Sunday Free For All

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

It's Sunday, so that means the floor is open!

Anything goes -- any fandom, any pairing/grouping, any prompt.  From schmoop to kink and everything in between.

In order to help our code monkeys, please remember to format your prompts properly:

For single fandom: Fandom, pairing, word/phrase
Example: BHD, Hoot/Eversmann, late

For a Crossover: Fandom/Fandom, pairing, word/phrase
Example: BDS/SPN, Murphy/Dean, belief

Ready?  Go!


Also? Don't forget about our lonely prompts. Check 'em out, try something new, have fun. Who knows...you might find a new fandom. ;)

Comments

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

BHD, Hoot/Eversmann, late

"Finally" (Hoot Gibson/Matt Eversmann)

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

(Follows the morning after Solace (http://www.broadwriting.com/blackhawkdown/solace.html))

Matt woke up to Hoot's fingers inside him, already slick, expertly twisting and stretching with each push. His yawn turned into a strangled moan as lethargic, sleep-heavy limbs tried to move with Hoot, muffled pain fast giving way to pleasure.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist, pinned him in place, and warm lips nuzzled just under his ear. "Nice 'n' easy," Hoot murmured, and Matt jerked out a nod, already too far gone to say no.

When the blunt head of Hoot's cock replaced his fingers, Matt met the forward push halfway, met the burn and stretch, bit his lip in a futile effort to keep the moan from spilling out. He was still sore from last night, still groggy and uncoordinated, but none of that mattered. The only real thing in his life was the feel of Hoot moving with slow, rocking thrusts, the rough, chapped lips sliding along his neck, the clean masculine scent of Hoot that clung to the sheets and the pillow under Matt's head. Blindly, he reached back, fumbled at Hoot's hip, urging him on, need overtaking reticence.

He had just enough room to turn his head, met Hoot's lips with his own, the kiss as messy and ungraceful as the sex, yet still the hottest thing Matt had ever felt. Time slowed to a crawl as they eventually found a rhythm, as Hoot tightened his arm around Matt's waist and murmured nonsensical words with every kiss. Please, Matt wanted to say, but couldn't find his voice. He only hoped his actions were enough, that Hoot would be able to tell how much he needed this, needed Hoot's body claiming his own, blocking out doubt and guilt and despair with every confident thrust of his cock. Thirty some-odd hours ago, he'd aimlessly set out from Jamie's parents, rudderless, directionless, lost in his own mind, a stranger in his own skin. And now, with Hoot's muscled chest against his back, and muscled thighs spooned against his own, and the heavy scent of sweat and arousal clinging to his every breath, Matt knew he'd finally made it home.

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

BDS/SPN, Murphy/Dean, belief

Belief 1/2, BDS/SPN, Murphy/Dean

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Um, well I think I fufilled the prompt *scratches head* The boys got a little carried away with each other! ;p Hope you enjoy. Also, had to split into two parts - sorry!

Murphy’s not unattractive – he knows that, but when up against Connor, most people walk on by Murphy and head straight for his (younger, no matter what the bastard says) twin. Murphy doesn’t really mind. It’s fun to watch most people wash out with his brother – Connor may be the ‘pretty’ one, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to fall for anyone with a greedy eye and a roving hand.

Most evenings, in fact, neither of them pick up anyone, and they get pissed at whatever bar’s closest to whatever dirty motel they’ve ended up in, and they leave at the end of the night crowing Irish drinking songs to the night sky.

This evening, though, promises to be a little different. There’s two blokes sitting at a table a ways to the back of this particular nondescript bar – one has a laptop open in front of him, not to mention the notepad and – Murphy squints – the four different coloured highlighters. He snorts with amusement and takes another shot, elbowing Connor when the misbegotten son of a bitch tries to push him off his barstool.

The other bloke, now. Aye – the one staring right at Murphy while his companion taps away at the computer. Almost the prettiest thing Murphy’s ever seen in his whole life, in Ireland or in this huge country. And he’s still staring at Murphy as Murphy stares back.

Connor notices his distraction, of-fuckin’-course, and glances in the same direction.

“You going ta have a little fun then, Murph?” He downs the rest of the beer, and abandons the glass to better put Murphy in a headlock.

“Well, I was thinkin’ about it, you bastard,” Murphy says, kicking out to catch Connor’s shins, not hard enough to damage, but hard enough to let Connor know his brother means business.

“Ah, my baby brother’s going ta get lucky!” Connor drawls it out, and Murphy rolls his eyes.

“The day I’m your baby brother’s the day I’m dead an’ been buried – and even then I’d still be the oldest!”

Connor just sticks his tongue out at Murphy. Neither of them has grown up much past five years old, it feels like sometimes.

