Eduard and his best friend, Tino, had sat on his couch playing a drinking game to the Moomins (“Each time something super disturbing comes up that is somehow ignored you drink!” had been Tino’s enthusiastic idea; not twenty minutes worth of television had them so smashed that there wasn’t even a second rule necessary) when suddenly, the Finn had spoken up after clearing his throat and said “I totally fucked the IKEA-montage guy last Thursday. On the couch he’d just assembled.”
Eduard had spit his vodka all over Moominvalley. He stopped the television. “What?! ”
“It was the one I always flirt with when I go there, and he recognized me when he came to my house and he bent over to adjust the screws on my new couch so I had him bend me over and screw me. God that was awesome. I think I’ll buy the most complicated piece of furniture they have there next time and ask for him specifically again. I think you can do that.”
They had both stopped talking then, for a while, until Tino, apparently somewhat shocked, had jumped up saying “Oh God! I’m using IKEA like one of those phone lines for hiring prostitutes in kinky costumes!”
Normally, Eduard would have said nothing, but he had quite some alcohol in his bloodstream (this episode had the Groke in it—oh god it was TERRIFYING) and somehow turned on (well, Tino had been his favourite wet dream in high school, and imagining him being pound into the couch by some rough repairman was kinda hot), so he just blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “Haha, tell me when they invent them, because I could use one of those”.
Tino had looked at him, a mix of bemusement and amusement on his face. “Uhm. What?”
“Yeah, those things are only real in movies and stuff, right?”
“Uh—no?”
“Don’t be so gullible. How do you even get those numbers?”
“I’ll get you one. In about five seconds. What are you into?”
“Um. Drag.”
Tino had roared in laughter. “What? Really? You? You don’t even need to call anyone for that—just drive to the red lights district and…”
“N-no, um, very… specific drag. I like m-m-maids. French maids. You know.”
Tino tipped something into Eduard’s internet browser—which was set Incognito, of course, just in case Eduard’s brothers got the idea of looking around his history—and, in even less than five seconds, a million of contact numbers popped up.
“There. Things I never ever wanted to know, Ed. Let’s just, um, finish that episode and not talk about this again, okay?”
And they indeed hadn’t. Eduard, who had written the internet address down on a piece of paper (bookmarking it would have been a dead give-away), now fumbles with it nervously.
He is really, really horny.
Gulping, he types it in. The address in his hand is dirtycleaners69.com.
He notices that the skin of the page contains notable less porn or men in seductive uniforms that less time—namely, none—but he figures his new add-blocker is just that good. He dials the first number he finds.
“Ludwig Beilschmidt from Beilschmidt and Brother. How can I help you?”
A very, very stern voice and… is that a German accent? Oh, good. Eduard is completely sure he has it right now; those Germans are kinky bastards.
He just hopes he won’t get an SM-maid. He’s kind of scared of that. The ‘BD’ part in BDSM is fine, but the last two letters make him uneasy. Well. He just gets on with it.
As he reveals his desires for ‘deep, deep cleaning’ and ‘someone who can bend over to get even the naughtiest bits’, he closes the page his browser is still displaying, figuring he won’t need it anymore.
He doesn’t notice that, in fact, it read dirtcleaners68.com...
Prologue is done! Title means "Thorough, clean, cheap" in German. Don't forget to review!
I'm already absolutely in love with this! I love your choice of pairing, and your sense of humor and writing style promise great things to come. This is already shaping up to be one fantastic fill!
A!A, I think I know you from a certain other fill ... one with a certain cleft chin
I am SO STOKED you're tackling this AND WITH ESTONIA OMFG my favourite character my precious baby asjdh Anon, I'm totally bunkering down for shenanigans.
not!OP, but still feels like she won the lottery today
I love how Tino is all ready and willing to share his own escapades but the second Ed says anything he's all 'wow TMI dude'. Bad friend, Tino!
Oh god is my drawing style that obvious? D: Shit, I accidentally spilled my anon all over the place, what a mess! Also, know that that certain fill has been updated for ages and I'm waiting for a comment... forever alone.
I love Estonia too, I'd write him all the time (...actually I do, lol) and this request was just begging for it. Also, some people had said they'd fill it so I got all impulsive and possessive and NEEDED this to keep breathing. On a side note, that drawing of Prussia is now pasted above my kitchen sink at home with the words 'Don't forget to wash the dishes', which my roommates find disturbing.
