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

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian/Steve, chocolate

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

It isn't like Valentine's day is anything special for either of them. They don't need some manufactured holiday to give each other gifts or to tell each other how they feel.

They have music for that. Music and the soft touches as they pass in the hall, the rough thrust of cock in ass, the physical manifestation of their emotions every time they're together.

So, when Chris comes home to find the place lit with candles on nearly every surface and rose petals leading him down into the living room where they spread out across the floor and there in the center of the red and white ocean of petals, there is a big, heart shaped box of chocolates, he swallows and wonders what's gotten into Steve.

He doesn't have to wonder long. Steve's arms slide around him from behind, pulling Chris back against his bare chest.

"What is this?" Chris asks, though he has to clear his throat a few times.

"Surprise." Steve responds, his voice soft and smooth in his ear. "Let me show you."

Somehow it only takes moments, and Chris is naked, on his back amid rose petals, and Steve's holding a piece of chocolate over a candle flame. It's warm when it touches his skin and Steve paints over Chris' chest with the chocolate before he leans in and licks it all away.

Chris' cock stirs, twitches and by the time Steve is using the third piece of chocolate, smearing it over Chris' cock, Chris understands the whole Valentines thing.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Numbers/SPN, Henrickson/David, retreat

Numbers/SPN, Henrickson/David, retreat

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

It's been years since they met at the Academy, but Victor's stayed single - probably because he refused to leave the closet - and David's just not had any luck with anyone, men or women.

So vacation time rolls around and they check in with each other. Same place? Same place, is the answer.

There are more popular islands, but Victor likes his privacy and while it's rustic they can afford a tiny private beach and daily delivery of ice to keep their beer and bodies cool.

Day 1 they fuck themselves silly, just to get the pent up energy out of their system.

Day 2 they bitch about the job. Day 3 as well if there's a lot to bitch about. The Winchester brothers take up most of Victor's Day 3. David just tells him he's full of shit and gives him a fresh beer when he runs low.

Day 4 is spent in the ocean working off more energy, having some good old fashioned fun in the sun.

The rest of the time they lounge about in bed, in hammocks, on the beach. Sometimes resting, sometimes enjoying each other's bodies in languid bliss. Sometimes catnapping content in the knowledge that nothing was out there trying to get them. That alone was a treat.

It was always hard when their little retreat from the outside world ended. They knew better than to pretend things would be different after they got back to work - that they'd talk more often or make an effort to stay up to date on each other's lives better.

They'd just embrace one last time before they headed to their respective flights home at the airport. A manly hug, one that could pass for brotherly almost.

David always smiled a lot when he came back.

Victor just came back more determined than ever to succeed.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Nate/Eliot, momentum

[havenward.livejournal.com]

For a moment he thinks Eliot will hit him, that the man and all his control have finally snapped. But instead Eliot shoves him roughly against the wall, pins him there and kisses him hard on the mouth. Nate hadn't been expecting that. Maybe he should have, it would explain some things, but he hadn't....

Eliot's pulling him away from the wall, pushing him down the hall toward his office, propelling Nate backwards quickly enough that it's hold on to his shoulders and go with it or be trampled. Somehow Eliot gets the door open without having to crack Nathan's head into it. Moves him through the room to the couch on the far side.

His hands in Eliot's hair, their lips and teeth tangling, clothes falling away... He couldn't stop this even if he wanted to...

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, strawberries & cream

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Dinner is perfect, down home and elegant at one and the same, relaxed and intimate and everything they need to be satisfied. Except that they aren't, because every perfect meal needs a perfect dessert.

It's utterly decadent. Cream, hand whipped and smooth. Strawberries, sliced fresh and plump and red, juice staining the cream pink where they mingle. Staining Steve's fingers, even as Chris is sucking them clean. Tongue curling against his callouses as he swallows.

Chris has some strawberry of his own in hand, but he drops it into his lap when Steve moans because Chris has nipped at the end of his fingertips. He moves to pick it up, but Steve stops him. Shakes his head and holds Chris' wrists aside when he kneels.