Murphy downs another shot and makes sure the pretty thing over in the corner notices when he drags his hand across his mouth. Murphy’s got a nice smile, and he knows it – and he knows it’s one that usually manages to coerce people into letting him do what he wants. This time he’s out to attract attention, and he gets it – the stranger’s gaze is heating up and he turns suddenly to his companion to say something.

Murphy saunters for the back door of the bar. It’s no coincidence that his chosen path through the crowd takes him right past his stranger’s table, and he brushes a hand against the other man’s back as he passes, feeling the worn leather.

He’s not two steps into the alley when he feels the other man behind him and he turns, his smile still curving his lips.

...Continued...

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

RPS; Jensen Ackles/Gerard Butler; bound

"Bound" (Gerard Butler/Jensen Ackles, Colin Farrell)

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

(All apologies for including Colin in this, but it's sort of a sequel to this fic (http://azewewish.livejournal.com/763963.html). *g*)

"Well, well, well, aren't you a tasty thing?"

Jensen made a half-turn to look behind him, then back into a gaze that screamed every shade of mischief in the books. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I'm not." White teeth gleamed in the filthiest smile Jensen had ever seen. "In fact, I couldn't be further from sorry. Christ, Colin's gonna love ye."

Jensen tried again. He knew who the other guy was – who hadn't seen '300'? – but no one had mentioned Gerard Butler was as mad as his great-aunt Henrietta. "Colin?"

Gerard stepped closer, his look appraising, and so dirty that Jensen wondered if he really was naked and exposing all of his manly bits, as opposed to dressed in his best monkey suit. "Oh, yes, he's gonna eat you with a spoon," Gerard pronounced, and once again flashed that toothy, dangerous grin.

They said third time was the charm. "I'm sorry, who, exactly, are we talking about here?"

"Colin," Gerard repeated, and threw a vise-like arm across Jensen's shoulders. Now Jensen knew he was in good shape, and that he was a pretty strong guy, but there was no getting out of that hold. Not without serious injury to himself. It was easier – and safer – to let himself be steered through the crowd to a darkly lit corner booth.

Where Colin Farrell was holding court.

"Brought ye a gift," Gerard said, and all but shoved Jensen into the booth next to Colin. "Although, just so it's clear, we will be sharin'."

Sharing? Jensen's eyes widened just as Gerard slid in to sandwich him in the booth. "A course we'll be sharin'," Colin said, as if it was obvious, and gave Jensen the same shit-eating grin that Gerard had a few moments ago. "He's just about gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Aye, why I brought him," Gerard replied. Jensen was starting to feel like he was some sort of dessert on display.

"Uh," he started, then stopped. Someone's hand – he wasn't sure whose – was starting to creep up his thigh. Holy fuck. He was totally being molested at a party by either King Leonadis or Alexander.

"Don't worry," Colin's rough burr purred in his ear. "We always take good care of our toys."

"Always," Gerard agreed, and somehow, it was just easier to go along with whatever this was. After all, Jensen thought, they had promised to take care of him.

***

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, pirate!Christian Kane/merchant!Steve Carlson, bound

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

*whimpers and wanders off into happycassieland*

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, pirate!Chris/merchant!Steve, accoutrements

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

"We have left port." Christian turns from the small window to look at him and Steven can feel his eyes like they are hands. "You will be with us until we make our next port. I suggest you get comfortable. I'll help."

There's a knife in his hands, large blade shining in the light of the candles. His smile is faint and frightening. Steven tries to shrink back from him, but he is well tied and unable to do much more than turn his head.

"Let us first get rid of these pesky clothes. You will find you have no need of such accoutrement with me."

The knife dances closer and Steven closes his eyes, trying to swallow the gasp as the sound of cloth ripping fills the cabin. The pirate doesn't stop until he is naked, boots and all. Steven is panting. His hand is touching Steven, touching his bare skin. "Please." Steven whispers.

Christian's grin is wicked when Steven opens his eyes. "Oh, Master Carlson, we're just getting started. Don't start begging now. Save something for later."

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, smooth

Kane RPS Steve Carlson/Christian Kane, Smooth

[caarirose.livejournal.com]

**I'm not happy with it, but I figured I might as well post it for you anyway**

Chris working on a series has a lot of downfalls.

There’s the whole thing about him being half a country away, and the fact that nine out of ten days Chris is too tired to even think about taking advantage of the whole phone sex thing.

Not to mention how Chris is now talking about all these people that Steve has barely met and he’s kind of sick of hearing about how Beth can drink Chris under the table, or that Timothy Hutton might have won an award or two.

But all of those downfalls are totally forgotten about now, because Steve’s visiting set and Chris has skin scene tomorrow.

Chris is laying back on the bed, his hands behind his head and his legs spread more than enough for Steve to sit between them. Chris is naked, hard, leaking and Steve just isn’t interested in that part of his anatomy, not yet.

Because in front of him is a chest that’s still slightly pink from the waxing Chris endured this afternoon, and possibly because Steve is yet to take his hands away from the smooth soft skin.

