Keskiviikko - Rare Pairings

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Today we shall commit ourselves to the one of the less followed objectives of our community; the finding of new and strange fandoms and pairing. Do you have a secret OTP that no-one ever writes about? Come here and be bold, there is nothing to be ashamed about. Perhaps someone else knows it. The rarest of pairings can produce the most memorable fics for one reason or the other. Do I need to pull the example of Pikachu/Voldemort BDSM?

I suggest we specify rare to mean pairings that are rare in comment_fic. So if you're not very familiar with the community, peep at the indexes and Lonely Prompts to see what's the norm around here. Use your own judgement.

This will be a suicidal day for our most wonderful code monkeys and llama without the help of incorrect prompting. Therefore, put one prompt per comment, answer any and as many as you possibly can. And if you bunny yourself, don't be afraid to answer your own prompt. If it's hot and smutty you might bring new friends to the fandom.

Examples:
-Star Trek, Kirk/Spock, knowing your place
-Watchmen, Roschach/Comedian, truth is painful
-Merlin/Temeraire, The Great Dragon/Temeraire, years

All Leverage, SPN and Stargate shippers that need their daily supply should wander to the Lonely Prompts, there are heaps of prompts there. Unless you find a new angle to them. *--*

Comments

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Star Trek, Kirk/Spock, knowing your place

Star Trek XI omfg omfg guh

[canadiangoddess.livejournal.com]

It got too big so I've linked it:

HERE (http://canadiangoddess.livejournal.com/58412.html#cutid1)

there is a sequel in the same entry that I wrote for another CF challenge if you're interested.

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Watchmen, Roschach/Comedian, truth is painful

[daria234.livejournal.com]

The Comedian is on our side. Against the filth.

But how can filth fight filth?

He's the comedian because he doesn't know when to stop laughing. He doesn't know when it's not funny.

Fornication is dirty. It's not funny. Sometimes it's gentle, usually it's painful. Pain like a flame on the skin, or a child learning the truth.

But it's definitely not funny.

Someone stealing your face while fornicating is even less funny. Hysterical laughter while you try to escape and cover your face, while you try to separate your body from his.

Not funny at all.

But he keeps laughing. Every time he does it, he laughs like the first time.

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Merlin/Temeraire, The Great Dragon/Temeraire, years

[asimaiyat.livejournal.com]

Lie to Me, Lightman/Loker, "look me in the eye"

Lie to Me, Lightman/Loker, "look me in the eye"

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

"Look me in the eye. Go on, look me in the eye and say that."

All the signs are there before Lightman even says anything: the wrong posture, wrong body language, wrong microexpression. He holds Loker's gaze with far more intensity than he should do – he's trying to fake it. Trying to pretend that what he's about to say is the truth. His body is rigid as he controls every fidget, every tell. That's how to know when Lightman is lying: when it looks like he's not.

"I don't want you, Loker. I'm sorry, but I don't. I don't think of you that way."

There's the faintest twitch at the side of his mouth that lets Loker know the truth - the truth, the holy grail that they spend their working lives hunting for – and it's because of that that he feels confident enough to lean in and kiss his boss far more thoroughly than any employee should.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, John/YED, pain.

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

He loved his boys and he never regretted making the deal to keep Dean alive. Sometimes, when the pain was too much and he couldn't remember if the voice screaming is his, then, sometimes he swore at everything. With blind sure feeling he'd do anything to make it stop.

*

Being tied again. Being hold. Being a prisoner.
Being owned.

Hands on him, teasing him. The feeling of another presence on him, feeling so hot. The bonding on his wrists keeping him in place as he squirmed underneath the demon.

Listening hot whispers. Listening lies. Listening ancient languages.
Listening orders.

Hands holding the demon close. Pressing them hard against each other. Sliding deeply in the heat. John looking in the yellow eyes from the above, waiting for the order to move.

Following moves. Following commands. Following plans.
Following Azazel.

Arms moving around the demon and holding him outside his new host. Watching his son shot the obsession of his life and look proudly at him. With tears shining in the eyes.

*

John Winchester managed to crawl out of hell and held Azazel, stopping him from killing his boys. John spend a year in hell... John lived through more than a hundred years in hell and never became a demon.