He licks slowly, lapping up each bit of cream, each drop of juice. Slowly tongues each piece of fruit into his mouth, nipping the flesh below once he's swallowed. Steve works his way deeper into Chris' lap, until the thought of dessert is forgotten altogether.

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

leverage, werewolf!eliot/Dom!Nate, pack leader

Never said I was sane...

Golden Eyes, Leverage, werewolf!Eliot/Dom!Nate

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

*sings* I made something for you!

It's too long to be called 'comment fic', so I've posted over at my journal. I hope that's okay. (It's not f'locked or anything)

Story is here (http://merry-gentry.livejournal.com/35451.html).

[meredevachon]

author's choice, author's choice, the end

SPN, Dean/Sam, the end

[havenward.livejournal.com]

(My mind went to a dark, angsty place, I apologize... warning implied impending character death)

Sam shivers as Dean presses into him, as he kisses just below his ear, just below his jaw, at his pulse (where he lingers). Presses in slow and sweet, taking his time. Savoring this.

Sam tangles his fingers into spiky hair. Tastes the salt of his brother's skin, the feel of it under his tongue burning into his memory. Memorizes the green of his eyes in the morning light, before the black swims in to consume it.

Dean strokes him, a twist just there. Running his thumb over the slit, and Sam bucks into his hand, mewling with need and never wanting this to end.

"That's it Sammy," he whispers in his ear, a soft rumbling murmer, and Sam clings to that, the sound of his brother's voice. They come together, clinging to one another and moaning.

Dean cleans them both, and Sam thinks maybe he'll miss this most of all. The quiet moments after, when it's just them, and nothing else. When Dean takes care of him. He rests his head against his brother's chest, listens to his breathing slow. The steady beat of his heart that Sam wishes that just once, he could live and die for.

But this is his curse, the Yellow Eyed Demon's legacy. Where the rest of his family got to die for one another, for him, he has to kill. To save Dean, to save himself. To save the world.

Tomorrow, the angels will be proud. Tomorrow, Sam will be alone. Tomorrow... May as well never be.

Tonight. This is the end.

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

Eastern Promises, Nikolai/Kirill, music

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

Eastern Promises, Semyon/Kirill, faith

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

X-Files, Mulder/Krycek, cowtipping

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Crackfic (happy crackfic because these boys have enough angst in their lives. ;)

"Cow-tipping is cruel," Mulder said.

"No, cowtipping is hilarious."

"You tend to confuse the two quite frequently."

"Thanks for the wry comment, Fox. I'm always so very grateful for your wry comments. So much more entertaining than tipping a cow."

"We're not tipping cows, Krychek!"

"Then what are we going to do tonight? Watch the paint dry? There's nothing to do for miles."

"We could do what we did last night."

"Really? Okay, that sounds great."

********

"Krycek! You know it's totally unsafe to leave someone like this!!!" Mulder called out to no answer, as he struggled against the silk tie that restrained his hands to the headboard of the bed. "Where the hell are you, Krycek? This isn't funny."

Just then Mulder heard the distant sound of an extremely annoyed cow having an unexpectedly frustrating night.

"I know how you feel, Bessie," Mulder muttered.

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

Lotrips, Harry/Karl, curtains

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

It's not clear how they ended up in this position, but Karl's not going to complain. Not when his ass is full of Harry's cock while Harry whispers filthy things in his ear.

For just a moment, early on, Karl had worried that the neighbors would see them. After all, how could they not with the way Harry had him pressed against the window, naked and hard, fingers tight on the window frame as Harry fucked him nice and slow. But then Harry had angled his hips and pushed, and Karl had forgotten all about the neighbors. Fuck 'em, they could have a free show.

The curtains wrapped around Karl's fingers, anchored him as Harry drove him insane with the words coming out of his mouth. The urge to pull the material in front of him, close out the world, had vanished, and Karl thought that maybe next time they could try fucking on the boot of his car.