...I'll try to upload quickly.
That is my absolute headcanon for Fin. I don't even know why (maybe because he talks all the time but is completely weirded out when Sve does in canon? Uh...). And it'll come up again.
On Wednesday morning, Eduard gets up, prepares some coffee, goes to the bathroom, gets himself ready fort he day, dresses up as neatly as ever, pours the finished coffee into a cup, adjusts his tie, lights his computer, fixes himself a toast with butter and one and a half slices of ham (one is too little and two are too much, so he keeps some prepared ham, already cut in half, in his fridge beforehand), cleans his glasses as the computer greets him, opens his e-mails, checks his blog, takes a bite of toast, drinks a bit, looks at his calendar, and freaks out completely, jumping up and screaming “OHMYGOD!” like a terrified little girl.
Oh fuck, it’s today.
Today.
He squeaks quite unmanli-ly, managing to pour the coffee all over himself in the process. It’s boiling, but he can’t feel any external pain right now—which is the reason he feels nothing when he stubs his toe jumping, or when he falls backwards and his floor hits the ass, or when the cup, which in this process had launched up high in the air, his him in the forehead.
He just sits there, eyes wide open and blank with terror.
He gulps and tries getting up, unluckily slipping on the coffee and—somehow, just use your imagination—falling again, this time face forward.
As he lies on the floor, undignified, he tries to do some calming exercises. He breathes in long and slowly, then out. Then in, then out. It slowly gets better. There’s nothing to be scared of. Two days prior, when he called the service, the man on the phone had told him that his brother could come Wednesday at twelve. He had been quite surprised and a bit disappointed—actually, he’d thought he would get immediate service—but agreed nonetheless, already resigning to take the problem (i.e., his boner) in his own hand (i.e., by jerking off) that day and leaving it for Wednesday, then.
And now it’s Wednesday, and he wishes he had waited just a little more before battling his purple-helmeted yogurt-slinger and actually thought about what this entire thing implied; but he’s doing breathing exercises, thinking it’s all going to be okay (or, more accurately, he’s thinking It could be worse; I could be Toris. Or Mr. Braginsky. Ew, not Braginsky!) and he slowly gets calmer. He sits up and looks around his room, quite glad that he isn’t anyone else he knows to have had terrible sexual experiences (like when he heard Toris from the room next to his screaming ‘W-wait, is that a—You’re a GUY?!’ or when he walked into Braginsky’s office at work as his Russian boss was humping a bowl of Chinese noodles).
His resolve lasts exactly forty-seven and a half seconds before he leaps at his cellphone and calls Tino.
“Um, hi?” his friends greets after a while of beeping. “Uh, c-can I ring you back? I’m kind of, um, eating right now…”
“ItotallycalledthenumbershitohshitI’mgoingtodiehelpme!”, Eduard squeaks.
There’s the noise of Tino licking something, then clearing his throat. “Uh, Ed, I know you’re nervous about, whatever, probably Estonia losing at ice hockey again, but I’m really busy right now. As in, um, I was at IKEA yesterday? Y-you know?”
“B-but, but, it’s the—I called the—you know!”
“Hmm… Hm! Hey! Ah, uh, Ed. Really. I bought some drawers yesterday. You know. They’re super hard to assemble. SUPER HARD. SOOOO HARD. AND BIG. Do you get my drift…?”
“Tino, the prostitute is coming over today and I have no idea what to do!”
Silence over the line, accompanied of some more sucking noises, and the abrupt noise of source of suction leaving the surface it was attached to.
“Ed, ew, I told you not to talk about that. And right now I can’t talk because—you know how they sell hot dogs at IKEA? I took one home and it’s large, and in my mouth, and I’m trying to get a lot of, uh, mayonnaise outta it, and, really, can I make this any more—“
“You got that stripper for your birthday, that Danish one dressed like a cop—so y-y-you know what to do, right?”
On the other end, Tino seems to be talking to someone who's there with him.
“Um, one sec, my friend is having a baby right now—listen, Ed, that was Erszébet’s idea, and besides, the one who eventually took that guy home was Lukas, if I remember correctly. Also, I have a big piece of furniture—okay, fuck it, SOME BIG, JUICY COCK—right in front of me and I have to finish this, okay? So, you can do that—whatever you’re going to do—and I finish blowing this delicious Swedish dick, yes? I’ll call you later!”
