FICLETS 3a: thisside, use_theforce_em, bleedingwomble
Finally, finally, finally :D The moral of the story, kids? It might take me fucking forever, but I always do finish the fics that I promise to people ;) This is the third and final part of the celebratory ficlets thing from back in April :D
You can find 3b here.
Intercommunication- The West Wing- Josh/Donna- PG-13
Breath- Star Wars- Anakin/Obi-Wan- NC-17
Worth a Shot- Star Wars- Luke/Mara- G
Topsy-Turvy- RPS Rockslash- David Bowie/Alex Kapranos- NC-17
Title: Intercommunication
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Donna (pre-romance)
Summary/Prompt: for y2jai, who is wonderful and made icons for my character journal headonshoulders. She prompted “Josh/Donna- unexpected pregnancy”. Set in the first campaign just after Donna begins working for Josh.
Word Count: 1334
“We’re out of paper cups.”
“How can we be out of paper cups?”
Toby rolled his eyes at Josh. “Because we drank coffee out of the last five hundred and now we need more.”
“DONNA!”
Donna Moss, who had been listening to the back and forth in Josh’s office for the last ten minutes, grinned to herself as she leaned forward and pressed the large red button on the black-cased device before her.
“You know, Josh,” she said into the microphone, “this little machine here? It’s called an intercom.”
Josh stuck his head through the door and glared at her. “Yeah?”
“These amazing devices have in fact been around for many decades,” Donna said cheerfully, still speaking into the intercom, hearing her voice echoing in Josh’s office.
“As fascinating as this history lesson is-”
“And do you know what the ‘com’ part stands for?” she interrupted. She couldn’t help but find his bemused look entertaining. Clearly he wasn’t used to people overriding him. She’d change that.
“Does it stand for ‘communication’?” he said, giving in with a gusty sigh.
“It stands for ‘communication’,” she confirmed. “Intercommunication. Which means that if you need to communicate with me, you can just press that nice shiny red button in your office, and I’ll hear you out here.”
“Thereby...”
“Thereby eliminating the need to bellow at me like a common Cro-Magnon.”
He flashed her that self-assured smile of his. “But I don’t like intercoms. They’re too cold. They’re completely impersonal.”
“So screaming at me is more personal?”
“Absolutely. Besides, I’m not screaming at you, I’m screaming for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you, Josh?”
“We need more paper cups.”
“And?”
“And you need to go buy them for us.”
“Because my job description includes personal shopper?”
“Because your job description is to be my assistant. And right now it would assist me to have more cups.” He ran his fingers through his curly, disheveled hair. “Go forth. Obey my commands. Scoot.”
She held her hand out. “Keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I’m going to run your errands, I’ll need the keys to your car. I’m not taking a bus.”
Josh seemed to consider this, and Donna allowed herself a moment to look at him, covering the fact that she was openly staring by plastering an expectant, exasperated look on her face. Really, her new boss was adorable when he wasn’t being aggravating. The way his eyes flashed with mischief was wonderfully boyish and more endearing than it had any right to be.
But she knew that now was absolutely not the time to start thinking in that direction. Especially if... Well, best not to consider it just now.
“Well?” she said.
“Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“What, you don’t trust me with your precious car?”
“I’ve seen you walk into doorframes. No, I don’t trust you in moving traffic.”
She got up and shrugged her jacket on as Josh donned his trench coat. She followed him out the door, secretly delighting in the fact that instead of a briefcase, Josh Lyman slung a backpack over one shoulder as he sauntered out of the offices with that distinctively cocky walk of his.
~*~
“You know,” Donna said as Josh held the door of the 24-hour drug store open for her, “my role here is superfluous.”
Josh barely spared her a glance as he read the signs hanging above each aisle. “Excuse me?”
“You need paper cups. You got in your car and drove to a place that hopefully sells paper cups. You are going to go find them, retrieve your wallet from your back pocket, pay the cashier, and then drive back to the office, triumphant.”
He turned to look at her, a vaguely evil smile playing at the edges of his lips. “And?”
“You can do all of that by yourself!” Donna said, trying to sound annoyed until something suspiciously like a giggle escaped her. “Why do I even have to be here?”
Josh shrugged. “To tag along. You’re my new faithful sidekick, aren’t you? This is what sidekicks do.”
“I should at least get a magic lasso or an invisible airplane,” she groused as they traipsed down an aisle, past the paper towels and bandages.
“So you’re Wonder Woman?”
“Of course I am.”
He grinned. “No argument.”
She looked at him sharply, searching for any hint of sarcasm but somehow he actually sounded genuine. As they rounded the corner, something caught her eye and made her stomach flip. “Um, Josh?”
“Yep.”
“I need to... pick something up. I’ll meet you at the cash, all right?”
Josh followed her gaze. “What, you need condoms?”
“No, I don’t need condoms!”
“Okay. ‘Cause I could lend you a couple if-”
“Josh! I don’t need condoms!”
A few heads turned to look at the curiously and Josh chuckled. “What, then?”
“Just... female things, okay?”
It worked as she’d hoped. His eyes widened and he said, “Okay, meet you at the cash,” before bee-lining away from her.
“Honestly,” she muttered to herself. She made sure he’d actually gone before she went down the aisle, past the maxi pads and tampons, past the condoms, until she found herself in front of the home pregnancy kits. She bit her lip as she stared at them- why did there have to be so many?
At random, she grabbed one off the shelf, feeling distinctly sick to her stomach. Sure, she was only a week and a half late. Sure, she’d been late before. But this was scary. This was different. Now was not the time for an unexpected pregnancy, not when she was just starting at Jed Bartlet’s campaign, not when she was finally and completely broken up with The Jerk, not when-
“What ya got there?”
Donna jumped, her hands flying behind her back. “What? Nothing!”
“Donna, come on.” He feinted left and then dodged to the right, his arms reaching around her in a parody of an embrace until his hand closed over the smooth cardboard box and snatched it away from her.
“Josh!”
He stared at the box in shock. “What... Wait, are you... Are you?”
She sighed miserably. “I don’t know. That would be the point of the test.”
Josh looked from the box to Donna and back again. “This is a surprise.”
“You think?”
His brow furrowed, those lines of concentration that Donna had immediately adored forming on his forehead. “It’s... it’s okay if you are.”
That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “What?”
“If you’re pregnant. And you want to stay and work with us. It’s okay.”
She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to snap that she was just oh so pleased that he’d given her his permission to both have a baby and continue working. Instead, she felt a peculiar fluttery/melty feeling in her chest as she looked at him.
“Thanks, Josh,” she said.
He reached out and squeezed her hand briefly and then turned around and headed back toward the checkout. As they passed the condoms, he nodded toward them and said, “Future reference? You might want to invest in some of those after all.”
She smacked him in the shoulder. “Why should I? You already told me I could bum them off you.”
“One or two! If that’s all you’re going to need ever, your life is sadder than I thought it was.”
She glared at him as they arrived at the checkout, but the glare dissolved and she found herself looking at him earnestly. “Josh, I...”
“It’s okay,” he said again. “You said it yourself. There’s no reason this campaign can’t be a place to start over. That it can’t be a place for, you know, dreams and, and other things.”
“Very eloquent.”
“I try.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, firmly burying the dangerous melty feeling that was burgeoning inside her. Now was not the time for feelings like that. One day, perhaps, but right now they had a campaign to win.
Fin
Title: Breath
Rating: Pure PWPNC-17
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Anakin/Obi-Wan
Summary/Prompt: for y2jai who rocks my world and made me pretty Thorpey icons for the character journal up_two_no_good, and who asked for Anakin/Obi-Wan- training games.
Word Count: 1760
With a planet-rocking crash, the lights went out. Anakin Skywalker tensed and dropped into a crouch, hand flying to the hilt of his lightsaber.
