Monday at comment_fic: NO RPS

[justapieceofme.livejournal.com]

Yeaux! I'm justapieceofme and I'll be your guest host for the week.

And now for something completely different, today will be NO RPS DAY at comment_fic.

Speculating about our favorite celebrities is fun, but today it's time to play with fictional characters.

Please be kind to the Code Monkeys and remember the posting format: Your Fandom or Crossover, Your Pairing, Your prompt. One prompt per comment.

Examples:

Queer As Folk, Brian/Justin, anger, regret & redemption

Harry Potter, Sirius/Remus, may angels lead you in

More than one writer can respond to a prompt. You may leave more than one prompt, and you can answer your own prompts.

Comments

[justapieceofme.livejournal.com]

Queer As Folk, Brian/Justin, anger, regret & redemption

[alldunn.livejournal.com]

Brian looked through the glass watching Justin sleep. There waqs so much roiling inside him, he did not know which to deal with first.

The anger at the kid that had taken the bat to Justins head. The regret at having flaunted what they had, despite knowing the issues at Justin's school. The anger at himself for taking what Justin offered. The regret for not takin it soon, having it longer. The anger at Justin for being so damn persistant.

Brian watches impassively as Juston thrashes during one of his recurring nightmares.

"He asks for you, you know," The nurse puttering in the hall informs him. Brian is no good for Justin, he is too damaged. But the fact that this golden child wants him soothes that beast within. Not enough to change, but enough to calm the madness inside.

[justapieceofme.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, Sirius/Remus, may angels lead you in

Much more

[guiltyreasons.livejournal.com]

Remus stood over a fresh grave stone. He'd been the funeral, but it's been too crowded. Too many people, not enough time. He didn't the silence, the stillness to fully take in what had happened.

Siruis was gone. The man who had seemed invincible had been taken away. A corner stone of his life lay under his feet cold and decaying.

It seemed like just yesterdays that they were boys at the very same school that had caused them both so much grief.

If anyone asked, Remus would say they had been like brothers, but in his head he whispered 'lovers'. That's what you called it when you spent all your time with someone, when you lived for them.

They had only 'made love' twice, but both times were special to Remus. It was hard for him to tell rather Siruis had felt 'right' about it. All he knew was that Siruis has craved it as much as he had. He knew he was loved as far more than a friend.

"May angels lead you in, you bastard," he said putting a chocolate frog on top of the tombstone. Almost as if knowing it's place the frog didn't jump like they normally did.

Remus turned and left a single tear tracing it's way down his cheek.

[elebridith]

Angel the Series, Lindsey/Spike, strawberries

[havenward.livejournal.com]

He had them with his cereal not five minutes gone, sliced chunks to make simple cornflakes more than just edible and tinge the milk pink. They were ripe and perfectly sweet.

Spike knows this because he can taste them on Lindsey's lips as he licks his way inside his mouth. Can taste them on his tongue as Spike claims it for his own. He chases the flavor til it's gone, til there's only Lindsey filling up his senses.

Then he reaches past him, plucking another from the bowl on the table without looking, and traces it along Lindsey's lower lip before sliding it inside.

[elebridith]

Torchwood, Capt. Jack Harkness/Capt. John Hart, shower

[jemzamia.livejournal.com]

"I thought I told you that we have to be at the training ground for 8:30?" said Jack, not even bothering to turn around to see who had just opened the shower door with a less than subtle click. His question, despite its rhetorical nature, was answered by a mischievous giggle, followed by two strong hands snaking around Jack's waist from behind, teasingly moving downwards.
"I thought sharing a shower would save time," John insisted, his hands relentlessly continuing south; rather similar to the water droplets trickling Jack's bare skin.
"Come on now. We both know that you only prolong things rather than save them or leave them be." Jack peeled John's hands off him and turned, giving his partner a wary look before making his way out of the shower. Only one step was taken. The next moment John had Jack pressed flat against the glass shower wall; the condensation blurring his vision. Nails dug into his wrists as they were pinned together above his head by a single hand, while John's other kept a firm pressure on Jack's lower back, rendering him helpless to his will.

Futile grunts of struggle caused John to laugh; a manic little chuckle that tended to appear when he was high, either on power or drugs. More often than not it was both. He leaned forward, breath tickling the nape of the other man's neck, before delving further to tease it's flesh. A cocktail of sensations hazily seeped through Jack's veins, consisting of talented nipping and the water thundering down, pounding against his body. Heat was rising between them, no matter how much Jack wanted to deny it, taking over him and slowly bending him to John's less honourable intentions.

A guttural moan echoing over the shower's hiss told John that he had once again succeeded in getting his own way. A dirty grin spread across his face as he lined up his hips and then fiercely jerked himself into Jack, his hand now flat across Jack’s stomach, pulling him close, further into himself, filling Jack completely.

"Let's prolong this, shall we?"

