20 AUs [2/4]
title : 20 AUs
author : russian torque
note : I have nothing to say for myself.
CopsOfficer Jason Arnott knows there’s going to be trouble the minute this douche bag in the Porsche next to him pulls up to the stoplight. He glares at the driver from behind his mirrored aviators, silently willing the guy to stop yapping on his phone, put both hands on the wheel, and actually start paying attention to what’s going on around him.
Of course, that doesn’t happen.
What does happen, however, is just about nearly a disaster because he floors it before the light’s even turned green directly into a school zone of 35 mph going uncomfortably close to the triple digits.
Jason sighs, curses the dumb kid for ruining his otherwise uneventful day of driving about, and flicks on his sirens before peeling off after him. For a moment, he thinks the guy isn’t going to stop and he picks up his radio, ready to call in for backup. But then the guy finally pulls over, turning onto an otherwise unoccupied side street and putting his car in park.
He jots down the car’s license plate number before getting out of his car and as he’s approaching, the thundering rhythm of obscenely loud techno music makes his stomach turn. This guy has got to be some kind of spoiled punk, driving around in an exotic sports car with his shitty music that isn’t really music. He’s the sort that can afford to have his wallet ravaged by speeding tickets. Hell, a night in jail might even do him some good.
The music cuts off just as he comes to the driver’s side and the window rolls down and all of Jason’s expectations just sort of disintegrate like rice paper left in a bowl of water.
“I can help you, officer?”
Thick Russian accent and a bit of a stutter, but that’s probably just because of the language thing. It’s his voice- the flavor of it that almost stops Jason in his tracks. He sounds too playful to have just been pulled over, like he’s laughing at a joke. Like he’s about to get fucked.
“You know how fast you were going?” Jason asks back, peering into his car. Nothing’s out of place. “Why don’t you give me your license and registration?”
The guy scowls, obviously not expecting to actually have to do anything, but doesn’t complain. Jason looks over his registration first, then his license.
Alexander Semin.
“Mr. Semin-”
“Sasha,” he corrects, lip curling into a smile, “You call me Sasha.”
This is going from a potential pain in the ass to very strange very quickly. It doesn’t help that the guy sitting in the car looks like he just stepped out of a club or something with ripped jeans and a shirt that’s just a bit too tight. His hair, the color of honey, is disheveled and it leads Jason to believe that yes, he probably did get fucked quite recently.
“So, Sasha,” Jason lets the name roll off his tongue and he has to admit, it feels good. “Any previous driving violations?”
He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Jason’s except to look him over, gaze straying and lingering on all the best parts of him.
“I want to keep this way, yes?” Sasha suddenly says, long fingers curling on the steering wheel as he leans out the window, just a little closer and they’ll be touching. “You understand what I mean?”
Jason grins. He definitely understands.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car,” he practically breathes the words and watching the play of emotion on Sasha’s face go from seductive to disappointment to worry is almost laughable. “Put both hands on the roof of the car, legs apart, no sudden movements.”
Sasha swallows, jaw clenched.
But he doesn’t argue. He slides out of the car with more grace than a man his size should be able to manage and puts his hands on the roof, and damn- this kid has a hell of an ass on him. Jason knows he’s going to enjoy this a lot more than he should, but he’s got a feeling Sasha’s been through worse.
His feet aren’t far enough apart, so Jason nudges one boot between them and kicks them apart. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but he remembers the basics well enough to know where to start.
Shoulders first- his hands come to rest on tight, knotted muscle and he runs them all the way down to Sasha’s wrists. It gives him a reason to step closer, invade his personal space in one more way and Sasha’s body is so long and slender that Jason’s finding it hard not to want to take him up on whatever he might be offering.
More importantly, he’s finding it difficult not to close the space between them that extra inch. That would be going just a little too far.
He’d rather just stick with his hands, listening to the hitch of Sasha’s breath as he runs them down his sides. He knows the only reason a guy like Sasha’s putting up with this is for the hopes that maybe his pristine record won’t end up with a big fat X on it because yeah- Jason could fuck him over if he really wanted to.
But doing this is much more entertaining, for the moment.
“Been drinking?” he asks, just to keep up the pretense that this is some sort of legitimate procedure.
Sasha manages little more than a quiet ‘No’ before Jason’s hands are working their way back up his sides and it takes a special effort not to pinch at his nipples when he slides his palms along his chest.
“Smoking anything? Any drugs?” Jason continues and Sasha just shakes his head.
It’s good he’s being this compliant, it really is. It makes sliding his hands under Sasha’s shirt and letting his fingers drag over his hot skin all the more easy. Sasha’s breath hitches then, maybe because the touch is more intimate than he was expecting, or maybe because Jason’s hands are cold. Either way, it doesn’t stop him from pushing his limits just a little bit, thumbing under his pants, just where the button is.
He pulls away for two reasons- because if he lingered there, slipping his fingers into the front of his jeans one after another, searching further and further down, there would really be no way to stop himself. And that in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he remembers just then that they’re actually standing at the side of the road and anyone who just so happens to pull in behind them is going to get a real eyeful.
The second reason is much more petty. He really just wants to see Sasha get uncomfortable, wants to crack that pretty boy exterior and make him worry for longer than a second that maybe he won’t just walk away from this.
Sasha’s legs are tense when he finally gets to them, going as far down as the knee before trailing back up and around, avoiding all the places that could potentially get him in trouble. He digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs, right under his ass, and Sasha hisses and mutters something in his mother tongue.
“What was that?” Jason asks, digging his thumb in just a bit too hard, just hard enough to make him squirm. “Resisting an officer of the law?”
