8 - upwards to infinity

[lolitics_meme]

Welcome to our eighth prompt post.

As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:

1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real

Comments

Fill 3a/?

[anonymous]

Another book fair had come to and end and Peter was sitting in his car, a troubled look on his face while his thumbs worked the keys of his Blackberry. Suddenly a sharp rap on the window jerked him back to his senses.

Outside in the carpark, a familiar face was grinning in at him, its owner having to bend almost double just to be level with the window. Surprised, Peter scrolled down the electric window. "Fancy meeting you here," he began smoothly.

Chuckling, Alastair lent on the roof of the car and replied, "You knew I was on the bill too, you twat. Can I come in? Its so bloody cold out here."

Willingly, Peter lifted a small stack of unsold books out of the passenger seat while Alastair moved round the car and let himself in. He was chewing and smiling as he warmed up his hands on the heated seat. "How's life? Still selling any of those?" He jerked a thumb towards the unwanted copies of The Third Man.

Peter gave a haughty nod. "Actually," he smirked, "they're doing very well. Better than yours."

"Oh, forget about Blair Years, did we?" Alastair laughed and gave him an affectionate smack across the back of the head. "Still going strong, I'm afraid. Never mind, eh?"

"Tell me," said Peter tersely, "how many Bad Sex in Fiction nominations is that now? Two, three?" He jabbed a finger at Alastair and continued, "You can take the piss, my friend, but I'm still on -"

Suddenly Alastair snatched he wrist Peter's accusing hand, wrenching it forwards. Peter gasped in pain but didn't pull away, letting the other man tighten his grip in silence.

After a while, Alastair's fingers slackened and he let Peter's arm slip free back to its owner. He stared at the dashboard and chewed furiously while Peter rubbed the life back into his hand with a whistful smile. "So, ah... how's the family?"

Alastair looked up sharply. "What're you talking about?"

Bemused, Peter repeated, "You know. Your family. How's Fiona? And Grace, she must be, what, sixteen by now?"

"Um. Yeah." Alastair folded his arms uncomfortably. "To be honest, with Fiona, its getting... oh, never mind. I think I love her too much," he laughed weakly before bursting out, "Look, Peter, abot that just now -"

"Hush." Peter stroked the opaque screen of his Blackberry, apparently unconcerned. "I know. Old habits die hard, real life is full of people who don't understand, et cetera. We've all been through it."

"Really?"

"Of course." Peter gave a reassuring raise of his eyebrows. "I'd like to think that if there was something you wanted from me, you'd take it, Alastair, as ever. Or has she finally tamed you?"

All at once, two fingers were hooked around the knot of Peter's tie, abruptly forcing his head forwards. "No-one can change a fucking thing about me, understand?" Alastair snarled in his face. They watched each other for a second, both alert as cats that have sensed danger, or something delicious, or both. Then Alastair kissed Peter roughly, forcing open his mouth while maintaining the hold on his collar.

Peter mumbled and quivered in protest, but quickly gave up; he'd spent too much time longing for something like this, someone else claiming his tongue with such ferocity and arrogance. A voice in his head was screaming that it should be Reinaldo's lips on his, Reinaldo's hand raking mercilessly through his hair, but that voice dwindled rapidly as the kiss went on.

Then, as suddenly as he'd initiated it, Alastair pulled away and groaned. "No," he whispered, face resting against Peter's. "No, no, no. This is wrong."

"So wrong," Peter panted, though he couldn't help but want it back; the taste of Alastair's tongue and his strawberry chewing gum and the pressure against his own open mouth. "We both have partners. We need to get a grip."

Although he nodded, Alastair felt his hands creep lower over Peter's body, caressing his back, fingering the stitching around his belt ever so lightly. "I want this," Alastair admitted as Peter shuddered under his hands. "I want to... control someone again."