Even if his yells and moans, and prayers were answered and Azazel took him of the rack after ten years of tortures.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Will, treehouse.

♥

Merlin/Will, treehouse

[kelene.livejournal.com]

On it!

I may have interpreted your prompt very very loosely, and was influenced heavily by my desperate wish that summer would just get over here already. :D

--
When the sun is high in the sky and heat swarms in sickly waves on the ground, Merlin and Will retreat to the middle of the woods. There's some shade in amongst the trees and breathing is slightly easier. Merlin holds his hand out and let his magic leave him, sluggish in the heat. Trees shift and leaves rustle and slowly, their retreat takes shape. A heavy canopy of green and brown and a soft carpet of leaves welcome them; shelter from the sun.

Merlin and Will lie back with sighs and relief. It's late in the summer but there's no sign of any reprieve. Their days are long and lazy, with fewer and fewer things keeping them entertained. It becomes harder, the older they get. Fewer things in the village hold their interest long enough, and they both feel the itching in their bones for more.

Merlin breathes in the humid air, draws it into his lungs and holds it, lets it sink into his body. It's thick like honey and almost as sweet with the scent of grass and flowers. Will's eyes are dark and hooded as they watch him, and Merlin smiles, affection curling slow and languid in his stomach. It's almost too much heat than he can take when Will leans over and presses their mouths together. The kiss is sticky from the fruit they'd stolen from Old Man Simmons, and Merlin licks his lips when WIll pulls away, tracing the last lingering tastes.

Merlin is too hot to move but too entranced to say no, and Will doesn't seem to mind. He just draws Merlin's shirt over his head and stretches him out like a sacrifice against the grass, arms spread and legs parted. There are slivers of light piercing through the roof Merlin had created; Merlin lets his eyes wander, and trails them in the semi darkness as Will touches his lips to sweat-sheened skin. It's been a long summer and it's nearly over. When the days shorten once more, there'll be no more careless hours in the trees, no more time just spent enjoying each other. Merlin's mother speaks of her friend in the next kingdom over, and they both avoid saying what they're both thinking. Merlin doesn't belong here.

But there are still days between now and then, and when heat still covers them in its blanket, Merlin is free to just enjoy the moment. Will's skin is damp under his fingers, and his tongue is curled and strong as Merlin throws his head back and gasps his release into the air. Maybe this will not last forever, but they will always have this. Always have the summer.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Lancelot, sword.

♥

Sword, Merlin, Arthur/Lancelot

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Warning: knife...well, sword play. Um. I don't even know where this came from. I blame you ;p Also? I have no Arthur/Lancelot icon. For why? *pout*


Lancelot comes back in the second year of Arthur’s reign – just passing through, or so he says, but Arthur presses on him to stay, at least for a while. Gwen – Queen Guinevere, now – and Merlin smile at him from beside Arthur and Lancelot smiles back, notices the lack of the lady Morgana.

He doesn’t mention it.

Arthur knights him with Lancelot’s own name, standing tall and proud and golden-haired before his throne in front of the entire court. Lancelot kneels at his feet, head bowed with his eyes fixed on the floor as Arthur presses the sword lightly to each shoulder.

That night, after the wine and ale have been drunk dry and the lord and ladies of the court have stumbled off to bed – their own or other people’s – Arthur looks at him over the rim of his goblet, then stands. He holds out his hand and Lancelot talks it, lets his King haul him to his feet and lead him out of the Hall.

In his chambers, the King pulls Lancelot’s tunic and shirt off, baring him to the draught – pushing Lancelot back until his knees hit the edge of the bed, then more so he falls onto his back on the covers, staring up at Arthur and harder than he ever thought possible. Arthur grins, drawing his sword and Lancelot feels a flicker of complete panic watching the candle light bounce off the sharp edge of the metal.

“Lie still,” Arthur says, his smile bright and eyes wide and dark with the drink and – Lancelot hopes – lust. He moves the sword easily; it looks like an extension of his body as he wields it, drawing the very point in a line from the hollow at the base of Lancelot’s throat to the top of his trousers. Lancelot hisses at the sharp pain and forces himself to hold still, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur’s.