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

Lotrips, Viggo/Bean, sandwiches

[pinikir.livejournal.com]

hope it's okay I haven't written lotrips in awhile

****

They hadn't been living that long in their houses in Wellington. It was two weeks since Viggo and Sean were both living on the same street around at Scorcher Beach. It was one week since Viggo's photographing of him on the beach had led to them meeting for a beer and somehow they had fallen into bed together after that.

Neither of them had discussed it, they had been far to busy on set and the Sheffield man was too much of a mans' man to allude to it. It was Viggo who finally brought it up over a sandwich at the Chocolate Fish. "I want to photograph you again," he said softly between bites of a sandwich.

Sean took a long sip of his drink before he responded with a nod. "As long as it doesn't clash with the Sheffield United matches."

Viggo had to laugh, Sean was a true Englishman, football really was his religion.

[caras-galadhon.livejournal.com]

LotR FPF, Legolas/Gimli, axe

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

RPS; Misha/JDM; silk

RPS, JDM/Misha - Silk

[echoing-dream.livejournal.com]

RPS; Misha/JDM; silk

Misha can sleep just about anywhere, he knows what it is to be so tired you wake up more exhausted than you started out. As such, his own bed is comfortable, but no more than that, he never saw the need for any excessive luxury in his home. Until he met Jeff.

Jeff too has been exhausted to the point of breaking down, and Misha's pretty sure that he too could have slept under the tables in catering if only he had been given the chance. But unlike Misha, Jeff takes great pleasure in his bed, having the most comfortable mattress Misha has ever encountered and smooth silken sheets, all laid out in tasteful colours.

The first time Jeff spreads Misha out on said sheets, Misha suddenly appreciates all of Jeff's hedonism, loosing the battle not to wriggle and snaking his spine across the sheets just to feel the caress of the silk down his spine.

Jeff's laugh is rough, and Misha opens his eyes to see the older man propped above him on one elbow, giving Misha just enough room to move on the sheets. Misha feels himself blush and reaches one hand up to tug the older man down to him, purring just a little as Jeff's tongue invades his mouth, tasting him and dancing with Misha's own.

One hand moves slowly down Misha's chest, thumb flickering over a nipple and eliciting a soft gasp shared between them. He arched into Jeff's touch, sliding on the sheets, and Jeff stifled a giggle.

"Means you have to keep still," he purred, nudging Misha's thighs apart with his knee and settling between them. Misha propped himself up to watch, drawing one of Jeff's many cushions behind his shoulders and spreading his legs wider.

Jeff's hands trail lazily over his skin, stroking his ribs and scratching gently at Misha's nipples until Misha is gasping, hips shifting just a little, enjoying the liquid feel of the silk against his back.

"So quiet," Jeff murmurs, almost as though he's talking to himself, "I'm gonna have to do something about that."

Before Misha can even think through the implications of that, Jeff's mouth sinks down on his cock, and Misha arches, the noise he makes half whimper of gratitude, half squeak of surprise as he slides on the sheets. Jeff chuckles and the vibrations run straight through Misha's body...

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

RPS, JDM/Jensen, dirty

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Jeff has a fucking dirty mouth. He's got Jensen pressed into a dark corner of the bar they're at, friends just feet away, and he keeps whispering into Jensen's ear.

"Gonna take you home, gonna fuck you up so good, boy. Gonna spread you out, lick you open, make you come from my tongue and fingers into your ass. Then I'ma take that big toy, the one you like so much, fit that into you, make you hold on tight while I fuck your mouth. You want that boy?"

Jensen lets out a low whimper, arching back against Jeff, ass to groin, and tries to turn and kiss him. Jeff just presses him harder into the wall, Jensen's cheek pressed tight to the polished fake wood, the coolness helping his heated skin. "Please," he breathes.

"Yeah, boy, I'm gonna give it to you so good, I promise."

Then he's pulling away and walking back to their table, leaving Jensen hard and wanting.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, pirate!Chris/merchant!Steve, knife

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Christian touches him, touches him in places that Steven has never been touched. Not like this. The knife is in his other hand, casually resting against Steven's skin, on his thigh where Steven can still see it...and if he struggles, if he moves at all, it will cut him.

