Claude coming back in canon and getting Peter out of his funk (1/5)
anonymous
November 24 2009, 07:20:38 UTC
More gen than slash, for some reason.
*
He’d like to say he came back to Peter.
As a matter of fact, he’d like to say he’d always meant to come back to Peter. That had he had a chance to, had he come to his senses earlier, had Peter not fallen out of his grasp too quickly and into that of his crap family and the tangled webs they liked so much to weave, he would’ve been there in time to save him.
He’d like to have been braver.
It was a hell of a thing to realize, really. Having gone so long without caring about other people, having learned that “braver” tended to mean “dead”, that “alive” was better, no matter how loosely what he was living could really be called a life.
But there he was. Molly squared away back in India, Abby and Lee left to their own well-earned peace, and Sparrow, that spitfire, and West, the best kind of trouble maker, ready to live their own lives but still part of his. His peopleHe had them now. He’d fought for them, would fight for them, would give for them what he hadn’t had a chance to give for
( ... )
Traveling Through 1/2
anonymous
November 6 2009, 21:06:07 UTC
It's a shove at the wall, a greet of skin to skin, and they're breathing against each other; every touch a denial of time.
Time. Time.
There's never enough. And the few moments they do have are given to fate, a new Company, a new world. Because they're allies in this war and they're defenders of their kind. And now they're stumbling into a stall, slamming the door behind them. A lock is found, secured. A dull barrier but it's more than what they've had. What they've needed.
And they've needed so much.
So much.
And Claude gasps as he's pushed back, forced to straddle porcelain and a dirty floor; gaping as a boy kneels before him, fumbles at a belt. There are no seconds to spare here for subtlety. There are no preludes, sweet. There's only desperation. And hands are quick determinations, tugging trousers down, letting them pool at knees. A cock bobs free then, leaking already, and hard. It's offered no kisses, no teasing little praises. Tempts. Instead it's simply claimed, a mouth circling round the tip and sucking. Frantic
( ... )
Re: Traveling Through 2/2
anonymous
November 6 2009, 21:09:28 UTC
And it’s an awkward rhythm, confined small, forced quiet with every stranger passing, the splash of water beyond. They’re not alone. But they’re still unseen, empathy stealing power, making himself just a shadow, just a grin. A game.
One without rules, only cheats.
Because he’s playing now with balls, chasing occasional freckles, the heavy veins. And he’s pinching at a nipple, arm sprawled long and lazy, allowing him to twist. And he’s making happy, slick noises. Loud. Well practiced.
You're gonna make me raw like this. It's cooed, pleased, between them. Won't even be able to talk when you’re done. Won't even be able to scream. And you like when I scream. Don’t you?
He does. He really does.
Bet you could make me when we get home. Bend me right over your desk. Let me come all over your paperwork. Nice gift to send to Noah, huh?
“Pete--" he begs. "Pete--”
I wonder if he’d scream...
“You--”
Maybe he’ll want to join us. Could be fun. Don’t you think?“He’s not havin’ you,” he growls, pushing reckless, swearing he almost feels a
( ... )
Part 1, Rule 63- Claudia
anonymous
November 16 2009, 04:01:46 UTC
Okay. I've never written het before. Which means I've never written porn involving the female anatomy. So I apologize in advance for this. Maybe one day I won't be too embarrassed to de-anon
( ... )
Part 2, Rule 63- Claudia
anonymous
November 16 2009, 04:03:14 UTC
Claude's only response is to glare harder, and Peter wonders for a moment how much it would hurt if Claude used his now smaller fist to punch him in the face. Really though, he was trying to ignore even considering this. But Claude kind of brought it up, and it's hard not to at least wonder
( ... )
Part 3, Rule 63- Claudia
anonymous
November 16 2009, 04:04:51 UTC
Peter lets out a quick burst of laughter, maneuvering Claude back into the bedroom and pushing him down onto the bed. He's mostly naked still, lower half completely revealed and a too big shirt hanging off his shoulder. "You really are hot like this, you know. And it's okay to joke about it now
( ... )
Comments 149
Peter/Claude, rimming.
Any kind of gen or slash: Claude coming back in canon and getting Peter out of his funk.
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*
He’d like to say he came back to Peter.
As a matter of fact, he’d like to say he’d always meant to come back to Peter. That had he had a chance to, had he come to his senses earlier, had Peter not fallen out of his grasp too quickly and into that of his crap family and the tangled webs they liked so much to weave, he would’ve been there in time to save him.
He’d like to have been braver.
It was a hell of a thing to realize, really. Having gone so long without caring about other people, having learned that “braver” tended to mean “dead”, that “alive” was better, no matter how loosely what he was living could really be called a life.
But there he was. Molly squared away back in India, Abby and Lee left to their own well-earned peace, and Sparrow, that spitfire, and West, the best kind of trouble maker, ready to live their own lives but still part of his. His peopleHe had them now. He’d fought for them, would fight for them, would give for them what he hadn’t had a chance to give for ( ... )
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Fifteen minutes in a Heathrow bathroom
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Time. Time.
There's never enough. And the few moments they do have are given to fate, a new Company, a new world. Because they're allies in this war and they're defenders of their kind. And now they're stumbling into a stall, slamming the door behind them. A lock is found, secured. A dull barrier but it's more than what they've had. What they've needed.
And they've needed so much.
So much.
And Claude gasps as he's pushed back, forced to straddle porcelain and a dirty floor; gaping as a boy kneels before him, fumbles at a belt. There are no seconds to spare here for subtlety. There are no preludes, sweet. There's only desperation. And hands are quick determinations, tugging trousers down, letting them pool at knees. A cock bobs free then, leaking already, and hard. It's offered no kisses, no teasing little praises. Tempts. Instead it's simply claimed, a mouth circling round the tip and sucking. Frantic ( ... )
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One without rules, only cheats.
Because he’s playing now with balls, chasing occasional freckles, the heavy veins. And he’s pinching at a nipple, arm sprawled long and lazy, allowing him to twist. And he’s making happy, slick noises. Loud. Well practiced.
You're gonna make me raw like this. It's cooed, pleased, between them. Won't even be able to talk when you’re done. Won't even be able to scream. And you like when I scream. Don’t you?
He does. He really does.
Bet you could make me when we get home. Bend me right over your desk. Let me come all over your paperwork. Nice gift to send to Noah, huh?
“Pete--" he begs. "Pete--”
I wonder if he’d scream...
“You--”
Maybe he’ll want to join us. Could be fun. Don’t you think?“He’s not havin’ you,” he growls, pushing reckless, swearing he almost feels a ( ... )
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Claude trying to fix the damage done by Adam's brainwashing.
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