“Your majesty…Arthur…”

“Hold still,” Arthur reminds him, pressing a little more weight onto the sword, increasing the pain and Lancelot’s eyes leave Arthur’s to look down the length of his body and see the bright red of his own blood as it beads out of the wound. He bites at his bottom lip, looking up at Arthur again and the King’s eyes are wide, and his mouth has fallen open a little. Cursing under his breath, Arthur throws his sword to the side and he’s on Lancelot before the metal has finished clattering on the stone floor.

“Please,” Lancelot begs, arching up into Arthur’s touch as he pulls and pushes at the King’s clothing, wanting bare skin against his own.

Arthur pulls back at that, looks down at the red marks he put to Lancelot’s skin, and reaches to touch them, running his fingers lightly over them until he gets to the deepest, pressing his nail in until Lancelot gasps out his pain and drags Arthur into a kiss.

[asimaiyat.livejournal.com]

Lost, Ben/Locke, let's see you talk your way out of this

(shut up, I do not have weird taste in pairings >_<)

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

Ben opened his eyes and shut them again. His head throbbed. He grimaced as he thought of the way Sun had tricked him. He had to hand it to her, though; for someone he’d always considered a delicate flower, she had certainly grown a spine. He’d have to recalibrate his interactions with her. Opening his eyes again, Ben could see that he was in the Hydra station. He was home again, and soon everything would be okay. He’d show Richard. He’d show Jacob. He’d show them all.

Walking gingerly, and clutching his still painful, but quickly healing arm, Ben made his way out of the room and into the open air. The sun shone brightly, but there was something dark in the way the survivors of Arija 316 were looking at him. For one, they were arranged in a semi-circle, as if waiting for him to come out. And at the center, with a placid smile on his face, was John Locke, terrifyingly alive and well. Ben had suspected that this might happen, but it was the first time he’d actually seen the kind of resurrection Richard had long ago hinted was possible on this island.

Summoning an air of casual nonchalance, he ignored Locke and waved at the group, innocently shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. “Hello,” he called.

But everyone continued to look at him suspiciously. To Ben’s surprise, many of them turned to look at Locke. “Hello, Ben. I’ve already told them everything. I’ve told them about the Dharma initiative. I’ve told them that you murdered an entire community of unsuspecting scientists and buried them in a mass grave. I’ve told them about Oceanic 815 crashing here and how you ordered abductions and murders. I’ve told them all about what awaits them on the main island. I’ve told them that you killed me. I’ve shown them my coffin. I’ve told them that the only reason you were on this plane was because you knew it would crash here, and that you didn’t care about the lives that would be lost or ruined by letting other people than yourself board the plane. I’ve told them everything and they believe me. Now let’s see you talk your way out of this.”

The faces of the survivors corroborated John’s words. There was anger there, and fear. There were fifty of them, and only one bruised one of him. Ben would have to think fast.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Smallville, Clark/Jason, football.

♥

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Clark maybe didn't know all that much about football, because he didn't ever remember this happening in the locker room on the television.

Not that they'd show it if it did, but he figures he'd have heard about it.

It's late and the rest of the team is gone. Jason had been waiting when he came out of the showers. Jason, who was his coach, and who was watching him with an expression that didn't seem all that coach-like.

In fact, they had looked fairly predatory...and Clark hadn't known quite what to do with that.

Now it doesn't seem as much of a problem, as Jason licks down the sweat on his back, over his hole and Clark squirms.

"Always knew you were a tight end, Clark...a receiver." Jason chuckles at his own joke as he slides a finger inside him and moves it around, making Clark moan and press back for more. "Mmmm...nice..."

It takes all the strength of will Clark possesses not to break the bench under his hands when Jason sinks into him...so full and hot and better than he'd ever thought...and when Clark comes, it slicks the bench and his stomach.

Jason slaps his flesh and fucks in harder, coming deep inside Clark, increasing the feeling of fullness until Clark gasps and pulls forward.

Jason lays over him for a moment, smiling against his back. "Good game, Kent."