The pirate chuckles and moves away, taking the knife with him. "Do I scare you?"

Steven lifts his chin, forces his voice to be strong. "Should I be scared of you, Heathen?"

Christian smiles at him then, his eyes sparkling. "Heathen? I like that." He lifts the knife, watches it dance in the light of the candles. "I think you are. I think you're scared of me and what I might do to you."

Steven swallows. He is bound and naked in the cabin of a notorious pirate, a man known for his boundless appetites for violence and...other things, he had a right to be scared. "And what are you going to do to me?" Steven manages, his voice rising in pitch as Christian twirls the knife and moves closer once more.

He leans in, the cold blade grazing over naked flesh that goosebumps, fire dancing in its wake as Christian draws a red line from Steven's nipple to his navel. "I'm going to enjoy myself."

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, baby

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

Okay, I'll give it a shot...

Steve stands in the doorway to the kitchen, unseen by the two people inside. His heart and soul are in that room, and he can't help but be a little choked up at the moment.

Christian is standing at the stove, their daughter on his hip as he warms her bottle the old fashioned way. The water isn't even simmering and Steve knows that Christian has this down to an art form but it still takes his breath away.

He's singin' some backwoods country song about a frog leaping over a stream and she's fascinated by the sound of his voice. When he offers her the bottle, she begins to suckle at once, little fingers curling around Chris' pinky.

When Chris looks up, their eyes meet and Steve falls in love all over again.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, pirate!Chris/merchant!Steve, dangerous

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Fear would seem to be the right response to the moment. Somehow it isn't the only one he's having. His heart is beating faster, his lungs constricting as he tries to breathe.

He's grateful for the moment that he's bound the way he is, that his manhood is hidden between his legs, because despite his fear, despite the hatred that courses through him for this brigand that holds him, Steven is finding that his nearness, his touch, is bringing reactions he doesn't want.

This is a dangerous man, a pirate, a killer. Steven is very well aware of this as he draws patterns in Steven's skin with the tip of the blade, never drawing blood, just welting it, sting and burn that sinks into him and lights a fire low in his belly.

Steven is so busy concentrating on not reacting, on not letting his arousal overwhelm his fear that he misses the transition of blade to lips, Christian kissing over the trails of red, tongue darting out to taste.

"Mmmm. Salty." Christian lifts his face, that tongue on his lips, watching Steven in the flickering light. "No man enters my cabin and leaves it again without surrendering. Do you surrender?"

Steven shakes his head no. Stutters out the word. The pirate grins, clearly pleased with the response. "Good. I'll ask you again later."

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, pirate!Chris/merchant!Steve, resist

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

*warning for extreme knife kink - penetrative use of hilt*

In this position it is harder to hide what the touch does to him, harder to resist the insistence of his blade, his words, his voice.

On his hands and knees, Steven is more vulnerable somehow, the rope that bound him in his first days of captivity gone. In their place are heavy metal shackles on his wrists, attached to chains that end at the wall above the dirty mat where is left when the pirate is done with him for the time.

His skin is marked. The blade left welts and in places, it dug deeper, leaving scabbed over cuts. There are bruises, around his wrists and ankles from the ropes. There are raised, red patches of angry flesh from candle wax spilled over him.

He's lost track of the man who holds his life in his hands, drags in a breath and listens. The rustle of fabric precedes the thud of a shirt landing on the chair. A hand gathers up the hair that has spilled out of its leather cording, fisting and pulling Steven's head up and back.

Christian's tongue drags over his skin. "Do you surrender?"

Steven shivers, his whole body quaking before he finds his voice. "Fuck you."

The knife touches him, digs a little into his shoulder before trailing down his back. "You still resist?" The hand leaves, his hair, dropping his head forward. "You surprise me. I suppose I simply haven't found your weakness yet. Perhaps its time for something...more."

