big shiny face breaks in a stupid smile, peeking from underneath the pink tutu. "You smell like a fish."
Gregg lifts his head to gaze directly at the lunar face. "I am a fish," he croaks.
The Moon dives back in to lick at Gregg's salty, wet downstairs mixup. "But you taste like Baileys," he says with a grin.
"You gonna licklick ol' Gregg, or you gonna talk all night?" Gregg demands.
The moon sets again between slim, shapely legs. He laps the tingling radiance into his mouth, and Gregg's howls of pleasure echo between the rolling hills. Back in the village, the fishermen cower in fear.
[end]