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Star Trek TNG, Geordi/Data, care

[yesdrizella.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Nathan/Peter, descent

stream of consciousness, hope it's ok

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

Peter and Nathan like to fly together. This is in the brief period before it all goes wrong, that small microcosm of time when they are both comfortable with their powers and with each other. It's barely days long. But during those days Nathan and Peter meet midair over Upstate New York or if it's cold a little further south and embark on a roller-coaster of loops and turns together. Nathan's been at it longer; Peter still stumbles over air pockets and goes sprawling out over an updraft.

That's all right; that's when Nathan glides over to him and takes him in tender arms, kissing him to distraction. They will the frigid air over their bodies, clasping together as the fingers of wind send tendrils out to caress them. Peter feels like a child in his brother's arms, but a child so very well cared for and loved. They descend slowly, moving in slow circles together, and the touch of ground is sweet but sad, a firm hand guiding them away from fantasy again.

When they can, they descend even further, finding a bed to sink into and layering touches and heated words over one another until they are buried. Peter's skin is slick with sweat and Nathan's eyes are like firelight as he drives in, once, again, faster. Peter clutches his shoulder and cries out, eyes squeezed shut, but Nathan's eyes are open even as he comes, full of almost shock that he can go so high without even leaving gravity's thrall. Then, holding each other, they descend once again.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, penalty

Waiting For Judgement

[amato.livejournal.com]

The penalty for using magic in Camelot is well known, Uther is hardly subtle in the way he carries out such punishments. There are laws that must be obeyed, enforced by Prince, Knight and Guard without hesitation in public leaving little ambiguity. Every day Merlin wakes still breathing he flaunts the laws of the kingdom which is largely irrelevant to the young warlock until the day comes when his heart belongs to one who upholds the law.

Arthur was ridiculously easy to ignore at first when Merlin was more likely to kill him than complete his list of tasks for the day. Some days he almost regrets the transition that has occurred, days he wishes he couldn’t see the great king Arthur is destined to be. His heart had been safe then before Arthur had morphed into a man he could believe in.

After that the only penalty Merlin cared about was the one Arthur would impose when he learnt the truth. When his manservant’s true nature would be revealed and judgement would be inescapable. As much as love for his prince has made his heart threaten to burst out of his chest it has been tempered in equal by the almost permanent weight that has taken up residence in Merlin’s stomach.

He didn’t know if Arthur was even aware of the battle he was waging on the warlock’s heart daily or that Merlin struggled under the unresisting assault. Inch by precious inch Arthur was claiming more of Merlin and demanding that nothing be held back. It left him raw and vulnerable as he exposed more of himself to his prince; laid bare everything except his most precious secret.

At night Merlin dreamt what it would be like if his love was reciprocated, tormented by a union that was far more than just physical. The early light of dawn frequently found his hand moving under the blankets to wrap around aroused flesh in an attempt to bring relief. Vivid images caused him to bury his face in the pillow and occasionally bite down on his other hand in an attempt to muffle the sounds he couldn’t quite mask.

When finally judgement day arrived he wasn’t expecting it. He walked into Arthur’s chambers and saw the prince standing looking out the window. “Merlin.”

It came out as such a broken sound and Merlin’s heart sank as he realised he could out run his punishment no longer. Quietly he closed the door behind him and crossed the room to stand and wait. He could kneel but that could be construed as insulting and proper behaviour had never been his strength.

The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire as it burnt. Arthur turned to face him and Merlin looked away unable to face the look of disappointment he was bound to find. He closed his eyes tightly when he heard Arthur unsheathing his sword. Words crawled up his throat with the fear but he swallowed them down. “Merlin,” Arthur repeated just as broken as before but now with a hint of pleading.

Remaining silent is one of the most difficult things he has ever done as his heart beat wildly in his chest. The decision of what happens now is not in his hands, never has been, and there is nothing he can say in his defence that Arthur doesn’t already know. Nothing that will take away the sting of betrayal and this was one decision he dares not influence.

There’s a clatter as the sword is placed on the table. “Get out of here.”

He hesitates just a moment but it’s enough. “Get out!” Arthur repeats his demand angrily.

Merlin opens his eyes but keeps them averted as he retraces his steps until he’s standing on the other side of the door. He draws in an unsteady breath before forcing himself to walk away. Forgiveness might never come but now the truth is out and all he can do now is wait.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Annie, unwrapped

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

"George... no. Just... no."

"What's wrong with it?" There was a note of hopeless defeat in George's voice as he looked down forlornly at the way-too-colorful shirt he was wearing. "It's... festive."

Annie gave him a look, a single brow raised. "It's not Christmas, George. Come on, let me help you..."

George flinched slightly in shock as her cold hand closed around his wrist and tugged him excitedly toward the stairs. After a mere instant, however, he recovered and allowed her to lead him into his room, where she immediately began ransacking his closet.

"Too drab... too old... why do you even own this, George?"

"I like it..." He couldn't help sounding a little defensive as she scornfully tossed his favorite well-worn plaid shirt onto the floor behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Here. Try this." Annie emerged from the closet with her choices in hand. "Much better."

Without hesitation, she stood in front of him and began unbuttoning the bright red shirt he was already wearing. Her voice lowered, accidentally soft and intimate as she frowned in concentration.

