Ficlet: and we'll begin again (Crossover)
Fandoms: Heroes and Prison Break
Pairing: Noah Bennet/Paul Kellerman
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None. Pre-series, for both.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
Notes: Written for the Porn Battle. Prompt: neat.
Summary: Kellerman wakes up with his arms and legs tied - rather neatly - to an extremely fancy hotel bed.
- - -
Kellerman wakes up with his arms and legs tied - rather neatly - to an extremely fancy hotel bed. Difficult to get ropes this secure; handcuffs are one thing, but the lock can always be picked. This - this is professional.
“Hello?” calls Kellerman, because whoever this is might as well just get it over with. “Hey, anyone home?”
There he is. An older man, turning the corner from - is this a suite? Is there a living room past there? Not good news. Hotels this nice are usually better at soundproofing.
“Evening,” says the man, slipping his horn-rimmed glasses off his face. “Agent Kellerman.”
…shit.
“Um, what?” asks Paul. “My name’s Owen Kravecki -”
“And you sell beef jerky,” says the man.
“Yeah?” Paul lets his voice shake a little. “I mean, yeah, I do.”
“Of course,” says the man. “The truth, please. What, exactly, does the Secret Service need in Odessa?” He lets his tie drop to the other bed. Calm. It’s not his first time. And he’s a professional.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Time to take a different tack. “You planning on killing me?” asks Paul. “Because if you do, you’re making a huge mistake.”
“I think I know exactly what level of mistake I’d be making,” says the man, mildly.
Yeah. This is not good.
“I’m a federal agent,” emphasizes Paul. One last try. “You look smart, you should know the penalties for this kind of crime.”
The man just smirks.
~*~
Later, after he’s cut free every stitch of clothing - humiliating, but Paul has been through worse. No, the real horror comes when whoever the fuck the guy is starts stroking him - stroking, little touches starting at his feet, moving up to the inside of his thighs.
Paul has endured much worse before, but that’s the point, isn’t it? He’s already been through torture. He’s been shot. He’s killed people, in cold blood. There’s not much that anyone can do to him to get him to talk.
But this -
The easy, smooth confidence, and the obvious experience, is actually kind of turning Paul on. Which is not the best thing ever.
He twitches towards the man’s hand, rather than away from it, when it gets to close to some rather sensitive areas. Curses himself for the lapse, and that smirk is back on the man’s face.
“You wouldn’t be - enjoying this, would you?” asks the man.
There’s no good response to that. So Paul doesn’t give one.
The man is flattening his palm on Paul’s chest, trailing down, when he slides a hand onto Paul’s hip, and takes Paul’s cock in his mouth. Paul bucks - can’t get anywhere, because of the ropes, and his teeth are gritted tight, so he doesn’t make a sound, but it’s a reaction, nonetheless.
A hand wraps around his now-erection, and there’s a low chuckle from the man in front of him. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
His free hand nudges Paul’s legs a little further apart, then - oh Christ, something slick on his fingers - Paul gasps, through gritted teeth, letting his head fall back. His world narrows, devolves into the steady suction, the rhythm of the hand working him, the twist of the fingers inside. Whoever this is plays him with every touch, drags sensation out of him -
Paul collapses back against the bed, panting, shallow.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” says the unknown man, courteously. “Then we’ll begin again.”
Pairing: Noah Bennet/Paul Kellerman
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None. Pre-series, for both.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
Notes: Written for the Porn Battle. Prompt: neat.
Summary: Kellerman wakes up with his arms and legs tied - rather neatly - to an extremely fancy hotel bed.
- - -
Kellerman wakes up with his arms and legs tied - rather neatly - to an extremely fancy hotel bed. Difficult to get ropes this secure; handcuffs are one thing, but the lock can always be picked. This - this is professional.
“Hello?” calls Kellerman, because whoever this is might as well just get it over with. “Hey, anyone home?”
There he is. An older man, turning the corner from - is this a suite? Is there a living room past there? Not good news. Hotels this nice are usually better at soundproofing.
“Evening,” says the man, slipping his horn-rimmed glasses off his face. “Agent Kellerman.”
…shit.
“Um, what?” asks Paul. “My name’s Owen Kravecki -”
“And you sell beef jerky,” says the man.
“Yeah?” Paul lets his voice shake a little. “I mean, yeah, I do.”
“Of course,” says the man. “The truth, please. What, exactly, does the Secret Service need in Odessa?” He lets his tie drop to the other bed. Calm. It’s not his first time. And he’s a professional.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Time to take a different tack. “You planning on killing me?” asks Paul. “Because if you do, you’re making a huge mistake.”
“I think I know exactly what level of mistake I’d be making,” says the man, mildly.
Yeah. This is not good.
“I’m a federal agent,” emphasizes Paul. One last try. “You look smart, you should know the penalties for this kind of crime.”
The man just smirks.
~*~
Later, after he’s cut free every stitch of clothing - humiliating, but Paul has been through worse. No, the real horror comes when whoever the fuck the guy is starts stroking him - stroking, little touches starting at his feet, moving up to the inside of his thighs.
Paul has endured much worse before, but that’s the point, isn’t it? He’s already been through torture. He’s been shot. He’s killed people, in cold blood. There’s not much that anyone can do to him to get him to talk.
But this -
The easy, smooth confidence, and the obvious experience, is actually kind of turning Paul on. Which is not the best thing ever.
He twitches towards the man’s hand, rather than away from it, when it gets to close to some rather sensitive areas. Curses himself for the lapse, and that smirk is back on the man’s face.
“You wouldn’t be - enjoying this, would you?” asks the man.
There’s no good response to that. So Paul doesn’t give one.
The man is flattening his palm on Paul’s chest, trailing down, when he slides a hand onto Paul’s hip, and takes Paul’s cock in his mouth. Paul bucks - can’t get anywhere, because of the ropes, and his teeth are gritted tight, so he doesn’t make a sound, but it’s a reaction, nonetheless.
A hand wraps around his now-erection, and there’s a low chuckle from the man in front of him. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
His free hand nudges Paul’s legs a little further apart, then - oh Christ, something slick on his fingers - Paul gasps, through gritted teeth, letting his head fall back. His world narrows, devolves into the steady suction, the rhythm of the hand working him, the twist of the fingers inside. Whoever this is plays him with every touch, drags sensation out of him -
Paul collapses back against the bed, panting, shallow.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” says the unknown man, courteously. “Then we’ll begin again.”