More of the same
Title: I Can Tell Just What You Want
Fandom: Secret Six
Characters/Pairing: Catman/Deadshot, Jeannette
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,364
Summary: Blake. Lawton. Sparring. Sex. Pretty straightforward.
A/N: As a disclaimer, I do not ship this. However, Gail Simone does and that's good enough for me. Also, I was in a smut mood and there are no good words for girl parts and these two are tied for second favorite male character and as for my first, Ragdoll has neither functional genitalia nor anyone I'd feel comfortable seeing him sleep with (the first person who says Parademon or Black Alice gets punched in the solar plexus), so this was it. Enjoy.
In the aftermath of one of those really good, satisfying knock-down drag-outs masquerading as a spar that's really just an excuse to get their hands on one another, they lay panting in a bloodied sprawl on the lawn and Blake thinks, fuck it, and rolls over and kisses Lawton on the mouth.
He tastes like cigarette ash and leftover Chinese, and it's not exactly pleasant, but Lawton kisses back, firm and deliberate, with a hand tangled in Blake's hair, and that's good. It's better than he thought it would be, all the times he's let himself wonder; sweet and hot and alive and more intense when Lawton pushes at him until he rolls over and Lawton's on top, kissing him and kissing him and pinning his wrists to the ground.
When they part, panting anew, they look into each other's eyes, fearless, because they are men without fear. They're far too stupid for it. Blake licks his lips and Lawton's gaze falls immediately to them and Blake says, "Surprised you didn't punch me."
Lawton shrugs, like it's easy, like this is meaningless. Like 4am omelettes and saving each other's lives are meaningless. "Guess I'm all punched out," he replies, like it's just another morning, and leans in to kiss him again, but Blake puts a hand to his chest to stop him and nods toward the house. Someone could see, the gesture says, and A bed would be more comfortable and I want to lay you out and taste every scarred, ashy inch of you and we can't do that here.
Deadshot nods once, looking a little dazed, like he can't believe this is happening, and doesn't move until Blake pushes at him and sits up and drags them both to standing. They're both limping and they haven't even started yet, which Blake finds a little hilarious. He almost laughs. He wonders if Lawton's going to fuck him, or if he's going to top, and he doesn't know which he wants more. Maybe they'll just throw down again and writhe against each other like animals until they get off in a twisted imitation of their fight on the lawn, and Blake's struck a little dumb by how appealing that sounds.
Once inside, they stagger like drunks into Lawton's room, because it's closest. Jeannette watches them pass through the kitchen without comment, but Blake's certain she knows. Can see it in her eyes. She must smell it on them, like death. Like the blood and sweat that clings to their skins. She turns away from them and Blake feels the place where a pang of guilt doesn't happen because all he can think of is how much he wants this.
Not just the sex, but Lawton. He wants Deadshot to fuck him and mark him and claim him and own him and for him to leave bruises where everyone can see and it would scare him if he weren't too damn stupid to fear anymore.
As soon as they get the door shut Lawton throws him against it and presses them together, so tight Blake thinks they'd melt into one body if they didn't have all these damn clothes in the way, and immediately attacks his neck, licking at the place where his starting shot barely grazed Blake's throat. He bites there, bringing more blood to the surface and lapping it away and it hurts so sweet and hot that it makes him hard. He knew it'd be rough and violent and so good the way he always wants it when he's with another man and he grabs at Lawton's hair and kisses him again, tastes his own blood and some of Lawton's and a lot of wet, slick heat that he wants on his cock now.
He tries to push Lawton to his knees and gets pushed instead, shoved at until he falls on his ass in the middle of the room and then pushed until he's lying flat, and then Lawton attacks the fastenings of his jeans and pushes his t-shirt up to his neck and Blake's promptly done pining for that mouth because he's in it and god, it's good. So hot, so wet and moving, sucking hard, tongue tracing every inch of him and head bobbing up and down the shaft until Lawton's drooling over his own fist. Blake threads his fingers into Lawton's hair and pushes him, pulls when he gets too close to giving it up, but Lawton hunches his shoulders and refuses to be moved even when Blake can feel hair coming away in his fingers.
Then it's too much, too fast and he's coming, arching and shouting into a fist he's biting down on to muffle his sounds and seeing stars behind his eyelids. When he comes back to himself, heaving in air and blinking away the swimming at the corners of his vision, Deadshot's already finished spitting into the garbage can next to his bed. He turns and stares at Blake, expressionless, and then his eyes drop to Catman's dick, which is still mostly hard, because it's been way too long.