The way he says the word makes Steven stiffen. His hand on Steven's lower back is too much and just a warning and Steven yells as something is pressed into him, forcing itself into his ass with no warning. He lurches forward, but the pain and fullness follow him, riding him to the floor, pressing his hard cock into the wood beneath him.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, you might hurt yourself. That's just the hilt."

There are footsteps, a door, then silence.

Steven lays there on the floor, his come wet and warm against his stomach, clutching uselessly at the wood beneath his fingers. Tears burn down his cheeks as one hand snakes down his side. He can barely reach his ass, the chain pulled taught, his fingers trembling as they feel up to the knife.

The hilt is buried within him, all the way up to where the blade begins. He hisses in pain as he slices a finger on the sharp edge, pulls his hand away to suck the nick into his mouth.

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

Actor RPS (Jake Gyllenhaal/Drew Barrymore) sin

I...have NO clue where this came from o.O

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

She's dressed like a schoolgirl, and Jake can't take his eyes off her. Knee socks and Mary Janes, white blouse knotted at her waist, hair done up in pigtails.

And a plaid skirt that just barely covers the sweet curve of her ass.

He wants her to bend over, prays for it silently, because he's not convinced that even Drew has the balls to wear a skirt that short with no panties. When she smiles at him, he's suddenly glad that Josh talked him into going as a priest. The loose cassock hides a lot.

Like the raging boner that sprang up at the hot look in her eyes.

Without speaking, he catches her, drags her through the nearest open door, shoves her against the wall. Her fingers tangle in the rosary hanging from his neck, and she licks her lips. He can already smell her, heavy and hot for him, and it just makes him harder. When his hand slips beneath the skirt, wet curls and slick folds meet him.

Drew just spreads her legs and reaches down to guide his fingers. "Want you to fuck me," she whispers, sliding her own fingers into her pussy beside his and grinding down on their joined hands.

He reaches for the door with his free hand, but she stops him, still smiling around the gasps that round her lips. "Leave it," she says. "It'll be better."

"Keep your fingers in there," he rasps, shoving heavy cloth aside until his cock springs free and he can push inside her. The feel of her fingers sliding along the sides of his cock as he starts to move is almost enough to send him over the edge. But he holds on to his control as the sounds of the party get louder, spilling through the open door, and the fact that they're clearly visible to anyone walking by just adds to it all.

"Bless me, Father," she says, no effort to be quiet, mouth obscene and wet as it stretches around the words like her pussy stretches around his cock, "for I have sinned."

Jake says nothing, but he smiles and thrusts harder, faster, and threatens to fuck her in the other room, with the party going on around them and everyone watching to see just how much of a slut she is for him. When she says she'd let him, he pulls out and grabs her wrist, pulling her towards the door.

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

Black Hawk Down (Blackburn/Eversmann), payment

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

"You lost."

Blackburn's eyelashes flicker, but he doesn't look up from his gun. "You cheated."

"Can you prove it?"

"No, but we both know you did."

"No proof."

Long legs shift, and Blackburn looks up now, eyes level with Eversmann's crotch. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. "What's the penalty?"

When Eversmann tells him, Blackburn just stares at him. There's no way Matt is serious. Except...he is.

Taking a deep breath, Blackburn stands and climbs on the table. Back stiff, head up, hand raised in salute, he begins to sing and tries to ignore the laughter and catcalls that swell around him.

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

Lotrips (Bean/Orlando/Viggo), inside

[idiosyncratic.livejournal.com]

Sean and Viggo have such an easy, close relationship that Orlando can't help being jealous. He wants what they have, wants to be part of it, wants to belong.

But he's just a kid. And they're older, more experienced, more mature.

He still wants, though, and he knows he's done a horrible job of hiding it. So he's surprised when they invite him around for dinner.

It's after dinner, though, that he's rendered speechless. They each take a hand, gently pull him down the hallway and into the bedroom. The sheets are cool, crisp, against his warm skin when they push him down to the bed after carefully undressing him. When they come to him, plying him with soft kisses and lazy touches, Orlando thinks he might die from the sensations.

