Ficlets, lots of ficlets!
All the ficlets I wrote from my request for prompts yesterday are going up here today as they're finished. Heroes ficlets will contain situation spoilers for Season 2
Restraint, Mohinder/Jessica, PG-13 (Mohinder/Jessica, tied down, for
trascendenza)
Mohinder woke up lying down. Which, considering the last thing he remembered was carrying a tray of blood samples, was very disconcerting.
Niki- no the other one, Jessica was a sprawl of pale blonde arrogance over his legs and attempting to lift his arms resulted in nothing but a tight squeak of leather and pressure on his wrists.
"It's not fun is it?" She said carefully, and she sounded entirely too amused.
She'd strapped him down in her own bed.
"I was trying to free you," Mohinder said angrily.
Jessica raised her hands pointedly.
"And I am free, no thanks to my other half. Who's developing a rather annoying streak of persecuted martyrdom."
She lifted a hand, smacked him sharply on the side of the face in a way that was hard and painful, but the smile suggested she could, if necessary, do it much harder.
"You really are much too pretty to leave tied up where anyone could come along and-" Jessica's mouth opened in a slash of a smile. "Abuse you."
One hand, warm and sharp fingered, slithered under the edge of his shirt.
"Don't."
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
"Or what? You'll dazzle me with science." It was impossible to pull away from her, and all his attempt gained him was a laugh and a long, slow lean, until blonde hair covered the front of his shirt.
"You really are much too pretty." She caught the edge of his jaw, dragged it up far enough to kiss him, and his instinctive pull against her was met by a dig of fingers and a breath of laughter against his mouth.
"Much as I would love to stay and play..." the fingers under his shirt slipped lower, dipped in his belt and tugged pointedly. "Maybe break you a little, I have some escaping to do."
She slithered off of him.
"I'm sure someone will untie you...eventually."
It Must Be The Company, Claude/Bennet, R (Claude/Bennet, taser!porn for
fantasticpants)
"Will you stop fiddling with it, you'll probably break it."
"I have some confidence in my ability to handle technology without-"
Fzzzt!
"Fucking hell Bennet!" Claude is not happy with being randomly electrocuted, not happy at all. "Will you watch where you're swinging that bloody thing. Though I wouldn't put it past you to have done that on purpose. What you feel I've done to deserve electric torture god only knows."
"Electric torture?" Bennet raises an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Claude says fiercely.
"The electric torture seems to have given you an erection," Bennet points out rather blandly.
"It's the body's reaction to having an electric current shoved through it." Claude snatches the thing out of his hand. "I could demonstrate if you like?"
Bennet sways back out of reach. "I ah, don't think that would be necessary."
Claude pokes him with the business end and Bennet peers down his nose at it with the vague air of a man who already expects to get electrocuted.
A slightly harder jab makes him inhale.
"I should," Claude says roughly, and really it's not hard to corner Bennet between chest and wall. "I should see how amusing you look with stupid hair and electricity dancing round those ridiculously shiny shoes of yours."
Claude presses in a little closer, and discovers something that makes him raise an eyebrow.
"You haven't been shocked yet and you're still hard." Claude gives one sharp smile, then flicks Bennet's jacket open and drags his shirt out of his pants.
Bennet doesn't protest when Claude goes to work on his pants themselves.
"Are you going to put that down?" Bennet asks carefully, head tipping towards the matte black gun Claude is still holding.
Claude shakes his head. "No."
Bennet swallows roughly and manages a look that utterly fails to be impassive.
Claude drags his shirt out of the way and pushes a hand down into his pants, Bennet exhales when Claude wraps a hand round him.
"You know I'm going to shock you when you come," Claude says conversationally and Bennet's head smacks into the wall, Claude didn't even think he could make noises that high.
But now Claude's promised it seems only polite to see it through.
He shifts Bennet's shirt out of the way and lays the cold metal prongs against the soft edge of Bennet's waist.
The skin jumps sharply, either under the cold or the threat, and Bennet swears under his breath and makes a noise which curls all the way under Claude's skin. He decides this has promise, and really he's just devious enough to not feel guilty, especially when Bennet is so...vocally accommodating.
It's easy to make his breathing ragged, to press and shift the metal against his waist as encouragement, and Claude is not above a little encouragement when Bennet strays close enough, his throat tastes like sweat and aftershave and he can feel the ragged jump of pulse right up to the edge.
Then he presses the button.
Conversations, Nathan/Bennet, PG-13 (Nathan/Bennet, big gay fight, for
fantasticpants)
This is the first time in Nathan's life he's regretted wearing expensive ties.
Because Bennet has got a hand under his and is enthusiastically trying to choke the life out of him. Nathan suspects his neck will rip before the tie does.
"It will be someone her own age, someone trustworthy."
Nathan wants to have an opinion but Bennet is not making that easy. He smacks him in the throat and Bennet staggers backwards, and he's briefly the one relearning how to breathe.
"Someone dull!" Nathan chokes out. "Someone unafraid to take risks, and exactly how long do you think it'll be before Claire finds that trustworthiness stifling- "
Nathan had further points to make but Bennet is endeavouring to shove his head into the grass.
Nathan retaliates by dragging his shirt all the way up the back and ripping it all the way up one seam.
They're totally oblivious to the fact that they're being watched from the doorway.
"Is this a father thing?" Claire says carefully.
"No dear, it's a man thing."
"Do we get on TV if people think Dad's having an affair with a famous politician?"
"Lyle!" Sandra says sharply.
Accessories, Nathan/Matt, PG-13 (Nathan/Matt, gun of hotness, for
trascendenza) Spoilery for 2.05
"I'm sorry," Matt says carefully when they get back to the car, because in all the chaos and fury he'd forgotten.
"About what?"
Matt gestures. "The bloody nose."
Nathan frowns, lifts a hand and touches the wet line against his upper lip. He makes a noise like he didn't notice.
"You apologise about everything don't you." There's a curious amusement to the words. Matt isn't sure whether he should be insulted or not. Instead he finds something else to focus on, like the fact that Nathan has stolen his father's shotgun and is now carrying it across his lap.
"You think we might need that?"
Nathan shrugs. "Never know do you."
"Or do you just want to hold it?"
Nathan's eyes narrow ever so slightly.
"Quit readin' my mind."
"Actually I wasn't then." Matt says carefully.
"Are you reading it now?"
"No-" Matt sighs. "Yes, sorry, again and also that‘s kind of graphic."
Nathan eyes him, and then thinks something-
"I'm not allowed to take them home you know, and no, and jesus!"
Nathan shrugs again.
"So can I-"
"Yes," Matt says simply. "You can keep it. If you try not to...think about it on the journey back."
Appreciation, Hiro/Kensei, R (Hiro/Kensei, for
airspaniel)
Denying Kensei alcohol made him seek out other methods of entertainment. Methods which, apparently, involved the removal of clothing and oh-
Hiro has his hands buried so deep in the grass he's grinding mud under his fingernails. But better there than- better there than where they seem to want to be.
Because he couldn't do that, not while Kensei is- while he's...doing that.
Hiro accidentally looks.
"Oh!" He can't look at that, he can't watch that, not without a rambling collection of words escaping that seem to be a jumble of pleas not to stop doing that, and enthusiasm that he is doing that, and then a vague embarrassed collection of noises when he can't actually use the words.
And sometimes he just apologises for rambling.
Kensei slides off of him and he makes a quiet noise of distress.
"I'm sorry, I was rambling, I'm sorry, I'll stop," he hopes he doesn't look as pitiful as he sounds, but he suspects he might look worse.
"Yes, about that," Kensei balances his jaw on the rounded edge of Hiro's hipbone. "The rambling I don't mind, the rambling is very encouraging actually. It's just, do you think you could possibly be appreciative in English."
Hiro blinks.
"In English?"
