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The Mini Break
folder
1 through F › Bridget Jones' Diary
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
5,528
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Bridget Jones' Diary
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
5,528
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Bridget Jones Diary, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Mini Break - Sparks
The Mini Break - Sparks
By Trianne
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Helen Fielding and Universal Studios. I make no money from them. Absolutely none.
Summary: Flashback to a nice little idyll in Oxford.
Pairing: Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver
Rating: This Chapter is NC17
Feedback: Yes, good or bad, tell me please.
***
“God, I know. I know, God..”
“Shut the fuck up, Mark. How can I fuck your throat if you are using it to jabber?”
Mark had never expected romance. Never. Nor love. But he was at heart a loving man and he always thought that the act of sex should be accompanied by a deeper feeling. The deeper feeling he was getting with Daniel was not one of love, but it was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced in his life.
Shards of sunlight pierced the cottage windows and bathed the two men; Daniel, straddling Mark, had thrust his cock between those gorgeous lips and was pushing, pushing, past the teeth, past the tonsils. Mark, almost choking but determined to take it all, had threaded his arms through the wrought iron headboard and was holding on for dear life. Jesus!
Always there had been the attraction, at prep school then at university. But nothing physical had occurred. Both had girlfriends; Daniel was constantly to be seen glued to some lovely with a double barrelled moniker and big tits. Mark had dated first Melanie, a nurse, then Suzie, a Labour Party activist who lived in Haringey and shared a flat with Nige and Phil. Nothing serious, just good honest hetero sex and companionship. Then, aged twenty six, he bumped into Daniel Cleaver after an absence of some five years.
Daniel was carving – his words – a career in publishing. Mark was making a name for himself as a lawyer and had recently met the most amazingly beautiful, clever, rather intimidating Japanese girl. He was considering asking her out and was just contemplating where to take her to sufficiently impress, when out of the blue there was Daniel Cleaver. Daniel. Just as swanky and confident and catlike as ever. Eyes of Wedgwood blue, lashes to die for, cheekbones to slice ham..
Over drinks they swapped stories. Over dinner they swapped more. God, Daniel was funny and malicious and bitchy and just utterly enthralling. Mark, to his chagrin, found his Japanese girl receding into the background of his imagination, usurped by the full blown godliness of Daniel fucking Cleaver. For not the first time, Mark Darcy considered he might just be an incomplete heterosexual.
When Daniel had leaned across and fixed his blue eyes onto Mark’s brown ones, the world held its collective breath. When his sensual fingers hovered above Mark’s own, imbuing his skin with a warmth Mark had never known before, the world smiled. And when Daniel whispered ever so softly with his sweet, clean breath, that he wanted very much to take Mark home to his place and kiss him until dawn, Mark could barely nod. The world sighed happily and watched the two lovers leave the restaurant, two very beautiful young men on a mission.
That was a week ago. A week wherein the whole compass of Mark’s world had changed irrevocably. Gentle, patient lovemaking at Daniel’s comfortable flat. Daniel seemed content to merely kiss and fondle and caress Mark. They talked for hours, theirs was the only conversation in town, the only music, the only laughter. Mark was in love. He knew it. He was in love and loving it.
Then came the weekend of the mini break. The cottage was in Oxford. They lunched near Marlborough, window-shopped in the art galleries, bought each other old and battered “Lord of the Rings” books from a shop which purported to have been patronised by the Professor himself in the sixties. And finally, they said goodbye to civilisation, to conversation and conformity, and climbed the narrow stairs to bed.
And then there was no more gentleness, or patience or caressing. Then it was brandishing kisses that burned and possessed, rough embraces that left angry marks on smooth flesh. Almost, Mark put a stop to it but the sight of Daniel, naked and aroused and on fire, was too much to bear.
Daniel, sleek and hard and sculpted, pinned Mark to the mattress and ravaged his throat mercilessly. His hard, rough tongue sought to enflame and possess.