"Honestly, George, you look like a bloody Christmas present!"

George laughed softly, shaking his head as he watched her work. "I'd be lost without you, Annie. What would we do without you?"

She smiled warmly, meeting his eyes for a moment... and then freezing at the intensity of his gaze. Her smile faded slightly, and she swallowed hard, stepping back a bit self-consciously and running nervous, trembling fingers through her hair.

"Look at me," she muttered, self-effacing. "Like you can't undress yourself." She paused in the doorway, a teasing grin on her face breaking the awkward tension. "Besides... it's not nice to unwrap someone else's presents."

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Elle/Mohinder, uphill

[tiptoe39.livejournal.com]

It's been an uphill climb, getting the good doctor under her thumb. Elle's never really had to struggle all that much to bring a man under her control-- even Adam was pretty much prey to his hormones after a while. But Mohinder, Mohinder was a challenge. He barely blinked an eye when she let her shirt flutter down a little too far; he blushed but politely asked her to leave the day she wore a white lab coat and nothing else. There were times when Elle wanted to positively pull her hair out, scream and shout and electrocute something in her frustration.

But then Mohinder's laptop was out of batteries, and Elle happened to be walking by the exact same park bench where he was sitting in depressed consternation.

She'd already resigned herself to just giving the computer a jump-start and moving on. Not much opportunity for seduction there, she figured.

Except for instead of declaring his thanks when the laptop whirled to life, he grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her.

Except for when their lips parted, he whispered, "I'd like to see you tonight."

Except for right now, she was lying in bed next to a very sated and very naked Mohinder Suresh.

Uphill battles suck... until you reach the top.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Scott/Steve, unanswered

Lost, Scott/Steve, unanswered

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

He was going to tell him. Every single day, he was going to tell him. The need to get it out in the open for once and for all had been burning: because they were close. Their names got confused and mixed up or people thought they were a couple. Scott and Steve. ScottandSteve. Might as well have been one entity.

Tomorrow, Steve would tell himself when he said good night to Scott. I'll tell him tomorrow.

He'd been putting it off for years - because how the hell were you supposed to tell your best friend that you're in love with him and have been since pretty much the moment you'd met?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

But then the plane crashed - and Ethan came - and they found Scott's body on the beach, broken and battered as a goddamn warning. Steve had to fight not to retch as he stared at him: for them, tomorrow was never going to come.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Chuck, Casey/Chuck/Sarah, unconventional

Chuck, Casey/Chuck/Sarah, unconventional

[nbaeker.livejournal.com]

Casey's got this look on his face like he kind of can't believe he's actually about to do this, and Sarah's laugh rings out over the men. Chuck barely has time to turn his head before he's pinned between the two of them. Sarah's perfect breasts are pressed up against his chest, but if he's honest, feeling the hard-on Casey has? That's arousing him just as much.

"C'mere," Casey grunts, kissing Sarah the way he had been before Chuck had walked in and interrupted; before they'd stripped him down and put him in the middle.

Casey's hands fit themselves onto Chuck's hips and he guides the other man into Sarah. Chuck is somewhat amazed at the fact that he is being used like a toy, and then he feels Casey, and he can't help but slide back down onto the other man.

There's a moment of 'what the crap?' and then Sarah's kissing him and Casey's biting his shoulder and they're all moving.

And all Chuck can think of, as they lay in the bed in Sarah's room, is that this is probably not what Casey's boss meant when she said that the three of them ought to bond.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Demons, Galvin/Luke/Mina, trickle

[discodiva76.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Jack/Daniel, rainy days and Sundays

[ruric.livejournal.com]

There was a time when Jack didn’t think he’d live to see this.

Hell there was a time when he didn’t think any of them would live to see this. Years going through the Gate and all it would’ve taken would be one close call too far but somehow he’d never given up.

When he’d started out he’d had faith – not quite ‘King and country’ but near enough. He’d believed what he was doing – couldn’t have kept going if he hadn’t. But that had been chipped away – year after year, op after op until he’d barely had anything left when Charlie died. Just when he thought he'd let go they’d called him back.

He’d found his faith again, but not in God or country.

He’d found in three people who walked shoulder to shoulder with him through the Gate. Sam, Daniel and Teal’c. He’d found it, fought tooth and claw to hang onto it, through all the situations they shouldn’t have survived, death, ascension and resurrection. He’d kept it when he stood down and had to watch from the sidelines as somebody else took his team through the Gate.

And yeah, maybe he’d prayed, on more than one occasion to a God he didn’t believe in, that Cameron Mitchell’s run of luck wouldn’t ever give out.

The scuff of bare feet and the smell of freshly brewed coffee snaps him back to the wooden walls around him, pillows and sheets and the weight of the old hand-made comforter forming a cocoon from air that’s edging from cool to cold.

“Where’d you go?”

Daniel’s standing in the doorway, shoulder resting against the frame, fingers wrapped around a huge mug, glasses perched on the end of his nose, a small worried furrow between his brows. Hair standing on end from where he’s been raking his fingers through it, black t-shirt tucked into the BDU’s he still wears because “there’s enough pockets to hold all my crap” and Jack only has to squint just a little to see the Daniel who sneezed his way through the Gate to Abydos all those years ago.