They both manage to get on their feet, and while Blake tugs his pants back up, Lawton works on getting his off. He unzips and sighs at the loss of pressure, and then pulls his shirt off. Slow. He's making a show of it and Blake appreciates it, drinks in every dip and line of that hard body as it's revealed inch by inch. God, but the man's attractive. He wonders how many times he's been caught just staring, not even bothering to hide it because there's no use. Stared at Bane, too; guy's too hairy for his taste but he's huge and Blake likes getting held down. Not many people can do it. But he never wanted any of the others like this. Not even close.
When Lawton's finally naked, he comes to Blake and starts undressing him too. It feels a little too much like getting cared for, not having his clothes ripped off in a lustful flurry but being slowly undressed. And Lawton won't look at him. He has a feeling it doesn't have to do entirely with Lawton admiring his chest and the cut of his hips, although that seems to be some of it. Blake knows he's good-looking, isn't afraid to show it off, but it's flattering all the same. He lets the other man look, lets himself be undressed, and when they're both naked Lawton pulls him in and kisses him again, rubbing himself a little against Blake's abs.
There's a shocking lack of urgency to this. They kiss slow but hard, tasting and learning each other's mouths, and Lawton digs his fingers into the muscle of Blake's back, his arms, the backs of his thighs. Blake does his own exploring, which ends when Lawton grabs his ass and grinds against him, causing him to rip away from the kiss with a gasp.
Blake didn't expect any kissing for this. He initiated one, the universal I-want-you signal, but he thought it’d be the opener to a transaction, not a…not whatever this is. But Lawton kisses him again and again as they fall into bed, biting at his lips and jaw and ear, and then down his throat and chest to suck and bite at his nipples, which really aren't that sensitive, but Blake enjoys watching Deadshot take obvious pleasure from mouthing at his skin.
He pulls the man back up after Lawton dips a ticklish tongue into his navel, and they share another unhurried kiss. When they pull away, Lawton licks blood from the corner of his mouth and says, "Can I fuck you?"
Catman doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls his knees up and arches, showing off, asking for it. Lawton makes a low noise in the back of his throat like a growl and reaches into the bedside table drawer, fumbling blindly until he comes out with a tube of lube. He hesitates. "You clean?" Blake nods. "You sure?" Another nod. "Good. Fuckin' hate condoms." He slams the drawer shut decisively and pours some lube over his fingers, grinning at Blake and pressing one immediately into him.
Blake hisses at the cold and the pain of going too long without this and turns his face away, and Lawton rolls his eyes. Blake suspects the other man was testing him, seeing if he could shock a curse out of him. It'll be a game, then. Lawton trying to get him to talk and Blake not doing it.
Lawton's surprisingly thorough in preparing him, teasing and pressing and finding all of his sensitive spots, identifying them by Blake's little gasps and hitches of breath. After awhile he realizes Deadshot's trying to make him beg for it. He smirks, because he'd be perfectly happy to get a hand on himself and come just like this and leave Lawton hard and wanting (although maybe he'd like to jerk him and not give him anything he asked for just to be a bastard and still get to see him come).
"What's so funny, Tomcat?" Lawton asks, part annoyed, part amused at Blake's groan when thick fingers shove their way deep into him. But Blake won't answer, and at this point Lawton has to know that. So he does the talking for them. "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you scream, Kitty. I'm gonna pound you into the mattress 'til you beg me to stop. 'Til
everyone knows what I'm doing to you. And I'm gonna make you love it."
Blake moans and Lawton chuckles, and then he pulls out, suddenly serious. He wipes his fingers on the sheets and grips Blake's hip with one hand, guiding himself in with the other. He looks Blake dead in the eye and Blake closes his because this is suddenly too intimate, that they're doing it like this and that there's this huge unspoken Thing between them and there always has been, that he half suspects Lawton didn't want to use a condom so they could both feel each other like this, that he can feel Lawton watching him while he presses in, thick hot brand of him touching places in him that not many people have touched and that no one's ever done in a way that made him feel like this.
This was supposed to be just a fuck. How could he be so stupid? How could he think it wouldn't be more than that?
Lawton goes still inside him, buried to the hilt, and when Blake opens his eyes he knows it's not about getting used to the heat and pressure but about feeling…together. That's a big word, 'together', a huge word and maybe he's not too stupid to feel fear after all. But it's so, so good, too, he feels so stretched and filled and the burn of it is as sweet as the throbbing of the bitten gunshot graze at his throat.
And when Lawton lets out a shaky breath and starts to move it's heaven, the sensation of being fucked and taken and used. He wraps his legs around Deadshot's waist, digs his heels into his ass and pulls him in hard, and when Lawton groans open-mouthed and desperate the fear eases and he realizes he can do this, that it's not the end of the world, and he can pretend until the afterglow fades that they won't kill each other someday.