“You gonna pet my chest all day, darlin’?”

Nodding, Steve dips his fingers into the sandalwood scented body lotion before bringing them back to Christian’s chest and working the cream into hairless skin.

“If you want me to get it waxed when I’m not working, Steve, all you have to do is ask.”

That sounds good to Steve, but…

“Can I do the waxing? I’ll do it properly.”

Okay, Chris wasn’t expecting that.

“You want to wax me?”

Steve looks like he’s trying not to drool as he nods.

“Fuck yes. C’mon, Chris, a little pain, a lot of gentle and because you won’t have to film the next day I can mark that beautiful skin to hell and back, what’s not to like?”

Not everything about Chris working is bad thing, but having to wait to play with the bare, smooth, blank canvas in front of him, Steve thinks that’s worst of it all.

[galor5.livejournal.com]

Lotrips, Viggo/Orlando, dance

[afra_schatz]

Funny thing, Orlando thought as his toes tried to hide inside his feet like tiny turtle heads, funny thing, public image and all. Because Viggo – renaissance man, artist, method actor – was widely believed to be the most versatile man on the planet.

Orlando bit down on his lower lip, just like Viggo did it right now, only that with Orlando it was pure and simple agony while with Vig it was a sign of highest concentration.

Ah, that world famous diving-all-in, being 100% committed to the task, whether that was bringing one of the most famous heroes of literature on screen, holding pep talks to earthworms or shagging Orlando’s brains out – Viggo was just so intense.

Vig started humming now and hey, it might be off key but at least it provided some sort of warning for Orlando’s poor feet and he almost anticipated the ill-timed swirl, too, and didn’t fall onto his butt. Vig grinned at him and Orlando couldn’t help but smile back, attaching himself firmly to Viggo once again.

Viggo’s enthusiasm and dedication usually even more than made up for all slight faults. Orlando supposed almost everyone would happily eat Viggo’s stew even if they were certain it was made out of roadkill just because Viggo was all five star cook about it. Orlando himself would eat cockroaches, listen to Danish poetry read backwards and let Viggo write 'pumpkin' onto his bum with orange marker, simply because it was Viggo, multi talented and (Orlando agreed with the general public) rather godlike, too.

Viggo just – Orlando flinched and resisted the urge to hop around on one foot, cradling the other in his hand and wail – Viggo just was the crappiest Viennese waltz dancer that had ever lived. Ever.

[galor5.livejournal.com]

TW, Jack/Ianto, coffee

TW, Jack/Ianto - Coffee

[echoing-dream.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto - Coffee

The bed was empty when Ianto awoke, the lamp by Jack's bed shaded but lit, the contents of Jack's pockets scattered across the surface of the bedside table in disarray. Twisting to find his own watch, Ianto squinted at the face, frowning at the early hour and the lack of angry sirens from the half-open hatch above. A part of him wanted to settle back to sleep, head pressing deeper back into the pillows, but the comfortable nest he had made for himself had been disturbed, so he slid from the bed with a soft sigh, pulling a T-shirt over his head as he made his way slowly up the ladder into Jack's office.

Jack himself was pressed against the glass in his office, gazing down at the darkened Hub below. He was swathed in his greatcoat against the chill of the air-conditioning, the folds hanging loose like the wings of some great bat. Ianto moved slowly, letting his footsteps be heard and catching Jack's reflected eye in the glass as he pressed against the Captain's back. Jack barely acknowledged him, but after a moment or two, Ianto could feel more of Jack's weight leaning against him.

Letting his gaze drift over the floor below, Ianto allowed his hands to trail down Jack's chest, slipping beneath the folds of the coat to trace spirals over Jack's cold skin. The coat was all that Jack wore, and Ianto pressed closer, palms fitting comfortably over Jack's hip-bones, pulling the older man closer against him for a moment and pressing a lingering kiss just behind Jack's ear. Jack leaned closer, pressing his hips into Ianto's hands as though the touch gave him comfort.

"I'll go make us some coffee," Ianto murmured, nuzzling between Jack's neck and collar and savoring the scent for a moment, before carefully disentangling himself and wandering off to the kitchen.

(It went dark. My Jack always gets dark. Sorry!)

[abbeydale.livejournal.com]

CSI: NY, Danny/Flack, Beer

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

They, as a pair, only ever happened after a few drinks. Usually beer.

It wasn't that they were homophobes who needed to be drunk to find a man attractive. It was just that until they were inebriated the reasons why they shouldn't be sleeping together outweighed the reasons that they should.

Then they had a few drinks and screwing up their work partnership and their friendship and their closetedness took a back seat to finding each other really fucking attractive.

And then they'd wake up in the morning and it'd be awkward, as they knew it would be, and they'd leave separately and be freaked out for a while.