“But—“
But the line’s already beeping, and Eduard can just stand there, desolated, and wait for the ever-ticking clock to mark twelve.
And it does.
In the meantime, Eduard has cried, changed his clothes, squeaked, changed them again and cleaned the entire house.
Then he realized that it’s actually a rather stupid idea to have it all perfectly clean before the ‘maid’ came, as then they would have nothing to roleplay about, and artificially untidied a few things. Then he noticed that he really couldn’t live with those things out of place, so he corrected them again, instead disarranging other things. Then he repeated the same thing as before, because OCD is serious business.
He’s at this—battling to leave a magazine open and not in a complete parallel symmetry to the corner of the table it’s on—when the door rigs.
Fortunately, he trips over the table, scattering all of its contents—and the ones of the bookshelf next to it—all over his living room.
Well, that’s settled, then. There will at least be enough disorder to create a convincing fantasy.
If Eduard can live with this.
His fingers are itching to tidy up, actually.
Yet, feeling immensely proud of himself for not picking up all the books as he makes his way towards the door, he opens it, letting the stranger in.
The first thing he thinks is “Oh fuck, it is an SM maid. Or an SS maid”.
The guy has very, very light hair, white actually, with skin almost as pale, and if Ed has learned anything from the Matrix movie (or Harry Potter) it is that guys with too light hair are evil. He wears a long, black coat that conceals him entirely—the one you either wear in the goth-scene, or to invade Poland. And the worst are his eyes, blood red and clearly out of a vampire movie or something.
Then he notices those are not kinkily evil red contact lenses but actually real, underpigmented eyes, and feels like a dick because albinism is a form of disability. Oh god, did he just hire a disabled person to fuck him?! If he believed in any sort of higher power, he’d be sure They’d be sending him straight to hell.
He stares for a solid minute, until the guy lifts a white eyebrow, looking rather amused, and introduces himself. “Hi! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, from Beilschmidt and Brother!” he looks around, as if making sure no one’s listening, and leans down to mutter, with the most confident of grins, “No matter what my brother tells you, I am the ‘Beilschmidt’, and not just the ‘Brother’”.
Eduard manages to choke out a “H-hi” as he beckons him inside. The man, though, never once stops talking.
“Dude, that name on your bell, is that yours? Are you seriously called von Bock? Because that’s awesome. I don’t know if you know but it totally means ‘male goat’ in German. And it sounds like a nobility title. So you’re like, uh… what’s your name?”
As the stranger enters his house without even taking his shoes off—which in Estonia, Eduard’s home country, is considered severely rude—he removes his jacket, revealing, to Eduard’s expectant gaze--- a dark blue overall.
Wait. Wait. This isn’t what he had—surely there’s been a mistake—
“It’s Eduard. Um, listen, are you really…?”
“Eduard! So you’re like, ‘Eduard of the Male Goat’. You sound like a Bond Villain, well, not in English, but in German, man, you should grow a moustache or something. And buy a cat. Wait, do you already have a cat? A white Persian maybe?!”
“N-no, uhm, wh-what I wanted to ask—are you truly the, erm, craft I called over? Willing to, ah, go deep? And to, y-you know, bend over? To get the naughty bits? Like I asked on the phone?”
“Yeah, didn’t you talk about that with my lame brother? He’s the one that settles the papers, and I” he stretches out his arms to crack his joints, looking straight into Eduard’s eyes, “get down and dirty”.
Oh. Well, that does sound promising.
As Gilbert turns around, tilting his head to crack his neck as well, Eduard gets a good view of his butt in the overall.
The cloth’s not painted on, but neither too saggy, giving him a good outline of firm and delightful buttckeeks. Oh, he sees it now: this man is a professional; his ‘dress’ is meant to be shockingly realistic, to fully let you drown in this fantasy for hire.
He bites his lip, closing the door and entering behind him, already feeling the familiar rushing heat of a budding up erection…
I am unworthy. Thank you for all the beautiful comments! Also, someone else filled this too, with NedPrus; go read that fill as well! I will only read it once I have finished mine so I am not influenced, though, but it really intrigues me! >_<
Seriously, Estonia's name in German sounds super metal. Or stupid. I can't really tell. Prepare for random facts about Estonian culture, and a bit of German culture, too :D And, of course, porn.
