(no subject)
tigannie_con ate my weekend liek whoa, but in the best possible way.
I got nothing done on the Cracked-Out Crossover Of Doom (new stuff this week once I work out the mythology to my satisfaction), but I do have two little fic tidbits from the grab bag pairing challenge thingy.
Absolution
KA - Tristan/Guinevere
He comes to her in midwinter, still wearing the stench of death. She wraps her lips around him anyway, glides her hands along the contours of his hips and murmurs her secrets against his hot flesh. Eyes closed, she can hardly feel his fingers tracing her cheekbones. When she scrapes her teeth gently along his length, his grip tightens and he surges forward, crying out. There is no way to make "Percival" sound like "Guinevere," but he meets her gaze steadily and doesn't try to correct his mistake.
She sees pity in his eyes, and suddenly she feels the cold.
***
In which Xander gets most thoroughly and satisfyingly fucked
No Pirate on Earth, Spike/Xander/Jack
Xander never expected to see Jack Sparrow again. Even though the odds weren't exactly against it, he had the weirdest feeling that only the most powerful of forces brought them together in the first place, and that much power wasn't likely to come along again any time soon. He was okay with it, mostly. The Chaos had become home, and if the work on deck hadn't already sculpted his body to a golden hardness, his more ... athletic feats in Spike's cabin would have done the trick.
In another world, Xander probably would have learned to surf, just for the chance to hang out on the beach and be ogled by hot chicks. In a universe without surfboards, he settled for being ogled by Spike, who showed his appreciation more creatively than the hypothetical hot chicks ever could, anyway.
The days drifted lazily by, blending together a pleasant mixture of bright sun and hard work and hot sex, and so it was that Jack Sparrow hadn't crossed his mind for over a month.
Jack was certainly crossing his mind now. More than crossing, really. In fact, Xander was pretty sure that his mind had liquefied, a casualty of the bordello-worthy combination of Jack's hard, hot cock up his ass and Spike's cool hand on his dick and a lot of licking and biting from god-knows-which-one. Xander strained against the cords that bound him, earning a sharp smack on the ass from Jack.
"Now, now, Xander," Jack purred. "You don't want to be doing that. Because the more you move, the less I do."
Spike's tongue silenced Xander's whimper, and Xander gave in. Later, he would try to string enough words together to ask how they planned this, but for now, he just thanked whatever gods existed for the bounty of Oxnard-town.
I got nothing done on the Cracked-Out Crossover Of Doom (new stuff this week once I work out the mythology to my satisfaction), but I do have two little fic tidbits from the grab bag pairing challenge thingy.
Absolution
KA - Tristan/Guinevere
He comes to her in midwinter, still wearing the stench of death. She wraps her lips around him anyway, glides her hands along the contours of his hips and murmurs her secrets against his hot flesh. Eyes closed, she can hardly feel his fingers tracing her cheekbones. When she scrapes her teeth gently along his length, his grip tightens and he surges forward, crying out. There is no way to make "Percival" sound like "Guinevere," but he meets her gaze steadily and doesn't try to correct his mistake.
She sees pity in his eyes, and suddenly she feels the cold.
***
In which Xander gets most thoroughly and satisfyingly fucked
No Pirate on Earth, Spike/Xander/Jack
Xander never expected to see Jack Sparrow again. Even though the odds weren't exactly against it, he had the weirdest feeling that only the most powerful of forces brought them together in the first place, and that much power wasn't likely to come along again any time soon. He was okay with it, mostly. The Chaos had become home, and if the work on deck hadn't already sculpted his body to a golden hardness, his more ... athletic feats in Spike's cabin would have done the trick.
In another world, Xander probably would have learned to surf, just for the chance to hang out on the beach and be ogled by hot chicks. In a universe without surfboards, he settled for being ogled by Spike, who showed his appreciation more creatively than the hypothetical hot chicks ever could, anyway.
The days drifted lazily by, blending together a pleasant mixture of bright sun and hard work and hot sex, and so it was that Jack Sparrow hadn't crossed his mind for over a month.
Jack was certainly crossing his mind now. More than crossing, really. In fact, Xander was pretty sure that his mind had liquefied, a casualty of the bordello-worthy combination of Jack's hard, hot cock up his ass and Spike's cool hand on his dick and a lot of licking and biting from god-knows-which-one. Xander strained against the cords that bound him, earning a sharp smack on the ass from Jack.
"Now, now, Xander," Jack purred. "You don't want to be doing that. Because the more you move, the less I do."
Spike's tongue silenced Xander's whimper, and Xander gave in. Later, he would try to string enough words together to ask how they planned this, but for now, he just thanked whatever gods existed for the bounty of Oxnard-town.