“I want to fuck you, Mark. I am going to fuck you, you understand?” he demanded, licking Mark’s armpits hungrily. What could Mark say or do? He was drowning in the passion, passion he thought was for other people not for him. And if he felt uncomfortable and even a little afraid, then that was apparently the price you paid for passion. So he would pay it and live for once.
“Yes, fuck me. Do whatever you want, however you want. I want it all, Daniel. Everything. Over and over again.”
Daniel, surprised and exalted, set to with gusto. He thrust himself as far down Mark’s virginal throat as he could, in and out, in and out. Harder and harder. The lawyer, eloquence itself in the crucible of the court, now found himself gagging and breathless. But he was alive, and more to the point he was living.
Daniel marvelled at how amazingly gorgeous Mark was, so compliant and eager. He could not get enough of that mouth of his, warm and moist and gripping as it held his cock and sucked it right down. He broke the contact, withdrawing abruptly to Mark’s surprise; Daniel had no intention of coming - yet. With a long, hot kiss to Mark’s bruised mouth, he turned his attentions to Mark’s own erection, neglected but every bit as breathtaking as the rest of him.
“Daniel!” Mark had never, ever felt anything like it. None of his girlfriends had done it like this. It was harsh and utterly, incredibly, pleasurable. Daniel’s mouth was like a furnace which was burning him up from the root to the tip and he never, ever wanted him to stop. Mark clawed at Daniel’s hair; he bucked off the bed and thrashed as the intensity of it became too much to bear.
Grinning, Daniel applied his palm and just enough friction to make Mark finally give up the ghost and spurt hot and long up his hard, heaving chest. Allowing him no time whatsoever to recover, Daniel scooped up the cum and used it to quickly lubricate Mark’s anus. If the lawyer had any thoughts of calling a halt, the time was passed. He struggled a little, fear overtaking passion, as he realised what was going to happen. Then he just let it.
Daniel opened Mark’s legs wide and high, then without further warning, he thrust inside, gently to start, just the head; then more and more of him was eaten up by Mark’s pulsating behind.
“God, Darcy, you are as tight as a fucking Scotsman, you horny little bitch!” Daniel hissed between his teeth and Mark could not answer as his own teeth were clenched equally hard.
“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to take it out and I will. Are you telling me that?” Daniel paused in his rhythm and Mark nearly passed out with fear that he would completely withdraw. Despite the incredible pain, despite the agony, there was such a complete fullness and ecstasy he had never experienced ever in his life. Relaxing a little, he reached up to grasp Daniel’s lean, insistent hips and pull him even harder inside. When he came, it was surprisingly sweet and totally different to how he had imagined it.
Daniel came hard and fast, pumping deep inside of Mark and finally collapsing on top of him. Mark held him tight, patting his back, rocking him in his recovery.
The next two times were mere repetition, equally hot and exciting but never quite the same.
The next day, Sunday, they left the cottage, Daniel with a spring in his step, Mark rather sore but content. The drive back to London was quiet but companionable. Daniel told a filthy joke about some blonde barmaid from the East End and Mark listened and laughed indulgently, though a nagging doubt equated blonde jokes with a form of *ism* and he hated himself for laughing.
Daniel dropped Mark off at his mews cottage in London and didn’t get out of the car to help with the bag. Awkwardly, Mark leaned back into the sports car to bestow a goodbye kiss but Daniel batted him away. He was smiling, those incredible blue eyes glistening, as he said, “Mark, you were always far too uptight at school and not much better at university. Now, believe me, you might look like you have a bee up your arse but remember this, darling, its my bee and my arse!” And he drove off with never a backward glance.
They met sporadically after that. Mark plucked up the courage to ask out his Japanese girl and was surprised at how well they hit it off. Gradually, Daniel drifted off to pursue other younger, lovelies and Mark found his feelings deepening for his girlfriend. As a parting gift for Daniel, Mark asked him to be his Best Man. Daniel agreed, of course. He was the centre of attention at the wedding; Mark’s parents adored him and so did half the congregation in the Church. More worrying perhaps, so did the new Mrs Darcy.
***
Striding from the restaurant, angry and shaking, Mark thinks that there is no way he is going to let Bridget go through what he did. He must make her see Cleaver for what he is before she falls in love with him.