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Brittas Empire, Tim/Gavin, lazy morning

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Smallville, Clark/Jason, "I shouldn't be here"

♥

[csichick-2.livejournal.com]

"I shouldn't be here," Jason says, straddling Clark on the couch of the barn loft.

"Because of Lana?" Clark asks defensively.

Jason shakes his head as he leans in to kiss Clark. "I'm the one that broke it off with her, remember."

"I know, it's just when you said..."

"It's not that I don't want to be with you Clark. This just isn't the most private of locations."

"You're not my coach anymore, Jason."

"I'm still older. And your parents..."

"Are asleep. It's the middle of the night, Jason."

"Sorry," Jason says sheepishly.

Clark shakes his head. "Just shut up and kiss me."

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Die Hard 4.0, John/Matt, after the adrenaline rush

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

After the adrenaline wore off and the morphine faded, Matt crashed. He'd been running on sugar and fear for so long that when he crashed he did it fast and hard.

His body ached and his mind was frazzled and he'd never felt like that before, he didn't understand what was happening or how to make it stop.

His parents didn't understand, actually he got the feeling they were pissed at him for getting involved at all, the nurses didn't get it and neither did the shrink they sent to him the first few days. He got the feeling that the doctors understood a little, years of learning and practical experience in ERs but they didn't quite get how much it consumed him.

He couldn't think for the buzzing in his ears and the fuzziness in his head and he was going out of his mind.

The bed dipped beside him as he tried to shake the fuzziness out. John had his arm in a sling and healing cuts on his face.

"The adrenaline comedown is hard. Took me weeks the first time, thought I was going mad, but I figured it out eventually. Sit back and I'll run you through it."

Matt leant back against his pillows and let John's voice wash over him. His mind felt clearer already.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Chronicles of Riddick, Riddick/Vaako, by my side

Because there needs to be more Riddick/Vaako!

[umbralillium.livejournal.com]

No fic but, AGREED!

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Lancelot, snow.

♥

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

ahhh so much schmoop

It's snowing, soft white flakes falling slowly through the air. Merlin stares up at the grey expanse of endless sky, blinking away the snowflakes that cling to his eyelashes. It's so quiet right now, early dawn when barely anyone is awake, and he's getting a pain in his neck from standing like this, but he doesn't care.

He hears the footsteps, but the rhythm and the weight of them are familiar, so he stays as he is, even when strong, warm arms wrap around his waist, and a stubble-rough chin rests on his shoulder.

"Good morning," Lancelot breathes into Merlin's skin. "You're shivering. Come back to bed."

"It's beautiful," Merlin says instead. "Lance, just...watch."

"You're right," Lancelot says. "It's perfect."

But when Merlin looks at him, Lancelot's not looking at the sky. His eyes are only for Merlin.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Strachey Mysteries, Donald/Timmy, wish you were here

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Godchild (Cain Saga), Cain/Riff, loyalty

It was all the fault of Loyalty

[chibifukurou]

Loyalty had always been one of Riffs faults. He was loyal to Cain, so when Cain told him to ignore the time he was losing he had done so without thought. He had trusted Cain to know best, and his Lord had made him so happy. He had been happy being with Lord Cain and Lady Mary, happy to ignore the time that he lost, and happy to forget the dreams that haunted him with the taste of blood and the stench of burning flesh.

It wasn’t until his lord saw him standing next to Lord Alexis with his hand turned to bone and showed no surprise at his state, that he realized that he should have questioned Cain’s loyalty and it wasn’t until he stood before his lord, covered in Jizabel’s blood and seeing something like love in Cain’s eyes that he realized that questioning Cain’s loyalty was utterly pointless.

He didn’t know if he’d ever loved his Lord or if Cain had ever loved him, but he didn’t think that it really mattered. Laying there holding his lord as blood surrounding them like a cloak and impaling glass creating wings above them he decided that loyalty was more than enough for men like them.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Animorphs, Marco/Jake, changing.

♥

[pleonasm]

They didn't try to get together like this, and maybe that's what made it easier to deal with. Coming out as saviors of the world would have been more difficult than coming out as gay, but sometimes, Marco thought, there wouldn't be much difference.