Sure there’s a few more lines around his eyes and his hair’s starting to show grey at the temples but Jack always knew Daniel would wear the “distracted eminent professor” look well. And beneath all that, beneath the weight of experience of the things he’s seen and done, Jack can still see the 30 year old Daniel eyes wide with wonder stumbling into a new world. Eyes that still hold the same sense of wonder when he reads the reports from Atlantis, when he’s adding new pieces to the theories he’s working on with colleagues scattered around the globe and in Pegasus.

A soft cough pulls Jack back again – to the here and now and a lazy Sunday at the cabin, rain pattering against the windows and splashing into the lake.

“Nowhere – just thinking.”

Jack slides out of bed pulling on a ratty old red dressing gown that Daniel says makes him look like a dissolute Santa Claus, the cold air enough to cause a deep twinge in muscles that have seen too many knives and bullets.

Round he bed and he tips the mug, stealing a mouthful of hot liquid, followed by kiss tasting of coffee and more than ever Daniel smells of home.

But Daniel’s fingers are tugging at the belt of the dressing gown, ghosting over skin to find the old scar that always aches and digging in. Jack can no more help the soft sigh that escapes than he can stop the goosing of his skin as Daniel’s fingers slip lower, curl around him and twist.

Jack's not sure precisely when Daniel grew out of clumsy but he manages to deftly juggle hot coffee, steer Jack back to the bed he’s just crawled out of and manage to get them both out of their clothes with precious little help. Jack’s distracted by the taste of Daniel, by the expanse of skin that bears fewer scars than it should thanks to the power of ascension and resurrection - even if he sometimes sees that same skin burnt and blistered, it’s a memory that he manages to keep locked away most of the time.

“They’re not going to be here for a couple of hours, the roast is cooking, the rest of the food is prepared....”

Daniel's grin is slow and easy and Jack's learned not to fight that determined look. Aren’t they domesticated – a Sunday supper for their adoptive family, Cam, Vala, Sam and Teal’c – but when it comes down to it this is what they've spent the last 10 years of their lives fighting for.

Home, hearth and family.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Fringe, Charlie/Peter, improvise

Couldn't resist

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Fringe, Charlie/Peter, improvise

Charlie stood behind Peter a little confused. It was one thing to have s hasty grope in cupboards at the office or dark corners of the university, but this? Peter's back stretched out in front of him, seeing his ribs heave in excitement, to feel the other manhood filling his hands...

It was very different. There was time to think and time to ponder about how handsome this other man was and how incredible what was happening was and what the hell was going on.

"What's taking so long?" Peter gasped over his shoulder.

"Well, I- er," Charlie suddenly felt very lost and confused and didn't know what to do.

"You have a man practically begging to get fucked beneath you, and you don't what to do?" The way Peter could manage to be a smart ass in his position proved how natural it was for him. Charlie couldn't help smiling at him.

"You know what?" Peter sighed, before shooting a stern look at Charlie. "Improvise."

And Charlie gets it finally, and does exactly what he has wanted to do all a long. He sinks in and revels in the simultaneous gasps that fill the room.

[sammynce.livejournal.com]

Spn Dean/Young!John Blowjob

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

Somehow it's gone from Dean saying This is a great car to sucking his own father's cock in an alley. Okay, so it's not as if John Winchester knows he's Dean's father, but Dean knows it, and if Castiel sent him back for something Dean's sure as fuck that it wasn't to find out the kind of noises his Daddy makes when he comes.

But Dean wants this, has wanted this for as long as he can remember, wanted John for as long as he remember. Because it's John, it's his father, it's the only man who ever held the monsters at bay.

And if John wouldn't let Dean do this before, then he'll let him do it now. Let Dean sink to his knees and reach out to open John's jeans. And he'll whimper and mewl as Dean sucks him off, tongue and teeth and lips working his entire cock. Because this may not be the first time Dean's been on his knees in a dirty alley, but this is the first time he's done it without demanding payment first, the first time he's done it because he wants to, because he needs to.

John's fingers tangle in Dean's hair, tugging sharply in warning, but Dean doesn't pull back. Doesn't pull back and sucks harder, because this is the only chance he's going to get and he needs to know. Sucks harder and looks up, gaze meeting John's as John bites at his lower lip to stop him from crying out as he comes.

And Dean takes it all, and swallows John down like ashes and hope and redemption.

[sammynce.livejournal.com]

Spn Dean/17 years old!Sam Time travel

Your Name Is The Splinter Inside Me [SPN, Dean/17 years old!Sam, time travel]

[veristic.livejournal.com]

Dean padded out of the bathroom and knotted the towel at his waist. There was no coffee pot in the room, and the front office wouldn't open for another hour. Choices included fucking Sam or fiddling with the Impala's A/C. Dean tossed the towel off and climbed back into bed where Sam was prone but covered head to toe by the polyester bedspread.

