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Work is consuming my life right now.

I feel like I shouldn't complain; I'm just now thirty, and I've got a career that a lot of people would envy, and that I love. It's my passion, it is, and I love spending time doing it.

But some days, when I get home, and the house is dark, and there's no one (and no pets- I travel too much) to greet me, it just seems like it's all I do.

Is this the way it is for everyone? I don't know. Maybe.

Fic writing is going as well as can be expected, I think. It still feels very new.

Also, I miss my friend. Work keeps us apart, and communication is tricky across time zones. So it goes.

How's your life going?


Say Nighty-Night and Kiss Me...

"Zach, Zach..." Chris panted from his position flat on his back on the sofa in his trailer. "Zach, wait!"

The dark haired man raised his head from where it was positioned above the now-open fly of Chris' jeans. The look on his face was fierce, as though he resented the interruption from his desired goal. Chris could feel his pulse race, could see the thud of his heart in his chest.


Chris could see the flush rise on his own chest in response to the throaty growl torn from the throat of the other man.

"Zach..." he whispered, "Zach, you haven't even kissed me..."

There was a flash of emotion across the other man's mobile face; surprise, distress, and finally resolution, and he surged forward to press his full lips unhesitatingly to Chris' own, his mouth stamping ownership indelibly across the younger mans lips, writing his desire in push and pull with tongue and teeth.

Chris groaned into Zach's mouth, opening beneath the onslaught of dexterous tongue. He could feel Zach's capable hand divesting him of his shirt, sliding possessively across his chest and arms with the self-possession of a blind man, the artistry of a sculptor of  Promethus' skill.

He lay for a moment enraptured with the feelings that coursed through him at that sure touch, riding the wave of lust and joy as Zach's subtle fingertips teased his flesh with flickers of pressure and strokes of clear intent.

He had dreamed of this moment for months, but had never, never in a million years, thought it could ever be possible. They were friends, best (he hoped) friends, and he had treasured that, had used it to bolster his resolve to never cross that line between them, the line that said that they had a professional relationship, the line that dictated the keeping of dicks in pants.

But now, now his dick was very definitively not in his pants, and it was not his hand that had resulted in this situation.

It was time to throw caution to the wind.

He lifted his hips obligingly as Zach peeled his jeans from his legs with a dark chuckle, leaving his dick poking obscenely through the fly of his boxer briefs. He groaned again, his eyes rolling back in his head as Zach leaned forward and captured his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head before sliding all the way down.

Chris bucked helplessly, reaching desperately to fist his fingers in that thick, dark, hair and pull Zach's face off his crotch.

"Zach, please..." Chris shuddered involuntarily at how wrecked his voice sounded.

"Please what?" Zach smiled evilly, and bent his head to lick a stripe up the underside of Chris' cock. Chris groaned.

"Please. I need you..."

"You need me what?"

"I want you."

Zach's caramel-colored eyes were nearly black, his pupils blown wide with arousal.

"You. want. me. what?"

Chris threw his head back in surrender, crying out as he felt Zach begin to suck a bruise onto the inside of his thigh.

"I want to you fuck me. Please, oh, please, Zach. Now, right now."

He could hear the rustling of cloth as Zach stripped himself, the growling deep in his throat as he surged back up over Chris' prone body, and then...

*beep beep beep*

Chris groaned aloud, throwing out an arm to shut off the goddamned alarm. He closed his eyes, wanting to cry with frustration.

This was the third time this week he'd woken up from a dream of Zach, alternately rock-hard and interupted or sticking to his sheets with his release. It was getting old.

He had an hour. An hour to get his shit together before he had to face his friend, and pretend that he didn't long for him with all of his mind, body, and soul.

An hour.

He sighed, and reached down to wrap his tumescent cock in his left hand.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he could pretend a little bit longer...

Dream just a little longer.

Just... dream.
I often find myself up at night, well past the time when it would be reasonable that I should be sleeping.

I think I fear missing something. What happens when I am borne under by slumber? I will never know.


I started this journal as an exercise in getting myself to write more. I used to write a lot; I still write some. I like to carry notebooks, for note-taking (ha!) on anything and everything that crosses my mind. But that's a different sort of thing than honest to god writing.

I want to do it again, but it's scary. How to put yourself out there, allow yourself the vulnerability that comes of allowing others to read the words of your fingertips? The characterizations in your head?

Fandom is a funny beast, as well.

Dear Reader- how did you come to this particular little fannish corner of the internet?

Some ridiculous little bits of illogic, dedicated to the ever-great Leonard Nimoy.

Wrap me in logic
O thou son of desert sand
Bake me in wisdom

If thou dost not touch
If ne're thy hands to mine come
How shall I beg thee?

A/N: Is there someone who could teach me how to work this LiveJournal Cut thing?

Jan. 15th, 2011

I got up today with full intention of leaving the house in a timely manner. It did not happen.

Later in the day I found myself winding my way down the 210, stuck in traffic in Pasadena and staring out across the sprawl.

What am I doing here? What, for that matter, is anyone doing here? And I don't mean in the greater existentialist sense (though that's a good question as well, maybe someone should be asking that), I just mean... why LA? Of all the cities in the world I could be in right now, why here?

Fic: After Work

Title: After Work
Fandom: Pinto
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff?

Author's Note: Hey, all. So, this is my first stab at actually writing fanfiction, so, be gentle, ok? It's been a long time since I wrote anything other than random wandering wonderings in my notebook, so, I'm sorry if it's not very good. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Kirk out.

Once Upon a Time...Collapse )

New Kid on the Block

Greetings and Salutations, everyone!

My name's Lex, and I just wanted to say "hi!". I've only just recently become acquainted with the wide and wonderful world of pinto!fic, and I'm so excited to start writing!

Feel free to drop me a line if you'd like to get to know me better-

Can't wait to get ficcing!



lex album

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