Like he did.
The End
By Trianne
Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Helen Fielding and Universal Studios. I make no money from them. Absolutely none.
Summary: Flashback to a nice little idyll in Oxford.
Pairing: Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver
Rating: This Chapter is NC17
Feedback: Yes, good or bad, tell me please.
***
“God, I know. I know, God..”
“Shut the fuck up, Mark. How can I fuck your throat if you are using it to jabber?”
Mark had never expected romance. Never. Nor love. But he was at heart a loving man and he always thought that the act of sex should be accompanied by a deeper feeling. The deeper feeling he was getting with Daniel was not one of love, but it was the most incredible thing he had ever experienced in his life.
Shards of sunlight pierced the cottage windows and bathed the two men; Daniel, straddling Mark, had thrust his cock between those gorgeous lips and was pushing, pushing, past the teeth, past the tonsils. Mark, almost choking but determined to take it all, had threaded his arms through the wrought iron headboard and was holding on for dear life. Jesus!
Always there had been the attraction, at prep school then at university. But nothing physical had occurred. Both had girlfriends; Daniel was constantly to be seen glued to some lovely with a double barrelled moniker and big tits. Mark had dated first Melanie, a nurse, then Suzie, a Labour Party activist who lived in Haringey and shared a flat with Nige and Phil. Nothing serious, just good honest hetero sex and companionship. Then, aged twenty six, he bumped into Daniel Cleaver after an absence of some five years.
Daniel was carving – his words – a career in publishing. Mark was making a name for himself as a lawyer and had recently met the most amazingly beautiful, clever, rather intimidating Japanese girl. He was considering asking her out and was just contemplating where to take her to sufficiently impress, when out of the blue there was Daniel Cleaver. Daniel. Just as swanky and confident and catlike as ever. Eyes of Wedgwood blue, lashes to die for, cheekbones to slice ham..
Over drinks they swapped stories. Over dinner they swapped more. God, Daniel was funny and malicious and bitchy and just utterly enthralling. Mark, to his chagrin, found his Japanese girl receding into the background of his imagination, usurped by the full blown godliness of Daniel fucking Cleaver. For not the first time, Mark Darcy considered he might just be an incomplete heterosexual.
When Daniel had leaned across and fixed his blue eyes onto Mark’s brown ones, the world held its collective breath. When his sensual fingers hovered above Mark’s own, imbuing his skin with a warmth Mark had never known before, the world smiled. And when Daniel whispered ever so softly with his sweet, clean breath, that he wanted very much to take Mark home to his place and kiss him until dawn, Mark could barely nod. The world sighed happily and watched the two lovers leave the restaurant, two very beautiful young men on a mission.
That was a week ago. A week wherein the whole compass of Mark’s world had changed irrevocably. Gentle, patient lovemaking at Daniel’s comfortable flat. Daniel seemed content to merely kiss and fondle and caress Mark. They talked for hours, theirs was the only conversation in town, the only music, the only laughter. Mark was in love. He knew it. He was in love and loving it.
Then came the weekend of the mini break. The cottage was in Oxford. They lunched near Marlborough, window-shopped in the art galleries, bought each other old and battered “Lord of the Rings” books from a shop which purported to have been patronised by the Professor himself in the sixties. And finally, they said goodbye to civilisation, to conversation and conformity, and climbed the narrow stairs to bed.
And then there was no more gentleness, or patience or caressing. Then it was brandishing kisses that burned and possessed, rough embraces that left angry marks on smooth flesh. Almost, Mark put a stop to it but the sight of Daniel, naked and aroused and on fire, was too much to bear.
Daniel, sleek and hard and sculpted, pinned Mark to the mattress and ravaged his throat mercilessly. His hard, rough tongue sought to enflame and possess.
“I want to fuck you, Mark. I am going to fuck you, you understand?” he demanded, licking Mark’s armpits hungrily. What could Mark say or do? He was drowning in the passion, passion he thought was for other people not for him. And if he felt uncomfortable and even a little afraid, then that was apparently the price you paid for passion. So he would pay it and live for once.