But then a few days would pass and Danny would show up at Don's door holding beer and they both knew what would happen, and yet Don opened his door anyway.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage/Burn Notice, Parker/Fiona, explosive

Leverage/Burn Notice, Parker/Fiona, explosive

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

"Want some?"

Parker shoved the bag of candies under Fiona's nose in an almost childish offer of forced politeness.

"Sure." Fiona grabbed a few strawberry malt balls from the bag and popped one in her mouth, crunching loudly.

"Soon?" Parker asked, swinging her feet as they sat on the edge of the skyscraper.

Fiona checked her watch. "About 20 more seconds." She popped another candy in her mouth and cracked it open with her teeth.

"Ooh!" Parker squealed excitedly. "This is going to be fun!" She bounced, her face animated as she stared off in the direction Fiona was looking, ignoring her candy in her anticipation.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

A huge explosion sent flames shooting up into the sky a half mile away.

"Yay!" Parker stuffed a handful of candy into her mouth, leaning her head on Fiona's shoulder. "You always take me to the best shows, Fi."

Fiona gave her a contented pat on the thigh.

"Only the best for my girl."

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, lazy

RPS, Chris/Steve - Lazy

[echoing-dream.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve - Lazy

Warnings - Somnophillia (Sex with a sleeping person)

Chris sleeps like the dead when he's exhausted, on his stomach, pillows thrown on the floor as he he spreads himself over the bed. It's hot in their room, and Steve opens the windows just a little to let some air in. Chris's T-shirt lies abandoned on the floor, still damp with sweat as though Christian had awoken simply to pull it off and throw it away before falling back into an almost comatose sleep.

He doesn't stir as Steve sits down on the end of their bed, or even as Steve runs gentle fingers down his spine, barely even shifting in his sleep as Steve chuckles and drags his nails over slightly damp skin, red marks appearing and then fading almost instantly. That makes Steve curious, and he bends to lay a trail of kisses over Chris's shoulders, teeth nipping softly when even that fails to rouse Christian.

Steve's tongue trailing between Chris's ass cheeks barely provokes more than a hitched breath, and Steve holds himself still for an instant, waiting to see if Chris will finally awaken, but instead, he just shifts a little, legs spreading wider for Steve, but still resolutely asleep. Steve lets his tongue slide deeper, Christian so relaxed that his tongue meets little resistance.

It takes two of Steve's lubed fingers pressing into him before Chris stirs again, legs spreading wider still, a soft sound of confusion even as he buries his head in the crook of one arm. His hips shift against the mattress though, ass pressing back against Steve's fingers, breathing still even and slow.

He whimpers a little as Steve presses in, hips rocking more determinedly as Steve sets up a lazy rhythm, hands sliding up and down Chris's spine soothingly. Chris moaned softly, hips pumping more determinedly against the mattress. Steve slides a hand down to Chris's hips, controlling the rhythm, keeping it lazy and slow, bending to press kisses into Chris's neck as he comes, feeling Chris shudder and whimper once more as he follows moments later.

"Christian?" He shakes Chris's shoulders gently, getting little more than a soft snore as an answer. Steve smiles to himself, kissing Chris's shoulders and cleaning them both up as best he can, pulling a cool sheet over Chris as he leaves to let him to sleep in peace...

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Jeff, wait

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Chris is not a patient man. He likes to live life in the now.

But right now, Jeff's got him tied down, cock and balls in a fucking chastity device. No matter how much Chris begs, Jeff just tells him wait, sweetheart, you gotta wait.

Fuck that. Chris doesn't want to wait. He thrashes and tries to kick out, anything to get Jeff to let him come.

Jeff ties him down harder and puts a ball gag in his mouth. Gotta be calm, gotta be patient and Chris finally just lays back and lets Jeff work him over, one inch of skin at a time.

When Chris finally does come, it's explosive and all consuming and he might black out for a second.

So Jeff was right. It was worth the wait. But that doesn't mean Chris isn't going to complain about it.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, fun

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

I didn't set out to write him, but somehow the kitty wanted a story telling...

"Yes, Christian." Steve said slowly, his eyes teasing. "Fun. You do remember how to fun, don't you?"

Christian was torn between scowling and rolling his eyes, grunting out a non-committal noise form the back of his throat. He crossed his arms over his chest, his tail flicking back and forth in agitation. "That," he dipped his head in the direction of the boat, and Steve leaning against it. "Is not my idea of 'fun'"

"You don't have to get wet," Steve reassured him, standing upright and stepping close to Christian, cupping his face in his hands. He brushed his lips over Christian's, smiling when Christian relaxed against him. "I won't let you get wet," he promised, whispered. "I just wanted some time alone with you. Somewhere private where we can both kick back and relax and be ourselves," his hand slid round to rub at the base of Christian's neck.

"On a boat. In the water." Christian blinked, then smiled slowly and kissed Steve. "You want fun and time alone with me... we can do that, darlin'. Don't gotta be in the water. In fact, it'd be a whole lot better if we just went home and then I'll show you exactly what fun..."