Captcha: velcro Norsemen. Holy shit, captcha, don't I fill enough stuff with the Nordics already? Do you need to spam me even when I'm Nordic-free? And what's this about velcro, is that your kink, or is that a weird synonym for pubic hair and STOP ME PLEASE
This isn't even a pairing I've considered, but A!A!!! I think I love you. This is awesome. And velcro pubic hair would stick to your underwear in a very unpleasant way.
you, dear anon, have inspired me to draw a frankly bizarre something I will share with the world once I upload the next chapter. Dear lord, the things captcha does for mankind!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig [Prologue]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-14 07:29 pm (UTC)(link)It all started with what seemed like a joke.
Eduard and his best friend, Tino, had sat on his couch playing a drinking game to the Moomins (“Each time something super disturbing comes up that is somehow ignored you drink!” had been Tino’s enthusiastic idea; not twenty minutes worth of television had them so smashed that there wasn’t even a second rule necessary) when suddenly, the Finn had spoken up after clearing his throat and said “I totally fucked the IKEA-montage guy last Thursday. On the couch he’d just assembled.”
Eduard had spit his vodka all over Moominvalley. He stopped the television. “What?! ”
“It was the one I always flirt with when I go there, and he recognized me when he came to my house and he bent over to adjust the screws on my new couch so I had him bend me over and screw me. God that was awesome. I think I’ll buy the most complicated piece of furniture they have there next time and ask for him specifically again. I think you can do that.”
They had both stopped talking then, for a while, until Tino, apparently somewhat shocked, had jumped up saying “Oh God! I’m using IKEA like one of those phone lines for hiring prostitutes in kinky costumes!”
Normally, Eduard would have said nothing, but he had quite some alcohol in his bloodstream (this episode had the Groke in it—oh god it was TERRIFYING) and somehow turned on (well, Tino had been his favourite wet dream in high school, and imagining him being pound into the couch by some rough repairman was kinda hot), so he just blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “Haha, tell me when they invent them, because I could use one of those”.
Tino had looked at him, a mix of bemusement and amusement on his face. “Uhm. What?”
“Yeah, those things are only real in movies and stuff, right?”
“Uh—no?”
“Don’t be so gullible. How do you even get those numbers?”
“I’ll get you one. In about five seconds. What are you into?”
“Um. Drag.”
Tino had roared in laughter. “What? Really? You? You don’t even need to call anyone for that—just drive to the red lights district and…”
“N-no, um, very… specific drag. I like m-m-maids. French maids. You know.”
Tino tipped something into Eduard’s internet browser—which was set Incognito, of course, just in case Eduard’s brothers got the idea of looking around his history—and, in even less than five seconds, a million of contact numbers popped up.
“There. Things I never ever wanted to know, Ed. Let’s just, um, finish that episode and not talk about this again, okay?”
And they indeed hadn’t. Eduard, who had written the internet address down on a piece of paper (bookmarking it would have been a dead give-away), now fumbles with it nervously.
He is really, really horny.
Gulping, he types it in. The address in his hand is dirtycleaners69.com.
He notices that the skin of the page contains notable less porn or men in seductive uniforms that less time—namely, none—but he figures his new add-blocker is just that good. He dials the first number he finds.
“Ludwig Beilschmidt from Beilschmidt and Brother. How can I help you?”
A very, very stern voice and… is that a German accent? Oh, good. Eduard is completely sure he has it right now; those Germans are kinky bastards.
He just hopes he won’t get an SM-maid. He’s kind of scared of that. The ‘BD’ part in BDSM is fine, but the last two letters make him uneasy. Well. He just gets on with it.
As he reveals his desires for ‘deep, deep cleaning’ and ‘someone who can bend over to get even the naughtiest bits’, he closes the page his browser is still displaying, figuring he won’t need it anymore.
He doesn’t notice that, in fact, it read dirtcleaners68.com...
Prologue is done! Title means "Thorough, clean, cheap" in German. Don't forget to review!
Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig [Prologue]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-15 04:55 am (UTC)(link)Your Finland is also very enjoyable to read!
Hope to see more of this soon authoranon!
Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig [Prologue]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-15 03:38 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig [Prologue]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-15 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)oh my god YES
A!A, I think I know you from a certain other fill ... one with a certain cleft chin
I am SO STOKED you're tackling this AND WITH ESTONIA OMFG my favourite character my precious baby asjdh Anon, I'm totally bunkering down for shenanigans.
not!OP, but still feels like she won the lottery today
I love how Tino is all ready and willing to share his own escapades but the second Ed says anything he's all 'wow TMI dude'. Bad friend, Tino!
