Her Holiness the Rev. Holly Z, KSC (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sharkcowsheep) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} ffvii_yaoi,@ 2006-04-10 12:58:00 |
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| Current mood: |  Hot like FIRE, baby. |
Sex is bustin' out everywhere!
Title: Driving Pleasure
Author: sharkcowsheep
Pairing: Loz's motorcycle x Kadaj's motorcycle x Yazoo's motorcycle
Rating: Totally, flagrantly, wantonly explicit--and still PG! w00t!
Summary: After a hard day's riding, the bikes decide they want to do some riding of their own. Hotsy-totsy oiled-up shenanigans result.
dedicated with love to the secretly sensual world of mechanical engineering
They were still hot from the tricky fight with the blond, and the long ride back home. Hot and dirty they were—filthy, even, with the dust of the road. But the evening air was cool, and the breeze tickling through their motors prompted certain…stirrings. Stirrings enhanced and amplified by the Lifestream pool so close at hand.
Loz’s motorcycle, a magnificently-proportioned Vauxhein Seven, slipped its standing brake and sidled up to the Luman V450—-Kadaj’s ride. The Luman’s disctinctive rear fender, designed to accommodate two plump tires for hard overland use, glinted lewdly underneath the dust. The Vauxhein purred, a seductive low-RPM rumble. Its intent was clear. Ever-coy, the Luman rolled back a pace with a flirtatious shimmy of its long front forks.
The Luman’s rear fender, that marvelously bifurcated rear fender, nudged up against the third motorcycle. It was Yazoo’s: a long, narrow, high-toned Auchelles PVX. The Vauxhein advanced further, but the Luman had nowhere to retreat to. A note of triumph trilled in the Vauxhein’s basso purr. Caught between two delights, the Luman nearly upshifted as its coolant churned and warm oil began to creep through its engine, inching toward its exhaust manifold.
Subtly, almost accidentally, the Auchelles slipped its front wheel into the crevice of the Luman’s rear fender. It had wanted to get its rubber on that haughty little beast for months now. With a quick thrust from its engine, it brought its gearbox fully up against the Luman’s manifold. It was still heated from the day’s ride, and the hot metal rubbing against air-cooled inner workings was so delicious that the Auchelles thought it might just melt.
The Vauxhein had wasted no time whatsoever; its forecarriage was lodged between the Luman’s handlebars and its driveshaft pressed directly against the smaller cycle’s front wheel—and the Luman was revving. Revving hard, with no thought for who might overhear the engine noise, or the guttural roar of the Vauxhein as it demanded more, more, calling the Luman all sorts of filthy names as its shocks twitched and the Auchelles drove fiercely into the Luman’s manifold.
The Vauxhein’s engine stuttered first; an inelegant upshift followed by a growl that grew to a thunder which shook leaves fom the nearby trees. The Auchelles’ higher-pitched clamor of churning pistons joined the Vauxhein, a trumpeting peal of mechanical lust that echoed among the trunks. The Luman, borne down by the weight of the other cycles, laboring hard to keep itself from simply deconstructing under the two-sided assault of sensation, finally gave in and let its engine’s screech of pleasure harmonize with the others.
Slowly, reluctantly, they dropped their wheels to the dirt. The evening air, cooler now, was a relief to their overheated engines as they leaned against each other for support. A fine scrim of dust settled out of the air onto their grimed surfaces.
***
“Oy, Kadaj,” called Loz. He had been staring out a window of their hideout, the seashell-house, for several minutes now.
“What.” The youngest brother looked up irritably from a handful of materia.
“My bike...and your bike…and Yazoo’s bike…” Loz hunted for the right words. He knew what the words were, but those words did not go with motorcycles.
“I know. They’re dirty,” Kadaj said, returning his attention to the glowing stones.
“Yeah,” Loz mused. That was the right word. Kadaj always knew the right words. “I guess they are.”
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Crossposted to
30_whowhatnow, my own fancypants new comm for cracksmoking pairings and obscure love.