Steve laughed long and hard, his face creasing up. "That's fun too," he agreed, wrapping his arms around Christian and holding him tight. "We can do that too. Later. And that's a promise."

"So now you're gonna bribe me with hot sex to get me on that boat?" Christian laughed, nuzzling against Steve's neck.

Steve laughed again. "No. If I was bribing you, I'd tell you there were rods and we could spend the day fishing. I would also tell you how I planned on cooking the fish for you when we got home."

Christian's ears pricked up at the mention of fish, a soft mrow escaping him. He pulled back to stare at Steve. "You're evil."

"And you love me."

"Yeah," Christian nodded. "I do." He looked again at the boat, then at Steve and wrinkled his nose. "It is sunny," he noted. "And you promise not to let me get wet?" He paused and Steve nodded. "OK," he agreed, laughing as Steve grabbed his hand and kissed him with a murmured thank you.

[echoing-dream.livejournal.com]

Buffy/Supernatural, Faith/Dean, Guns

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Dean didn't have a gun kink, not really. Sure, he appreciated a good firearm, liked to keep his weapons clean and well oiled. He spends time maintaining them, and sure, he had a few hefty ones. They fit the job.

But seeing his favorite gun in her hands, watching her hold it, caress his skin with the barrel even as she straddles him...it has him rethinking the appeal, even as he pulls on the cuffs she's got around his wrists.

She smiles, purrs, her naked, wet pussy teasing over his cock, dripping over him, teasing him the same way she's been at it for over an hour.

He cusses and thrusts up, but she pulls away, the gun dragging down his stomach, over his navel...and then she's rubbing his cock with it, her mouth covering the tip and sucking while the gun slides over his skin and holy fuck but it just might be the hottest thing he's ever seen.

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Leverage; Eliot/Hardison; shocking

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

The first time, Eliot could have blamed the booze if he'd wanted to. Nobody said he ever had to come back to Hardison's loft when it would be just the two of them there, alone. But he returns, at least once a week.

Eliot would never have pictured Alec for this sort of thing. Ever. Not in a billion fucking years. But God he's so good at it.

Eliot's arms have enough play so the circulation isn't cut off, but he can't do anything. Not even when he feels the olive oil being applied to the insides of his thighs and just below his naval.

He doesn't want to do anything when the electrodes are put in place.

He only mewls with want when the switch goes on...

erotic electrocution was the inspiration...

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Heroes/Supernatural, John Winchester/Sylar, specimen

[saavikam77.livejournal.com]

When the heavy darkness of sedation finally clears his head, Sylar finds himself bound in a chair with thick, wet ropes, surrounded by sigils, candles, and a ring of salt all carefully placed around him. A sharp laugh escapes him as he glances up at the worn-out-looking man standing before him.

"You think this will hold me?" he sneers.

The man stops in his recitation of some old Latin chant and looks up from the book in his hands, his eyes wary and frightened, a prey animal if ever Sylar has seen one. "Christo," he says, his voice gruff and tired, and he lifts an open flask of something and splashes its contents out over Sylar's face.

It's just water.

"What the hell are you?" the man asks, eyes even wider.

Sylar laughs again, deeper this time. "Well, I'm certainly no specimen, here for your amusement. But you--" he goes on, the ropes unknotting and slipping away from his wrists and ankles to drop to the floor, "--you could be just that for me."

Standing, he flicks a wrist, and the man flies back to be pinned against a dingy wall, the book and the flask falling forgotten to the floor. Sylar steps over the line of salt, squeezing one hand into a fist and watching the man start to choke.

"Simply put," he says cavalierly, "I'm your worst nightmare, and you are just another toy for me to take apart. Whether there's anything of interest to me in there, well, I suppose we'll just have to see."

When he lifts a hand, index finger pointed, the man only manages a gurgled scream.

Sylar grins darkly.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Lancelot, experiments

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Lancelot comes back late that night after his celebratory feast. He's stumbling, smells strongly like mead, and he's flushed and grinning in a way that makes Merlin's heart beat slightly faster.

He's not as pissed at Lancelot, but he's about halfway there, and he grins as Lancelot collapses onto Merlin's tiny bed next to him - practically on top of him.

"You're drunk," Merlin points out. Lancelot's grin goes wider.

"And?" Lancelot ruffles Merlin's hair. "I would like to try something."

It turns out that something is kissing Merlin. Which is actually quite nice. Kissing leads to them touching, clothes behind pushed aside, hands grabbing, until Lancelot's wide, calloused hand is around Merlin's cock, stroking and making Merlin moan and buck up. Somehow Merlin ends up putting his mouth on Lancelot, sucking at sweaty skin. Everything ends in a sticky mess, with them collapsed on each other, panting and smiling.