When they push into him, together, stretching his body until he writhes in pain and pleasure and need, Orlando knows that he was never outside looking in at all. It's always been the opposite, but he couldn't see it before.

[savageseraph.livejournal.com]

The Mummy films, Ardeth Bey/Imhotep, kneel

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

They had feared the creature for generations, for time out of mind. Filling their childhoods, their teachings with fear of it. But no one had ever warned them, no one had ever warned him, of the power of the creature's voice.

"Medjai." The creature's voice is low and deep, almost mocking. He takes a step closer and Ardeth tries to move but finds himself frozen to the spot. The creature smiles cruely.

"Yes there always were those who lose themselves in my voice, I find it interesting that you are such a person." He is standing incredibly close now, and all Ardeth can think of is the smell of millennia old spices and dust.

The creature raises his hand and Ardeth cannot even flinch away but must stand stock still as flesh that should long be dust glides along his cheek.

"Kneel Medjai." Ardeth fights the voice with all he is worth but still his knees buckle under him. The creature smiles again and strokes his cheek.

"I could kill you. But I needn't, you would kill your own self on my command." He lets the thought linger, his words fading off into silence. "I could, but I do not think I will, I enjoy watching you rail against me, so I think I will allow you to live." He smooths a hand over Ardeth's hair and smiles again, possessively.

"I will see you again Medjai." He leaves, fading into the shadows.

It is many minutes before Ardeth can stand again.

[savageseraph.livejournal.com]

Lost, Sawyer/Sayid, hard

Lost, Sawyer/Sayid, hard

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

“You’re hitting it too hard, Hoss.”

They watched the ball sail far past the flag Hurley had set up. Sawyer and Sayid were the only two out on the ‘course’, everyone having gotten their fill for a few days during Hurley’s Island Open. They were the only two who hadn’t had much of a chance to play, given that Sayid had been Rousseau’s prisoner and Sawyer had been on the outs with the camp during the time that golf was all the rage. Now, things had quieted down and there were no lines for those who wanted to play. Sayid had gone off by himself with the clubs, and Sawyer had followed him out of boredom.

“And I suppose you’re an expert in the technique of the game?” Sayid asked in irritation as he lined up another ball at the tee.

Sawyer stood up from where he was crouched and brushed the back of his jeans off. “No, but I watched the doc while you were off ‘finding yourself’, and he seems to know what he’s doing. Use this one.” He handed the nine-iron to Sayid.

“Why?” Sayid asked, but took it anyway, and readied himself for another swing.

“’Cause that’s what Jack does. I think it lets you hit just as hard if that’s what you’re comfortable with, but it won’t go as far.”

“I see. Thank you, Sawyer,” Sayid replied politely and stretched his arms.

“And keep your head down after you swing, too. That’ll help, too.”

Sayid followed the instructions and his ball landed much closer this time. “You are certainly observant if you have learned this much just from watching,” he remarked.

Sawyer stepped up to take his shot, and Sayid handed him the club. “That’s my job.”

Sayid stood akimbo and thought about this. “You’ve never mentioned your job before. What did you do?”

“Jack-of-all-trades.” Sawyer took his shot and landed the ball very close to his target.

“That is an evasive answer.”

Sawyer shrugged and smiled coyly. “Everyone around here except for you and that crazy Locke gives evasive answers. Haven’t you noticed? I’m just trying to fit in. Come on.”

They took the bag of clubs with them as they walked down to meet their balls and get ready to putt.

“And why are you helping me learn how to play?” Sayid asked on the way. “You may have kept the signal fire burning, but I hardly think you’ve fully forgiven me for torturing you.”

“I’ll give it to you straight. Next time we have an island open, I want someone other than Jack to win. Take the wind out of his sails and the hot air out of his ego.”

“Do you not like Jack?”

“It ain’t about liking or not liking. It’s about keepin’ a balance, and about the fact that he’s a golden boy who needs to be taken down a notch or two. So, are you in?” Sawyer studied Sayid for a response, and when he saw the other man still thinking he added, “Come on, it’s just golf.”

