Comment!fic: PG13-R; multiple RPS, slash, & het
Rating: PG-NC-17
Fandoms: Black Hawk Down RPS, Battlestar Galactica, Boondock Saints, Chronicles of Riddick RPS, Lotrips
Pairings: Josh/Orlando, Starbuck/Apollo, Connor/Murphy, Karl/Vin, Karl/Orlando
Disclaimer: 100% fiction, folks. None of this is real; none of this ever happened. I make no claims as to the real life of any person portrayed herein. Recognizable characters are property of their respective owners. I'm just playing with them for a while.
Battlestar Galactica
for beautybecks
Kara Thrace/Lee Adama (implied), cheer up, it might never happen
"Cheer up."
"Cheer up?" Kara's mug hit the table with a resounding bang, and she stared at Lee across the ensuing silence. "Cheer up?"
"Yeah, you're bringing the party down," he replied, more than a little cocky, and she could hear the unspoken "just like always" in his words.
Her eyes shifted, took in the weary, wary gazes of the pilots around her. Took in the careful way they held themselves, every single one of them running on too much adrenalin, too much fear, and nowhere near enough sleep. There were too few of them, and she knew there would be even fewer tomorrow. "You call this," she said, measuring each word, voice biting in the iciness that was forming between them, "a party? Are you a frakking idiot?"
"It's the closest thing to a party we've got," he snapped, taking a step towards the table. She just stared at him.
"A party," she finally said, with a shake of her hair that sent blonde hair dancing in the too bright light. "Did you miss the party out there? The one where we just barely held our own? We are dying, Lee!"
"You think I don't know that?" Two steps and he stood across the table from her, blue eyes snapping fire as he glared down at her. "Every frakking second of every frakking day, Kara. We're all walking a razor's edge, strung out and too gods damned wound up too tight waiting for the next alarm, the next Raider that pops up on DRADIS. And you want to sit in here, like always, too drunk to stand and bitch about how hard your life is."
"Frak you," she snarled, rising to grip the table, this close to taking a swing that would earn her a free trip to the brig.
"Grow up." The disdain on his face made her hands itch. "We're dying, yes, but we're fighting, and don't you dare give up before we find Earth."
"And if we don't?" She wanted to take the words back, because they were too painful in the silence of the room. Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on Lee.
"Then we don't," he said, voice going soft. "But at least we tried. You're not a quitter, Starbuck. Don't start now."
Black Hawk Down RPS
for azewewish
Josh Hartnett/Orlando Bloom, focused
Four years, seven months, and three days since the last time, and Orlando remembered every second of it.
He remembered the smell of the sheets, crisp and clean beneath him, the smell of his sweat, of Josh's. Remembered the smell of sex and cigarette smoke and beer.
He remembered the heat of the room as it touched his skin, slicked it with a sheen of sweat that let Josh slide against him. Remembered the feel of Josh, the weight of his body over Orlando, in him, stretching and burning, taking until Orlando was drowning in need and lust. Remembered how Josh felt around him, clutching, holding tight, muscles trembling with fatigue as they strained together.
He remembered Josh's voice in his ear, breathless and guttural, mouthing filthy words that encouraged Orlando, encouraged Josh. Remembered those lips on his throat, his chest, wrapped around his cock until Orlando couldn't feel anything else.
What he couldn't remember was why they'd stopped - stopped fucking, stopped talking, stopped hanging out together. And when he saw Josh standing there, across the bar, drink in hand as he talked to some faceless girl, the memories crashed back down on him. Orlando was barely aware of moving.
Dark eyes flickered, narrowed, locked with Orlando's, and then Josh smiled. All the intensity and heat was still there, dangerous and enticing and dragging Orlando under the spell again. "Been a long time," Josh murmured, dismissing the girl without a word, and Orlando knew that he was the only one that mattered.
"Too long," Orlando said, filled with a sense of savage satisfaction when Josh's smile deepened, darkened, and Orlando was damned if he was going to let that intensity move from him again.
The Boondock Saints
for mickey_sixx
Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus, "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
There's a soft alcohol glow around everything by the time Murphy gets back to the table. Connor peers at him, taking a second to focus, and then blinks at the bright green spot on Murphy's jacket.
"The hell is that?" he asks, waving his hand in a vague gesture, finger extended in an effort to point at the green spot. It's started to move around, but that might just be Murphy. It's hard to tell after all the drinks Connor has had.
"What's what?"
"That," Connor repeats. He leans across to flick the spot, his finger connecting with a metallic thunk. There's writing on it, and he has to squint to make it out.
"Oh, just something one of the girls stuck on me," Murphy says, as he looks down and tilts it up. "It's a button."
"Yes, I can see that," Connor says, and arches an eyebrow. Or tries to. His facial muscles don't seem to want to cooperate. "The fuck does it say?"