“Be ready, but be relaxed,” a voice hissed in his ear and he whipped around, reaching out but touching nothing.
“I can hear you breathing. You’re giving yourself away,” the voice murmured in his other ear.
The flash of Anakin’s lightsaber cut a swath through the darkness but he met only air.
“Come find me,” his master’s voice echoed through the amphitheater. “Stretch out, use your senses.”
Anakin bit back a growl of frustration. Obi-Wan was teasing, as usual, diffusing his presence throughout the simulated jungle so that Anakin couldn’t pinpoint his location with the Force. He took a deep, steadying breath and extended his senses, catching tantalizing bits of Obi-Wan’s trail. He could perceive his master all around him. Slowly, surely, he began to move, treading so lightly that not even the twigs beneath his feet cracked.
“Good,” Obi-Wan whispered. “But if I was tracking you, I’d be able to find you even without the Force. Quieter, now.”
Anakin slowed his breathing down, tried to calm his pounding heart as adrenaline coursed through his body. He closed his eyes, using his mind to trace the terrain around him, the towering tropical trees, the chirruping avian species that periodically screeched through the gloom, the uneven ground, even the rocks and boulders and bits of dead branches around him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he muttered, searching for the familiar traces of his master’s presence.
“Don’t speak,” Obi-Wan’s disembodied voice instructed, and Anakin felt something brush against his arm. In a blur of motion, his lightsaber cut to pieces a dangling vine.
He bit back a frustrated curse. He was making this harder than it had to be. Switching the lightsaber off again, he allowed himself to drop into a quick, deep meditation, experiencing the landscape around him as nothing but an extension of his own body, feeling every living thing as part of himself. And... yes, just there. There he was.
Like a hunting vornskr, Anakin stalked forward soundlessly. He knew exactly where his master was, crouched in the branches of a tree not thirty feet from Anakin. Quietly, so quietly, Anakin whispered through the foliage, cutting a wide arc around Obi-Wan’s tree.
“Concentrate!” Obi-Wan rasped, clearly fooled by Anakin’s subterfuge. Anakin felt a predatory smile curl across his features at that growling tone. Springing into action, he launched himself into a backward somersault, landing on Obi-Wan’s tree branch.
But Obi-Wan was ready, lightsaber flashing out to meet his as they clashed, balancing precariously on the branch.
“I heard you take a breath before you jumped,” Obi-Wan said, his face eerily illuminated by their lightsabers. He thrust, sending Anakin into an awkward blocking position as he scrambled to keep his foothold.
“But I did find you,” Anakin said, slashing forward quickly, Obi-Wan meeting him stroke for stroke.
“You did well, young one.”
“Not so young anymore!” Anakin jumped and landed hard on the branch, sending reverberations through the wood and knocking Obi-Wan sideways off his feet. Before he fell, his master caught Anakin’s elbow. Unsteady himself from the jump, Anakin tumbled over and they both fell through the air, flailing at each other. Anakin hit the ground first, his breath rushing out of his lungs before something hard and heavy landed on top of him.
“Seems I have the upper position after all,” Obi-Wan hissed, and this time Anakin could feel his master’s beard brushing against his jaw as he spoke. An involuntary shiver ran through him and he bucked his hips upward, catching Obi-Wan and sending them tumbling sideways, grappling, until Anakin was on top. He caught the older Jedi’s wrists and pinned them to the ground, blanketing Obi-Wan’s body with his own to keep him down.
“Now who’s in the upper position?” he taunted.
He shifted a little and Obi-Wan gasped. Anakin’s victorious smile turned sinister, though it was too dark to be seen. “Well, well, Master,” he said mockingly as he felt something hard pressing against him, “perhaps being on the bottom isn’t something you want to complain about after all.”
His own body was responding to Obi-Wan’s closeness, his hard muscles and masculine scent, his presence through the Force vibrating out toward Anakin and drawing him forward. He felt a teasing pressure on his neck, the scrape of coarse hair against his sensitive flesh and he realized that Obi-Wan was pressing a biting kiss against his pulse point.
His eyes slid shut at the pleasure of it and he felt as though he was spinning, but before he could steady himself he was being constrained, Obi-Wan on top of him now.
“Never let your guard down, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “Not for anything.”
“I rather think this might be a worthwhile reason to let go,” Anakin countered.
Obi-Wan replied by capturing Anakin’s mouth in a burning kiss and the younger man’s vision clouded over with bright stars as dry, malleable lips and wet, flexible tongue moved over his mouth. Anakin groaned, opening his lips, inviting Obi-Wan in, tilting his head to give his master better access, daring him to go deeper.
With a snarl, Obi-Wan took up the challenge, grinding his hips against Anakin’s and Anakin at last became aware of his own aching arousal, the gratifying friction of Obi-Wan’s erection against his own causing him to cry out. He loved Padmé- he truly did. But this... this was something else entirely. This was perfect.
“Obi-Wan,” he gasped as his master dragged his teeth along Anakin’s jawbone.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The body above him had gone frighteningly still and with a roar, Anakin flipped them again, licking his way up Obi-Wan’s throat and finding his mouth once again. “Never,” he moaned, thrusting his hips forward. Obi-Wan met him thrust for thrust, his fingers tearing at Anakin’s robes.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Obi-Wan gasped and his crafty fingers found flesh, stroking along Anakin’s sides. Something hot and wanting flashed through Anakin, bright as a lightsaber’s blade, and he reared back, slithering out of his breeches. His erection sprang forth and a rush ran through him at the sudden sense of freedom.
“Off,” he growled as his hands found the waist of Obi-Wan’s trousers. A strange little thrill danced through Anakin as Obi-Wan complied immediately. For once, Anakin was in charge and he gloried in it.
And then hard muscle and a straining erection met his questing fingers and he wrapped his hand around it. Obi-Wan shuddered below him. “Good, Anakin. Very good.”
Anakin had never done this before, though he’d heard enough stories from Master Windu’s Padawan that he had a good working idea of how to proceed. Following the movements that he enjoyed when he pleasured himself, he began a punishing rhythm, twisting his wrist on every downward stroke, triumphing in the strangled noises escaping Obi-Wan’s throat.
“You like that, Master? What about the Jedi Code? What about letting go of passion?” he taunted as he ran his thumb lightly across Obi-Wan’s slit. “What about calmness and serenity? Do you feel very serene now?”
As he spoke, he reached out with the Force the way he’d heard it was done, feeling heat radiating off Obi-Wan’s body as he mapped its contours just as he’d done with the landscape not half an hour earlier. Exploring with his mind, he found the tight heat of Obi-Wan’s arse and used his free hand to mimic a probing motion in the air.
“Anakin!” his master gasped as he felt the movement deep within him, his hips bucking, brushing against Anakin’s own arousal.
Anakin ignored him, focusing every bit of concentration on preparing him, stretching him by moving his fingers back and forth through the air, scissoring them and twisting, using his command of the Force to create a hot slickness wherever he probed.
“That’s... some Jedi mind trick,” Obi-Wan moaned. “It feels like you’re inside me.”
“Do you want me inside you?”
Obi-Wan bent his knees and put his feet flat on the ground, pushing upward and angling his body in order to give Anakin complete access. “Yesssss.”
It felt as though that sibilant was stroking against Anakin’s cock and he groaned, aligning himself with Obi-Wan’s arse and driving in.
Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward, pressing down to meet him, and the heat that engulfed Anakin nearly caused him to pass out. He’d never felt anything like this. Now his master truly was all around him, their energy singing through the Force together as Anakin thrust, inch by inch, until he was buried deep within Obi-Wan.
“My Padawan,” Obi-Wan moaned. “Anakin. Anakin.”