"Which should try that again sometime," Merlin says.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Jin/Sawyer, spanking

[savageseraph.livejournal.com]

Since neither the porn nor the vodka was his, Sawyer thought it best to enjoy them in private. After all, there were some things a man wanted to do without an audience, and getting pleasantly buzzed before beating off were two of them. Stretching out in the sun, half naked, to sleep off the aftereffects of the first two was another. Sawyer expected to wake up as he fell asleep, slowly and lazily, and wander back to the camp with a smile that would leave the others suspicious and wondering what he had been up to.

Sometimes, things didn’t work out as planned.

Sawyer grunted, clawing his way from sleep to wakefulness as his arms were tugged behind his back. “What the fuck?” He pulled, but the rope binding his wrists together at the small of his back didn’t give. When he tried to get his legs under himself to get up, he found his ankles were also bound. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He rolled over onto his side, stilled when he saw Jin watching him, smiling at him in a way that made him uneasy.

Great. Sawyer smiled in response, laughing as he said, “Come on, Sulu, stop fucking around and let me go.” His tone was light, lighter than the words themselves.

Jin nudged the magazine toward Sawyer, nodded at the page, a page that Sawyer hadn’t been looking it earlier.

Sawyer’s eyes widened. “No, way. No fucking way, Chief.” He fought the ropes until he was sweated and shaking lightly. Who knew the little bastard was so good at tying knots? “Listen, Chief…” Sawyer swallowed, wet his lips. How did he talk his way out of this when Sulu there didn’t understand a fucking word he was saying?

Not that he had time to mull that over before Jin brought a belt down on his ass. “Jesus Christ.” When he was a kid, Sawyer did a thing or two that earned him the taste of leather strap across his ass, so he knew the flash of pain, the sting, the burn. When he tried to roll over, Jin flipped him back onto his stomach, rested his weight against Sawyer’s legs. “Let me up, you fucking asshole.”

Jin didn’t let him up, not even when Sawyer bucked up against him as the belt fell over and over again, continuing even after all the fight had drained out of him, after each blow pulled a cry from him. After his cock was hard and aching against his belly. When Jin moved, Sawyer stayed sprawled on the ground.

A hand in his hair tugged, pulling upward, and he had no choice but to struggle to his knees or risk losing a handful of hair. Sawyer blinked sweat out of his eyes, looked up at Jin. He didn’t know what the other man was thinking, but he knew what came next. He’d seen the series of images in the magazine. That didn’t keep him from whimpering softly when Jin unzipped, freed his cock, and pressed it against Sawyer’s lips. He wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised he didn’t turn his head to the side or try to bite. Instead, he parted his lips, let Jin slide into his mouth.

Sawyer moaned at the stretch, the sound cut off as Jin pressed in deeply. He struggled briefly, pulling at his bonds and swallowing as he choked. Jin’s fingers tightened in his hair, holding him still as he pulled back, then thrust forward again. Closing his eyes, Sawyer tried to concentrate on breathing and swallowing when he was supposed to while Jin fucked his mouth. Breathe and swallow. Breathe and swallow. Don’t think about how your ass is burning and your skin feels stretched too tight. Don’t think about your cock, hard as stone, and the deep ache in your balls. Just breathe and swallow. It was all he could manage.

It was enough.

[eiranea.livejournal.com]

CSI, Lady Heather/Grissom, strength

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

She admires him, his strength. It's a quiet sort, soft on the outside, but under that is a strength she covets for her own.

Her strength is all external. Inside she quivers. Inside she second-guesses herself and worries. It will never show on the outside. But whenever he joins her for tea, as their conversation rambles over various and sundry topics, she thinks maybe she should tell him that she covets him, his powerful insides, his solid core.

But she doesn't. She smiles and flirts coyly, she holds on to her exterior, keeps it in place...the walls that protect her the only strength she owns.

*okay, not where I meant for this to go...sorry*

[embroiderama]

RPS, Jared/Jeff, size

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Despite Jared's size, he's surprisingly pliant when Jeff's got his hands on him. He's a big boy, all long limbs and firm muscle, and Jeff really can't compare. Sure, he's bulked up since Watchmen filmed, but Jared's huge.

He looks a little smaller when Jeff's got him spread out on his bed, with Jared's hands gripping the headboard as Jeff kneels above his head, hands threaded through that long, soft hair. He fucks Jared's mouth in slow, smooth strokes, eyes on him while Jared moans and swallows around him.

Later, Jeff's got him on his belly, ass in the air as he fucks him hard and fast, with Jared writhing beneath him. It's even better when Jared's on his back, long legs wrapped around Jeff's waist, hands gripping Jeff's arms, arching and pushing into every thrust.

Jared's a big boy, but when they're in bed, size doesn't matter.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid, talking

[nouveau-monday.livejournal.com]

"Did you know that people used to believe kissing was pleasurable because an electric current actually ran between two people when they touched lips?"