Murphy tips it up again and grins. "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
Connor blinks. Blinks again. Then stares at his younger (he doesn't give a fuck what Murphy says) brother. "'Kiss me, I'm Irish'? Everyone knows you're fucking Irish."
"Yeah, but why waste a good opportunity?"
As much as Connor hated to admit it, when Murphy had a point, he usually had a good point.
"So are you going to?"
"Going to what?" Connor wracked his brain, trying to remember if there was a bit of the conversation he'd missed. He came up blank.
"Kiss me."
"What?" There was definitely a part of the conversation missing. Connor didn't think he'd blacked out.
"I'm Irish."
Connor rolled his eyes. "I know that, you fucking idiot. What's that got to do with it?"
"It's why you should kiss me."
"It is?"
Murphy tapped his shiny green button with one finger. "What it says."
"Oh, well, in that case..."
The Chronicles of Riddick RPS
for merry_gentry
Vin Diesel/Karl Urban, darkness
Vin had always known he was the baddest ass around. He'd never doubted it. And from the very beginning, Karl had never said nor did a thing to make Vin think he didn't believe it, too.
After all, Vin had pulled every trick he knew, and Karl had taken them all. Every snide comment, every insult, every mocking look, every not so subtle bump as they passed each other. And not once did Karl do anything but glance at Vin, smile, and go on about his business. That in itself had been irritating as hell to start with, but Vin had got over it. If Karl wanted to roll over and play dead, Vin would just have fun with it.
So he'd ramped things up a few notches, to the point where the crew and the rest of the cast had noticed. Thandie had even started watching them intently, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Which, naturally, just made Vin swagger a little and show off some more.
Until tonight.
He'd answered the doorbell without thinking, and found himself slammed against the living room wall. Karl pressed against him in one long line of heat, forearm to Vin's throat, and there was a look in those dark eyes that made Vin's skin pebble.
Karl just smiled.
Vin swallowed hard, sucked in air when Karl shifted and chuckled. The sound of that laugh went straight to Vin's cock, made his body heavy with lust and need. Impossible to hide his reaction with Karl pressed so tight to him, so Vin just lifted his chin and did his best to meet that intent gaze.
Karl continued to smile. "You like playing games," he said, dragging his arm across Vin's throat until his fingers could curl tight around Vin's jaw. "I reckon you didn't know what you were getting into this time, though."
"And why's that?" Fuck, but the need was clear in Vin's voice, and a chill shot through him at the savage glee that lit Karl's eyes.
"Because," Karl whispered, lips against Vin's ear, and the chill was replaced by heat so intense that Vin gasped. "I play dirty."
"Yeah?" The bravado in his voice was hollow even to his own ears, but Vin refused to back down. "So do I."
"You?" Karl laughed, and Vin shivered, swallowing a moan. "You're about the bottomest little bitch I've ever seen."
"Fuck you," Vin spat, tried to regain some of the momentum.
"Oh," Karl murmured, pushing Vin's chin up and to the side, teeth raking across corded muscle, "I'm going to."
Lotrips
for galor5
Karl Urban/Orlando Bloom, something using this
"So what are you doing right now?"
"Talking to you," Orlando laughed, stretching before propping himself against the side of the trailer. A crisp breeze ruffled his hair, but the sun beating down on him took the coolness out of it.
"And what are you wearing?"
That startled another laugh from Orlando as his eyes darted around to see if anyone was paying attention. He shoved off the trailer, ducked around the corner. "I'm outside, you daft cunt," he said. "I'm wearing clothes."
"The black leather trousers?"
"What?" Orlando blinked, lifting his head for another look around. "How did you --"
"Love," Karl laughed, voice echoing through the phone against Orlando's ear, "you've been all over the internet the last few days. Running around in your fake tattoos and leather."
"I, um, you..."
"Saved every one of 'em."
"Oh, bloody hell," Orlando breathed, covering his face with one hand. He didn't need to hear anything else to know where this was going.
"Though, really," Karl said, sounding far too amused for Orlando's comfort, "it would probably look better without the boxers."
"If you think I'm wearing leather trousers with nothing between me and them but air, you're barking mad," Orlando snorted. "Do you know how much that would chafe?"
"Mmm..." The wordless murmur sent a shiver up Orlando's spine, and he bit his lip. Karl was an ocean away, and all he had to do was breathe to have Orlando hard and aching.
"So, um," he said, then paused, swallowing hard. "You saved all of them?"
"All of them," Karl said, and Orlando closed his eyes. "They're gonna make excellent wank material until you can model that for me in person."
"Model..." Oh, bloody hell...
"Eyeliner included."
"Karl..."
