The Link
Title: The Link
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ray isn't out of place with John and Mary. Ray/John
Disclaimer: I do not own Hancock or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: Written for oxoniensis's original Porn Battle VI (The Undiscovered Country). The prompt was "belonging," which I made overly obvious use of, but hey, I had planned to use an idea like this anyway. I thought I'd make it something longer and more complex (and about more than just the sex), but... well, maybe I still will. And once again, this whole thing got away from me and I swear I tried to keep it short, but it just didn't work. I'm sorry.
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net
Mary had told him, mentioned in passing, that they - she, Hancock, the others - had often had one human, one mortal who was called to them, who wanted to please them more than the rest, who they appointed, in one way or another, to help them, to be the buffer between them and the other mortals. There would be one per pair; after the others died out, there was only one in every generation, and they were harder to find when they weren't flaunting their powers. She might have glossed over some details; her eyes told him that she wasn't saying everything.
She told him before she left, before she told him the rest - that she couldn't handle being his hero, that she didn't want to be a burden, that she couldn't stay still, that she wasn't like Hancock. She went to Austria first, he knew, but she slipped away after that, and he lost her. Aaron cried for a month.
It made it easier, all of it, for Ray to understand some things. He didn't even think about it when he got on the plane, with Aaron safe at an aunt's house. He didn't think about it when he arrived in the city, or through his meeting with another board of directors that had little interest in All-Heart. He didn't think about it at all until he was there, just outside Hancock's apartment, and knocking.
He wondered, just for a moment, what he was doing there, but when Hancock opened the door and just looked at him, he knew.
He walked in, and when John closed the door and turned to him, loomed over him - he wasn't that much taller, but knowing the kind of power in those hands automatically made him seem like a giant - he let out a shaky breath.
"What are you doing here, Ray?"
He didn't tell him that Mary left. He didn't tell him that he felt lost, alone, helpless all over again, worse this time than when his first wife had died. He didn't tell him what Mary had said. He just said, "I'm here for you."
Three slow, determined steps and he was in John's arms, one boulder-crushing palm cupping his head, the other at his waist. The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated. They were nervous; Ray had never been with a man before, and although Hancock had, he didn't remember it. He had fought that part of himself, didn't understand it.
It made perfect sense then, finally.
They didn't make it to John's bedroom, but his living room couch was nice enough; New York City was providing well for him, allowing him a penthouse and more than enough to live on so long as he protected them with minimal collateral damage. The couch was, actually, fantastic, or so Ray thought when he was laying back on it, the fingers of one hand pressed deep into its plushness. His other hand clutched at John's naked back, wanting to be closer, closer. His shirt was still on and he was sucking on John's tongue, and there were fingers in his ass, two - no, three.
He didn't think about Mary at all.
The fingers withdrew, and John pulled back a moment, positioning himself, and Ray made a noise he knew he'd be embarrassed about later, the hand on John's back pressing, pulling, wanting them closer again. He knew what was coming, knew the basic mechanics of it, but every second of it was so good he almost didn't want the next second to come.
They didn't think about condoms, because they weren't part of it, weren't involved in the equation of John plus Ray. They hadn't planned it, of course, and Ray had no idea what the slick, cool liquid on John's fingers and, oh God, on his dick, the head pressing against his hole - he didn't know what it was, but it worked and he trusted John, maybe more than he should have, but he couldn't help it.
Before John pressed in, something flared up inside Ray, a new feeling he'd never had before. It wasn't physical, but it was real and raw and an absolutely undeniable force, and it made sense that John inspired it in him.
It was belonging.
John pushed in, slow, and when he was pressed against Ray's ass, he said, "Shit."
Ray couldn't find words of his own, his mouth open in a silent exclamation, but he figured John had summed it up pretty well.
They probably should have waited, Ray realized, because it burned and hurt and he wasn't sure the human body was supposed to stretch right there like that, but he moved, rocked, and had no problem with it when John pulled out, pushed back in. It still hurt, but it was so good, and his leg was over John's shoulder, flexed up in a way it wasn't used to moving anymore, but he didn't care.
It went quick, that first time, and it was just as messy and rough as that first kiss, but they didn't care about their experience. When John's cock brushed Ray's prostate, he groaned John's name, come hitting both of their stomachs. He kissed John again, bit his lip, and John was coming, too, inside him, and it felt strange, unfamiliar, but still so right.
He was sore when his pants were back on two hours later, John gone somewhere, saving another helpless innocent. He had a drink, sitting on the same spot on the couch where John had fucked him, and he thought about Mary. It still didn't seem wrong.
It didn't matter that he wasn't immortal, that he would die and Aaron would grow old while John and Mary remained in the perfect, youthful bodies. It didn't matter, because he was where he needed to be, had helped Mary in the way she needed it, would help John in any way he could. He was their liaison, their touching point to Earth and to humans and to maybe being a little less miserable about being apart. Even as they longed for each other, even as he longed for one or the other when he couldn't reach out to them, it was okay. He belonged to them, with them.
He smiled when he heard John land on the roof above. The night was still young, and he didn't intend to be alone for any more of it.