Must've gotten a California King, Dean mused. Almost nothing covered Sam completely and he still spent more nights than not with his feet hanging off the bed. He moved to spoon Sam, taking in his brother's scent, always a mixture of pine, coffee and Sam, and slid his arm over Sam's naked hip, reaching... and holy motherfucking mother of god! He snatched his hand away and threw back the blankets.

Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, shivering as the air from the A/C washed over him. He flipped over and grinned, his gaze lingering over Dean's naked form with awe. "It worked," he whispered.

Dean scrambled from the bed, eyes blown open with shock, muttering "Christo."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, it's me, I am still me. Just, uh, younger."

"Bull-fucking-shit! Where's my brother, where's Sam!" Dean reached for the serrated knife under the pillow and fell back, staring at the boy.

"I am Sam, you know it's me. Let me explain, no, you know it's me. I'm seventeen, Dean, my birthday was yesterday."

"I know when my brother's birthday is." Dean recalled last night, they'd celebrated over a 30-minute steak dinner followed by three hours in bed until they passed out from exhaustion.

"Then you remember what happened after my seventeenth birthday."

Dean paled, his face awash with shame at the memory. They never talked about it. Dean stumbled back, pushing the bile back, and pulled on his jeans.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. I pushed, I knew you'd snap," Sam continued, "and last night, I don't know, I, this Sam, wished it could have been different, like is now."

"How do you even know about now," Dean choked out.

Sam smiled, Dean didn't remember his brother smiling after his fifteenth birthday.

"Me, well, the 26 year old me, we passed after his wish and he told me about us, that it's finally you and me now."

"What else?"

Sam shrugged, "nothing else, the less I know the better, I, um, we suppose. He'll, I'll, whatever, be back, but this is our chance to change it."

Since they never spoke of it, the morning after Sam's seventeenth birthday, when Sam's demands resulted in Dean pushing him into the mattress of their motel room and fucking him, little prep and Dean's hands had never strayed from Sam's hips. Raw, quick. They had dressed quickly, never spoke of it. Sam was gone a year later.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice soft and young, face drawn in boyish angles. "I wanted you, so goddamn much, it was never what you thought it was, I never, it wasn't because I never stopped wanting you. I wanted you as you walked out the damned door."

"My Sam tell you that?" Dean whispered.

"I am your Sam. And, yeah, he did, but I knew, I know. Please come back to bed."

It, he was Sam. Little brother, newly seventeen. He just wanted to see him again, like he was before he left, and maybe Dean could remember what it had been like to feel that safety, the tether taut between them, no one could sever. Sitting on the bed, skittish, Dean tangled a hand in Sam's hair. "It's you."

"It's me." He closed the gap between them, his mouth tender against Dean's, untried and hesitant. They kissed slowly, fingers mapping the smooth skin, cheekbones, small scars and scabs.

"Is it like this now, between us, are we..." Sam trailed off and turned his head, blushing.

Dean cupped his face, Sam turned to meet his gaze. "Yeah, it can be like this, sometimes it is, and yeah, it's just us."

Sam leaned into Dean, pressing his brother's back into the mattress, kissing at his throat, hands trailed down his ribs. "Show me, show me, how are now. It's what I wished for, Dean."

Dean moaned and bit at Sam's bottom lip. "Everything may change, Sam, everything."

Sam grinned, ignorant of Stanford and leaving Dean, Jess and her death. "That's what I am hoping for, Dean."

Closing his eyes, he tangled himself in this Sam and let himself fall.

[sammynce.livejournal.com]

Gilmore girls Dean Forrestier/Tristan Du grey Rimming

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

Dean whimpered. Go honest whimpered. He felt embarrassed about freakily loud moaning, but whimpering was even worst. He was sure he'll never hear the end of it. One of favorite parts for Tristan was teasing Dean about every even slightly embarrassing he ever did. Especially when Dean lost himself and for a moment forgot with who he was.

He quickened the moves of his hand. It felt too incredible and he'd be damned if it all was going to be later ridiculed by Tristan's stupid teasing. The little prick never new when to shut up... Dean moaned even louder, pushing back at Tristan's tongue, and tagging last time at his cock, falling over the edge of orgasm.

He breathed loudly in the pillow.

"And? What do you say, bag-boy?"

"I say, for once you've used your mouth with some great effects."

Tristan snorted, blushing slightly. Probably more from all the activities than the embarrassment, thought Dean. That guy had no shame.

"Please, bitch. You love my mouth."

[sammynce.livejournal.com]

Smallville Clark/Jason "Your Coach will learn you your lesson"

Crack!Clark/Jason/lex

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Jason had caught Clark sneaking into Lex's place just as Jason was sneaking out.

Grasping at an easy distraction, he said, "Are you hear to steal from Mr. Luthor? Is that what you do in your spare time, Kent?" Ridiculous, Jason knew. But better than Clark figuring out that Jason and Lex were a couple. And the kid didn't seem too bright - wouldn't be too hard to con.

"No, Coach, it's not like that!" Clark seemed genuinely shocked that someone might believe that he's not pure of heart.

"Come with me, Kent. I'm taking you to the field and you're running laps for me."