The younger man gasped. He felt drunk with power as he began to thrust in and out. The way Obi-Wan contorted beneath him, his abdominal muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself angled properly as he met Anakin’s movements, felt so good, so wanton, so right, and Anakin’s pace picked up speed, his torso skating along against Obi-Wan’s, one hand bracing himself by Obi-Wan’s head, the other rhythmically pumping his master’s cock.
Their movements became more frenzied, faster and harder, a symphony of harsh groans and hissed breaths cocooning them, urging them onward. Anakin gritted his teeth as waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He didn’t want to lose control first. He wanted this to go on and on. But Obi-Wan’s self control was formidable as he fucked Anakin’s hand. Anakin changed his angle a bit and Obi-Wan actually cried out. The younger Jedi could feel the reverberations of overwhelming pleasure resonating through the Force, rocking Anakin’s consciousness and with a spasmodic cry he came, spilling himself deep inside his master.
As his movements slowed, he felt Obi-Wan tense and then with a shuddery breath he climaxed as well, as though he’d been holding out for Anakin to come first. Anakin eased himself out of Obi-Wan’s lax form and rolled onto his back, panting.
“Bastard,” he grumbled and Obi-Wan chuckled.
“You still have much to learn, my Padawan, but that was an excellent start.”
“Well. Shall we continue at the same time tomorrow then?”
“We shall.”
They lay side by side in the darkness, not touching physically though deeply connected through the Force. Tomorrow, Anakin vowed, he would exercise self-control. He would break Obi-Wan’s restraint and have him screaming Anakin’s name long before Anakin himself came. But just now he allowed himself to float in the mind-numbing bliss that had overtaken him, catching his breath once more.
Fin
Title: Worth a Shot
Rating: G
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Luke/Mara
Summary/Prompt: for use_theforce_em, who prompted Luke/Mara- pre-wedding jitters. Luke resorts to drastic measures to prove Mara’s feelings to herself.
Word Count: 1111
Mara Jade was not nervous. In her life she had been the Emperor’s Hand, a dangerous smuggler, and a full-blown Jedi; “nervous” was simply not a part of her vocabulary. She glanced across the room to the lone figure dressed in a simple black tunic and matching black breeches, reflective bits of silver in his tousled, sandy hair. Her stomach did an irritating back flip and she looked away.
She felt him approach her, radiating serenity, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone annoyingly calm, if filled with concern.
She looked up at that wonderfully familiar face, those clear blue eyes. “Nothing.”
“Mara-”
“Luke, it’s nothing!”
She surged to her feet and stomped out of the room, Luke at her heels.
“You’ve been off all day,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“Stop reading my emotions, Master Skywalker,” she jeered, her cheeks flushed.
He caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. “Mara, stop this! Please tell me what’s wrong.”
She tried to look away but found she couldn’t. “Nothing,” she said firmly. “I just...”
She couldn’t put it into words exactly, the gnawing worry that had taken up residence in her stomach, the nagging doubt that what they really had was not love at all but a connection through the Force fostered by years of first hatred and then competitiveness. What did someone like her know about love anyway? But she couldn’t say it out loud and instead she leaned forward to kiss her fiancé hard, twining her arms around his neck as her fingers ruffled through his already messy hair. He relaxed into her arms, tension evaporating away from his lithe body as he held her close, his tongue coaxing her lips open.
She let go of her worry, let go of everything but the feeling of him pressed against her, of his tongue stroking against hers, of his presence in the Force singing in harmony with her own. When they were together like this, nothing could worry her. Nothing could get to her.
He pulled back a little and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, you know,” he said quietly, caressing her cheek. Despite herself, she leaned into his touch.
He grinned impishly at her and said in a teasing falsetto, “I love you too, Luke.”
She rolled her eyes but said, “I love you too, Luke.”
“I have an idea.”
“Do you.”
“Would you mind going for a walk for a bit?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the pure, boyish joy shimmering from him because of this new idea. “What are you up to, Skywalker?”
“A surprise.”
She kissed him quickly and stepped back. “Fine. I’ll go for my morning training.”
“Excellent.”
~*~
She couldn’t sense him in their quarters as she neared the door. Her brow furrowed. Strange. She couldn’t sense anything at all. Hand on the hilt of her lightsaber, she allowed the door to open and she stepped through, tensed and ready for anything.
Or nearly everything. As she stepped into the foyer, the door swooshing shut behind her, she felt as though she’d been thrown into the vacuum of space itself, as though she was both suffocating and being hollowed out at once. The Force was gone. Something icy and horrified clutched at her heart and she dashed through their quarters, looking for some sign of Luke. She didn’t cry out, didn’t want to alert whoever had done this, had taken him, to her presence. Perhaps they were still here. Perhaps-
She stopped short when she reached their bedroom. Luke was sitting at the writing table, three ysalimiri resting peacefully on their frames.
“Luke?”
He looked up, a smile breaking across his face. “Welcome back, my love.”
“You’re not dead? You’re not being taken from me?” She crossed the room and punched him hard in the shoulder. “Are you insane? Is this your big surprise? What are you playing at?”
He stood, catching her in his arms and holding her close. “Mara! Mara, calm down. I brought the ysalimiri here for a reason.”
“Because you’ve lost your mind?” she demanded, struggling out of his embrace.
“Because I know you’ve been feeling nervous lately,” he said with that exasperating, knowing expression on his face.
“Oh?”
“Mara,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed and looking up at her imploringly. “This is frightening for me as well. Marriage. Commitment. I’m nervous too.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” she said acidly, but she sat down next to him, their shoulders brushing.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. That I won’t love you as long as I live,” he said, touching her hair gently. “And I sense... you’re worried that what we feel is no more than a connection through the Force. More about history than love.”
She opened her mouth to deny it but she couldn’t, not when he was looking at her with such honesty and innocence.
“Damn you,” she muttered, turning from him.
He wrapped his arms around her and shifted forward resting his chest against her back. “There’s no Force now, Mara. Just you and me. Tell me what you feel.”
She took a deep breath, wanting to tell him off for playing foolish games. But he was so earnest, so desperately trying to do the right thing, so very Luke that she couldn’t tell him to fuck off. And with a start, she realised that she knew exactly how she felt.
“Fine. I love you, all right? I love you. Happy now?”
He leaned forward, grazing his lips against her ear. He whispered, “Happy doesn’t begin to describe it.”
An involuntary smile graced her features and she craned her neck so that she could see those blue, blue eyes before stealing a kiss and then another. In a bustle of movement and rotation and realignment she found herself on top of him, wrapped tightly in his arms, his lips charting a legend of promise and passion and love against her throat and she let her eyes slide closed, surrendering to the insurmountable evidence that she was in love. That she was loved.
“You know,” she said, her tone strained but conversational, “maybe this marriage thing isn’t such a bad idea.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Luke agreed, rolling them onto their sides so they could lie looking at each other, neither in a dominant position.
“Hurt me and I’ll kill you.”
“All I want to do is protect you.”
She rolled her eyes. “That kind of makes me want to kill you also.”
“I’d better just shut up and kiss you then,” Luke said, and before she could agree he gathered her in his arms and did just that.
Fin
Title: Topsy-Turvy
Rating: NC-17 (Unrepentant, irredeemable PWP)
Fandom: RPS Rockslash
Pairing: David Bowie/Alex Kapranos
Summary/Prompt: for bleedingwomble, Bowie goes to a Franz Ferdinand concert, gets backstage and quibbles with Alex over who should go down on whom
Word Count: 1614
He’d already made his way backstage during the first encore. No one spared him a second glance as he leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, a slight, unassuming man in tight jeans and a Polytechnic Spree T-shirt, his ruffled dirty blond hair covered by a black baseball cap whose bill shadowed his intriguingly mismatched eyes.