"If you could," Kensei uses the hopeful look. It's much more affective from this angle. Hiro finds himself nodding in a vague sort of way.
"Ok."
Sensible, Jack/Ianto, PG-13 (Jack/Ianto, Bunny ears and fluffy tail, for
scifichicx)
When Ianto brings coffee into his office at quarter to nine Jack gives him a careful onceover.
"Nice outfit."
"What outfit sir?" Ianto's voice is perfectly bland. He's giving the bunny ears and fluffy tail a strange dignity. It's kind of hot, in a sort of sensible way.
"Did Owen fall for that?"
"He's checking the hallucinogens as we speak."
"You're devious you know."
"I like to think so, when necessary."
Jack's still eyeing the additions to Ianto's sensible suit. They have possibilities.
"Unfortunately they have a habit of falling off if you attempt anything strenuous."
"Strenuous?"
"Yes sir."
Jack very carefully took hold of the bottom of his waistcoat.
"I think we can work around that."
Peanuts, Cupid/Strife, R (Cupid/Strife, peanut butter, feather for
peppery_lime)
Peering over a wing confirms that Cupid is asleep.
Which seems more than excuse enough for misbehaviour. The sliding click of an opening jar abruptly makes the entire temple smell like peanuts.
"If you even think of putting that where it's not supposed to go..." Cupid warns through a voice which doesn't sound sleepy at all.
"I was thinking, but I wasn't gonna do," Strife says, not entirely honestly.
Cupid smacks him in the face with a wing, leaving one single feather in his spiky hair. Strife leaves it there for effect.
"So no peanut butter," he slithers a little closer. "Can I put my tongue in your ass instead?"
Cupid makes an altogether less annoyed noise and spreads his legs.
Encouragement, Matt/Nathan, PG-13 (Matt/Nathan for
liritarofrohan) Spoilery for 2.05
"So, earlier, you projected a thought at me." The way Nathan says it, it's more of an accusation.
"Yeah, yeah I did, I guess."
"I thought you said you couldn't do that?"
"I can't- I couldn't, before." Matt runs his hands over his face.
"Try it again,"
"What?"
"You wanna see whether you can do it, try again."
Matt shakes his head, and Nathan's still looming, still wandering their hotel room like some sort of restless animal.
"Fine but could you stop or sit, or something that's really distracting."
Nathan gives him a look, drags the other chair closer and sits in it, he doesn't look happy though.
"Right so..." Nathan waves a hand. "Project something."
He tries, he really does, and it doesn't help that Nathan's smirking at his effort.
You look really stupid when you do that Parkman
"Yes, thank you that's helping a lot," he says tartly.
He can't do it, he can't. Nathan's still watching him with an expression that's a mixture of amused and unimpressed. It's an expression Matt's had to put up with a lot.
"I can't do it!" Matt throws his hands up. "Maybe it's the adrenaline, or something. Maybe I need to be in fear for my life, or angry, or-"
"Oh for god's sake!"
Nathan moves, moves quickly and then- ok then he's kissing him.
And this is not a 'let's do our part for science' kiss. It's wet, aggressive, pushy and Matt has never, never been kissed like this before.
God you're good at this, really fucking good at this.
That's because you open up all the way Parkman.
Matt pulls out of the kiss, because jesus that's really- that's really intimate.
He clears his throat, clears it again.
"Ok, so that worked too."
"You think?"
Nathan's mouth is wet, Nathan's mouth is red and Matt cannot stop looking at it.
"Ok, so yeah, could you go and play with your shotgun or something."
Nathan rolls his eyes, stands up. "You might want to practice that," he says, before disappearing through the other door.
Matt breathes into his own hand, and furiously does not picture Nathan Petrelli naked.
"I heard that." Nathan calls from the other bedroom.
Oh for fuck's sake!
Change of Plans, John Winchester/Andy Gallagher, NC-17 (John Winchester + lipstick, for
harem_ent)
John had originally given the lipstick the glare of death. Andy had pointed out that his current outfit had not qualified as a disguise. John had protested at the word 'disguise' in a quiet and brooding way.
John Winchester is a hard man to have an argument with.
Mostly you argued, he looked stern and you ended up doing what he wanted anyway.
And if he was going to be brutally honest, Andy was too afraid to use the voice on him. Andy was too afraid to even think about using the voice on him.
It might have saved them some problems though because the thing about dirty bars out in the middle of nowhere that have lipstick as a dress code- yeah they tend to be full of inccubi, succubi, whatever-the-hell-bi.
Mostly Andy hid under a pool table while John shot things because they seemed to be immune to his brand of persuasion.
Turns out there's a reason you weren't supposed to spray their blood around though and now John...John is a problem.
John is painting red lipstick ringed bites up the side of his neck.
"Stop kissing me! Mr- Winchester stop kissing me, stop doing that! Stop it damn it!" It's not working. "Stop kissing me, god you're going to be mad as hell when you come down-"
The voice isn't working, because maybe sex whammy trumps mind whammy and this is really fucked up.
John Winchester tastes like lipstick, wet, bitter and waxy, smeared across Andy's top lip and he suspects, from the rough thumb dragging his mouth open, all the way down his chin as well.
"Oh jesus." Because John is kind of hot, and that thought isn't helping at all, not at all.
There's pointed pressure on his shoulder, and though he doesn't say a word there's a clear 'on your knees damn it' about the pressure, and Andy can't do anything but slither down under it.
He thinks he should definitely say no, he should say no now, before he's actually, actually-
It might be more convincing if he wasn't dragging John's belt open with stupidly clumsy fingers and really of all the people to be giving an unexpected blow job to this is kind of scary, and kind of hot, but jesus mostly scary.
But he's groaning through every pull of fabric, until John gets impatient, tangles a hand in his hair-
His mouth is full, full and not wet enough for this, and he's making the effort all the same because the hand in his hair is just coaxing him down in sharp little pushes and it's the dirtiest thing he's ever done. No fucking question.
He's fairly sure there's already a scribbled addendum next to his name 'death by Winchester.'
Cooperation and Chocolate, Zelenka/Ten, PG (Zelenka/Ten, porn, medical text books, Cadbury's Dairy Milk for
miss_zedem)
"I'm really sorry about your puddle jumper, usually the Tardis is very good about not landing 'on' other ships."
The Doctor is currently sprawled across the seats inside, devouring chocolate and peering through the netting beside him that could contain anything from emergency rations, to advanced weaponry to porn. It all depends who'd been in here last.
Zelenka shrugs vaguely from where he's replacing cracked crystals.
"Fixing the puddle jumpers, it's something we do, often, repeatedly, the practice is good for us."
The Doctor gestures at the contents of his lap. "And it was nice that your doctor gave me some medical textbooks so I could learn about your species."
"Which was about the time he noticed you were eating Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate."
"Yes, I think I upset him a little when I told him I got it from Tescos. But disappointing people's expectations is sometimes fun."
"Then you refused to let Rodney look in your ship."
"She's very temperamental at the moment, it would have been awkward if she'd returned your chief science officer as a six year old."
"Awkward and yet possibly entertaining," Zelenka points out.
"Very true, still I feel perhaps a little bit bad that he stormed off."
Zelenka slithers out from under the many dangling wires.
"I do not think that was entirely because you denied him advanced technology. I think, perhaps, it was because you were flaunting the chocolate."
The lack of a Tescos in the Pegasus galaxy was clearly a worse hardship than first thought.
"It is very good chocolate, I suspect eating it in any company would be considered 'flaunting'" Most of it has melted on the Doctor's fingers and he's being unnecessarily intent about removing it.
"Especially given the way you are eating it-" Zelenka says, and uses an eyebrow to great effect.
"Are you accusing me of eating it in a deliberately flirtatious way?"
"Yes."
The Doctor attempts not to look smug and fails utterly.
"You, I think, are more trouble than you look," Zelenka tells him. The Doctor grins at him and proffers a square of chocolate in long narrow fingers.