"But I wasn't -"

"Can it, Kent. Kids like you have no accountability. Well, your coach will learn you your lesson. Car! Now! Before I change my mind and just call the police"

Clark sighed and got in looking confused. Jason drove to the school and tried to figure out how to keep his crazy bluff going, but also wondered what exactly Clark was doing there.

When they arrived, they walked out to the field.

"Start running, Kent."

"Why were you at Lex's?"

"Team sponsorship meeting."

"Why would you just make crazy assumptions about me? Unless you were trying to distract me from something?"

Crap, this kid had more of a brain than he thought. One of those smart kids who just takes a really long time to figure things out. Wait, Jason thought, that's called a dumb kid. "Um, look Clark -"

"Are you sleeping with Lex?"

Not a dumb kid. "That's crazy. I'm not even his type. Not that he's my type. Because he's not. I prefer dark, luxurious, shiny hair."

"Oh. Like mine." Okay, definitely not a dumb kid, Jason thought. Unless of course he's kind of dumb and I'm just a straight-up idiot.

"Look, Coach - no offense or anything, but I sort of had dibs on Lex. And if he's cheating on me - well, let's just say I wouldn't be above a little revenge action."

"You - wait, what?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Um, yes." Jason silently took back all his thoughts about Clark being dumb - because this latest idea was completely frikkin' genius.

"Good," Clark said as he went in for a kiss on the mouth. "Looks like you were right about me after all."

"What do you mean, Clark?" Jason asked, barely getting the words out as Clark nibbled at his ears.

"I guess I'm stealing from Lex after all," Clark smiled.

"Like I said, I'm here to learn your lesson," Jason said, grabbing Clark's hips and directing him to the grass below. "And I have a feeling you're a quick learner."

DA/SPN, Alec/Dean, barfly

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Dark Angel/Supernatural, Alec/Dean, barfly

Bar Games, Dean/Alec

[neierathima.livejournal.com]

Dean sees him almost as soon as he comes into the door. It's hard not to, the kid is leaning against the bar, flirting with the men and women surrounding him. Add on to that the uncanny resemblance to himself, and Dean finds it pretty hard not to notice him.

He's got nothing better to do tonight, so he gets a beer, finds a quiet corner, and watches the kid, imagining all the things he'd like to do to his doppelganger.

Dean thinks he'd start by fucking him. Just slam the kid up against the nearest surface and fuck all the fight out of him. The wall outside the bar, or the Impala, maybe, if they could get that far before the kid started to mouth off. He can tell the kids got a mouth on him, the way he's playing up his looks and attitude for his adoring fans. Dean doubts he's had to pay for a single drink the entire night.

Then he'd find a bed, tie the kid up, and play with him until he was screaming every one of his secrets out. Dean's been running scams his whole life, and he know what one looks like. This kid is definitely not new to the game, but unlike Dean, who had his dad and Sammy, this kid doesn't have anyone to watch his back. Dean knows what that can do to a person.

After the kid was wrung out, Dean might fuck him again, or he might let the kid suck his dick in the shower. He's content to keep these ideas purely hypothetical, but the kid catches his eye from across the room. They widen, briefly, and Dean suspects that the kid has noticed their similar looks, though he doesn't know how that's possible with the distance and the dim light.

The kid recovers fast, and sends a challenging, come-hither smirk his way. Dean decides that if the kid is under the impression he's another gullible mark, one who might be a little easier to take in because of the resemblance, then the kid is going to get an interesting lesson.

He goes over, plays along with the game until it's obvious that the kid has picked Dean for the choicest mark of the evening, then maneuvers so that the next time he gets them a couple beers, he has to lean around the kid.

Dean takes advantage of the situation to look the kid straight in the eye, and lets his own smirk, one with a few more years and a lot more dead monsters, out.

"So, kid, you ready to get your ass fucked by someone who actually knows the game you're playing?"

The kid looks nervous for a second, but he steps closer to Dean, not away.

"I don't know, old man, you think you can keep up with me?"

Oh hell yeah.

Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, dare you

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, "Dare you."

Re: Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, dare you

[havenward.livejournal.com]

"Go on, I fuckin' dare you," the guy growls, shifts the way he's holding the pool cue.

The back of the bar is quiet, and empty. Not entirely surprising for this time on a Saturday so close to LA, but Dean still wishes there'd been more of a crowd so he'd be more likely to keep his mouth shut.

Or, y'know, that Sammy wasn't off banging his demonic girlfriend. Or worse.

Dean tried not to think about it. That was the whole point of finding a shitty bar, wasn't it? Bad whiskey and piss for beer...

... and a good fight. Yeah, now he's thinkin' on it Dean had been angling for this since he saw shorty ordering at the bar. He doesn't even know what he's said, now, how it is he's picking a fight, so he just swings.

He's surprised to find himself pinned to the pool table, his face planted firmly against the green cloth. Somehow the bastard's got him up far enough that Dean's feet aren't quite on the floor anymore. He might be impressed, except he's too busy being pissed off. And he can't get loose, not even a little, and it totally isn't helping his mood.

