#laytonluke

Professor Layton and the Last Romance

Hershel sat peacefully at the tea table, his cuppa gently steaming before him as he stared at the gorgeous dawn of the day. His office was piled high with books, many archaeological, some simply books of puzzles, others books of random things that had piqued his interest over the years. The Professor sighed, watching the colors fade from dark to light in a gorgeous spectrum of life. It was amazing, even now, to him how his life had changed so much in the last twenty six years.

Hi,

I'm looking for beta readers for the two stories i'm currently working on:

1.  A Thousand Years- RikuSora or Soriku- “It took a thousand years for me to love him, and it took a thousand years for him to love me.” You meet your soul mate all the time, but you may not end up with him or her. For Sora and Riku, it took a thousand years for them to finally live happily ever after (A set of stories where Sora and Riku meet each other in their past lives, but just fall short of ending up together.

2. Puzzled- Hershel Layton was heartbroken when he thought Randall had died. From failing to find a solution to save his friend, he starts to believe puzzles and archeology are absolutely horrid; thus he stop finding solutions to them. Months pass, and a boy with a blue hat suddenly shows up in the stoic town, Maybe, this boy will change everything by just existing.(AU) (Legal !Luke x Young/College Layton).

The first two chapters of these stories are done, but I desperately need a beta reader, so if you would like to beta my stories message me.

Idea

AND I NEED TO FIX THAT

(Didn't feel like tweaking this anymore, but I felt like posting my own work. So, here.

Professor Layton: Hershel/Legal!Luke.

Faggotry ensues. Also, filling in my bondage (wrist/ankle restraints) kink bingo box. Not really hardcore at all. Wasn't feeling it.)

Hershel buries his face into Luke's neck, feeling his pulse against his tongue as the younger man twitches and curls beneath his touch.

He's warm and hot and wanting beneath him, and the blindfold is knotted, quite firmly, behind his head. The way Luke rolls his hips is enough though, forcing him to drag along Layton's abdomen in a way that makes his heart jolt and the Professor’s fingernails catch and pull against his chest.

"You should be glad," he murmurs, "that I'm not taking this to a higher authority."

His voice feels molten against his skin and his breath puffs softly along the trail of saliva that was left against his collar and neck. Luke can feel the perfectly lined teeth pressing gently against his shoulder before withdrawing again to speak. His hips jerk forward again, stuttering in a way that doesn't evoke the reaction that he wants.

"I am glad," he breathed, all too aware of the way the knot holds his wrists above his head, of where it pulls and goes lax if he allows it to. It catches right on the curve of his hand and thumb and, if he wiggled, he could probably loosen it.

But he doesn't really want to do that, now does he?

Layton is taking his time again, drawing patterns with his tongue along his collarbone, and the pleasure is in the waiting. It's in how slowly he goes, in where he decides to lap and grind and rub, in waiting for Luke to become impatient and frustrated. Occasionally, two fingers slip down to trace along his chest, to slip close to one budded nipple before pulling away. He takes direct pleasure in hearing his breath hitch and even more in the words that he knows that Luke is purposely holding back. He can feel the 'more's and 'need's against his ear, tangling in his hair, but they dissolve with every gentle tweak and scrape of Hershel's fingernails.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" he asked. His voice was soft against a single neglected nipple and his lips and tongue skirted around the bud before retreating to kiss along his ribs.

The pleasure is in not knowing, in hiding it for later, in the surprise and the anticipation, so Luke doesn't answer.

"Would you like to guess?"

Luke's lips are still, but his erection is twitching between his legs. He pushes up a fraction of an inch, then lowers himself down to the bed. His thighs spread, but his ankles stay fixed to the bar between his legs.

His lips form a simple 'no', but Hershel's teeth are snug around that same bud, cutting gently against the sensitive skin. "You'll bite me," he murmurs, and Hershel obliges, putting the slightest amount of pressure on him to force out a groan and another long roll of his hips. "And you’ll pin me down..."