"I'll be in L.A. day after tomorrow. Bring the pants, love. And lube. We'll need it."
Fandoms: Black Hawk Down RPS, Battlestar Galactica, Boondock Saints, Chronicles of Riddick RPS, Lotrips
Pairings: Josh/Orlando, Starbuck/Apollo, Connor/Murphy, Karl/Vin, Karl/Orlando
Disclaimer: 100% fiction, folks. None of this is real; none of this ever happened. I make no claims as to the real life of any person portrayed herein. Recognizable characters are property of their respective owners. I'm just playing with them for a while.
Battlestar Galactica
for beautybecks
Kara Thrace/Lee Adama (implied), cheer up, it might never happen
"Cheer up."
"Cheer up?" Kara's mug hit the table with a resounding bang, and she stared at Lee across the ensuing silence. "Cheer up?"
"Yeah, you're bringing the party down," he replied, more than a little cocky, and she could hear the unspoken "just like always" in his words.
Her eyes shifted, took in the weary, wary gazes of the pilots around her. Took in the careful way they held themselves, every single one of them running on too much adrenalin, too much fear, and nowhere near enough sleep. There were too few of them, and she knew there would be even fewer tomorrow. "You call this," she said, measuring each word, voice biting in the iciness that was forming between them, "a party? Are you a frakking idiot?"
"It's the closest thing to a party we've got," he snapped, taking a step towards the table. She just stared at him.
"A party," she finally said, with a shake of her hair that sent blonde hair dancing in the too bright light. "Did you miss the party out there? The one where we just barely held our own? We are dying, Lee!"
"You think I don't know that?" Two steps and he stood across the table from her, blue eyes snapping fire as he glared down at her. "Every frakking second of every frakking day, Kara. We're all walking a razor's edge, strung out and too gods damned wound up too tight waiting for the next alarm, the next Raider that pops up on DRADIS. And you want to sit in here, like always, too drunk to stand and bitch about how hard your life is."
"Frak you," she snarled, rising to grip the table, this close to taking a swing that would earn her a free trip to the brig.
"Grow up." The disdain on his face made her hands itch. "We're dying, yes, but we're fighting, and don't you dare give up before we find Earth."
"And if we don't?" She wanted to take the words back, because they were too painful in the silence of the room. Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on Lee.
"Then we don't," he said, voice going soft. "But at least we tried. You're not a quitter, Starbuck. Don't start now."
Black Hawk Down RPS
for azewewish
Josh Hartnett/Orlando Bloom, focused
Four years, seven months, and three days since the last time, and Orlando remembered every second of it.
He remembered the smell of the sheets, crisp and clean beneath him, the smell of his sweat, of Josh's. Remembered the smell of sex and cigarette smoke and beer.
He remembered the heat of the room as it touched his skin, slicked it with a sheen of sweat that let Josh slide against him. Remembered the feel of Josh, the weight of his body over Orlando, in him, stretching and burning, taking until Orlando was drowning in need and lust. Remembered how Josh felt around him, clutching, holding tight, muscles trembling with fatigue as they strained together.
He remembered Josh's voice in his ear, breathless and guttural, mouthing filthy words that encouraged Orlando, encouraged Josh. Remembered those lips on his throat, his chest, wrapped around his cock until Orlando couldn't feel anything else.
What he couldn't remember was why they'd stopped - stopped fucking, stopped talking, stopped hanging out together. And when he saw Josh standing there, across the bar, drink in hand as he talked to some faceless girl, the memories crashed back down on him. Orlando was barely aware of moving.
Dark eyes flickered, narrowed, locked with Orlando's, and then Josh smiled. All the intensity and heat was still there, dangerous and enticing and dragging Orlando under the spell again. "Been a long time," Josh murmured, dismissing the girl without a word, and Orlando knew that he was the only one that mattered.
"Too long," Orlando said, filled with a sense of savage satisfaction when Josh's smile deepened, darkened, and Orlando was damned if he was going to let that intensity move from him again.
The Boondock Saints
for mickey_sixx
Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus, "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
There's a soft alcohol glow around everything by the time Murphy gets back to the table. Connor peers at him, taking a second to focus, and then blinks at the bright green spot on Murphy's jacket.
"The hell is that?" he asks, waving his hand in a vague gesture, finger extended in an effort to point at the green spot. It's started to move around, but that might just be Murphy. It's hard to tell after all the drinks Connor has had.
"What's what?"
"That," Connor repeats. He leans across to flick the spot, his finger connecting with a metallic thunk. There's writing on it, and he has to squint to make it out.
"Oh, just something one of the girls stuck on me," Murphy says, as he looks down and tilts it up. "It's a button."
"Yes, I can see that," Connor says, and arches an eyebrow. Or tries to. His facial muscles don't seem to want to cooperate. "The fuck does it say?"