"I'm totally worth it though."
It really is very good chocolate.
Obedience, Jack/Ianto, NC-17 (Jack/Ianto, dangerous Jack, for
scifichicx)
Ianto can be obedient when necessary, he can be wordless and prepared and pliant when necessary.
He's in Jack's office, leant against the desk, suit folded neatly on Jack's chair. It's all so very efficient. Ianto never misses a chance to be efficient, and there's a lot to be said for efficiency. It's one of the things Jack's grateful for.
Still, Jack likes him like this too, all kinds of pretty nakedness and half open mouth. Did he ever shut his mouth? Honestly it was like he was always waiting for someone to take advantage of it, and people said he was orally fixated.
Jack strips his shirt off without speaking, he's less careful with the rest of his clothes, less careful with where and how they fall.
Ianto skin is already cool under the air conditioning, he's been here long enough to have lost his warmth. Jack uses his waist to press him back into the desk, to pin him there, pale against the grey steel, inhaling sharply at the press of metal into his bare skin.
He's easy, always so easy, bending without question, opening without having to be asked.
Because he knows when Jack isn't in the mood to push, when he doesn't want to smile and charm and work for it, when he just wants in a way that's hot and greedy.
Ianto's bare foot catches on the edge of the desk and the drawer is close enough to drag open, to ransack in quick impatient movements until Jack has what he wants.
Ianto moves under him, knee shifting, sliding up and making it easy, making it so easy.
Jack is tempted to punish him for it. Perhaps he wanted those tiny slices of roughness, the sharply indrawn breath when Jack drags his thighs open just a little harder than necessary.
But he resists and simply opens him with slick fingers. Ianto lets him, lets him between short, quiet breaths and soft little noises that Jack knows he could make louder if he wanted to. Knows he could make hurt.
He's tempted, he's very tempted...
But when he pushes into him he makes it slow, makes it slow enough that he can feel everything, every long shiver that curls up the back of Ianto's thigh, every drag of breath, every stretch that makes his throat flex in a swallow.
There are no words, and when Jack leans in, hands flat on the shining surface of the desk, Ianto takes his weight, takes his weight under a quiet breathless groan.
"Louder," Jack says roughly. "I want to hear you."
The sounds shivers out louder than before, broken when Jack pushes in harder than before.
"Say my name," he says quietly and Ianto does...because a good assistant is nothing if not obedient.
Holster, Don/Colby, NC-17 (Ian and Colby, gossip, for
fredbassett - in which I stretch a prompt to breaking point for the cause!)
Colby's not exactly a lightweight but Don's had training, he knows how to pin a man, know how to use his body weight and leverage to his advantage.
"So, " Don says conversationally against the back of Colby's neck. "I hear around the office that you've been paying particular attention to Edgerton the last couple of days."
Which is a pretty strange thing to point out considering what Don's hand is currently doing.
"You don't always watch Edgerton because he's hot y'know." Colby offers.
"Uh huh." A bare hand slides up his back. "Only sometimes he looks back. David thinks he's fucking you. I just told him you're easily distracted."
"I am not easily distracted," Colby says roughly, touch of annoyance under the words.
One hard pointed press of fingers on his back and Don's hand is gone.
"Stay there!" Don says roughly and he slides away completely, leaving Colby leant over the desk. Colby doesn't move, doesn't question, doesn't do anything but swallow and breathe on the wood.
There's a rasp of fabric, and a wet plastic click that's brutally familiar.
The bare thigh that slides back between his own ends in canvas and hard clips.
"Oh jesus," Colby says helplessly. "Oh jesus christ."
"Do you want me to fuck you like this?" Colby barely has enough air to breathe let alone speak. "Do you?"
Don shifts closer and the clips press into the back of Colby's thigh, hard and fastened so tightly round Don's thighs he can feel the shift and flex of muscle. Oh god he's not going to survive this.
One hand flattens between his shoulder blades and shoves. Colby's left breathing into the table, wood cold against his chest, against his stomach, against the hot length of his cock, and it just makes him groan sharply, bursts of condensation pluming the wood.
"Say it."
"Jesus fucking christ Don!"
"I can take it off again?"
"No! Fuck me like this." Colby says it all in one breath, and it's barely out before Don is close and hot and, god inside.
Don holds him where he's bent, pushes deeper, one hard press that's too quick and too greedy to be comfortable but fuck it's good. And every shift brings the long curves of material into contact with his skin.
Which is both the filthiest and most delicious thing Colby has ever felt.
Shove of canvas against Colby's bare ass and he's groaning like he can't stop, long thick groans that break every time Don goes deep.
He's so fucking close, so close, closer still when Don's hands slide up his back and curl round his shoulders, making everything tight and quick.
When he comes it drags all the air out of him in one long groan, and he can't hear a thing and Don is briefly really fucking enthusiastic and then his face is on the wood and he kind of doesn't remember falling there.
A very long second later, Don's forehead smacks into his shoulder blade.
Colby is still groaning quietly half a minute later.
"Don't say I never give you anything," Don says breathlessly.
Enthusiasm, Thompson/Ianto, PG-13 (Thompson/Ianto and or Jack, crack!porn for
mossymermaid) I didn't get much porn in but the crack was just too tempting to resist.
"So, Mr Jones, what makes you think you have the qualities I'm looking for?"
Thompson steeples his fingers, eyes Ianto over them. His resume is incredibly impressive, astonishingly so in fact. Experience in a variety of fields, some highly specialised others curiously abstract and yet sought after, if you knew what you were looking for.
"Any qualities I do not have that you think would prove useful I am sure I could...aquire," Ianto supplies.
Thompson raises an eyebrow.
"Indeed, and you left your last position because?"
"I thought a change of pace after the invasion of blood sucking space weevils."
Thompson nods.
"Yes, I vaguely recall hearing about that on the news, nasty."
"Indeed."
"And you clearly have boundless enthusiasm, which I'm sure you could demonstrate."
"Would you like me to demonstrate now?"
Thompson smiles. "I think I most certainly would Mr Jones."
Ianto very slowly unknots his tie.
"I can most certainly do that."
Ianto demonstrates his enthusiasm over the desk and against the door, and in the chair, and when they break the chair against the wall instead.
He continues to be enthusiastic right up until Thompson begs- tells him to stop.
He manages to retake his seat and look utterly flawless in under two minutes.
It takes Thompson that long to stop breathing like he's about to die.
He's already mentally cancelling all the other interviews.
"And that's on demand?"
"Yes, up to sixteen times."
"A week?"
"Daily," Ianto says flatly and Thompson suspects he's as close as he's ever come to actually having a heart attack.
"Who exactly did you work for?" Thompson asks, once he's sure he can speak again.
"Captain Jack Harkness."
Thompson has scattered paperwork everywhere.
"Hmm," he says simply. He takes out his pen and writes a short letter, puts it in an envelope and writes 'Kaito Nakamura' on the outside.
"I'm sending you to someone who I think may be more suited to your brand of...work ethics."
"Indeed, thank you."
"Oh anything for the cause," Thompson says politely, he smiles, he shakes Mr Jones hand.
Skin, Gabriel, Peter/Sylar, PG-13 ('Have a Nice Day,' Peter/Sylar for
capn_mactastic)
"Have a nice day." Gabriel still offers the words even when he knows he doesn't mean them and the people that leave the shop in such a hurry probably don't care.
He doesn't look up again until he registers movement.
"Can I help-"
Peter Petrelli is a long shape against the edge of the counter, fingers sliding curiously over the glass. Which is unexpected and for a long moment Gabriel is not sure what to say.
"Sylar's not here," Gabriel says awkwardly, as if Peter couldn't tell from the heavy lines of his glasses and the clothes he's wearing, as if he couldn't tell the moment Gabriel looked at him.
He's also aware that he makes it sound as if Sylar's stepped out to run an errand, as if Peter could perhaps find him somewhere else if he was wont to look.