David Bowie smiled to himself as he watched the flurry of behind-the-scenes activity that always accompanied a concert: men and women in charge of lighting and rigging, sound and costumes, dashing in every direction, some speaking frantically into headsets, others muttering to themselves, too intent on their jobs to care about what he was doing.
David hadn’t seen Franz Ferdinand live before, though he was familiar with their music. Tonight he was supposed to have come here with Iman, a real date for just the two of them. They hadn’t been out in ages, not since he’d had that ridiculous spot of heart trouble. But Iman had been called away to a photo shoot in Maui and she’d brought Alexandria with her, telling David that he could be a swinging bachelor for the weekend. He didn’t object at all. And he intended to take her suggestion quite literally.
A self-confident smile curled across his features as the band exited the stage for the second time and the lights in the theatre rose dimly, indicating to the applauding audience that the show was indeed over and no amount of clapping would bring the band back. They, after all, had some serious after-gig partying to be getting on with. And David had been watching one of them in particular all evening long and he was already half-hard just thinking about taking what he wanted.
“Well, well, well,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and into the band’s path. “That was a lovely little job you did there. Quite entertaining. Bravo.”
Alexander Kapranos, walking in the lead, froze at the sound of David’s voice and the band turned as one to stare at him.
“David fucking Bowie,” Alex said, eyes wide, running a hand through his tousled hair.
“David fucking Bowie,” David agreed.
“Well fuck. How are you? Lads, look. It’s David Bowie.”
Paul, Nicolas and Robert mumbled at him and he nodded back before letting his eyes settle on Alex again, taking in the beautifully sculpted cheekbones and intense eyes rimmed with black eyeliner. He draped an arm across the guitarist's shoulders and drew him back a bit so that they could straggle behind the others.
“You’re good,” David said conversationally. “I was rather riveted all evening.”
“Well, we’ve been playing together for-”
“No, you in particular. You seem to be very good taking the lead. And very good setting up different rhythms with that guitar of yours.”
Alex arched an eyebrow, eyeing David brazenly. “I’m good at all kinds of rhythms.”
“Are you, love?”
With a smirk, David caught Alex by the elbow and dragged him sideways into the now abandoned green room. The lights were dimmed, chairs askew, detritus of the evening’s meals and snacks littering every available surface. David shoved the startled younger man against a wall. “Any rhythms you want to show me in particular? Any fantasies you’ve been harbouring?”
Alex swallowed, his eyes dilating rapidly. David grinned and leaned back a little, giving the him a chance to breathe. “I... The way you used to mime blowjobs...”
David’s grin widened. “With Ronno’s guitar? Sorry, mate. That schtick belongs with Ronno’s memory alone. I don’t do it with anyone else.”
Alex’s nervousness dissipated and he smirked at David. “Well, it isn't exactly my guitar I’d be wanting you to fellate, now is it?”
David angled forward, brushing his cheek against Alex’s as he moved forward, the grate of five o’clock shadow against five o’clock shadow creating a ripple of sandpaper friction. He whispered into Alex’s ear, “You said it yourself, love. I’m David fucking Bowie. I go on my knees for no one. You, on the other hand, would look right beautiful with those lips wrapped around my cock.”
“Be that as it may,” Alex said playfully, “I’ve been singing all evening. I’m flat out exhausted and my throat is just raw. Don’t know if I could do a serviceable job.”
“So you think I should service you? Insolent little whelp, aren’t you?”
“Ah, but I’m not the one who sought you out, am I?”
“I could have anyone I wanted,” David said, eyes narrowing.
“And yet you’re here with me.”
David glared, knowing the little toerag had the upper hand. “I go on my knees for no one anymore,” he repeated.
A smile flashed across Alex’s face. “I might have a solution to this little dilemma, then.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Come to Paul's dressing room.”
David didn’t like being given commands but he was intrigued and aroused. Before Alex could get away, though, David leaned forward and swiped his tongue across the younger man’s throat, tasting the familiar aphrodisiac combination of sweat and stage makeup and adrenaline, along with something decidedly masculine underlying it all.
“Lead on,” he said with a grin.
They glided through the darkened halls together until they found a door with Paul Thomson's name tacked to it. “In here.”
David followed Alex inside as the singer groped for the light switch. David took the opportunity to grope Alex’s arse while he was at it, enjoying the firm muscles beneath his fingers. The lights flared to life and Alex, breath shallow, pointed at one end of the room where a table was set up.
“What is that?” Bowie said. “I don’t like playing games, little one.”
“Not so little,” Alex replied, grinding his hips against David’s and eliciting a moan from him. “It’s a stupid ab exerciser. You strap yourself in and then the whole thing tilts you upside down so you can do curls or some rot.”
David glanced from the drummer to the table and back again. “And you want...”
“I want you strapped to it, hanging upside down and sucking me off, yeah. That way I get a blowjob and you don’t have to go down on your knees.”
An insidious smile overtook David’s distinctive features. “I rather like the way your mind works.”
He stalked across the room and inspected the table. It seemed stable enough, and he laid himself down on it. Alex joined him and with a sharp intake of breath he secured David to the surface and then slowly tilted it.
“All right?” he asked.
David could feel his mussed hair hanging straight down. His blood seemed terribly confused as to whether it should continue to pool in his groin or rush to his head. He covered the confusion by giving into his own lust. “Take your shirt off,” he commanded.
Alex immediately complied, revealing his lean torso. David eyed him greedily, feeling himself harden further in his constrictive jeans.
“Touch yourself,” he said quietly and he watched as the younger man trailed his hands down his chest, brushing against his nipples, following the line of hair from his bellybutton to the waist of his jeans and back up again. All the while, he watched David avidly.
“Good,” David said. “Good. Now the trousers, love. That’s right.”
Alex undid his belt buckle and shucked the tight trousers, revealing his impressive erection.
“Gorgeous,” David groaned. “Come here. Come closer.”
He reached out and stroked the hard thighs, watching Alex shiver. “Closer,” he hissed until the younger man was standing inches away, and David lifted his head up a little to allow himself a taste, trailing his tongue along Alex’s shaft. Alex whimpered a little and came even closer. David repeated the action again and again, slow, teasing licks as his fingers stroked up and down the sensitive inner thighs.
Alex thrust his hips forward weakly and David grinned. “Eager,” he whispered, and he opened his mouth wide, taking the head past his lips, letting his tongue play over the leaking slit.
“Fucking hell!”
David released and looked up. “Good?”
“More!”
He grinned again and then took more of Alex into his mouth, covering his teeth with his lips to create more suction and cupping Alex’s balls with his hands. It was a strange feeling, hanging upside down with a cock in his mouth. David rather thought he might have done this before once in the Seventies, but he’d been so high during that particular party that he might have imagined it.
Alex began pumping into David’s mouth, groaning, and David sucked him deeper, harder, releasing every few strokes to catch a breath before diving back in. The younger man reached out and began to massage David’s own aching arousal through his jeans as their pace picked up speed.
“So good, oh fucking, buggering hell, yes!” Alex panted over and over until he came screaming, pumping his seed into David’s throat.
David sucked hard, drawing it all into him, thrusting his own hips into Alex’s hands. Alex pulled back, blinking dazedly.
“David. Holy fucking hell! That was intense.”
David bucked a little, using his momentum to swing the table back to a horizontal position. His blood began to circulate normally again and he felt ridiculously lightheaded.
“And what do I get for compensation?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat up.
“Anything you want,” Alex gasped, leaning against the wall and mopping his sweating fringe from his eyes.
David eyed him. “Anything? I want to fuck you against the wall. How’s that?”
Alex moaned. “God, yes.”