It was worst the first few times, when they were all over the news and the awful tension of war veterans was strongest. Watching television was dangerous, then. Any channel could be talking about it, in the most casual of terms or the most serious, and every time it hit like...

Like a claw to the face, and Marco was scrambling into Jake's lap, and the only way to stop crying was to touch each other, to block her memory out. Marco always ended up sucking Jake off in the end, swallowing the bitter fluids, and trying to think about anything but Rachel.

He hadn't been her cousin; he wasn't related to her like Jake was; it wasn't his plan. But every time he finds himself as the initiator, the one who shuts Jake's eyes with gentle fingertips, the one sliding his hands down under his shirt and ripping the spandex Jake still wore underneath when he could.

He took Jake in his mouth, ignoring his soft keens of pleasure and protest, and sometimes he thought about Cassie too, not to wonder if she'd ever done this, but because she'd said once in an interview that she and Marco were the only real "survivors" of this war. There wasn't much to that: survival isn't so difficult. It was the moving-on that was hard. Jake couldn't change who he was. Marco could only bury it.

"I'm sorry," Jake whispered, and Marco wasn't sure who he was apologizing to, but he didn't ask. The war was over; the time for questioning their "fearless leader" was over, and this was all they had left.

He swallowed.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Generation Kill, Fick/Colbert, such a pretty mouth

Comment Fic: Brad Hesitates

[kristories.livejournal.com]

Nate is lying beside him watching him pound the crap off the bottom of the Humvee and he could just turn his head, just a few inches and find out what those cocksucker lips taste as good as he thinks they do.

Brad hesitates.

Maybe in another life they meet up at a bar, Nate would be in his suit pants and a sweater vest, a pencil stuck behind his ear because he forgot it there while he was grading papers. Brad would notice his lips first. Nate would order a sissy girl drink and Brad would be sitting next to him and that would be his in.

He would mock the sissy drink and Nate would raise his eyebrow in that way that he thinks is calm but really says "I'm going to prove you wrong," and Nate will cave under the pressure and the Bartender would bring Brad two whiskeys, straight and Nate would look at him and down it and Brad would smirk at him when the coughing fit ends and agree that maybe Nate would be better off with the sissy drinks.

They would find a table in the back and there would be beer and nachos and they would probably talk. Nate would tell him about his job teaching at the Uni, and Brad would tell him about his bike and the feel of the wind when you're cruising at top speed down an open highway. They would bond over the fucktastic government they have and Nate would be just drunk enough to start ranting about how he could do better. That he's been assured of this.

Brad knows that he would believe Nate, no matter how drunk they are or aren't.

He would wait, maybe an hour, maybe less, and then he would look at Nate, really look at him, watch the way his tongue slides out over his bottom lip and Brad would lick his own lips and imagine the taste. He would toss some bills on the table to cover the drinks and tell Nate that he's heading out. And Nate would get that smile he gets, the real one that spreads over his face and shows in his eyes and he would stand up and follow Brad out.

Nate wouldn't have a car and he would ride on the back of Brad's bike, arms wrapped tight around his waist until Brad gets them back to his place.

There would be awkward fumbling while they get to know each others bodies and Nate's kisses would feel like they were sucking the soul right out him and Brad would shove him down to his knees and tell him there are better things he could do with that mouth and then after, he would return the favour.

In another life, when the lives of other men aren't resting on him paying attention to something other than the cocksucking lips on his LT, Brad wouldn't hesitate.

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, Cedric/Luna, latin

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

The Triangle, Howard/Stan, rumours

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Animorphs, Jake/Tobias, rain.

♥

sorry, this fails to have porn in it

[pleonasm]

Jake knows that Tobias doesn't want to talk to him anymore, but he still treks into the forest a few times a year. It's a burden he can't give up; he's simply incapable of letting go. The war had changed him-- shackled him into the decision-maker, the weigher of plans, and the murderer.

The first time he goes, he thinks that Tobias might attack him. He doesn't wear his spandex underneath his clothes as an absurd kind of faith. He knows that if Tobias wanted to hurt him as a human, he could do it before Jake could morph anyway.

The first time, Tobias doesn't appear at all.