The guy leans over him, thigh pressing close against Dean's ass as he pulls Dean's hair just enough to lift his head a little. He rolls his hips, and Dean can't help but gasp at the way it presses his dick against the table.

"You came in here lookin' fer a fight, boy, but I got the fellin' you need something else."

The words are hot against his skin. Dean swallows, and considers his options. He's hard, unmistakeably, undeniably hard, and he can tell that shorty knows it. The guy is just as hard; he can feel the straining zipper against the curve of his ass. There's another hip roll, slow and Dean barely bites back a strangled moan as he nods.

He has to bite down on his tongue to keep from yelping as the other man pulls Dean's hips back off the table, hands working with swift efficiency to pop his fly and pull his jeans down just far enough to give him access. Then he's shoving him into the table again, his dick pressed tight against smooth wood. The sound of another fly being opened and the quiet tear of a condom wrapper is all the warning Dean gets before the guy thrusts into him.

He doesn't let up and he isn't gentle, pouding Dean into the table. Dean pants and gasps, trying to buck back but the bastard keeps him pinned, denying him any friction. When he starts hitting his prostate on every thrust, Dean whines and moans with every breath. He shouldn't, they're in public, but he can't help it. Can't think that far past the hot pain and pleasure spiking up his spine.

A hand fists in his hair, pulling his head up again. It changes the angle enough that Dean slides against the table in the pool of his own precome. A few thrusts more and he's done, spraying on himself and the table. The stranger isn't far behind, coming with a grunt and a low growl.

He steps back, not waiting for either of them to calm, ties off the condom and doesn't even bother to look as he tosses it into the garbage can by the wall. A few napkins drop onto the table by Dean's head.

"Yeah, yeah, Hardison," shorty mutters to the otherwise empty room. He zips his jeans and straightens his clothes and walks away without glancing at Dean again. "I'm on my way."

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/Nate, relaxation

Re: Relaxation, Leverage, Nate/Eliot

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Nathan likes the long, lazy evenings when they’ve just finished a job – it gives the team time to relax and a chance to breathe. Used to be, he’d settle in with a bottle of whiskey and a book or the TV.

Now, though…now things are different. Now he’s got the team and Eliot – Eliot, who makes him, (even though it’s such a ridiculous cliché) want to be a better man. He’s been married before, had a family, even, and that still hurts when he thinks too much on it, but he’s never wanted this. Eliot – who somehow breaks into his apartment after every job, no matter how many locks he puts on his door and windows, and when Nathan comes home, he’s always there. Depending on how late Nathan makes it out of the office, Eliot’s either kicked back on the couch, legs up and dozing, or still in the kitchen.

Nathan’s always amazed by the dishes Eliot manages to put together with the pathetically tiny kitchenette, although Nathan has noticed the addition of certain kitchen implements that look more like instruments of torture than anything he’d expect to find in a kitchen drawer.

But Eliot’s always there – always – and Nathan can’t keep the smile from his face when he hears Eliot singing softly to himself as he enters the front door. He’s found that he’s drinking less as well – Eliot’s remarkably persuasive when it comes to that, and a happy Eliot is always easier to be around than one who’d rather thump you into the ground.

And Eliot wakes at the sound of the door closing, no matter how quiet Nathan tries to be, or he’ll poke his head around the partition wall, and he’ll grin, slow and sweet, and Nathan feels the stress of the last job fall off him. It feels like coming home.

Eliot moves towards him, a knowing look in his eyes every time, and then, then Nathan finally feels relaxed.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Werewolf!Eliot/Nate, claim

Re: Claim, Leverage, werewolf!Eliot/Nate

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Eliot never thought he’d have this. It’s never really been something he’s been overly concerned about, and, after all, his life – his job – suited him just fine, and Eliot couldn’t see changing that for anyone.

Here, in this bed though, and it’s not even another werewolf with him – his momma isn’t going to be too pleased, but Eliot can’t quite bring himself to think through the haze over his mind and the body against his and the scent of Nateleaderlovermine filling his senses to actually give a damn. It’s Nate Eliot’s with – Nate that fills his every thought until he can’t concentrate on anything else.

It’s Nate that licks at Eliot’s pulse-point on his neck and grazes his teeth over the skin there until Eliot is arching against him, begging, probably, although he’s too out of it to be sure. Then those blunt teeth - nothing like Mikav’s - are sinking in to his flesh – not drawing blood, not yet, but there and Eliot digs his nails into the skin of Nate’s shoulders and his own voice comes back to him, promising Nate the world if he’ll just…

There’s a hand between them, closed around Eliot’s cock, and Nate’s in him, stretching him until Eliot feels surrounded by Nate, until he can’t think of a time when he ever didn’t want this, this feeling, this man.

And when Nate pulls away from his throat to look down at Eliot, still thrusting so, so gently, Eliot meets his eyes, and Nate smiles.

“Now,” he whispers, and does the quick rubstrokeslide that brings Eliot off every damn time, and Eliot comes with Nate inside him and over him and Nate’s mark on his neck.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Werewolf!Eliot/Nate, restrain

Re: Restrain, Leverage, werewolf!Eliot/Nate

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Sophie says Eliot’s out of control. She says do something, before he ruins the job.