Peter smiles, an awkward smile, a smile that you give to someone you don't know very well, and something about that hurts probably more than it should. It's crooked, far too high on one side, and it shouldn't look half as perfect as it manages to.
Gabriel looks at the table instead. Because even if Peter does not know him, Gabriel knows him better than he might think.
He knows Peter in what he leaves behind.
Peter, who leaves bruises painted across his skin, scattered marks shaped liked fingers that Gabriel has learned to carefully hide with clothes far too well. Bites that will fade to red come morning, harder ones shading to purple dents in his flesh that look jarringly foreign against his skin. That Gabriel can feel if he presses, that he spends far too long looking at.
Peter who once pushed his back into the hall mirror hard enough to leave a spiderweb of cuts across his left shoulder. Cuts that were frustratingly complicated to dress and made intricate work...complicated for days.
Peter who sometimes even leaves him with an utterly obscene ache that tells him Peter is perfectly capable of making Sylar submit.
Though Peter, has never, ever, touched him.
But Gabriel wishes, desperately, that he would.
Division, Gabriel/Sylar, NC-17 ('Ow,' Gabriel/Sylar for
capn_mactastic)
No power Sylar has ever had to assimilate hurt like this.
Though he's never been split in half before, never voluntary let himself be, literally, torn in two. Like a fucking amoeba. Human division, it turns out, is excruciatingly painful.
The carpet swims in and out of vision and he thinks he might throw up, or have a seizure, or possibly both.
If this kills him it will be a great fucking irony.
He's a lot colder when he wakes up again, cold and naked. Skin slippery wet, he feels like someone flayed him and put it back wrong.
And someone is touching him, he can feel fingers on the side of his arm, curious.
He opens his eyes...and finds himself staring at his own face.
No, not his own face, there's something softer, something quieter. Gabriel.
It's...unexpected, when he'd weighed the pros and cons of having two of himself he'd never considered that the other might be...closer to the beginning.
He lifts a hand and Gabriel eyes it cautiously, twitches just a little when it settles on his face. But Sylar knows that face, knows it maybe better than the one he wears now.
The room stops its lurching, and the freezing shivers going up and down his spine ease.
Which makes an absurd sort of sense. It's like phantom pain, or phantom shock. Only this is not a limb this is something worse, something stranger.
When he takes his hand away it's worse, much worse, until Gabriel slithers close enough to shove his face into Sylar's throat and the sensation is-
Gabriel's back is slippery under his hand, and he has no idea how they split but he suspects there is no putting them back together.
He's stroking before he realises it, awkward pulls of his hand that mean nothing and have no purpose. But Gabriel sighs into his neck, hair shifting against his jaw, and it's familiar in a way that's ridiculous, because this should be strange should be-. One shift in equal and opposite directions and they're breathing into each other.
Gabriel's mouth is softer than his own, and Sylar isn't even sure how this is possible, it's just true and it's curious, curious enough that he pushes just a little harder.
Gabriel goes very still and for a second Sylar thinks he will refuse him, but then there's a shaking exhale and Gabriel just opens all the way under him, like he could rejoin them like this.
But they're seperate now and it's physically impossible to get closer, to get inside-
But then of course, it occurs to Sylar that it's not, and though the thought is briefly jarring, the way Gabriel's fingers slide and catch against the skin of his waist tell him that maybe it isn't just him that's thinking it, not just thinking even, but sliding helplessly, inevitably, towards it.
Sylar drags Gabriel closer, hands too tight on his waist and he knows he's kissing him in a way that's greedy now, in a way that's just a fraction too far into demand. But Gabriel opens for him without question, just shivers and lets Sylar slide up between his thighs, lets him drag them open and press him into the carpet with body weight and intent.
It's awkward, and not slippery enough and Gabriel makes a noise that's deep and wounded but doesn't tell him to stop, doesn't protest.
Sylar leans over him, leans into him and Gabriel's breath shudders out of him in a long groan, eyes slightly stunned, unwilling to look at his own until Sylar tugs his jaw round, makes him.
That's the moment it stops being about wholeness and becomes something else, something far more complicated.
Syrup, Jack/Ten, PG-13 (Jack/Ten, fingers, maple syrup for
peppery_lime)
"Jack get your fingers out of the maple syrup," the Doctor chastises from under the console. Though how he even knows what Jack is doing is a mystery.
Jack is starting to suspect the Tardis is sharing his secrets.
"Do you have any idea how tempting this is?"
He doesn't entirely mean the sticky golden confection either, because the view he has is pretty...
Well it's pretty.
The Doctor's shirt and waistcoat have slithered up in his enthusiasm, and now every time he attempts anything even slightly strenuous there's a bare and very distracting curve of skin.
"I'm using it to lubricate the crystals, they like the sugar."
"Could you not use the term 'lubricate' in a sentence while still expecting me to help you in any sort of intelligent way?"
"I thought you loved to protest that you're more than just your hormones?"
Jack considers his view.
"Yeah, about that, I think someone ratted me out to the universe."
The Doctor makes an unimpressed noise, does something that makes the hollow of his stomach do very interesting things.
"Is there the slightest chance I could get away with painting you with maple syrup?"
There's quickly stifled laughter and something sparks, but it's not a 'no.'
Jack is encouraged by the fact that it's not a 'no.'
He puts his fingers back into the bowl and once they're sufficiently sticky he leaves a trail across the twitching skin of the Doctor's stomach.
"If that gets on my shirt-"
Jack remedies that by opening both shirt and waistcoat as far as the Doctor's reaching arms will allow and then there's just skin.
Sweet and sticky smooth under Jack's tongue, giving on every long slide.
Something sparks under the console again, but there's no great rush to make it stop.
Jack suspects he has officially become 'a distraction' which he can't help but not be sorry about at all.
He chases the curling trail lower, over the sharp curve of a hipbone, tongue recklessly sliding beneath the waist of the Doctor's pinstripe trousers.
There's a very long pause which seems to be considering, then what Jack is pushed to describe as an exhale of surrender.
"You're going to get my trousers sticky."
And of course Jack can help with that, fingers catching on the sharp button, he's nothing if not considerate.
Heroes/RPS, Plans, Peter/Gerard, PG-13 (Peter/Gerard, invisible concert meeting, for
peppery_lime)
Claire is on watch, she's supposed to be on the lookout for fans, security, or possibly other band members. This is the one thing she wasn't expecting. She has no contingency plan for this.
Nathan looks annoyed, he looks annoyed and harassed and very unhappy.
"Alright, where is he?"
"Where's who?"
"Peter, where's Peter?"
Claire makes a face, and certainly doesn't attempt to cover the door behind her with a variety of subtle arm movements.
"Peter? Er, I don't- I haven't seen him."
Clearly her subtlety sucks because Nathan scowls at her, scowls harder until she's forced to move.
Nathan drags the door open.
Claire attempts to look surprised.
Nathan clears his throat, then clears it again.
Peter does eventually drag himself away. He has lipstick smeared up one cheek,
"Nathan, hi!" Nathan doesn't look impressed.
Claire debates whether waving at Gerard will make her look like a total dork.
She does it anyway...he waves back.
"We're leaving," Nathan says simply.
Peter rolls his eyes and reluctantly reclaims his hands.
"You do know I'm not sixteen right?"
Nathan does his glare of 'oh you are in a serious amount of trouble whether you're sixteen or not.' Peter sighs and shuffles out of the doorway.
One slip of hand and the cold plastic of a CD case is tucked into the back of his jeans, making him inhale sharply through laughter.
He's still laughing when Nathan drags him away.
"Are we going to have the 'no using your invisibility to get backstage' talk again?"
"I wasn't invisible much- do you know who that was?"
"Yes, I've seen him on TV, you're still in trouble."
"Umm, am I in trouble too," Claire asks. "Cos I wasn't doing anything."