He can also grunt and drag his hands down Lawton's back and thrash because it's just that good, Deadshot's fucking him exactly how he wants it and he didn't even have to ask. Like this was fated, and that's terrifying, but it also melts his body into liquid heat and the clench of his muscles around Lawton's dick and Lawton's mouth on his skin wherever it can reach, biting and sucking kisses that are sure to leave marks. Good. He wants the marks. He wants everyone to know, to see.
He wants to go limp and just be fucked, just feel it. But he arches into it instead, runs his fingers through Lawton's hair and rubs his thumbs over his nipples, making him grunt and fuck harder. He wishes Lawton would bite him hard in a visible place, but he doesn't want to ask; he gets his wish anyway when Lawton fastens his mouth onto the place where jaw meets neck and thinks, I wish I knew how to say what this means to me so I could tell you.
"Fuck, Tomcat," Lawton says, and that used to be a mockery but now it's a term of endearment; he can hear it in the way it's half-gasped, "You're so fucking tight. You got any idea what you're doing to me? Fuckin' killing me, Blake. Christ, do that again."
He'd been biting at Lawton's shoulder. He does it again, harder, and Deadshot growls and gets a hand in Blake's hair and drags his face away from his shoulder to kiss him, hard, moaning into it and pounding him so hard the bed creaks and the headboard slams against the wall.
When Blake comes, it's with Lawton's mouth on his, not kissing but sharing air, like they can't bear to tear away from each other, and Lawton's hands all over him, and Lawton's skin pressed so tight to his he could easily hallucinate they were the same person. And he comes shouting and bucking and clinging to Lawton like the man can save him from drowning in it.
When he comes down, Deadshot's watching him with a look on his face like he's sad about something. "Jesus, Blake," he groans, and doubles over and comes with his forehead pressed to Blake's collarbone.
It's a long time before Lawton pulls out and rolls over, staring dazed at the ceiling. "That was fuckin' incredible."
"Yeah," Blake agrees, unable to express exactly how incredible it was. He has a feeling Lawton can't either.
"Oh, now he says something," Lawton grumbles, and Blake laughs for the first time in what feels like years before Lawton punches his shoulder and rolls over to kiss him, and regardless of how beaten up he is, nothing hurts at all.
Fandom: Secret Six
Characters/Pairing: Catman/Deadshot, Jeannette
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,364
Summary: Blake. Lawton. Sparring. Sex. Pretty straightforward.
A/N: As a disclaimer, I do not ship this. However, Gail Simone does and that's good enough for me. Also, I was in a smut mood and there are no good words for girl parts and these two are tied for second favorite male character and as for my first, Ragdoll has neither functional genitalia nor anyone I'd feel comfortable seeing him sleep with (the first person who says Parademon or Black Alice gets punched in the solar plexus), so this was it. Enjoy.
In the aftermath of one of those really good, satisfying knock-down drag-outs masquerading as a spar that's really just an excuse to get their hands on one another, they lay panting in a bloodied sprawl on the lawn and Blake thinks, fuck it, and rolls over and kisses Lawton on the mouth.
He tastes like cigarette ash and leftover Chinese, and it's not exactly pleasant, but Lawton kisses back, firm and deliberate, with a hand tangled in Blake's hair, and that's good. It's better than he thought it would be, all the times he's let himself wonder; sweet and hot and alive and more intense when Lawton pushes at him until he rolls over and Lawton's on top, kissing him and kissing him and pinning his wrists to the ground.
When they part, panting anew, they look into each other's eyes, fearless, because they are men without fear. They're far too stupid for it. Blake licks his lips and Lawton's gaze falls immediately to them and Blake says, "Surprised you didn't punch me."
Lawton shrugs, like it's easy, like this is meaningless. Like 4am omelettes and saving each other's lives are meaningless. "Guess I'm all punched out," he replies, like it's just another morning, and leans in to kiss him again, but Blake puts a hand to his chest to stop him and nods toward the house. Someone could see, the gesture says, and A bed would be more comfortable and I want to lay you out and taste every scarred, ashy inch of you and we can't do that here.
Deadshot nods once, looking a little dazed, like he can't believe this is happening, and doesn't move until Blake pushes at him and sits up and drags them both to standing. They're both limping and they haven't even started yet, which Blake finds a little hilarious. He almost laughs. He wonders if Lawton's going to fuck him, or if he's going to top, and he doesn't know which he wants more. Maybe they'll just throw down again and writhe against each other like animals until they get off in a twisted imitation of their fight on the lawn, and Blake's struck a little dumb by how appealing that sounds.