David unfastened the restraints and stood slowly. “Oh good. I hope you weren’t planning on going to any after-gig parties. I plan on keeping you here all night.”
Fin
You can find 3b here.
Intercommunication- The West Wing- Josh/Donna- PG-13
Breath- Star Wars- Anakin/Obi-Wan- NC-17
Worth a Shot- Star Wars- Luke/Mara- G
Topsy-Turvy- RPS Rockslash- David Bowie/Alex Kapranos- NC-17
Title: Intercommunication
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing: Josh/Donna (pre-romance)
Summary/Prompt: for y2jai, who is wonderful and made icons for my character journal headonshoulders. She prompted “Josh/Donna- unexpected pregnancy”. Set in the first campaign just after Donna begins working for Josh.
Word Count: 1334
“We’re out of paper cups.”
“How can we be out of paper cups?”
Toby rolled his eyes at Josh. “Because we drank coffee out of the last five hundred and now we need more.”
“DONNA!”
Donna Moss, who had been listening to the back and forth in Josh’s office for the last ten minutes, grinned to herself as she leaned forward and pressed the large red button on the black-cased device before her.
“You know, Josh,” she said into the microphone, “this little machine here? It’s called an intercom.”
Josh stuck his head through the door and glared at her. “Yeah?”
“These amazing devices have in fact been around for many decades,” Donna said cheerfully, still speaking into the intercom, hearing her voice echoing in Josh’s office.
“As fascinating as this history lesson is-”
“And do you know what the ‘com’ part stands for?” she interrupted. She couldn’t help but find his bemused look entertaining. Clearly he wasn’t used to people overriding him. She’d change that.
“Does it stand for ‘communication’?” he said, giving in with a gusty sigh.
“It stands for ‘communication’,” she confirmed. “Intercommunication. Which means that if you need to communicate with me, you can just press that nice shiny red button in your office, and I’ll hear you out here.”
“Thereby...”
“Thereby eliminating the need to bellow at me like a common Cro-Magnon.”
He flashed her that self-assured smile of his. “But I don’t like intercoms. They’re too cold. They’re completely impersonal.”
“So screaming at me is more personal?”
“Absolutely. Besides, I’m not screaming at you, I’m screaming for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you, Josh?”
“We need more paper cups.”
“And?”
“And you need to go buy them for us.”
“Because my job description includes personal shopper?”
“Because your job description is to be my assistant. And right now it would assist me to have more cups.” He ran his fingers through his curly, disheveled hair. “Go forth. Obey my commands. Scoot.”
She held her hand out. “Keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I’m going to run your errands, I’ll need the keys to your car. I’m not taking a bus.”
Josh seemed to consider this, and Donna allowed herself a moment to look at him, covering the fact that she was openly staring by plastering an expectant, exasperated look on her face. Really, her new boss was adorable when he wasn’t being aggravating. The way his eyes flashed with mischief was wonderfully boyish and more endearing than it had any right to be.
But she knew that now was absolutely not the time to start thinking in that direction. Especially if... Well, best not to consider it just now.
“Well?” she said.
“Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“What, you don’t trust me with your precious car?”
“I’ve seen you walk into doorframes. No, I don’t trust you in moving traffic.”
She got up and shrugged her jacket on as Josh donned his trench coat. She followed him out the door, secretly delighting in the fact that instead of a briefcase, Josh Lyman slung a backpack over one shoulder as he sauntered out of the offices with that distinctively cocky walk of his.
~*~
“You know,” Donna said as Josh held the door of the 24-hour drug store open for her, “my role here is superfluous.”
Josh barely spared her a glance as he read the signs hanging above each aisle. “Excuse me?”
“You need paper cups. You got in your car and drove to a place that hopefully sells paper cups. You are going to go find them, retrieve your wallet from your back pocket, pay the cashier, and then drive back to the office, triumphant.”
He turned to look at her, a vaguely evil smile playing at the edges of his lips. “And?”
“You can do all of that by yourself!” Donna said, trying to sound annoyed until something suspiciously like a giggle escaped her. “Why do I even have to be here?”
Josh shrugged. “To tag along. You’re my new faithful sidekick, aren’t you? This is what sidekicks do.”
“I should at least get a magic lasso or an invisible airplane,” she groused as they traipsed down an aisle, past the paper towels and bandages.
“So you’re Wonder Woman?”
“Of course I am.”
He grinned. “No argument.”
She looked at him sharply, searching for any hint of sarcasm but somehow he actually sounded genuine. As they rounded the corner, something caught her eye and made her stomach flip. “Um, Josh?”
“Yep.”
“I need to... pick something up. I’ll meet you at the cash, all right?”
Josh followed her gaze. “What, you need condoms?”
“No, I don’t need condoms!”
“Okay. ‘Cause I could lend you a couple if-”
“Josh! I don’t need condoms!”
A few heads turned to look at the curiously and Josh chuckled. “What, then?”
“Just... female things, okay?”
It worked as she’d hoped. His eyes widened and he said, “Okay, meet you at the cash,” before bee-lining away from her.
“Honestly,” she muttered to herself. She made sure he’d actually gone before she went down the aisle, past the maxi pads and tampons, past the condoms, until she found herself in front of the home pregnancy kits. She bit her lip as she stared at them- why did there have to be so many?
At random, she grabbed one off the shelf, feeling distinctly sick to her stomach. Sure, she was only a week and a half late. Sure, she’d been late before. But this was scary. This was different. Now was not the time for an unexpected pregnancy, not when she was just starting at Jed Bartlet’s campaign, not when she was finally and completely broken up with The Jerk, not when-
“What ya got there?”
Donna jumped, her hands flying behind her back. “What? Nothing!”
“Donna, come on.” He feinted left and then dodged to the right, his arms reaching around her in a parody of an embrace until his hand closed over the smooth cardboard box and snatched it away from her.
“Josh!”
He stared at the box in shock. “What... Wait, are you... Are you?”
She sighed miserably. “I don’t know. That would be the point of the test.”
Josh looked from the box to Donna and back again. “This is a surprise.”
“You think?”
His brow furrowed, those lines of concentration that Donna had immediately adored forming on his forehead. “It’s... it’s okay if you are.”
That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “What?”
“If you’re pregnant. And you want to stay and work with us. It’s okay.”
She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to snap that she was just oh so pleased that he’d given her his permission to both have a baby and continue working. Instead, she felt a peculiar fluttery/melty feeling in her chest as she looked at him.
“Thanks, Josh,” she said.
He reached out and squeezed her hand briefly and then turned around and headed back toward the checkout. As they passed the condoms, he nodded toward them and said, “Future reference? You might want to invest in some of those after all.”
She smacked him in the shoulder. “Why should I? You already told me I could bum them off you.”
“One or two! If that’s all you’re going to need ever, your life is sadder than I thought it was.”
She glared at him as they arrived at the checkout, but the glare dissolved and she found herself looking at him earnestly. “Josh, I...”
“It’s okay,” he said again. “You said it yourself. There’s no reason this campaign can’t be a place to start over. That it can’t be a place for, you know, dreams and, and other things.”
“Very eloquent.”
“I try.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, firmly burying the dangerous melty feeling that was burgeoning inside her. Now was not the time for feelings like that. One day, perhaps, but right now they had a campaign to win.
Fin
Title: Breath
Rating: Pure PWPNC-17
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Anakin/Obi-Wan
Summary/Prompt: for y2jai who rocks my world and made me pretty Thorpey icons for the character journal up_two_no_good, and who asked for Anakin/Obi-Wan- training games.
Word Count: 1760
With a planet-rocking crash, the lights went out. Anakin Skywalker tensed and dropped into a crouch, hand flying to the hilt of his lightsaber.