Murphy tips it up again and grins. "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
Connor blinks. Blinks again. Then stares at his younger (he doesn't give a fuck what Murphy says) brother. "'Kiss me, I'm Irish'? Everyone knows you're fucking Irish."
"Yeah, but why waste a good opportunity?"
As much as Connor hated to admit it, when Murphy had a point, he usually had a good point.
"So are you going to?"
"Going to what?" Connor wracked his brain, trying to remember if there was a bit of the conversation he'd missed. He came up blank.
"Kiss me."
"What?" There was definitely a part of the conversation missing. Connor didn't think he'd blacked out.
"I'm Irish."
Connor rolled his eyes. "I know that, you fucking idiot. What's that got to do with it?"
"It's why you should kiss me."
"It is?"
Murphy tapped his shiny green button with one finger. "What it says."
"Oh, well, in that case..."
The Chronicles of Riddick RPS
for merry_gentry
Vin Diesel/Karl Urban, darkness
Vin had always known he was the baddest ass around. He'd never doubted it. And from the very beginning, Karl had never said nor did a thing to make Vin think he didn't believe it, too.
After all, Vin had pulled every trick he knew, and Karl had taken them all. Every snide comment, every insult, every mocking look, every not so subtle bump as they passed each other. And not once did Karl do anything but glance at Vin, smile, and go on about his business. That in itself had been irritating as hell to start with, but Vin had got over it. If Karl wanted to roll over and play dead, Vin would just have fun with it.
So he'd ramped things up a few notches, to the point where the crew and the rest of the cast had noticed. Thandie had even started watching them intently, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Which, naturally, just made Vin swagger a little and show off some more.
Until tonight.
He'd answered the doorbell without thinking, and found himself slammed against the living room wall. Karl pressed against him in one long line of heat, forearm to Vin's throat, and there was a look in those dark eyes that made Vin's skin pebble.
Karl just smiled.
Vin swallowed hard, sucked in air when Karl shifted and chuckled. The sound of that laugh went straight to Vin's cock, made his body heavy with lust and need. Impossible to hide his reaction with Karl pressed so tight to him, so Vin just lifted his chin and did his best to meet that intent gaze.
Karl continued to smile. "You like playing games," he said, dragging his arm across Vin's throat until his fingers could curl tight around Vin's jaw. "I reckon you didn't know what you were getting into this time, though."
"And why's that?" Fuck, but the need was clear in Vin's voice, and a chill shot through him at the savage glee that lit Karl's eyes.
"Because," Karl whispered, lips against Vin's ear, and the chill was replaced by heat so intense that Vin gasped. "I play dirty."
"Yeah?" The bravado in his voice was hollow even to his own ears, but Vin refused to back down. "So do I."
"You?" Karl laughed, and Vin shivered, swallowing a moan. "You're about the bottomest little bitch I've ever seen."
"Fuck you," Vin spat, tried to regain some of the momentum.
"Oh," Karl murmured, pushing Vin's chin up and to the side, teeth raking across corded muscle, "I'm going to."
Lotrips
for galor5
Karl Urban/Orlando Bloom, something using this
"So what are you doing right now?"
"Talking to you," Orlando laughed, stretching before propping himself against the side of the trailer. A crisp breeze ruffled his hair, but the sun beating down on him took the coolness out of it.
"And what are you wearing?"
That startled another laugh from Orlando as his eyes darted around to see if anyone was paying attention. He shoved off the trailer, ducked around the corner. "I'm outside, you daft cunt," he said. "I'm wearing clothes."
"The black leather trousers?"
"What?" Orlando blinked, lifting his head for another look around. "How did you --"
"Love," Karl laughed, voice echoing through the phone against Orlando's ear, "you've been all over the internet the last few days. Running around in your fake tattoos and leather."
"I, um, you..."
"Saved every one of 'em."
"Oh, bloody hell," Orlando breathed, covering his face with one hand. He didn't need to hear anything else to know where this was going.
"Though, really," Karl said, sounding far too amused for Orlando's comfort, "it would probably look better without the boxers."
"If you think I'm wearing leather trousers with nothing between me and them but air, you're barking mad," Orlando snorted. "Do you know how much that would chafe?"
"Mmm..." The wordless murmur sent a shiver up Orlando's spine, and he bit his lip. Karl was an ocean away, and all he had to do was breathe to have Orlando hard and aching.
"So, um," he said, then paused, swallowing hard. "You saved all of them?"
"All of them," Karl said, and Orlando closed his eyes. "They're gonna make excellent wank material until you can model that for me in person."
"Model..." Oh, bloody hell...
"Eyeliner included."
"Karl..."
"I'll be in L.A. day after tomorrow. Bring the pants, love. And lube. We'll need it."