"Pretty Boy, that was a live wire you stepped on. You passed out." He tucked Reid's hair behind his ears, scraped against his scalp. "I had to give you CPR."

"No currents?" Spencer touched his fingers to his mouth and then to Derek's. An almost hidden noise leaked past Derek's lips. Spencer swiped back his hand. "Are you sure?"

"Don't do something like that again, Reid. You scared me, us, the team. You scared the team." Morgan's eyes swept Spencer's body. "You look okay. You tak like yourself." His legs collapsed with a gracelessness Spencer didn't think he had ever seen in Morgan. Strong arms wrapped around him. Warm breath ghosted at his neck. "I thought I had lost you, before, God, before. I'm an idiot."

Reid's mind struggled to connect the dots, but muscles wrapped around him and the smell of sweat and cologne only added to the confused feeling. He leaned each of his vertebrae slowly against Morgan's chest. "You're not an idiot. It's not a socially correct term, but if you meant mentally retarded, which you aren't that either, you need an IQ under -"

Morgan's hand cupped Reid's chin. He alligned their lips, pressed them together. "You talk too much, Spence." He lapped along Spencer's lips, chased his tongue on the startled gasp. "I have so much to say, too much to tell you. But for now, just know, that you talk too much Spencer Reid and I can think of much better things for your mouth to be doing."

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Numb3rs, Colby/David, undercover

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

There's been a string of gay bashings along the west coast, really brutal ones, implement rape and knives and a few of the victims hadn't made it. The last one had been in LA and with Charlie's help they'd narrowed the search are to three clubs in the city.

The attacker didn't seem to have a type, just gay couples who stopped in alleys to have sex and so they'd set up undercover teams. There were three pairs as well as three sets of back up staff and Colby let himself dance knowing there was only a 33% chance that it was going to be them.

David pressed against him and Colby smirked at the stiffness in his body, he wouldn't have taken David for someone uncomfortable dancing in public.

Colby leant down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't be so worried, it's our chance to go out like any other couple, enjoy it David." The darker man made an annoyed noise against him but his body loosened.

They left about one am, tripping as though drunk out of the club. Colby grinned into David's neck and leant as though whispering. David's head snaped towards a nearby alley and let himself be dragged into it.

Colby pressed their lips together and David pushed him up against the wall. Colby smirked into his kiss.

"This is about as voyeuristic as you can get, we know there's people watching." His hand cupped David's dick. "but you've so fucking hard anyway."

David jerked in his hands and his thighs twitched. Colby pulled him even closer and slid his hands down the back of David's jeans.

They actually missed the beginning of the arrest, becoming aware of their company only as Don tackled down a middle aged white guy holding a gun. By they time the disentangled he was in handcuffs and Don was tugging him to his feet.

Don smiled at them as he roughly shoved their suspect off to a waiting agent.

"Great work guys, you even had me fooled."

Colby huffed out a laugh and grinned sideways at David, who just rolled his eyes.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

RPS, JDM/Samantha Ferris, breathe

[echoing-dream.livejournal.com]

RPS, JDM/Samantha Ferris, breathe

Warning – Breathplay

Sam can't remember how the boys managed to convince her that a costume party was a good idea, and she can't even imagine how dressing as a Moulin Rouge dancer ever struck her as remotely clever, especially now, staring at her reddening face in the mirror as she turns this way and that trying to get the damned thing undone so she can change and go home to sleep.

"Need some help there?" Sam jumps, too caught up in untwisting the laces to have noticed Jeff creeping into the room.

"Just a little... stuck!" The laces slide through her fingers again and she pulls her hands away in frustration, trying and failing, to straighten her hair out in the mirror.

"Here." Jeff steps up close behind her, hands on her waist firm as they turn her back towards the light, as he takes the laces in his own hands and begins to work at the knots. Sam watches him in the mirror, fighting the urge to laugh at how ridiculous they look, her dressed up as a dancing girl and he as a pirate.

Suddenly, the knots come loose, and Sam feels the whole of the corset loosen just a little, allowing her to gasp in a much needed breath. Just as soon as she does so, the sides of the thing tighten again, forcing the air from her lungs and crushing her breasts.

"What..?" she gasps, eyes meeting Jeff's in the mirror, spotting the wicked gleam and putting a hand up to the glass to steady herself. Just as her brain starts to scream for air, Jeff loosens the bindings again, allowing her to gasp and cough a little even as he nuzzles into her neck, scruff scratching over sensitive skin, making Sam gasp for entirely different reasons.

"Too tight?" he purrs, fingers winding around the tails of the laces and tugging them tight again, crushing Sam more slowly even as his teeth graze over her neck, pushing her hair out of the way and trailing kisses down the back of her spine. Sam struggled to breathe, using her free hand to reach over and tug on Jeff's hair, only succeeding in dislodging his hat.