"Yes Claire, you're in trouble too."
"Awh crap!"
Restraint, Mohinder/Jessica, PG-13 (Mohinder/Jessica, tied down, for
trascendenza)
Mohinder woke up lying down. Which, considering the last thing he remembered was carrying a tray of blood samples, was very disconcerting.
Niki- no the other one, Jessica was a sprawl of pale blonde arrogance over his legs and attempting to lift his arms resulted in nothing but a tight squeak of leather and pressure on his wrists.
"It's not fun is it?" She said carefully, and she sounded entirely too amused.
She'd strapped him down in her own bed.
"I was trying to free you," Mohinder said angrily.
Jessica raised her hands pointedly.
"And I am free, no thanks to my other half. Who's developing a rather annoying streak of persecuted martyrdom."
She lifted a hand, smacked him sharply on the side of the face in a way that was hard and painful, but the smile suggested she could, if necessary, do it much harder.
"You really are much too pretty to leave tied up where anyone could come along and-" Jessica's mouth opened in a slash of a smile. "Abuse you."
One hand, warm and sharp fingered, slithered under the edge of his shirt.
"Don't."
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
"Or what? You'll dazzle me with science." It was impossible to pull away from her, and all his attempt gained him was a laugh and a long, slow lean, until blonde hair covered the front of his shirt.
"You really are much too pretty." She caught the edge of his jaw, dragged it up far enough to kiss him, and his instinctive pull against her was met by a dig of fingers and a breath of laughter against his mouth.
"Much as I would love to stay and play..." the fingers under his shirt slipped lower, dipped in his belt and tugged pointedly. "Maybe break you a little, I have some escaping to do."
She slithered off of him.
"I'm sure someone will untie you...eventually."
It Must Be The Company, Claude/Bennet, R (Claude/Bennet, taser!porn for
fantasticpants)
"Will you stop fiddling with it, you'll probably break it."
"I have some confidence in my ability to handle technology without-"
Fzzzt!
"Fucking hell Bennet!" Claude is not happy with being randomly electrocuted, not happy at all. "Will you watch where you're swinging that bloody thing. Though I wouldn't put it past you to have done that on purpose. What you feel I've done to deserve electric torture god only knows."
"Electric torture?" Bennet raises an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Claude says fiercely.
"The electric torture seems to have given you an erection," Bennet points out rather blandly.
"It's the body's reaction to having an electric current shoved through it." Claude snatches the thing out of his hand. "I could demonstrate if you like?"
Bennet sways back out of reach. "I ah, don't think that would be necessary."
Claude pokes him with the business end and Bennet peers down his nose at it with the vague air of a man who already expects to get electrocuted.
A slightly harder jab makes him inhale.
"I should," Claude says roughly, and really it's not hard to corner Bennet between chest and wall. "I should see how amusing you look with stupid hair and electricity dancing round those ridiculously shiny shoes of yours."
Claude presses in a little closer, and discovers something that makes him raise an eyebrow.
"You haven't been shocked yet and you're still hard." Claude gives one sharp smile, then flicks Bennet's jacket open and drags his shirt out of his pants.
Bennet doesn't protest when Claude goes to work on his pants themselves.
"Are you going to put that down?" Bennet asks carefully, head tipping towards the matte black gun Claude is still holding.
Claude shakes his head. "No."
Bennet swallows roughly and manages a look that utterly fails to be impassive.
Claude drags his shirt out of the way and pushes a hand down into his pants, Bennet exhales when Claude wraps a hand round him.
"You know I'm going to shock you when you come," Claude says conversationally and Bennet's head smacks into the wall, Claude didn't even think he could make noises that high.
But now Claude's promised it seems only polite to see it through.
He shifts Bennet's shirt out of the way and lays the cold metal prongs against the soft edge of Bennet's waist.
The skin jumps sharply, either under the cold or the threat, and Bennet swears under his breath and makes a noise which curls all the way under Claude's skin. He decides this has promise, and really he's just devious enough to not feel guilty, especially when Bennet is so...vocally accommodating.
It's easy to make his breathing ragged, to press and shift the metal against his waist as encouragement, and Claude is not above a little encouragement when Bennet strays close enough, his throat tastes like sweat and aftershave and he can feel the ragged jump of pulse right up to the edge.
Then he presses the button.
Conversations, Nathan/Bennet, PG-13 (Nathan/Bennet, big gay fight, for
fantasticpants)
This is the first time in Nathan's life he's regretted wearing expensive ties.
Because Bennet has got a hand under his and is enthusiastically trying to choke the life out of him. Nathan suspects his neck will rip before the tie does.
"It will be someone her own age, someone trustworthy."
Nathan wants to have an opinion but Bennet is not making that easy. He smacks him in the throat and Bennet staggers backwards, and he's briefly the one relearning how to breathe.
"Someone dull!" Nathan chokes out. "Someone unafraid to take risks, and exactly how long do you think it'll be before Claire finds that trustworthiness stifling- "
Nathan had further points to make but Bennet is endeavouring to shove his head into the grass.
Nathan retaliates by dragging his shirt all the way up the back and ripping it all the way up one seam.
They're totally oblivious to the fact that they're being watched from the doorway.
"Is this a father thing?" Claire says carefully.
"No dear, it's a man thing."
"Do we get on TV if people think Dad's having an affair with a famous politician?"
"Lyle!" Sandra says sharply.
Accessories, Nathan/Matt, PG-13 (Nathan/Matt, gun of hotness, for
trascendenza) Spoilery for 2.05
"I'm sorry," Matt says carefully when they get back to the car, because in all the chaos and fury he'd forgotten.
"About what?"
Matt gestures. "The bloody nose."
Nathan frowns, lifts a hand and touches the wet line against his upper lip. He makes a noise like he didn't notice.
"You apologise about everything don't you." There's a curious amusement to the words. Matt isn't sure whether he should be insulted or not. Instead he finds something else to focus on, like the fact that Nathan has stolen his father's shotgun and is now carrying it across his lap.
"You think we might need that?"
Nathan shrugs. "Never know do you."
"Or do you just want to hold it?"
Nathan's eyes narrow ever so slightly.
"Quit readin' my mind."
"Actually I wasn't then." Matt says carefully.
"Are you reading it now?"
"No-" Matt sighs. "Yes, sorry, again and also that‘s kind of graphic."
Nathan eyes him, and then thinks something-
"I'm not allowed to take them home you know, and no, and jesus!"
Nathan shrugs again.
"So can I-"
"Yes," Matt says simply. "You can keep it. If you try not to...think about it on the journey back."
Appreciation, Hiro/Kensei, R (Hiro/Kensei, for
airspaniel)
Denying Kensei alcohol made him seek out other methods of entertainment. Methods which, apparently, involved the removal of clothing and oh-
Hiro has his hands buried so deep in the grass he's grinding mud under his fingernails. But better there than- better there than where they seem to want to be.
Because he couldn't do that, not while Kensei is- while he's...doing that.
Hiro accidentally looks.
"Oh!" He can't look at that, he can't watch that, not without a rambling collection of words escaping that seem to be a jumble of pleas not to stop doing that, and enthusiasm that he is doing that, and then a vague embarrassed collection of noises when he can't actually use the words.
And sometimes he just apologises for rambling.
Kensei slides off of him and he makes a quiet noise of distress.
"I'm sorry, I was rambling, I'm sorry, I'll stop," he hopes he doesn't look as pitiful as he sounds, but he suspects he might look worse.
"Yes, about that," Kensei balances his jaw on the rounded edge of Hiro's hipbone. "The rambling I don't mind, the rambling is very encouraging actually. It's just, do you think you could possibly be appreciative in English."
Hiro blinks.
"In English?"
"If you could," Kensei uses the hopeful look. It's much more affective from this angle. Hiro finds himself nodding in a vague sort of way.
"Ok."