Hardison just looks up at him from behind his laptop, but the expression on his face is more than enough.

Parker squeaks her dismay and Nathan hears it over the earpieces.

“Eliot,” he says, voice low and soft and strong like it is every time they’re in bed together, or even whenever Nathan has Eliot over any flat surface. “Eliot,” he says again, and he can see Hardison frowning when Eliot stops at the sound of Nathan’s voice.

“Nate,” Eliot’s voice is almost broken, and Nathan can hear the plea in it. He wonders if anyone else can.

“Get the file. Get out.” Just five words, but Nathan knows Eliot will follow them to the letter. From what he can see of the CCTV footage, Eliot’s taken out the five men in the corridor anyway, and – really – Nathan’s going to have to talk to Eliot about how many people think they have a prior claim on the – his – wolf.

There’s silence from everyone, and then Nathan can hear Eliot moving. Sophie hisses a sigh of relief, and Hardison sits back in his chair, so much less tense now.

Nathan’s just glad Eliot actually listens to him, and he would wonder how much longer it’ll last, but he knows Eliot, feels like he’s known the other man forever, and he knows the hold he has over Eliot and just what he could do with that.

It’s why Eliot listens to him – he knows Nathan would never abuse that hold where others might, and have done in the past.

Later that night and they’re in bed together, Eliot nosing up under Nathan’s jaw, placing small, soft kisses and sharp nips to the skin there. Nathan closes his eyes, fists his hand in Eliot’s hair and holds him still until all the nervous energy has bled out and Eliot is breathing softly in his sleep curled up against him.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Alec/Eliot, electronics

Leverage, Alec/Eliot

[neierathima.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Alec/Eliot,

((more exciting Dom!Alec/Sub!Eliot :P ))

When Alec first saw Eliot attempt to handle a computer, he thought it was a joke, how bad Eliot was with any kind of complicated electronics. He knows now that it isn't, that Eliot really has gone this long with only the most basic level of computer literacy.

At first, Alec doesn't mind, as long as Eliot can follow instructions well enough to get the job done, but then they get involved, and everything changes. Alec needs to teach the man some skills, because there is no way he can have a sub who is that bad on a computer. Even if nobody knows about it, and Alec recognizes that Eliot isn't like the other subs he's had in the past, that Eliot might never be ready to be taken out and shown off, Alec still needs to know that Eliot is good enough to belong to him.

He sometimes thinks that Eliot needs to know that he is deserving of teaching.

So one day Alec sits him in front of a computer (Eliot's new computer, which Alec set up just for him) and tells him he's going to learn how to use the damn thing.

"Ok, this is a little program, it's pretty easy to learn the basics. It's called photoshop, it's used for manipulating images."

Eliot turns around to give him a look like he's crazy.

"Why the hell do I need to know this?"

Alec guides his face back towards the screen with a firm hand on his collar. He pulls some folders up, photos of the two of them, and another with all sorts of images of gay porn. Alec leans in close, so that Eliot can feel his breathe when he talks, and squeezes gently on the skin above the collar.

"Because, I'm not going to fuck you again until you can make me a picture of exactly what you want it to look like."

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Werewolf!Eliot/Nate, pet

Re: Pet, Leverage, werewolf!Eliot/Nate

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Some nights the need to have, now isn’t as strong as it might be, and those nights Eliot falls gracefully to the floor in front of the fireplace, legs crossed, because he’s more comfortable on the floor than he’ll ever be in a chair or on the sofa. He’ll look up and over at Nate, and the older man will smile gently. Just because it’s not wanttakehave, doesn’t mean they don’t feel the need to touch.

Nate will wander through the house as Eliot tends to the fire, even if it’s the height of summer, and he’ll return to the living room with a couple of beers, a roll of heavy canvas cloth and a folder or a book. It varies, depending on his mood. He’ll sit in the armchair that Eliot’s leaning against, and he’ll hand one of the beers and the roll of cloth down to Eliot, already flipping the folder open in his lap.

Eliot will un-roll his bundle, running his hand over the sheathed blades there as he chooses, whetting stone already in his other hand.

It’s comfortable, sitting there. Eliot sharpens his knives, every one in turn, without looking, almost hypnotised by the dance of the flames in the grate. Nate sits above him, one hand turning the pages in front of him quietly – whether it’s information for a future job or a book – and his other hand will be stroking through Eliot’s hair, loose over his shoulders.

Later, Eliot will stand and stretch the kinks out in his spine and neck and offer a hand up to Nate, who’ll take it, of course. They’ll go up to the bedroom, and Nate will press into him so slowly and gently that Eliot’s entire world will narrow to the feeling of Nate, and he’ll meet Nate’s eyes with his own golden-tinted ones, and he’ll let himself believe everything that Nate tries to tell him every day…

But for now he’ll be content to sit there, at Nate’s feet with the warm fire in front of him and Nate’s fingers playing and petting through his hair.