Sayid laughed. “It’s a good thing we don’t have any Scotsmen with us. I think they would take offense to your disparaging views on the game.”

“Yeah, good thing, and we’re not likely to meet any, are we?”

“No, we are not. Pass me the five-iron.”

Sawyer looked at the club and at Sayid’s ball. “You catch on fast, Mohammed.”

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, stretch marks

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

you're a dirty bloody enabler you are!

"She's asleep," Steve says softly, sliding into bed next to Christian. "Ok, what's wrong?"

Christian shook his head, and rolled away from Steve, who sighed and tugged him onto his back.

"Chris?"

Swallowing heavily, Christian refused to meet Steve's eyes. He pressed his lips together and gestured down at his stomach.

Steve frowned, his eyes running over Christian's naked body, hands resting lightly at his hips on the waistband of his boxers. He shook his head. "I don't..."

"Fuckin' stretchmarks," Christian replies thickly, making Steve chuckle. "It's not funny," he protested, lower lip sticking out in a pout; a pout that Steve quickly kisses off him. "They're ugly," he admits quietly against Steve's lips.

Steve pulled back to meet Christian's eyes, finger pressing against his lips. "They're not," he promised, sliding down Christian to kneel between his legs. "You're not." He presses a kiss to Christian's stomach, his eyes locked on Christian's as he drags his tongue over every single mark; kissing and licking up and down each one until Christian's breathing heavily, his legs falling further apart. Steve murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like 'beautiful' before his lips close around the head of Christian's cock.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Hustle, Mickey/Danny, twinkle

Hustle, Mickey/Danny, Twinkle

[abbeydale.livejournal.com]

Danny’s got that look in his eye; the one Mickey’s grown to recognise as a warning signal, a sign… a blatant indication that Danny’s about to do something inconceivably stupid.

It’s similar to the glazed look that washes over Danny’s face when he grasps the beginning of a plan, or that delicious wave of deviousness that clouds his features whenever the initial seeds of the long-con slot perfectly into place.

“Danny?” Mickey questions, uncharacteristically thrown off kilter when his friend slowly begins to cross the room, lips pursed and that twinkle still glittering like a beacon in his eyes. “Danny, I think…”

“Shhhh,” Danny tells him. “You know what I want, right?”

He’s smiling; a twisted, knowing smile that frightens Mickey with far greater effect than sparkling eyes.

When he slides a hand beneath Mickey’s jacket and moves his palm slowly, carefully, terrifying unhurried for someone so persistently impatient, over Mickey’s arse, Mickey can only nod and close his eyes, swallowing with difficulty past the lump in his throat.

“Course you do,” Danny teases, toying with Mickey’s belt buckle and using it to pull his friend closer. “You want it too, don’t you, Mickey?”

He un-tucks Mickey’s shirt with his other hand, Mickey drawing breath, sharply, as Danny’s fingers creep beneath the material and tip-toe enticingly along the waistband of his trousers.

Mickey nods once more.

“Say it.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Tell me what you want,” Danny demands.

But Mickey’s unravelling, not sure for a moment what’s happening; the fine art of opening his mouth and stringing a handful of words together escaping the grifter completely.

Danny’s sliding down his zip, fingers edging inside and brushing delectably over Mickey’s stiffening cock, and when Mickey opens his eyes, Danny’s staring at him, shimmering dots boring into his soul.

“You,” he manages to choke out. “I want…” Mickey coughs, and glances away, anything to hide his embarrassment and the fact that his cool, calm exterior has undeniably gone AWOL. Danny thumbs the head of his cock. “I, erm… I appear to want you.”

Danny raises an eyebrow and nods. He chuckles to himself as he slides Mickey’s trousers down over his hips, and slowly sinks to his knees.

And as he guides Mickey’s cock towards lips that stretch wide with amusement, the last thing Mickey sees before throwing his head back and giving in to pure lust, is two eyes that twinkle and dance.