Once inside, they stagger like drunks into Lawton's room, because it's closest. Jeannette watches them pass through the kitchen without comment, but Blake's certain she knows. Can see it in her eyes. She must smell it on them, like death. Like the blood and sweat that clings to their skins. She turns away from them and Blake feels the place where a pang of guilt doesn't happen because all he can think of is how much he wants this.
Not just the sex, but Lawton. He wants Deadshot to fuck him and mark him and claim him and own him and for him to leave bruises where everyone can see and it would scare him if he weren't too damn stupid to fear anymore.
As soon as they get the door shut Lawton throws him against it and presses them together, so tight Blake thinks they'd melt into one body if they didn't have all these damn clothes in the way, and immediately attacks his neck, licking at the place where his starting shot barely grazed Blake's throat. He bites there, bringing more blood to the surface and lapping it away and it hurts so sweet and hot that it makes him hard. He knew it'd be rough and violent and so good the way he always wants it when he's with another man and he grabs at Lawton's hair and kisses him again, tastes his own blood and some of Lawton's and a lot of wet, slick heat that he wants on his cock now.
He tries to push Lawton to his knees and gets pushed instead, shoved at until he falls on his ass in the middle of the room and then pushed until he's lying flat, and then Lawton attacks the fastenings of his jeans and pushes his t-shirt up to his neck and Blake's promptly done pining for that mouth because he's in it and god, it's good. So hot, so wet and moving, sucking hard, tongue tracing every inch of him and head bobbing up and down the shaft until Lawton's drooling over his own fist. Blake threads his fingers into Lawton's hair and pushes him, pulls when he gets too close to giving it up, but Lawton hunches his shoulders and refuses to be moved even when Blake can feel hair coming away in his fingers.
Then it's too much, too fast and he's coming, arching and shouting into a fist he's biting down on to muffle his sounds and seeing stars behind his eyelids. When he comes back to himself, heaving in air and blinking away the swimming at the corners of his vision, Deadshot's already finished spitting into the garbage can next to his bed. He turns and stares at Blake, expressionless, and then his eyes drop to Catman's dick, which is still mostly hard, because it's been way too long.
They both manage to get on their feet, and while Blake tugs his pants back up, Lawton works on getting his off. He unzips and sighs at the loss of pressure, and then pulls his shirt off. Slow. He's making a show of it and Blake appreciates it, drinks in every dip and line of that hard body as it's revealed inch by inch. God, but the man's attractive. He wonders how many times he's been caught just staring, not even bothering to hide it because there's no use. Stared at Bane, too; guy's too hairy for his taste but he's huge and Blake likes getting held down. Not many people can do it. But he never wanted any of the others like this. Not even close.
When Lawton's finally naked, he comes to Blake and starts undressing him too. It feels a little too much like getting cared for, not having his clothes ripped off in a lustful flurry but being slowly undressed. And Lawton won't look at him. He has a feeling it doesn't have to do entirely with Lawton admiring his chest and the cut of his hips, although that seems to be some of it. Blake knows he's good-looking, isn't afraid to show it off, but it's flattering all the same. He lets the other man look, lets himself be undressed, and when they're both naked Lawton pulls him in and kisses him again, rubbing himself a little against Blake's abs.
There's a shocking lack of urgency to this. They kiss slow but hard, tasting and learning each other's mouths, and Lawton digs his fingers into the muscle of Blake's back, his arms, the backs of his thighs. Blake does his own exploring, which ends when Lawton grabs his ass and grinds against him, causing him to rip away from the kiss with a gasp.
Blake didn't expect any kissing for this. He initiated one, the universal I-want-you signal, but he thought it’d be the opener to a transaction, not a…not whatever this is. But Lawton kisses him again and again as they fall into bed, biting at his lips and jaw and ear, and then down his throat and chest to suck and bite at his nipples, which really aren't that sensitive, but Blake enjoys watching Deadshot take obvious pleasure from mouthing at his skin.
He pulls the man back up after Lawton dips a ticklish tongue into his navel, and they share another unhurried kiss. When they pull away, Lawton licks blood from the corner of his mouth and says, "Can I fuck you?"
Catman doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls his knees up and arches, showing off, asking for it. Lawton makes a low noise in the back of his throat like a growl and reaches into the bedside table drawer, fumbling blindly until he comes out with a tube of lube. He hesitates. "You clean?" Blake nods. "You sure?" Another nod. "Good. Fuckin' hate condoms." He slams the drawer shut decisively and pours some lube over his fingers, grinning at Blake and pressing one immediately into him.