Sensible, Jack/Ianto, PG-13 (Jack/Ianto, Bunny ears and fluffy tail, for
scifichicx)
When Ianto brings coffee into his office at quarter to nine Jack gives him a careful onceover.
"Nice outfit."
"What outfit sir?" Ianto's voice is perfectly bland. He's giving the bunny ears and fluffy tail a strange dignity. It's kind of hot, in a sort of sensible way.
"Did Owen fall for that?"
"He's checking the hallucinogens as we speak."
"You're devious you know."
"I like to think so, when necessary."
Jack's still eyeing the additions to Ianto's sensible suit. They have possibilities.
"Unfortunately they have a habit of falling off if you attempt anything strenuous."
"Strenuous?"
"Yes sir."
Jack very carefully took hold of the bottom of his waistcoat.
"I think we can work around that."
Peanuts, Cupid/Strife, R (Cupid/Strife, peanut butter, feather for
peppery_lime)
Peering over a wing confirms that Cupid is asleep.
Which seems more than excuse enough for misbehaviour. The sliding click of an opening jar abruptly makes the entire temple smell like peanuts.
"If you even think of putting that where it's not supposed to go..." Cupid warns through a voice which doesn't sound sleepy at all.
"I was thinking, but I wasn't gonna do," Strife says, not entirely honestly.
Cupid smacks him in the face with a wing, leaving one single feather in his spiky hair. Strife leaves it there for effect.
"So no peanut butter," he slithers a little closer. "Can I put my tongue in your ass instead?"
Cupid makes an altogether less annoyed noise and spreads his legs.
Encouragement, Matt/Nathan, PG-13 (Matt/Nathan for
liritarofrohan) Spoilery for 2.05
"So, earlier, you projected a thought at me." The way Nathan says it, it's more of an accusation.
"Yeah, yeah I did, I guess."
"I thought you said you couldn't do that?"
"I can't- I couldn't, before." Matt runs his hands over his face.
"Try it again,"
"What?"
"You wanna see whether you can do it, try again."
Matt shakes his head, and Nathan's still looming, still wandering their hotel room like some sort of restless animal.
"Fine but could you stop or sit, or something that's really distracting."
Nathan gives him a look, drags the other chair closer and sits in it, he doesn't look happy though.
"Right so..." Nathan waves a hand. "Project something."
He tries, he really does, and it doesn't help that Nathan's smirking at his effort.
You look really stupid when you do that Parkman
"Yes, thank you that's helping a lot," he says tartly.
He can't do it, he can't. Nathan's still watching him with an expression that's a mixture of amused and unimpressed. It's an expression Matt's had to put up with a lot.
"I can't do it!" Matt throws his hands up. "Maybe it's the adrenaline, or something. Maybe I need to be in fear for my life, or angry, or-"
"Oh for god's sake!"
Nathan moves, moves quickly and then- ok then he's kissing him.
And this is not a 'let's do our part for science' kiss. It's wet, aggressive, pushy and Matt has never, never been kissed like this before.
God you're good at this, really fucking good at this.
That's because you open up all the way Parkman.
Matt pulls out of the kiss, because jesus that's really- that's really intimate.
He clears his throat, clears it again.
"Ok, so that worked too."
"You think?"
Nathan's mouth is wet, Nathan's mouth is red and Matt cannot stop looking at it.
"Ok, so yeah, could you go and play with your shotgun or something."
Nathan rolls his eyes, stands up. "You might want to practice that," he says, before disappearing through the other door.
Matt breathes into his own hand, and furiously does not picture Nathan Petrelli naked.
"I heard that." Nathan calls from the other bedroom.
Oh for fuck's sake!
Change of Plans, John Winchester/Andy Gallagher, NC-17 (John Winchester + lipstick, for
harem_ent)
John had originally given the lipstick the glare of death. Andy had pointed out that his current outfit had not qualified as a disguise. John had protested at the word 'disguise' in a quiet and brooding way.
John Winchester is a hard man to have an argument with.
Mostly you argued, he looked stern and you ended up doing what he wanted anyway.
And if he was going to be brutally honest, Andy was too afraid to use the voice on him. Andy was too afraid to even think about using the voice on him.
It might have saved them some problems though because the thing about dirty bars out in the middle of nowhere that have lipstick as a dress code- yeah they tend to be full of inccubi, succubi, whatever-the-hell-bi.
Mostly Andy hid under a pool table while John shot things because they seemed to be immune to his brand of persuasion.
Turns out there's a reason you weren't supposed to spray their blood around though and now John...John is a problem.
John is painting red lipstick ringed bites up the side of his neck.
"Stop kissing me! Mr- Winchester stop kissing me, stop doing that! Stop it damn it!" It's not working. "Stop kissing me, god you're going to be mad as hell when you come down-"
The voice isn't working, because maybe sex whammy trumps mind whammy and this is really fucked up.
John Winchester tastes like lipstick, wet, bitter and waxy, smeared across Andy's top lip and he suspects, from the rough thumb dragging his mouth open, all the way down his chin as well.
"Oh jesus." Because John is kind of hot, and that thought isn't helping at all, not at all.
There's pointed pressure on his shoulder, and though he doesn't say a word there's a clear 'on your knees damn it' about the pressure, and Andy can't do anything but slither down under it.
He thinks he should definitely say no, he should say no now, before he's actually, actually-
It might be more convincing if he wasn't dragging John's belt open with stupidly clumsy fingers and really of all the people to be giving an unexpected blow job to this is kind of scary, and kind of hot, but jesus mostly scary.
But he's groaning through every pull of fabric, until John gets impatient, tangles a hand in his hair-
His mouth is full, full and not wet enough for this, and he's making the effort all the same because the hand in his hair is just coaxing him down in sharp little pushes and it's the dirtiest thing he's ever done. No fucking question.
He's fairly sure there's already a scribbled addendum next to his name 'death by Winchester.'
Cooperation and Chocolate, Zelenka/Ten, PG (Zelenka/Ten, porn, medical text books, Cadbury's Dairy Milk for
miss_zedem)
"I'm really sorry about your puddle jumper, usually the Tardis is very good about not landing 'on' other ships."
The Doctor is currently sprawled across the seats inside, devouring chocolate and peering through the netting beside him that could contain anything from emergency rations, to advanced weaponry to porn. It all depends who'd been in here last.
Zelenka shrugs vaguely from where he's replacing cracked crystals.
"Fixing the puddle jumpers, it's something we do, often, repeatedly, the practice is good for us."
The Doctor gestures at the contents of his lap. "And it was nice that your doctor gave me some medical textbooks so I could learn about your species."
"Which was about the time he noticed you were eating Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate."
"Yes, I think I upset him a little when I told him I got it from Tescos. But disappointing people's expectations is sometimes fun."
"Then you refused to let Rodney look in your ship."
"She's very temperamental at the moment, it would have been awkward if she'd returned your chief science officer as a six year old."
"Awkward and yet possibly entertaining," Zelenka points out.
"Very true, still I feel perhaps a little bit bad that he stormed off."
Zelenka slithers out from under the many dangling wires.
"I do not think that was entirely because you denied him advanced technology. I think, perhaps, it was because you were flaunting the chocolate."
The lack of a Tescos in the Pegasus galaxy was clearly a worse hardship than first thought.
"It is very good chocolate, I suspect eating it in any company would be considered 'flaunting'" Most of it has melted on the Doctor's fingers and he's being unnecessarily intent about removing it.
"Especially given the way you are eating it-" Zelenka says, and uses an eyebrow to great effect.
"Are you accusing me of eating it in a deliberately flirtatious way?"
"Yes."
The Doctor attempts not to look smug and fails utterly.
"You, I think, are more trouble than you look," Zelenka tells him. The Doctor grins at him and proffers a square of chocolate in long narrow fingers.
"I'm totally worth it though."
It really is very good chocolate.