“Be ready, but be relaxed,” a voice hissed in his ear and he whipped around, reaching out but touching nothing.
“I can hear you breathing. You’re giving yourself away,” the voice murmured in his other ear.
The flash of Anakin’s lightsaber cut a swath through the darkness but he met only air.
“Come find me,” his master’s voice echoed through the amphitheater. “Stretch out, use your senses.”
Anakin bit back a growl of frustration. Obi-Wan was teasing, as usual, diffusing his presence throughout the simulated jungle so that Anakin couldn’t pinpoint his location with the Force. He took a deep, steadying breath and extended his senses, catching tantalizing bits of Obi-Wan’s trail. He could perceive his master all around him. Slowly, surely, he began to move, treading so lightly that not even the twigs beneath his feet cracked.
“Good,” Obi-Wan whispered. “But if I was tracking you, I’d be able to find you even without the Force. Quieter, now.”
Anakin slowed his breathing down, tried to calm his pounding heart as adrenaline coursed through his body. He closed his eyes, using his mind to trace the terrain around him, the towering tropical trees, the chirruping avian species that periodically screeched through the gloom, the uneven ground, even the rocks and boulders and bits of dead branches around him.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he muttered, searching for the familiar traces of his master’s presence.
“Don’t speak,” Obi-Wan’s disembodied voice instructed, and Anakin felt something brush against his arm. In a blur of motion, his lightsaber cut to pieces a dangling vine.
He bit back a frustrated curse. He was making this harder than it had to be. Switching the lightsaber off again, he allowed himself to drop into a quick, deep meditation, experiencing the landscape around him as nothing but an extension of his own body, feeling every living thing as part of himself. And... yes, just there. There he was.
Like a hunting vornskr, Anakin stalked forward soundlessly. He knew exactly where his master was, crouched in the branches of a tree not thirty feet from Anakin. Quietly, so quietly, Anakin whispered through the foliage, cutting a wide arc around Obi-Wan’s tree.
“Concentrate!” Obi-Wan rasped, clearly fooled by Anakin’s subterfuge. Anakin felt a predatory smile curl across his features at that growling tone. Springing into action, he launched himself into a backward somersault, landing on Obi-Wan’s tree branch.
But Obi-Wan was ready, lightsaber flashing out to meet his as they clashed, balancing precariously on the branch.
“I heard you take a breath before you jumped,” Obi-Wan said, his face eerily illuminated by their lightsabers. He thrust, sending Anakin into an awkward blocking position as he scrambled to keep his foothold.
“But I did find you,” Anakin said, slashing forward quickly, Obi-Wan meeting him stroke for stroke.
“You did well, young one.”
“Not so young anymore!” Anakin jumped and landed hard on the branch, sending reverberations through the wood and knocking Obi-Wan sideways off his feet. Before he fell, his master caught Anakin’s elbow. Unsteady himself from the jump, Anakin tumbled over and they both fell through the air, flailing at each other. Anakin hit the ground first, his breath rushing out of his lungs before something hard and heavy landed on top of him.
“Seems I have the upper position after all,” Obi-Wan hissed, and this time Anakin could feel his master’s beard brushing against his jaw as he spoke. An involuntary shiver ran through him and he bucked his hips upward, catching Obi-Wan and sending them tumbling sideways, grappling, until Anakin was on top. He caught the older Jedi’s wrists and pinned them to the ground, blanketing Obi-Wan’s body with his own to keep him down.
“Now who’s in the upper position?” he taunted.
He shifted a little and Obi-Wan gasped. Anakin’s victorious smile turned sinister, though it was too dark to be seen. “Well, well, Master,” he said mockingly as he felt something hard pressing against him, “perhaps being on the bottom isn’t something you want to complain about after all.”
His own body was responding to Obi-Wan’s closeness, his hard muscles and masculine scent, his presence through the Force vibrating out toward Anakin and drawing him forward. He felt a teasing pressure on his neck, the scrape of coarse hair against his sensitive flesh and he realized that Obi-Wan was pressing a biting kiss against his pulse point.
His eyes slid shut at the pleasure of it and he felt as though he was spinning, but before he could steady himself he was being constrained, Obi-Wan on top of him now.
“Never let your guard down, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “Not for anything.”
“I rather think this might be a worthwhile reason to let go,” Anakin countered.
Obi-Wan replied by capturing Anakin’s mouth in a burning kiss and the younger man’s vision clouded over with bright stars as dry, malleable lips and wet, flexible tongue moved over his mouth. Anakin groaned, opening his lips, inviting Obi-Wan in, tilting his head to give his master better access, daring him to go deeper.
With a snarl, Obi-Wan took up the challenge, grinding his hips against Anakin’s and Anakin at last became aware of his own aching arousal, the gratifying friction of Obi-Wan’s erection against his own causing him to cry out. He loved Padmé- he truly did. But this... this was something else entirely. This was perfect.
“Obi-Wan,” he gasped as his master dragged his teeth along Anakin’s jawbone.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The body above him had gone frighteningly still and with a roar, Anakin flipped them again, licking his way up Obi-Wan’s throat and finding his mouth once again. “Never,” he moaned, thrusting his hips forward. Obi-Wan met him thrust for thrust, his fingers tearing at Anakin’s robes.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Obi-Wan gasped and his crafty fingers found flesh, stroking along Anakin’s sides. Something hot and wanting flashed through Anakin, bright as a lightsaber’s blade, and he reared back, slithering out of his breeches. His erection sprang forth and a rush ran through him at the sudden sense of freedom.
“Off,” he growled as his hands found the waist of Obi-Wan’s trousers. A strange little thrill danced through Anakin as Obi-Wan complied immediately. For once, Anakin was in charge and he gloried in it.
And then hard muscle and a straining erection met his questing fingers and he wrapped his hand around it. Obi-Wan shuddered below him. “Good, Anakin. Very good.”
Anakin had never done this before, though he’d heard enough stories from Master Windu’s Padawan that he had a good working idea of how to proceed. Following the movements that he enjoyed when he pleasured himself, he began a punishing rhythm, twisting his wrist on every downward stroke, triumphing in the strangled noises escaping Obi-Wan’s throat.
“You like that, Master? What about the Jedi Code? What about letting go of passion?” he taunted as he ran his thumb lightly across Obi-Wan’s slit. “What about calmness and serenity? Do you feel very serene now?”
As he spoke, he reached out with the Force the way he’d heard it was done, feeling heat radiating off Obi-Wan’s body as he mapped its contours just as he’d done with the landscape not half an hour earlier. Exploring with his mind, he found the tight heat of Obi-Wan’s arse and used his free hand to mimic a probing motion in the air.
“Anakin!” his master gasped as he felt the movement deep within him, his hips bucking, brushing against Anakin’s own arousal.
Anakin ignored him, focusing every bit of concentration on preparing him, stretching him by moving his fingers back and forth through the air, scissoring them and twisting, using his command of the Force to create a hot slickness wherever he probed.
“That’s... some Jedi mind trick,” Obi-Wan moaned. “It feels like you’re inside me.”
“Do you want me inside you?”
Obi-Wan bent his knees and put his feet flat on the ground, pushing upward and angling his body in order to give Anakin complete access. “Yesssss.”
It felt as though that sibilant was stroking against Anakin’s cock and he groaned, aligning himself with Obi-Wan’s arse and driving in.
Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward, pressing down to meet him, and the heat that engulfed Anakin nearly caused him to pass out. He’d never felt anything like this. Now his master truly was all around him, their energy singing through the Force together as Anakin thrust, inch by inch, until he was buried deep within Obi-Wan.
“My Padawan,” Obi-Wan moaned. “Anakin. Anakin.”