Blake hisses at the cold and the pain of going too long without this and turns his face away, and Lawton rolls his eyes. Blake suspects the other man was testing him, seeing if he could shock a curse out of him. It'll be a game, then. Lawton trying to get him to talk and Blake not doing it.
Lawton's surprisingly thorough in preparing him, teasing and pressing and finding all of his sensitive spots, identifying them by Blake's little gasps and hitches of breath. After awhile he realizes Deadshot's trying to make him beg for it. He smirks, because he'd be perfectly happy to get a hand on himself and come just like this and leave Lawton hard and wanting (although maybe he'd like to jerk him and not give him anything he asked for just to be a bastard and still get to see him come).
"What's so funny, Tomcat?" Lawton asks, part annoyed, part amused at Blake's groan when thick fingers shove their way deep into him. But Blake won't answer, and at this point Lawton has to know that. So he does the talking for them. "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you scream, Kitty. I'm gonna pound you into the mattress 'til you beg me to stop. 'Til
everyone knows what I'm doing to you. And I'm gonna make you love it."
Blake moans and Lawton chuckles, and then he pulls out, suddenly serious. He wipes his fingers on the sheets and grips Blake's hip with one hand, guiding himself in with the other. He looks Blake dead in the eye and Blake closes his because this is suddenly too intimate, that they're doing it like this and that there's this huge unspoken Thing between them and there always has been, that he half suspects Lawton didn't want to use a condom so they could both feel each other like this, that he can feel Lawton watching him while he presses in, thick hot brand of him touching places in him that not many people have touched and that no one's ever done in a way that made him feel like this.
This was supposed to be just a fuck. How could he be so stupid? How could he think it wouldn't be more than that?
Lawton goes still inside him, buried to the hilt, and when Blake opens his eyes he knows it's not about getting used to the heat and pressure but about feeling…together. That's a big word, 'together', a huge word and maybe he's not too stupid to feel fear after all. But it's so, so good, too, he feels so stretched and filled and the burn of it is as sweet as the throbbing of the bitten gunshot graze at his throat.
And when Lawton lets out a shaky breath and starts to move it's heaven, the sensation of being fucked and taken and used. He wraps his legs around Deadshot's waist, digs his heels into his ass and pulls him in hard, and when Lawton groans open-mouthed and desperate the fear eases and he realizes he can do this, that it's not the end of the world, and he can pretend until the afterglow fades that they won't kill each other someday.
He can also grunt and drag his hands down Lawton's back and thrash because it's just that good, Deadshot's fucking him exactly how he wants it and he didn't even have to ask. Like this was fated, and that's terrifying, but it also melts his body into liquid heat and the clench of his muscles around Lawton's dick and Lawton's mouth on his skin wherever it can reach, biting and sucking kisses that are sure to leave marks. Good. He wants the marks. He wants everyone to know, to see.
He wants to go limp and just be fucked, just feel it. But he arches into it instead, runs his fingers through Lawton's hair and rubs his thumbs over his nipples, making him grunt and fuck harder. He wishes Lawton would bite him hard in a visible place, but he doesn't want to ask; he gets his wish anyway when Lawton fastens his mouth onto the place where jaw meets neck and thinks, I wish I knew how to say what this means to me so I could tell you.
"Fuck, Tomcat," Lawton says, and that used to be a mockery but now it's a term of endearment; he can hear it in the way it's half-gasped, "You're so fucking tight. You got any idea what you're doing to me? Fuckin' killing me, Blake. Christ, do that again."
He'd been biting at Lawton's shoulder. He does it again, harder, and Deadshot growls and gets a hand in Blake's hair and drags his face away from his shoulder to kiss him, hard, moaning into it and pounding him so hard the bed creaks and the headboard slams against the wall.
When Blake comes, it's with Lawton's mouth on his, not kissing but sharing air, like they can't bear to tear away from each other, and Lawton's hands all over him, and Lawton's skin pressed so tight to his he could easily hallucinate they were the same person. And he comes shouting and bucking and clinging to Lawton like the man can save him from drowning in it.
When he comes down, Deadshot's watching him with a look on his face like he's sad about something. "Jesus, Blake," he groans, and doubles over and comes with his forehead pressed to Blake's collarbone.
It's a long time before Lawton pulls out and rolls over, staring dazed at the ceiling. "That was fuckin' incredible."
"Yeah," Blake agrees, unable to express exactly how incredible it was. He has a feeling Lawton can't either.
"Oh, now he says something," Lawton grumbles, and Blake laughs for the first time in what feels like years before Lawton punches his shoulder and rolls over to kiss him, and regardless of how beaten up he is, nothing hurts at all.