"Ink", Ghost Hunters, Steve/Tango
The fluff is embarrassing. Also, this is so not real. This is my fevered imagination. I am like 99% sure that these guys are not really making out. (Well, 98.9% sure.)
Ink
Ghost Hunters
Steve/Tango
R, fluff, omg
Written for the random fic is random pic challenge
"What’s this one?” Tango’s asking the question while sprawled across Steve who is sprawled across a hotel bed. The “one” in question is a tattoo and it was this same question that got them here, questioning, touching, tracing, more touching. Tango recognizes Ash from The Evil Dead, Bride of Frankenstein and a few of the other horror-themed pieces, but this one?
“What’s it look like?” Steve asks. Tango looks closer. It’s just a small piece of the larger work that covers Steve's arm, high up, under the sleeve of his shirt, if he was wearing one.
“Below this haunted house, there's... feet? In kind of a T-shape.”
“Good job, you’re right, Tango, I have a secret foot fetish.”
“No, c’mon,” Tango says in his best ‘get serious, Steve’ voice even though it rarely works.
“I am. Now show me your in-step, I want to make out with it.” Steve makes a grab for Tango’s feet and the wrestling that follows ends with Steve hovering over a successfully restrained Tango.
“No cop moves!” Tango calls. “You’re not playing fair.”
Steve’s just grinning and at first Tango thinks it’s Steve’s ‘my naughty parts are touching your naughty parts’ grin, because they are, but there’s curiosity there too.
“What?” Tango asks.
“You’re serious?” Steve says, only half smiling.
“About the tattoo or the cop moves?”
“Yeah,” Steve says and Tango doesn’t know why he knows which one.
“Yeah, I’m serious. You think I’m gonna purposely look stupid in front of you? You do a good enough job making me look stupid, Steve.”
“Good point,” Steve replies and Tango almost says “thanks”, but then Steve is sucking on his throat and the hand that was on his wrists is suddenly around his cock, with only slightly less pressure.
“A dance pattern,” he manages but doesn’t know how, and it earns him some friction, and Steve’s mouth on his jaw.
“You’re getting warmer,” Steve says and Tango nods in breathless agreement. He’s definitely warmer.
“I don’t know shit about dances, Steve,” he can feel Steve smile against him, that big grin, maybe even a giggle.
“I only know the one,” Steve says.
“Fuck,” is Tango’s reply, conversation forgotten, and nothing more coherent than that comes out of his mouth until a little while later when they’re sweating and cold in the cranked-up hotel a.c. and Steve’s pinning him to the mattress when Steve, nuzzling his ear otherwise he might never have heard it, whispers his name.
And he gets it.
“Oh,” Tango says.
Steve’s grinning, Tango can feel it, but he buries his face a little, hot breath against Tango’s ear, his neck. His spine tingles.
“Yeah,” Steve whispers.
“That’s sweet, Steve.”
“Shut up, Dave.”
Ink
Ghost Hunters
Steve/Tango
R, fluff, omg
Written for the random fic is random pic challenge
"What’s this one?” Tango’s asking the question while sprawled across Steve who is sprawled across a hotel bed. The “one” in question is a tattoo and it was this same question that got them here, questioning, touching, tracing, more touching. Tango recognizes Ash from The Evil Dead, Bride of Frankenstein and a few of the other horror-themed pieces, but this one?
“What’s it look like?” Steve asks. Tango looks closer. It’s just a small piece of the larger work that covers Steve's arm, high up, under the sleeve of his shirt, if he was wearing one.
“Below this haunted house, there's... feet? In kind of a T-shape.”
“Good job, you’re right, Tango, I have a secret foot fetish.”
“No, c’mon,” Tango says in his best ‘get serious, Steve’ voice even though it rarely works.
“I am. Now show me your in-step, I want to make out with it.” Steve makes a grab for Tango’s feet and the wrestling that follows ends with Steve hovering over a successfully restrained Tango.
“No cop moves!” Tango calls. “You’re not playing fair.”
Steve’s just grinning and at first Tango thinks it’s Steve’s ‘my naughty parts are touching your naughty parts’ grin, because they are, but there’s curiosity there too.
“What?” Tango asks.
“You’re serious?” Steve says, only half smiling.
“About the tattoo or the cop moves?”
“Yeah,” Steve says and Tango doesn’t know why he knows which one.
“Yeah, I’m serious. You think I’m gonna purposely look stupid in front of you? You do a good enough job making me look stupid, Steve.”
“Good point,” Steve replies and Tango almost says “thanks”, but then Steve is sucking on his throat and the hand that was on his wrists is suddenly around his cock, with only slightly less pressure.
“A dance pattern,” he manages but doesn’t know how, and it earns him some friction, and Steve’s mouth on his jaw.
“You’re getting warmer,” Steve says and Tango nods in breathless agreement. He’s definitely warmer.
“I don’t know shit about dances, Steve,” he can feel Steve smile against him, that big grin, maybe even a giggle.
“I only know the one,” Steve says.
“Fuck,” is Tango’s reply, conversation forgotten, and nothing more coherent than that comes out of his mouth until a little while later when they’re sweating and cold in the cranked-up hotel a.c. and Steve’s pinning him to the mattress when Steve, nuzzling his ear otherwise he might never have heard it, whispers his name.
And he gets it.
“Oh,” Tango says.
Steve’s grinning, Tango can feel it, but he buries his face a little, hot breath against Tango’s ear, his neck. His spine tingles.
“Yeah,” Steve whispers.
“That’s sweet, Steve.”
“Shut up, Dave.”