The younger man gasped. He felt drunk with power as he began to thrust in and out. The way Obi-Wan contorted beneath him, his abdominal muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself angled properly as he met Anakin’s movements, felt so good, so wanton, so right, and Anakin’s pace picked up speed, his torso skating along against Obi-Wan’s, one hand bracing himself by Obi-Wan’s head, the other rhythmically pumping his master’s cock.
Their movements became more frenzied, faster and harder, a symphony of harsh groans and hissed breaths cocooning them, urging them onward. Anakin gritted his teeth as waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He didn’t want to lose control first. He wanted this to go on and on. But Obi-Wan’s self control was formidable as he fucked Anakin’s hand. Anakin changed his angle a bit and Obi-Wan actually cried out. The younger Jedi could feel the reverberations of overwhelming pleasure resonating through the Force, rocking Anakin’s consciousness and with a spasmodic cry he came, spilling himself deep inside his master.
As his movements slowed, he felt Obi-Wan tense and then with a shuddery breath he climaxed as well, as though he’d been holding out for Anakin to come first. Anakin eased himself out of Obi-Wan’s lax form and rolled onto his back, panting.
“Bastard,” he grumbled and Obi-Wan chuckled.
“You still have much to learn, my Padawan, but that was an excellent start.”
“Well. Shall we continue at the same time tomorrow then?”
“We shall.”
They lay side by side in the darkness, not touching physically though deeply connected through the Force. Tomorrow, Anakin vowed, he would exercise self-control. He would break Obi-Wan’s restraint and have him screaming Anakin’s name long before Anakin himself came. But just now he allowed himself to float in the mind-numbing bliss that had overtaken him, catching his breath once more.
Fin
Title: Worth a Shot
Rating: G
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Luke/Mara
Summary/Prompt: for use_theforce_em, who prompted Luke/Mara- pre-wedding jitters. Luke resorts to drastic measures to prove Mara’s feelings to herself.
Word Count: 1111
Mara Jade was not nervous. In her life she had been the Emperor’s Hand, a dangerous smuggler, and a full-blown Jedi; “nervous” was simply not a part of her vocabulary. She glanced across the room to the lone figure dressed in a simple black tunic and matching black breeches, reflective bits of silver in his tousled, sandy hair. Her stomach did an irritating back flip and she looked away.
She felt him approach her, radiating serenity, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone annoyingly calm, if filled with concern.
She looked up at that wonderfully familiar face, those clear blue eyes. “Nothing.”
“Mara-”
“Luke, it’s nothing!”
She surged to her feet and stomped out of the room, Luke at her heels.
“You’ve been off all day,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“Stop reading my emotions, Master Skywalker,” she jeered, her cheeks flushed.
He caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. “Mara, stop this! Please tell me what’s wrong.”
She tried to look away but found she couldn’t. “Nothing,” she said firmly. “I just...”
She couldn’t put it into words exactly, the gnawing worry that had taken up residence in her stomach, the nagging doubt that what they really had was not love at all but a connection through the Force fostered by years of first hatred and then competitiveness. What did someone like her know about love anyway? But she couldn’t say it out loud and instead she leaned forward to kiss her fiancé hard, twining her arms around his neck as her fingers ruffled through his already messy hair. He relaxed into her arms, tension evaporating away from his lithe body as he held her close, his tongue coaxing her lips open.
She let go of her worry, let go of everything but the feeling of him pressed against her, of his tongue stroking against hers, of his presence in the Force singing in harmony with her own. When they were together like this, nothing could worry her. Nothing could get to her.
He pulled back a little and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, you know,” he said quietly, caressing her cheek. Despite herself, she leaned into his touch.
He grinned impishly at her and said in a teasing falsetto, “I love you too, Luke.”
She rolled her eyes but said, “I love you too, Luke.”
“I have an idea.”
“Do you.”
“Would you mind going for a walk for a bit?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the pure, boyish joy shimmering from him because of this new idea. “What are you up to, Skywalker?”
“A surprise.”
She kissed him quickly and stepped back. “Fine. I’ll go for my morning training.”
“Excellent.”
~*~
She couldn’t sense him in their quarters as she neared the door. Her brow furrowed. Strange. She couldn’t sense anything at all. Hand on the hilt of her lightsaber, she allowed the door to open and she stepped through, tensed and ready for anything.
Or nearly everything. As she stepped into the foyer, the door swooshing shut behind her, she felt as though she’d been thrown into the vacuum of space itself, as though she was both suffocating and being hollowed out at once. The Force was gone. Something icy and horrified clutched at her heart and she dashed through their quarters, looking for some sign of Luke. She didn’t cry out, didn’t want to alert whoever had done this, had taken him, to her presence. Perhaps they were still here. Perhaps-
She stopped short when she reached their bedroom. Luke was sitting at the writing table, three ysalimiri resting peacefully on their frames.
“Luke?”
He looked up, a smile breaking across his face. “Welcome back, my love.”
“You’re not dead? You’re not being taken from me?” She crossed the room and punched him hard in the shoulder. “Are you insane? Is this your big surprise? What are you playing at?”
He stood, catching her in his arms and holding her close. “Mara! Mara, calm down. I brought the ysalimiri here for a reason.”
“Because you’ve lost your mind?” she demanded, struggling out of his embrace.
“Because I know you’ve been feeling nervous lately,” he said with that exasperating, knowing expression on his face.
“Oh?”
“Mara,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed and looking up at her imploringly. “This is frightening for me as well. Marriage. Commitment. I’m nervous too.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” she said acidly, but she sat down next to him, their shoulders brushing.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. That I won’t love you as long as I live,” he said, touching her hair gently. “And I sense... you’re worried that what we feel is no more than a connection through the Force. More about history than love.”
She opened her mouth to deny it but she couldn’t, not when he was looking at her with such honesty and innocence.
“Damn you,” she muttered, turning from him.
He wrapped his arms around her and shifted forward resting his chest against her back. “There’s no Force now, Mara. Just you and me. Tell me what you feel.”
She took a deep breath, wanting to tell him off for playing foolish games. But he was so earnest, so desperately trying to do the right thing, so very Luke that she couldn’t tell him to fuck off. And with a start, she realised that she knew exactly how she felt.
“Fine. I love you, all right? I love you. Happy now?”
He leaned forward, grazing his lips against her ear. He whispered, “Happy doesn’t begin to describe it.”
An involuntary smile graced her features and she craned her neck so that she could see those blue, blue eyes before stealing a kiss and then another. In a bustle of movement and rotation and realignment she found herself on top of him, wrapped tightly in his arms, his lips charting a legend of promise and passion and love against her throat and she let her eyes slide closed, surrendering to the insurmountable evidence that she was in love. That she was loved.
“You know,” she said, her tone strained but conversational, “maybe this marriage thing isn’t such a bad idea.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Luke agreed, rolling them onto their sides so they could lie looking at each other, neither in a dominant position.
“Hurt me and I’ll kill you.”
“All I want to do is protect you.”
She rolled her eyes. “That kind of makes me want to kill you also.”
“I’d better just shut up and kiss you then,” Luke said, and before she could agree he gathered her in his arms and did just that.
Fin
Title: Topsy-Turvy
Rating: NC-17 (Unrepentant, irredeemable PWP)
Fandom: RPS Rockslash
Pairing: David Bowie/Alex Kapranos
Summary/Prompt: for bleedingwomble, Bowie goes to a Franz Ferdinand concert, gets backstage and quibbles with Alex over who should go down on whom
Word Count: 1614
He’d already made his way backstage during the first encore. No one spared him a second glance as he leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, a slight, unassuming man in tight jeans and a Polytechnic Spree T-shirt, his ruffled dirty blond hair covered by a black baseball cap whose bill shadowed his intriguingly mismatched eyes.