Obedience, Jack/Ianto, NC-17 (Jack/Ianto, dangerous Jack, for
scifichicx)
Ianto can be obedient when necessary, he can be wordless and prepared and pliant when necessary.
He's in Jack's office, leant against the desk, suit folded neatly on Jack's chair. It's all so very efficient. Ianto never misses a chance to be efficient, and there's a lot to be said for efficiency. It's one of the things Jack's grateful for.
Still, Jack likes him like this too, all kinds of pretty nakedness and half open mouth. Did he ever shut his mouth? Honestly it was like he was always waiting for someone to take advantage of it, and people said he was orally fixated.
Jack strips his shirt off without speaking, he's less careful with the rest of his clothes, less careful with where and how they fall.
Ianto skin is already cool under the air conditioning, he's been here long enough to have lost his warmth. Jack uses his waist to press him back into the desk, to pin him there, pale against the grey steel, inhaling sharply at the press of metal into his bare skin.
He's easy, always so easy, bending without question, opening without having to be asked.
Because he knows when Jack isn't in the mood to push, when he doesn't want to smile and charm and work for it, when he just wants in a way that's hot and greedy.
Ianto's bare foot catches on the edge of the desk and the drawer is close enough to drag open, to ransack in quick impatient movements until Jack has what he wants.
Ianto moves under him, knee shifting, sliding up and making it easy, making it so easy.
Jack is tempted to punish him for it. Perhaps he wanted those tiny slices of roughness, the sharply indrawn breath when Jack drags his thighs open just a little harder than necessary.
But he resists and simply opens him with slick fingers. Ianto lets him, lets him between short, quiet breaths and soft little noises that Jack knows he could make louder if he wanted to. Knows he could make hurt.
He's tempted, he's very tempted...
But when he pushes into him he makes it slow, makes it slow enough that he can feel everything, every long shiver that curls up the back of Ianto's thigh, every drag of breath, every stretch that makes his throat flex in a swallow.
There are no words, and when Jack leans in, hands flat on the shining surface of the desk, Ianto takes his weight, takes his weight under a quiet breathless groan.
"Louder," Jack says roughly. "I want to hear you."
The sounds shivers out louder than before, broken when Jack pushes in harder than before.
"Say my name," he says quietly and Ianto does...because a good assistant is nothing if not obedient.
Holster, Don/Colby, NC-17 (Ian and Colby, gossip, for
fredbassett - in which I stretch a prompt to breaking point for the cause!)
Colby's not exactly a lightweight but Don's had training, he knows how to pin a man, know how to use his body weight and leverage to his advantage.
"So, " Don says conversationally against the back of Colby's neck. "I hear around the office that you've been paying particular attention to Edgerton the last couple of days."
Which is a pretty strange thing to point out considering what Don's hand is currently doing.
"You don't always watch Edgerton because he's hot y'know." Colby offers.
"Uh huh." A bare hand slides up his back. "Only sometimes he looks back. David thinks he's fucking you. I just told him you're easily distracted."
"I am not easily distracted," Colby says roughly, touch of annoyance under the words.
One hard pointed press of fingers on his back and Don's hand is gone.
"Stay there!" Don says roughly and he slides away completely, leaving Colby leant over the desk. Colby doesn't move, doesn't question, doesn't do anything but swallow and breathe on the wood.
There's a rasp of fabric, and a wet plastic click that's brutally familiar.
The bare thigh that slides back between his own ends in canvas and hard clips.
"Oh jesus," Colby says helplessly. "Oh jesus christ."
"Do you want me to fuck you like this?" Colby barely has enough air to breathe let alone speak. "Do you?"
Don shifts closer and the clips press into the back of Colby's thigh, hard and fastened so tightly round Don's thighs he can feel the shift and flex of muscle. Oh god he's not going to survive this.
One hand flattens between his shoulder blades and shoves. Colby's left breathing into the table, wood cold against his chest, against his stomach, against the hot length of his cock, and it just makes him groan sharply, bursts of condensation pluming the wood.
"Say it."
"Jesus fucking christ Don!"
"I can take it off again?"
"No! Fuck me like this." Colby says it all in one breath, and it's barely out before Don is close and hot and, god inside.
Don holds him where he's bent, pushes deeper, one hard press that's too quick and too greedy to be comfortable but fuck it's good. And every shift brings the long curves of material into contact with his skin.
Which is both the filthiest and most delicious thing Colby has ever felt.
Shove of canvas against Colby's bare ass and he's groaning like he can't stop, long thick groans that break every time Don goes deep.
He's so fucking close, so close, closer still when Don's hands slide up his back and curl round his shoulders, making everything tight and quick.
When he comes it drags all the air out of him in one long groan, and he can't hear a thing and Don is briefly really fucking enthusiastic and then his face is on the wood and he kind of doesn't remember falling there.
A very long second later, Don's forehead smacks into his shoulder blade.
Colby is still groaning quietly half a minute later.
"Don't say I never give you anything," Don says breathlessly.
Enthusiasm, Thompson/Ianto, PG-13 (Thompson/Ianto and or Jack, crack!porn for
mossymermaid) I didn't get much porn in but the crack was just too tempting to resist.
"So, Mr Jones, what makes you think you have the qualities I'm looking for?"
Thompson steeples his fingers, eyes Ianto over them. His resume is incredibly impressive, astonishingly so in fact. Experience in a variety of fields, some highly specialised others curiously abstract and yet sought after, if you knew what you were looking for.
"Any qualities I do not have that you think would prove useful I am sure I could...aquire," Ianto supplies.
Thompson raises an eyebrow.
"Indeed, and you left your last position because?"
"I thought a change of pace after the invasion of blood sucking space weevils."
Thompson nods.
"Yes, I vaguely recall hearing about that on the news, nasty."
"Indeed."
"And you clearly have boundless enthusiasm, which I'm sure you could demonstrate."
"Would you like me to demonstrate now?"
Thompson smiles. "I think I most certainly would Mr Jones."
Ianto very slowly unknots his tie.
"I can most certainly do that."
Ianto demonstrates his enthusiasm over the desk and against the door, and in the chair, and when they break the chair against the wall instead.
He continues to be enthusiastic right up until Thompson begs- tells him to stop.
He manages to retake his seat and look utterly flawless in under two minutes.
It takes Thompson that long to stop breathing like he's about to die.
He's already mentally cancelling all the other interviews.
"And that's on demand?"
"Yes, up to sixteen times."
"A week?"
"Daily," Ianto says flatly and Thompson suspects he's as close as he's ever come to actually having a heart attack.
"Who exactly did you work for?" Thompson asks, once he's sure he can speak again.
"Captain Jack Harkness."
Thompson has scattered paperwork everywhere.
"Hmm," he says simply. He takes out his pen and writes a short letter, puts it in an envelope and writes 'Kaito Nakamura' on the outside.
"I'm sending you to someone who I think may be more suited to your brand of...work ethics."
"Indeed, thank you."
"Oh anything for the cause," Thompson says politely, he smiles, he shakes Mr Jones hand.
Skin, Gabriel, Peter/Sylar, PG-13 ('Have a Nice Day,' Peter/Sylar for
capn_mactastic)
"Have a nice day." Gabriel still offers the words even when he knows he doesn't mean them and the people that leave the shop in such a hurry probably don't care.
He doesn't look up again until he registers movement.
"Can I help-"
Peter Petrelli is a long shape against the edge of the counter, fingers sliding curiously over the glass. Which is unexpected and for a long moment Gabriel is not sure what to say.
"Sylar's not here," Gabriel says awkwardly, as if Peter couldn't tell from the heavy lines of his glasses and the clothes he's wearing, as if he couldn't tell the moment Gabriel looked at him.
He's also aware that he makes it sound as if Sylar's stepped out to run an errand, as if Peter could perhaps find him somewhere else if he was wont to look.