"Easy girl," Jeff murmurs, loosening the laces for an instant before beginning the slow tightening again, Sam's hand leaving his head and slipping down, starting to gather the heavy skirts and pull them upwards. She lets out a frustrated moan when the layers refused to co-operate. Jeff's chuckle reverberates through her, pressed as he is against her side. He frees a hand and helps to gather the skirts, holding tightly to the pleats until the material reveals Sam's legs, the cotton of her black panties already sodden between her thighs.

"No period underwear?" Jeff teases, pulling the laces suddenly tight before slackening them off again, his fingers tracing spirals over the wet material between her legs. Sam moans loudly, letting her head loll back against his shoulder as that same finger works its way underneath the cotton and dips easily inside her, pulling out far too soon so that Jeff could raise it to his lips, licking obscenely.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, knife

[savageseraph.livejournal.com]

Sometimes, you just had to improvise. Neckties could bind wrists as well as rope, and a ball of clean socks made a passable gag. Dean patted Sam’s ass as his brother whined. “Come on, Sammy. This is your fault.” He laughed when Sam shook his head, slapped his ass. “You know it is.” Dean leaned over to rummage through his bag for the lube. “If you weren’t such a first-class cocksucker, I wouldn’t have lost it already, would I?”

Dean grinned as he found the lube. He gave Sam’s ass another slap. “I’d still be hard, and you’d be getting the fucking you need.” Sam made an angry, frustrated sound, pulled against the ties. “Don’t worry.” Dean slicked up his fingers, ran them over leather. “I’ll give you what you want, Sammy, just the way you like it.”

They’d been fucking long enough that Dean didn’t usually have to spend time prepping his brother. Now, when Sammy was a shivery and eager and expecting his fingers, he knew he could get away with more than his brother expected. By the time Sam tensed and cried out in surprise, he’d already taken the first inch of the machete’s handle. Dean made sure the blade was sheathed in its thick leather, and his grip on it tightened as he worked the handle deeper. “How’s that feel, Sammy?”

Sam looked up, watched in the mirror. His body went still except for an occasional shiver. Dean wasn’t sure if his brother was getting ready to fight or to submit, so he was ready for either. Ready or not, he couldn’t stop a groan when Sam raised his hips, spreading his legs wider and pressing gingerly back into the thrust.

“Fuck.” Dean pulled the hilt back, pressed it back in more firmly. His eyes closed briefly at the cry Sam tried to strangle, and then he fucked his brother with short, firm thrusts. “Just like you need it, Sammy. Good and hard.” Dean could have eased off, especially when Sam starting shuddering, when his hips started to jerk, when he tossed his head, made urgent, frantic sounds, but Sam was fucking hot when he was totally losing it. All it took was a single twist of the hilt after a particularly hard thrust, and Sam shouted, tightened around the hilt, and came.

Dean stroked his brother’s back as Sam sprawled against the mattress shivering. He eased the hilt out of Sam, kissed the small of his back, and stared at the machete. It had been a good companion on many hunts, but it might have to retire. When they were hunting, he had to be completely focused on putting down nightmares. Their lives depended on it, and the though of Sam’s body, flushed and sated after fucking, was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Numb3rs/SPN, Don/Dean, brothers

Numb3rs/SPN, Don/Dean, brothers

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

Dean's not even sure how the conversation got started - probably him bitching about Sam taking the Impala on a library run to the next county and not bringing it back on time like he said he would, but an hour in he and Don are in a booth sharing a bottle of tequila and swapping annoying little brother stories.

It's kind of a toss up: Charlie going to Princeton at 13 certainly trumps Sam going to Stanford as a teenager, but then Sam walking out on him in the middle of nowhere on a country road definitely beats little kid Charlie wandering off during a camping trip.

As they finish off the liquor Dean's afraid Don's going to launch into the 'I don't normally do this but...' speech he's heard from guys all over the country, but he doesn't. He just lets his eyes travel Dean's body in a very clear statement of intent and appreciation before raising an eyebrow and asking, "Well? What do you think?"

Twenty minutes later in Dean's motel they're halfway through tearing each other's clothes off and Dean thinks holy shit this guy's something. It's been a while since he's been up against a true athlete, someone as strong and muscular as him and Sam are and this tells him whatever Don does for a living he needs to be in top form to make it. He smells a little like a cop, but more like a professional athlete - tequila notwithstanding.

There's the normal battle for dominance, but for once Dean's willing to throw the fight - though he puts up a good show. It's not every day he meets someone older, stronger, more experienced and it's kind of nice to let someone else drive for a change.

The sex is rough but not harsh, urgent but not rushed and if he thought he was good? Don's better.

Still panting afterwards, Dean shares the one cold Mexican beer left in the motel room refrigerator with Don, passing it between them as they toast. No lime, but Don's salty taste in his mouth is more than enough to sate him.

To brothers...