Authornon speaking
(Anonymous) 2013-04-15 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)I love Estonia too, I'd write him all the time (...actually I do, lol) and this request was just begging for it. Also, some people had said they'd fill it so I got all impulsive and possessive and NEEDED this to keep breathing. On a side note, that drawing of Prussia is now pasted above my kitchen sink at home with the words 'Don't forget to wash the dishes', which my roommates find disturbing.
...I'll try to upload quickly.
That is my absolute headcanon for Fin. I don't even know why (maybe because he talks all the time but is completely weirded out when Sve does in canon? Uh...). And it'll come up again.
Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig [Prologue]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-17 12:06 am (UTC)(link)Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [1/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 12:16 pm (UTC)(link)Oh fuck, it’s today.
Today.
He squeaks quite unmanli-ly, managing to pour the coffee all over himself in the process. It’s boiling, but he can’t feel any external pain right now—which is the reason he feels nothing when he stubs his toe jumping, or when he falls backwards and his floor hits the ass, or when the cup, which in this process had launched up high in the air, his him in the forehead.
He just sits there, eyes wide open and blank with terror.
He gulps and tries getting up, unluckily slipping on the coffee and—somehow, just use your imagination—falling again, this time face forward.
As he lies on the floor, undignified, he tries to do some calming exercises. He breathes in long and slowly, then out. Then in, then out. It slowly gets better. There’s nothing to be scared of. Two days prior, when he called the service, the man on the phone had told him that his brother could come Wednesday at twelve. He had been quite surprised and a bit disappointed—actually, he’d thought he would get immediate service—but agreed nonetheless, already resigning to take the problem (i.e., his boner) in his own hand (i.e., by jerking off) that day and leaving it for Wednesday, then.
And now it’s Wednesday, and he wishes he had waited just a little more before battling his purple-helmeted yogurt-slinger and actually thought about what this entire thing implied; but he’s doing breathing exercises, thinking it’s all going to be okay (or, more accurately, he’s thinking It could be worse; I could be Toris. Or Mr. Braginsky. Ew, not Braginsky!) and he slowly gets calmer. He sits up and looks around his room, quite glad that he isn’t anyone else he knows to have had terrible sexual experiences (like when he heard Toris from the room next to his screaming ‘W-wait, is that a—You’re a GUY?!’ or when he walked into Braginsky’s office at work as his Russian boss was humping a bowl of Chinese noodles).
His resolve lasts exactly forty-seven and a half seconds before he leaps at his cellphone and calls Tino.
“Um, hi?” his friends greets after a while of beeping. “Uh, c-can I ring you back? I’m kind of, um, eating right now…”
“ItotallycalledthenumbershitohshitI’mgoingtodiehelpme!”, Eduard squeaks.
There’s the noise of Tino licking something, then clearing his throat. “Uh, Ed, I know you’re nervous about, whatever, probably Estonia losing at ice hockey again, but I’m really busy right now. As in, um, I was at IKEA yesterday? Y-you know?”
“B-but, but, it’s the—I called the—you know!”
“Hmm… Hm! Hey! Ah, uh, Ed. Really. I bought some drawers yesterday. You know. They’re super hard to assemble. SUPER HARD. SOOOO HARD. AND BIG. Do you get my drift…?”
“Tino, the prostitute is coming over today and I have no idea what to do!”
Silence over the line, accompanied of some more sucking noises, and the abrupt noise of source of suction leaving the surface it was attached to.
“Ed, ew, I told you not to talk about that. And right now I can’t talk because—you know how they sell hot dogs at IKEA? I took one home and it’s large, and in my mouth, and I’m trying to get a lot of, uh, mayonnaise outta it, and, really, can I make this any more—“
“You got that stripper for your birthday, that Danish one dressed like a cop—so y-y-you know what to do, right?”
On the other end, Tino seems to be talking to someone who's there with him.
Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 12:19 pm (UTC)(link)“But—“
But the line’s already beeping, and Eduard can just stand there, desolated, and wait for the ever-ticking clock to mark twelve.
And it does.
In the meantime, Eduard has cried, changed his clothes, squeaked, changed them again and cleaned the entire house.