Peter smiles, an awkward smile, a smile that you give to someone you don't know very well, and something about that hurts probably more than it should. It's crooked, far too high on one side, and it shouldn't look half as perfect as it manages to.
Gabriel looks at the table instead. Because even if Peter does not know him, Gabriel knows him better than he might think.
He knows Peter in what he leaves behind.
Peter, who leaves bruises painted across his skin, scattered marks shaped liked fingers that Gabriel has learned to carefully hide with clothes far too well. Bites that will fade to red come morning, harder ones shading to purple dents in his flesh that look jarringly foreign against his skin. That Gabriel can feel if he presses, that he spends far too long looking at.
Peter who once pushed his back into the hall mirror hard enough to leave a spiderweb of cuts across his left shoulder. Cuts that were frustratingly complicated to dress and made intricate work...complicated for days.
Peter who sometimes even leaves him with an utterly obscene ache that tells him Peter is perfectly capable of making Sylar submit.
Though Peter, has never, ever, touched him.
But Gabriel wishes, desperately, that he would.
Division, Gabriel/Sylar, NC-17 ('Ow,' Gabriel/Sylar for
capn_mactastic)
No power Sylar has ever had to assimilate hurt like this.
Though he's never been split in half before, never voluntary let himself be, literally, torn in two. Like a fucking amoeba. Human division, it turns out, is excruciatingly painful.
The carpet swims in and out of vision and he thinks he might throw up, or have a seizure, or possibly both.
If this kills him it will be a great fucking irony.
He's a lot colder when he wakes up again, cold and naked. Skin slippery wet, he feels like someone flayed him and put it back wrong.
And someone is touching him, he can feel fingers on the side of his arm, curious.
He opens his eyes...and finds himself staring at his own face.
No, not his own face, there's something softer, something quieter. Gabriel.
It's...unexpected, when he'd weighed the pros and cons of having two of himself he'd never considered that the other might be...closer to the beginning.
He lifts a hand and Gabriel eyes it cautiously, twitches just a little when it settles on his face. But Sylar knows that face, knows it maybe better than the one he wears now.
The room stops its lurching, and the freezing shivers going up and down his spine ease.
Which makes an absurd sort of sense. It's like phantom pain, or phantom shock. Only this is not a limb this is something worse, something stranger.
When he takes his hand away it's worse, much worse, until Gabriel slithers close enough to shove his face into Sylar's throat and the sensation is-
Gabriel's back is slippery under his hand, and he has no idea how they split but he suspects there is no putting them back together.
He's stroking before he realises it, awkward pulls of his hand that mean nothing and have no purpose. But Gabriel sighs into his neck, hair shifting against his jaw, and it's familiar in a way that's ridiculous, because this should be strange should be-. One shift in equal and opposite directions and they're breathing into each other.
Gabriel's mouth is softer than his own, and Sylar isn't even sure how this is possible, it's just true and it's curious, curious enough that he pushes just a little harder.
Gabriel goes very still and for a second Sylar thinks he will refuse him, but then there's a shaking exhale and Gabriel just opens all the way under him, like he could rejoin them like this.
But they're seperate now and it's physically impossible to get closer, to get inside-
But then of course, it occurs to Sylar that it's not, and though the thought is briefly jarring, the way Gabriel's fingers slide and catch against the skin of his waist tell him that maybe it isn't just him that's thinking it, not just thinking even, but sliding helplessly, inevitably, towards it.
Sylar drags Gabriel closer, hands too tight on his waist and he knows he's kissing him in a way that's greedy now, in a way that's just a fraction too far into demand. But Gabriel opens for him without question, just shivers and lets Sylar slide up between his thighs, lets him drag them open and press him into the carpet with body weight and intent.
It's awkward, and not slippery enough and Gabriel makes a noise that's deep and wounded but doesn't tell him to stop, doesn't protest.
Sylar leans over him, leans into him and Gabriel's breath shudders out of him in a long groan, eyes slightly stunned, unwilling to look at his own until Sylar tugs his jaw round, makes him.
That's the moment it stops being about wholeness and becomes something else, something far more complicated.
Syrup, Jack/Ten, PG-13 (Jack/Ten, fingers, maple syrup for
peppery_lime)
"Jack get your fingers out of the maple syrup," the Doctor chastises from under the console. Though how he even knows what Jack is doing is a mystery.
Jack is starting to suspect the Tardis is sharing his secrets.
"Do you have any idea how tempting this is?"
He doesn't entirely mean the sticky golden confection either, because the view he has is pretty...
Well it's pretty.
The Doctor's shirt and waistcoat have slithered up in his enthusiasm, and now every time he attempts anything even slightly strenuous there's a bare and very distracting curve of skin.
"I'm using it to lubricate the crystals, they like the sugar."
"Could you not use the term 'lubricate' in a sentence while still expecting me to help you in any sort of intelligent way?"
"I thought you loved to protest that you're more than just your hormones?"
Jack considers his view.
"Yeah, about that, I think someone ratted me out to the universe."
The Doctor makes an unimpressed noise, does something that makes the hollow of his stomach do very interesting things.
"Is there the slightest chance I could get away with painting you with maple syrup?"
There's quickly stifled laughter and something sparks, but it's not a 'no.'
Jack is encouraged by the fact that it's not a 'no.'
He puts his fingers back into the bowl and once they're sufficiently sticky he leaves a trail across the twitching skin of the Doctor's stomach.
"If that gets on my shirt-"
Jack remedies that by opening both shirt and waistcoat as far as the Doctor's reaching arms will allow and then there's just skin.
Sweet and sticky smooth under Jack's tongue, giving on every long slide.
Something sparks under the console again, but there's no great rush to make it stop.
Jack suspects he has officially become 'a distraction' which he can't help but not be sorry about at all.
He chases the curling trail lower, over the sharp curve of a hipbone, tongue recklessly sliding beneath the waist of the Doctor's pinstripe trousers.
There's a very long pause which seems to be considering, then what Jack is pushed to describe as an exhale of surrender.
"You're going to get my trousers sticky."
And of course Jack can help with that, fingers catching on the sharp button, he's nothing if not considerate.
Heroes/RPS, Plans, Peter/Gerard, PG-13 (Peter/Gerard, invisible concert meeting, for
peppery_lime)
Claire is on watch, she's supposed to be on the lookout for fans, security, or possibly other band members. This is the one thing she wasn't expecting. She has no contingency plan for this.
Nathan looks annoyed, he looks annoyed and harassed and very unhappy.
"Alright, where is he?"
"Where's who?"
"Peter, where's Peter?"
Claire makes a face, and certainly doesn't attempt to cover the door behind her with a variety of subtle arm movements.
"Peter? Er, I don't- I haven't seen him."
Clearly her subtlety sucks because Nathan scowls at her, scowls harder until she's forced to move.
Nathan drags the door open.
Claire attempts to look surprised.
Nathan clears his throat, then clears it again.
Peter does eventually drag himself away. He has lipstick smeared up one cheek,
"Nathan, hi!" Nathan doesn't look impressed.
Claire debates whether waving at Gerard will make her look like a total dork.
She does it anyway...he waves back.
"We're leaving," Nathan says simply.
Peter rolls his eyes and reluctantly reclaims his hands.
"You do know I'm not sixteen right?"
Nathan does his glare of 'oh you are in a serious amount of trouble whether you're sixteen or not.' Peter sighs and shuffles out of the doorway.
One slip of hand and the cold plastic of a CD case is tucked into the back of his jeans, making him inhale sharply through laughter.
He's still laughing when Nathan drags him away.
"Are we going to have the 'no using your invisibility to get backstage' talk again?"
"I wasn't invisible much- do you know who that was?"
"Yes, I've seen him on TV, you're still in trouble."
"Umm, am I in trouble too," Claire asks. "Cos I wasn't doing anything."
"Yes Claire, you're in trouble too."
"Awh crap!"