Fic post: ...And He Surrendered / Milk Money
Title: ...And He Surrendered
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Pylar
Warnings: I hope you know with this pairing in 'verse, it's probably dubcon-y.
Summary: Pretty suuure this was comment fic and I was prompted. Just found it in my fic folder, with the Pinto, decided to toss it up here. Pylar, nail-gun era, enemies, well. There's no real plot here.
Word count: 350.
Rating: Hmmm. I guess PG-13 is fine? Bordering on R? There is sexiness.
The way those hips rocked into his was obscene. Obscene, sinful, wrong, immoral, evil,… and so, so perfect.
The way those lips spoke his name, purred it. The way his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down the length of the man beneath him. The way those hot, slender fingers wrapped around his wrists in an iron grip, pinning him to the stone beneath him.
“Let me go.” He tried to make his voice steel, he tried to resist, to struggle, but the words cracked as he said them. They cracked, and betrayed him.
Sylar just laughed, and it did more to Peter than he could’ve ever imagined. He writhed underneath Sylar, trying to pull his wrists free, but it seemed to have an adverse effect, and the man’s grip tightened, his hips pushed down harder and Peter bit his lip hard enough to cut to stop his moan. Sylar was hard. Peter could feel it. He could feel it, and knew his voice wouldn’t be the only thing to betray him soon.
“Why are you doing this? You gain nothing by keeping me here!”
Sylar grinned wide, and when his tongue slipped out to wet his lips, Peter closed his eyes against the onslaught. The grip momentarily loosened on his wrists, and then tightened again as one hand held him down, and the other moved through his hair. Nails trailed over his scalp, down towards his face. The barely-functional thoughts Peter had were screaming, screaming at him to close his eyes, to fight, to resist.
But he didn’t. He didn’t struggle; he didn’t try to break free.
The back of Sylar’s knuckles moved down his cheek, a wildly delicate, tender touch from a man Peter knew had killed so many people without a shred of remorse or guilt. The tip of Sylar’s index finger moved under his bottom lip, then laid across his mouth.
“Shhh, baby. I just wanna play. It’s Christmas… and I love getting new toys.”
Title: Milk Money
Fandom: STXI RPF
Pairing: Pinto (Pine/Quinto)
Warnings: Not for the lactose intolerant.
Summary: Requested/demanded by kinetic1028 . Zach hasn't been able to live down the milk incident around the house quite yet.
Word count: 510.
Rating: Also PG-13 to R.
“You reaaally fucking suffer for your art, don’t you, Zachary?”
“Shut up.”
“I mean , wow, it must’ve been pretty cold.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“The pain you go through because of your creativity and talent.” He was fighting not to start laughing.
“Stop fucking talking about it already, will you?!”
“Never mind that you look like you’re in some horrific Japanese come-fetish porno.”
Zachary narrowed his eyes, hands on his hips. “I fucking hate you.” He spun and disappeared into his bedroom, and Chris burst into laughter. He hit “replay” on the video and sat back in his computer chair.
Chris stood on the back deck, looking out over Zach’s yard, where Noah ran and played happily. He crossed his arms and smiled, watching the boisterous dog. Zach was inside cooking dinner for them, and all seemed well.
Suddenly, he felt a rush of cold, shutting his eyes quickly against the assault of liquid over his head. Zach was laughing just behind him, as Chris wiped milk off his eyes, opening them slowly. He gritted his teeth, turning slowly towards Zach.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“You look like you’re in some horrific Japanese come-fetish porno.” Zachary was laughing, just as Chris had been. “Now you know how it feels to truly suffer for your art.”
Unfortunately for Zachary, Chris knew how to play this game.
Chris just shrugged, fingers moving down to the hem of his white tank top. He peeled it off, dropping it to the wooden planks. He moved his hands back up his torso slowly, through the milk that clung to his skin. He suppressed a grin when he heard the telltale sharp gasp. He looked down at himself, milk dripping from his nose, from his chin, from his hair, down over the planes of his chest. Then he closed the deal.
He lifted his chin from his chest, lids heavy, blue eyes fixing on Zach’s, and licked his lips slowly.
“Oh… holy fucking god.” Zach’s voice was so low, Chris barely caught it. A second later, the milk carton crashed to the floor next to Chris’ shirt, and Zach’s hands were all over his chest, exploring every inch. His nails dug into the muscle of the younger man’s shoulders as he pulled him closer, sealing their lips together. Chris knew he’d brought this on, but he was still almost shocked by the ferocity, the hunger in the hold as Zach’s teeth locked on his bottom lip.
Then Zachary’s mouth was gone. Chris watched, eyes wide with lust, suspense, passion as Zach dropped down to his knees. His fingers were on the button of the blonde’s jeans immediately, undoing it and tugging them down his thighs.
Then those brown eyes were locked up on his needy blue ones. The corner of his mouth raised in a smirk.
“It was pretty cold, wasn’t it?”
Chris groaned, palm moving to the back of Zach’s neck, trying to get him to focus on the task directly ahead. “Please… shut the fuck up. Please.”