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ray isn't out of place with John and Mary. Ray/John
Disclaimer: I do not own Hancock or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: Written for oxoniensis's original Porn Battle VI (The Undiscovered Country). The prompt was "belonging," which I made overly obvious use of, but hey, I had planned to use an idea like this anyway. I thought I'd make it something longer and more complex (and about more than just the sex), but... well, maybe I still will. And once again, this whole thing got away from me and I swear I tried to keep it short, but it just didn't work. I'm sorry.
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net
Mary had told him, mentioned in passing, that they - she, Hancock, the others - had often had one human, one mortal who was called to them, who wanted to please them more than the rest, who they appointed, in one way or another, to help them, to be the buffer between them and the other mortals. There would be one per pair; after the others died out, there was only one in every generation, and they were harder to find when they weren't flaunting their powers. She might have glossed over some details; her eyes told him that she wasn't saying everything.
She told him before she left, before she told him the rest - that she couldn't handle being his hero, that she didn't want to be a burden, that she couldn't stay still, that she wasn't like Hancock. She went to Austria first, he knew, but she slipped away after that, and he lost her. Aaron cried for a month.
It made it easier, all of it, for Ray to understand some things. He didn't even think about it when he got on the plane, with Aaron safe at an aunt's house. He didn't think about it when he arrived in the city, or through his meeting with another board of directors that had little interest in All-Heart. He didn't think about it at all until he was there, just outside Hancock's apartment, and knocking.
He wondered, just for a moment, what he was doing there, but when Hancock opened the door and just looked at him, he knew.
He walked in, and when John closed the door and turned to him, loomed over him - he wasn't that much taller, but knowing the kind of power in those hands automatically made him seem like a giant - he let out a shaky breath.
"What are you doing here, Ray?"
He didn't tell him that Mary left. He didn't tell him that he felt lost, alone, helpless all over again, worse this time than when his first wife had died. He didn't tell him what Mary had said. He just said, "I'm here for you."
Three slow, determined steps and he was in John's arms, one boulder-crushing palm cupping his head, the other at his waist. The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated. They were nervous; Ray had never been with a man before, and although Hancock had, he didn't remember it. He had fought that part of himself, didn't understand it.
It made perfect sense then, finally.
They didn't make it to John's bedroom, but his living room couch was nice enough; New York City was providing well for him, allowing him a penthouse and more than enough to live on so long as he protected them with minimal collateral damage. The couch was, actually, fantastic, or so Ray thought when he was laying back on it, the fingers of one hand pressed deep into its plushness. His other hand clutched at John's naked back, wanting to be closer, closer. His shirt was still on and he was sucking on John's tongue, and there were fingers in his ass, two - no, three.
He didn't think about Mary at all.
The fingers withdrew, and John pulled back a moment, positioning himself, and Ray made a noise he knew he'd be embarrassed about later, the hand on John's back pressing, pulling, wanting them closer again. He knew what was coming, knew the basic mechanics of it, but every second of it was so good he almost didn't want the next second to come.
They didn't think about condoms, because they weren't part of it, weren't involved in the equation of John plus Ray. They hadn't planned it, of course, and Ray had no idea what the slick, cool liquid on John's fingers and, oh God, on his dick, the head pressing against his hole - he didn't know what it was, but it worked and he trusted John, maybe more than he should have, but he couldn't help it.
Before John pressed in, something flared up inside Ray, a new feeling he'd never had before. It wasn't physical, but it was real and raw and an absolutely undeniable force, and it made sense that John inspired it in him.
It was belonging.
John pushed in, slow, and when he was pressed against Ray's ass, he said, "Shit."
Ray couldn't find words of his own, his mouth open in a silent exclamation, but he figured John had summed it up pretty well.
They probably should have waited, Ray realized, because it burned and hurt and he wasn't sure the human body was supposed to stretch right there like that, but he moved, rocked, and had no problem with it when John pulled out, pushed back in. It still hurt, but it was so good, and his leg was over John's shoulder, flexed up in a way it wasn't used to moving anymore, but he didn't care.
It went quick, that first time, and it was just as messy and rough as that first kiss, but they didn't care about their experience. When John's cock brushed Ray's prostate, he groaned John's name, come hitting both of their stomachs. He kissed John again, bit his lip, and John was coming, too, inside him, and it felt strange, unfamiliar, but still so right.
He was sore when his pants were back on two hours later, John gone somewhere, saving another helpless innocent. He had a drink, sitting on the same spot on the couch where John had fucked him, and he thought about Mary. It still didn't seem wrong.
It didn't matter that he wasn't immortal, that he would die and Aaron would grow old while John and Mary remained in the perfect, youthful bodies. It didn't matter, because he was where he needed to be, had helped Mary in the way she needed it, would help John in any way he could. He was their liaison, their touching point to Earth and to humans and to maybe being a little less miserable about being apart. Even as they longed for each other, even as he longed for one or the other when he couldn't reach out to them, it was okay. He belonged to them, with them.
He smiled when he heard John land on the roof above. The night was still young, and he didn't intend to be alone for any more of it.