Then he realized that it’s actually a rather stupid idea to have it all perfectly clean before the ‘maid’ came, as then they would have nothing to roleplay about, and artificially untidied a few things. Then he noticed that he really couldn’t live with those things out of place, so he corrected them again, instead disarranging other things. Then he repeated the same thing as before, because OCD is serious business.
He’s at this—battling to leave a magazine open and not in a complete parallel symmetry to the corner of the table it’s on—when the door rigs.
Fortunately, he trips over the table, scattering all of its contents—and the ones of the bookshelf next to it—all over his living room.
Well, that’s settled, then. There will at least be enough disorder to create a convincing fantasy.
If Eduard can live with this.
His fingers are itching to tidy up, actually.
Yet, feeling immensely proud of himself for not picking up all the books as he makes his way towards the door, he opens it, letting the stranger in.
The first thing he thinks is “Oh fuck, it is an SM maid. Or an SS maid”.
The guy has very, very light hair, white actually, with skin almost as pale, and if Ed has learned anything from the Matrix movie (or Harry Potter) it is that guys with too light hair are evil. He wears a long, black coat that conceals him entirely—the one you either wear in the goth-scene, or to invade Poland. And the worst are his eyes, blood red and clearly out of a vampire movie or something.
Then he notices those are not kinkily evil red contact lenses but actually real, underpigmented eyes, and feels like a dick because albinism is a form of disability. Oh god, did he just hire a disabled person to fuck him?! If he believed in any sort of higher power, he’d be sure They’d be sending him straight to hell.
He stares for a solid minute, until the guy lifts a white eyebrow, looking rather amused, and introduces himself. “Hi! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, from Beilschmidt and Brother!” he looks around, as if making sure no one’s listening, and leans down to mutter, with the most confident of grins, “No matter what my brother tells you, I am the ‘Beilschmidt’, and not just the ‘Brother’”.
Eduard manages to choke out a “H-hi” as he beckons him inside. The man, though, never once stops talking.
“Dude, that name on your bell, is that yours? Are you seriously called von Bock? Because that’s awesome. I don’t know if you know but it totally means ‘male goat’ in German. And it sounds like a nobility title. So you’re like, uh… what’s your name?”
Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 12:28 pm (UTC)(link)Wait. Wait. This isn’t what he had—surely there’s been a mistake—
“It’s Eduard. Um, listen, are you really…?”
“Eduard! So you’re like, ‘Eduard of the Male Goat’. You sound like a Bond Villain, well, not in English, but in German, man, you should grow a moustache or something. And buy a cat. Wait, do you already have a cat? A white Persian maybe?!”
“N-no, uhm, wh-what I wanted to ask—are you truly the, erm, craft I called over? Willing to, ah, go deep? And to, y-you know, bend over? To get the naughty bits? Like I asked on the phone?”
“Yeah, didn’t you talk about that with my lame brother? He’s the one that settles the papers, and I” he stretches out his arms to crack his joints, looking straight into Eduard’s eyes, “get down and dirty”.
Oh. Well, that does sound promising.
As Gilbert turns around, tilting his head to crack his neck as well, Eduard gets a good view of his butt in the overall.
The cloth’s not painted on, but neither too saggy, giving him a good outline of firm and delightful buttckeeks. Oh, he sees it now: this man is a professional; his ‘dress’ is meant to be shockingly realistic, to fully let you drown in this fantasy for hire.
He bites his lip, closing the door and entering behind him, already feeling the familiar rushing heat of a budding up erection…
I am unworthy. Thank you for all the beautiful comments! Also, someone else filled this too, with NedPrus; go read that fill as well! I will only read it once I have finished mine so I am not influenced, though, but it really intrigues me! >_<
Seriously, Estonia's name in German sounds super metal. Or stupid. I can't really tell. Prepare for random facts about Estonian culture, and a bit of German culture, too :D And, of course, porn.
Captcha: velcro Norsemen. Holy shit, captcha, don't I fill enough stuff with the Nordics already? Do you need to spam me even when I'm Nordic-free? And what's this about velcro, is that your kink, or is that a weird synonym for pubic hair and STOP ME PLEASE
Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 12:33 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 02:09 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-19 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)Authornon speaking
(Anonymous) 2013-04-21 03:47 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-20 04:05 am (UTC)(link)Re: Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-20 04:24 am (UTC)(link)Estonia is in a nervous wreck, and his best friend is busy...eating.
(No, Finny, you cannot get any more obvious with your furniture being done. XD)