*

He visits steadily, about three times a year, through his twenties. The only year he misses the visits is the year that he spends in space, rescuing Ax; that next year he visits with a limp in his step that can only be psychosomatic-- the DNA is perfect, after all.

He sits down heavily on a tree stump and raises an arm to shade his eyes. He isn't even sure that this is Tobias's territory anymore, but he's here, for what it's worth. He's here, when he couldn't be there for Tobias in the past, when it would have been useful.

He stays there, motionless, for nearly an hour, talking to the trees in hopes that a red-tail is there. He tells Tobias about the mission, as much of it as he can piece together, and about Rachel's little sister getting married last month. He thought Tobias might like to know that.

He knows this is useless, that he does it half to make himself feel better rather than making Tobias feel better, and he knows he probably shouldn't come back.

There's a rustle in the trees, a movement of feathers, and as he limps off, he smiles, just a little.

*

When he comes back, it's raining, and there's a boy sitting on his usual tree stump, soaked to the bone. At first, Jake doesn't recognize him.

"Jake."

It's been... years since Jake has seen Tobias in human morph. Were they ever actually that young? Had they really fought, that young?

"Tobias!" is the only thing Jake can think to say.

"I heard you coming."

His tone is flat and Jake can't interpret it. He supposes that Tobias being human is a sign of interest. He leans heavily on one leg for a moment, the phantom pain striking, and before he can say anything else, Tobias is up and off of the tree stump, his movements a little jerky. Tobias leans with his back against a tree across the clearing, and gestures to the stump.

Jake sits down. He's soaked as well, water everywhere because it's been raining for three days straight. He's been in his tent, hoping it would stop so he could visit before his vacation time was over, but no luck. He decided to go anyway.

Tobias shuts his eyes and brushes hair out of his eyes which flattens back to the same position.

"Why do you come here?" he asks. The rain patters.

Jake shrugs. "I want to know you're okay."

"I'm fine. Plenty of prey and few interlopers." He looks down at his fingernails and preens them a second against his shirt, forgetting himself. His movements are awkward, sharp, bird-like.

"Good," Jake says, but he doesn't leave, studying Tobias across the clearing like he wants to memorize him.

"Well, what's going on?" Tobias asks after a moment, and under the soft sound of rain, Jake tells him. His facial expressions are somewhat awkward as well, but Jake is pleased to see him smile a little.

It's not much; it's an hour. Tobias won't morph for longer than that. Jake turns away when his friend begins to change and watches the hawk take off from the ground, watches the sky until the bird disappears.

He smiles.

*

The next time, it isn't raining, and Tobias's dry lips on Jake's cheek come as an utter surprise.

"I forgive you," he says.

Jake doesn't feel he's earned forgiveness, and he says so. Tobias shrugs.

"It's not something you earn. It's something someone gives."

His face is flushed and he's a bit skittish, waiting for Jake to say something about the kiss or about Rachel or about how ridiculous this all was.

"Thank you," Jake says, looking thoughtful, and he's nearly all the way back to his campsite when he notices that his limp has almost gone away.

*

The next time after that, he kisses him back.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Neverwhere, Richard/Marquis, on your side

[perverseparagon.livejournal.com]

"I mean it!" Richard declared sharply, his anger starting to edge his words. He stared at the other man, the enigmatic mystery of man. Or maybe more sham than man.

"I heard you," the Marquis replied with a condescending smile. There was very little amusement in it, only arrogance enough to swallow all of London Below. "All I'm saying is that no one can ever be on anyone's side but their own. Not really. At the end of the day, we're all self-serving bastards and that's the truth of it. It's just that for the time being, what you want and what I want happen to be the same. And so you think you're walking down the same path as me and fulfilling my ends and not your own."

Richard's head swam as he tried to follow what the Marquis was saying. The other man waited as patiently as a spider in it's web, watching as Richard struggled and stumbled down the thready clues he'd been given. In the end he smiled, a shadow of the Marquis' own vainglorious grin, "Maybe I meant that too."