“Yes, fuck me. Do whatever you want, however you want. I want it all, Daniel. Everything. Over and over again.”
Daniel, surprised and exalted, set to with gusto. He thrust himself as far down Mark’s virginal throat as he could, in and out, in and out. Harder and harder. The lawyer, eloquence itself in the crucible of the court, now found himself gagging and breathless. But he was alive, and more to the point he was living.
Daniel marvelled at how amazingly gorgeous Mark was, so compliant and eager. He could not get enough of that mouth of his, warm and moist and gripping as it held his cock and sucked it right down. He broke the contact, withdrawing abruptly to Mark’s surprise; Daniel had no intention of coming - yet. With a long, hot kiss to Mark’s bruised mouth, he turned his attentions to Mark’s own erection, neglected but every bit as breathtaking as the rest of him.
“Daniel!” Mark had never, ever felt anything like it. None of his girlfriends had done it like this. It was harsh and utterly, incredibly, pleasurable. Daniel’s mouth was like a furnace which was burning him up from the root to the tip and he never, ever wanted him to stop. Mark clawed at Daniel’s hair; he bucked off the bed and thrashed as the intensity of it became too much to bear.
Grinning, Daniel applied his palm and just enough friction to make Mark finally give up the ghost and spurt hot and long up his hard, heaving chest. Allowing him no time whatsoever to recover, Daniel scooped up the cum and used it to quickly lubricate Mark’s anus. If the lawyer had any thoughts of calling a halt, the time was passed. He struggled a little, fear overtaking passion, as he realised what was going to happen. Then he just let it.
Daniel opened Mark’s legs wide and high, then without further warning, he thrust inside, gently to start, just the head; then more and more of him was eaten up by Mark’s pulsating behind.
“God, Darcy, you are as tight as a fucking Scotsman, you horny little bitch!” Daniel hissed between his teeth and Mark could not answer as his own teeth were clenched equally hard.
“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to take it out and I will. Are you telling me that?” Daniel paused in his rhythm and Mark nearly passed out with fear that he would completely withdraw. Despite the incredible pain, despite the agony, there was such a complete fullness and ecstasy he had never experienced ever in his life. Relaxing a little, he reached up to grasp Daniel’s lean, insistent hips and pull him even harder inside. When he came, it was surprisingly sweet and totally different to how he had imagined it.
Daniel came hard and fast, pumping deep inside of Mark and finally collapsing on top of him. Mark held him tight, patting his back, rocking him in his recovery.
The next two times were mere repetition, equally hot and exciting but never quite the same.
The next day, Sunday, they left the cottage, Daniel with a spring in his step, Mark rather sore but content. The drive back to London was quiet but companionable. Daniel told a filthy joke about some blonde barmaid from the East End and Mark listened and laughed indulgently, though a nagging doubt equated blonde jokes with a form of *ism* and he hated himself for laughing.
Daniel dropped Mark off at his mews cottage in London and didn’t get out of the car to help with the bag. Awkwardly, Mark leaned back into the sports car to bestow a goodbye kiss but Daniel batted him away. He was smiling, those incredible blue eyes glistening, as he said, “Mark, you were always far too uptight at school and not much better at university. Now, believe me, you might look like you have a bee up your arse but remember this, darling, its my bee and my arse!” And he drove off with never a backward glance.
They met sporadically after that. Mark plucked up the courage to ask out his Japanese girl and was surprised at how well they hit it off. Gradually, Daniel drifted off to pursue other younger, lovelies and Mark found his feelings deepening for his girlfriend. As a parting gift for Daniel, Mark asked him to be his Best Man. Daniel agreed, of course. He was the centre of attention at the wedding; Mark’s parents adored him and so did half the congregation in the Church. More worrying perhaps, so did the new Mrs Darcy.
***
Striding from the restaurant, angry and shaking, Mark thinks that there is no way he is going to let Bridget go through what he did. He must make her see Cleaver for what he is before she falls in love with him.
Like he did.
The End