David Bowie smiled to himself as he watched the flurry of behind-the-scenes activity that always accompanied a concert: men and women in charge of lighting and rigging, sound and costumes, dashing in every direction, some speaking frantically into headsets, others muttering to themselves, too intent on their jobs to care about what he was doing.
David hadn’t seen Franz Ferdinand live before, though he was familiar with their music. Tonight he was supposed to have come here with Iman, a real date for just the two of them. They hadn’t been out in ages, not since he’d had that ridiculous spot of heart trouble. But Iman had been called away to a photo shoot in Maui and she’d brought Alexandria with her, telling David that he could be a swinging bachelor for the weekend. He didn’t object at all. And he intended to take her suggestion quite literally.
A self-confident smile curled across his features as the band exited the stage for the second time and the lights in the theatre rose dimly, indicating to the applauding audience that the show was indeed over and no amount of clapping would bring the band back. They, after all, had some serious after-gig partying to be getting on with. And David had been watching one of them in particular all evening long and he was already half-hard just thinking about taking what he wanted.
“Well, well, well,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and into the band’s path. “That was a lovely little job you did there. Quite entertaining. Bravo.”
Alexander Kapranos, walking in the lead, froze at the sound of David’s voice and the band turned as one to stare at him.
“David fucking Bowie,” Alex said, eyes wide, running a hand through his tousled hair.
“David fucking Bowie,” David agreed.
“Well fuck. How are you? Lads, look. It’s David Bowie.”
Paul, Nicolas and Robert mumbled at him and he nodded back before letting his eyes settle on Alex again, taking in the beautifully sculpted cheekbones and intense eyes rimmed with black eyeliner. He draped an arm across the guitarist's shoulders and drew him back a bit so that they could straggle behind the others.
“You’re good,” David said conversationally. “I was rather riveted all evening.”
“Well, we’ve been playing together for-”
“No, you in particular. You seem to be very good taking the lead. And very good setting up different rhythms with that guitar of yours.”
Alex arched an eyebrow, eyeing David brazenly. “I’m good at all kinds of rhythms.”
“Are you, love?”
With a smirk, David caught Alex by the elbow and dragged him sideways into the now abandoned green room. The lights were dimmed, chairs askew, detritus of the evening’s meals and snacks littering every available surface. David shoved the startled younger man against a wall. “Any rhythms you want to show me in particular? Any fantasies you’ve been harbouring?”
Alex swallowed, his eyes dilating rapidly. David grinned and leaned back a little, giving the him a chance to breathe. “I... The way you used to mime blowjobs...”
David’s grin widened. “With Ronno’s guitar? Sorry, mate. That schtick belongs with Ronno’s memory alone. I don’t do it with anyone else.”
Alex’s nervousness dissipated and he smirked at David. “Well, it isn't exactly my guitar I’d be wanting you to fellate, now is it?”
David angled forward, brushing his cheek against Alex’s as he moved forward, the grate of five o’clock shadow against five o’clock shadow creating a ripple of sandpaper friction. He whispered into Alex’s ear, “You said it yourself, love. I’m David fucking Bowie. I go on my knees for no one. You, on the other hand, would look right beautiful with those lips wrapped around my cock.”
“Be that as it may,” Alex said playfully, “I’ve been singing all evening. I’m flat out exhausted and my throat is just raw. Don’t know if I could do a serviceable job.”
“So you think I should service you? Insolent little whelp, aren’t you?”
“Ah, but I’m not the one who sought you out, am I?”
“I could have anyone I wanted,” David said, eyes narrowing.
“And yet you’re here with me.”
David glared, knowing the little toerag had the upper hand. “I go on my knees for no one anymore,” he repeated.
A smile flashed across Alex’s face. “I might have a solution to this little dilemma, then.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Come to Paul's dressing room.”
David didn’t like being given commands but he was intrigued and aroused. Before Alex could get away, though, David leaned forward and swiped his tongue across the younger man’s throat, tasting the familiar aphrodisiac combination of sweat and stage makeup and adrenaline, along with something decidedly masculine underlying it all.
“Lead on,” he said with a grin.
They glided through the darkened halls together until they found a door with Paul Thomson's name tacked to it. “In here.”
David followed Alex inside as the singer groped for the light switch. David took the opportunity to grope Alex’s arse while he was at it, enjoying the firm muscles beneath his fingers. The lights flared to life and Alex, breath shallow, pointed at one end of the room where a table was set up.
“What is that?” Bowie said. “I don’t like playing games, little one.”
“Not so little,” Alex replied, grinding his hips against David’s and eliciting a moan from him. “It’s a stupid ab exerciser. You strap yourself in and then the whole thing tilts you upside down so you can do curls or some rot.”
David glanced from the drummer to the table and back again. “And you want...”
“I want you strapped to it, hanging upside down and sucking me off, yeah. That way I get a blowjob and you don’t have to go down on your knees.”
An insidious smile overtook David’s distinctive features. “I rather like the way your mind works.”
He stalked across the room and inspected the table. It seemed stable enough, and he laid himself down on it. Alex joined him and with a sharp intake of breath he secured David to the surface and then slowly tilted it.
“All right?” he asked.
David could feel his mussed hair hanging straight down. His blood seemed terribly confused as to whether it should continue to pool in his groin or rush to his head. He covered the confusion by giving into his own lust. “Take your shirt off,” he commanded.
Alex immediately complied, revealing his lean torso. David eyed him greedily, feeling himself harden further in his constrictive jeans.
“Touch yourself,” he said quietly and he watched as the younger man trailed his hands down his chest, brushing against his nipples, following the line of hair from his bellybutton to the waist of his jeans and back up again. All the while, he watched David avidly.
“Good,” David said. “Good. Now the trousers, love. That’s right.”
Alex undid his belt buckle and shucked the tight trousers, revealing his impressive erection.
“Gorgeous,” David groaned. “Come here. Come closer.”
He reached out and stroked the hard thighs, watching Alex shiver. “Closer,” he hissed until the younger man was standing inches away, and David lifted his head up a little to allow himself a taste, trailing his tongue along Alex’s shaft. Alex whimpered a little and came even closer. David repeated the action again and again, slow, teasing licks as his fingers stroked up and down the sensitive inner thighs.
Alex thrust his hips forward weakly and David grinned. “Eager,” he whispered, and he opened his mouth wide, taking the head past his lips, letting his tongue play over the leaking slit.
“Fucking hell!”
David released and looked up. “Good?”
“More!”
He grinned again and then took more of Alex into his mouth, covering his teeth with his lips to create more suction and cupping Alex’s balls with his hands. It was a strange feeling, hanging upside down with a cock in his mouth. David rather thought he might have done this before once in the Seventies, but he’d been so high during that particular party that he might have imagined it.
Alex began pumping into David’s mouth, groaning, and David sucked him deeper, harder, releasing every few strokes to catch a breath before diving back in. The younger man reached out and began to massage David’s own aching arousal through his jeans as their pace picked up speed.
“So good, oh fucking, buggering hell, yes!” Alex panted over and over until he came screaming, pumping his seed into David’s throat.
David sucked hard, drawing it all into him, thrusting his own hips into Alex’s hands. Alex pulled back, blinking dazedly.
“David. Holy fucking hell! That was intense.”
David bucked a little, using his momentum to swing the table back to a horizontal position. His blood began to circulate normally again and he felt ridiculously lightheaded.
“And what do I get for compensation?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat up.
“Anything you want,” Alex gasped, leaning against the wall and mopping his sweating fringe from his eyes.
David eyed him. “Anything? I want to fuck you against the wall. How’s that?”
Alex moaned. “God, yes.”
David unfastened the restraints and stood slowly. “Oh good. I hope you weren’t planning on going to any after-gig parties. I plan on keeping you here all night.”
Fin