Then with all the ease of slipping out of a coat, the Marquis slips out of his very deliberate charade. His lips are warm and dry against Richard's own, papery soft and surprisingly undemanding at first. Maybe for the time being, Richard thought fleetingly before all thought was chased from his head, simply wanting the same thing would be enough.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Grey's Anatomy, Mark/Derek, chief.

♥

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

Derek leant over Mark and pressed his fingers to his lips, eyes dark as Mark sucked them in.

"So you came for the position of chief did you?"

Mark nodded, Derek's fingers heavy against his tongue. Derek's mouth curled in a smirk.

"Are you sure there wasn't another reason?"

His fingers fell from Mark's lips with an obscene wet sound and Derek shifted, sliding down Mark's body. He knelt between Mark's legs, pushing them open with his thigh and run the saliva slick fingers down to rest against his ass.

Mark gasped as he was breached, twisting under Derek's touch, Derek heaved hot breaths against his hip.

"Are you sure that you didn't miss this? Didn't miss me pressing into you like this. Didn't miss my mouth on your cock?"

Derek leant down and took in Mark's cock, wet and long, fingers fucking up into Mark in time with his mouth.

Mark shuddered, groaned and tried to thrust up into Derek's wetness.

Derek teased him, shallow and light, dragging him out to eternity and Mark finally spiralled up into madness and bright bright light.

Derek was kneeling back on his haunches lips red and bruised.

"Are you sure you didn't miss me?"

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Simon/Inara, sanctuary

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Her shuttle is a sanctuary, a tiny oasis of civilization in the midst of chaos, a place he can stop working so very hard to understand, to fit in, to not fall apart.

Her touch is sacred, a gentle reminder of the way things were before the world flipped upside down, a tender embrace, a soft caress of skin and hair and pleasure that his body remembers even if his mind does not.

Her gift is selfless, a giving nature and a talent for knowing that goes beyond what a man's body needs, that holds him and speaks to the unspeakable part of him, the hidden nature of a man from the Core forced to live in the black.

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/Inara, bar fights and con jobs

[mute90.livejournal.com]

Inara was at a very respectable party while her unrespectable travel companions lived up to their unrespectable reputations. She smelt the rose before she felt it, brushing against her cheek softly under the direction of whoever stood behind her.

She turned.
XXX
He was the uncivilized man who threw another into her table with a solid punch. It sent her drink crashing to the floor and splashing onto her footwear. She had looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, ignoring the unconscious man before her.

The winner looked abashed. “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said.

“Sam!” someone called from the other side of the room.

Inara still had her eyebrow raised.

“Um -,” Sam pulled money out of his pocket and tossed it on the bar. “Get her another drink, okay?” he told the bartender.

He gave her one last apologetic nod and ran out the door.

Her lips pulled upward in a smile. He was charming in a certain sense.
XXX
He was not, however, a man in high standing and, as soon as he was left in her room, she moved behind him and a slipped her arm around his throat. There was a knife held expertly in her fingers.

“You’re not who I was supposed to meet,” she said.

“You knew what he looked like?” Sam asked, confused.

“No, I know what you look like.”

She couldn’t see his expression but there was a noticeable pause. “Huh.” Then, his large hand encircled her wrist. He shoved the knife away and twisted just in time to catch her swinging fist. He stood facing her. “Oh, it’s you.” He grabbed her other hand as she brought the knife up again. He spun her around until her back was pressed up against his chest. “Hi.”

She threw her head back into his face.

He stumbled backward. He held a hand over his nose and raised another pacifying hand out in front of him.

She waited, knife twisting in her fingers. “First, a bar fight and now…”

“A con job,” Sam admitted. “Nothing against you or anything.” He waved his hand around her room. “This was just to keep cover,” he swore.

She nodded. “A bar fight and a con job: we really must stop meeting like this.”

He dropped his hand from his face and smiled at her, dimples appearing at the edges of his mouth and amusement creeping into his eyes. “No problem.”
XXX
He stood behind her in expensive clothing and slicked back hair, a rose in hand and a mischievous smile on his face. “Hello, good lady,” he said, his tone proper. “My name is Sam and you are…”

She took the rose from his hand and breathed in the sweet scent. “Inara,” she allowed. She gave mischievous smile of her own. “It’s nice to meet you.”