Jason is legitimately surprised when Sasha moans. He was expecting something more along the lines of a yelp or a slap on the wrist and he’s totally caught off guard by Sasha rolling his hips back instead.
“Of course not, Officer,” Sasha bites back,
This changes things quite a bit, Jason thinks, and he responds to the flirtation in his own way, glancing over at the practically desolate main road before shoving him roughly against the car. He doesn’t make even a half-assed attempt to be gentle about it and if Sasha just so happens to bang his mouth against the roof or his ribs get a little bruised up by the impact, then that’s just dandy.
“I can’t stand brats like you,” Jason says, grinding hard against Sasha’s ass. “Kids like you think they can get away with anything just because you’ve got money or some shit.”
His hands are groping about at the front of Sasha’s pants, undoing the button and zipper clumsily and pulling them down just below his ass with one swift yank.
“I bet you think you’re some hot piece of ass, don’t you?”
He avoids touching Sasha’s cock, even though it’s bobbing stiff between his thighs. This isn’t about pleasing the kid or buying into whatever weird kink he’s got. It’s about Jason exacting some sort of justice because no one can be that haughty and get away with it.
“You got condoms in your car?” Jason has the good sense to ask before he starts getting ahead of himself and Sasha nods.
“Glove box,” comes the breathless reply and Jason grins.
It takes all of half a minute to reach into the Porsche and dig about for a box that isn’t empty before he finally finds one.
“Fucking slut,” Jason says under his breath and Sasha must hear him because he looks over his shoulder and winks.
Jason unzips and pulls his cock out, thick and heavy with arousal and strokes it a few times before rolling on the rubber. He considers pulling the douche cop move and being as rough as possible without actually crossing the line into brutality, but this kid is cute and doesn’t really seem the type to enjoy that sort of thing.
He presses in slow, hyper-aware of the fact there’s nothing extra to slick the way and Sasha is unbelievably tight for someone with a mountain of condoms in his car. It’s difficult to sit still once he’s bottomed out, his hips still against Sasha’s ass and the body beneath his shudders with slow, shaky breaths.
When he does start moving, it’s a gentle rock of the hips, just enough to tease until Sasha’s grinding back against him with a moan.
“Harder,” Sasha whines and Jason doesn’t really have a problem fulfilling that request, snapping forward none too gently and getting a keening cry in return. The sound is both encouraging and sexy all at once and Jason wants to work all the more hard to make Sasha feel good, to keep him from forgetting this encounter.
At the same time, as much as Jason wants to draw this out, he can’t stop himself from glancing down the street to where cars are still speeding by on occasion. He’s got a feeling that Sasha might be able to bounce back from a scandal like this, but his career is slightly more mercurial.
His fingers dig into Sasha’s hips, pulling him forward to meet his thrusts and Sasha’s hands are splayed out on the roof of the car, his entire body tense and rocking back into Jason’s like his legs are buckling beneath him. Jason bites harshly at Sasha’s shoulder when he’s close, leaving a mark just because he can, but also so that he can pull back and lick over it, kiss it.
He’s vaguely aware that he hasn’t actually adressed Sasha’s need this entire time and he figures now isn’t really the time to start. So when he’s about to climax, he pulls out and rolls the condom off just in time to come all over the small of Sasha’s back. It’s a beautiful sight, watching the thick splatters of white dripping down to his ass and thighs and he wants to take a picture, but that’s probably a bad idea.
Sasha whimpers when he realizes he’s going to have to take care of himself, but Jason isn’t entirely heartless. Once Sasha reaches down and starts jacking himself off, Jason spins him around and kisses him hard, biting at his lips and tongue until Sasha’s all gasps and a choked few words he can’t understand.
And then Jason goes in for another kiss, languid and gentle and far too quick, but he’s got to get back to business and there’s something he needs from his car.
Sasha’s still leaning against the car, out of breath and looking thoroughly fucked when Jason comes back with his notepad, writing as he walks. The expression of complete and utter disappointment on his face makes Jason want to laugh out loud, but he contains himself just long enough to rip off the speeding ticket stub, fold it up, and slide it into Sasha’s hand.
From his car, he watches Sasha open up the paper, eyes scanning it quickly before he looks over at Jason with a crooked smile. He ends up keeping his phone close at hand for the rest of the day because it turns out that Sasha texts about as often as normal people breathe.
X x X x X
Figure Skating“Just one kiss?”
Sasha rolls his eyes and peers at himself in the mirror, doing his best to ignore Alex hovering about behind him. He still has to do his makeup, smudge some kohl around his eyes and get the rest of his costume on and Alex isn’t making it easy. In fact, he’s doing everything in his power to impede Sasha’s routine and he even seems to be enjoying it.
“How long are you planning on standing there?” Sasha snaps, putting the finishing touches around his eyes and moving down to his mouth.
He hates painting his mouth, he really does. His lips are too thin, mouth too wide, and no matter how often he uses lip balm, they’re always dry from the cold.
Just as Alex is about to reply, Sasha makes a point of cutting him off with a rather tremendous can of hairspray, the fumes making both of them choke a little as he freezes his perfectly styled hair in place.
“Come on, it’s good luck,” Alex whines at him once the toxic fumes have dispersed a bit. “Will you at least have dinner with me later?”
Sasha wants to throw something at this point. Hockey players aren’t even supposed to be in this set of dressing rooms to begin with, they’re reserved for figure skaters. And sure, this guy’s some kind of hot shot with his team back in America, but that isn’t enough for Sasha- even if he is a little cute.
He continues to ignore Alex, moving across the room to rummage through the closet. The top he’s looking for is all the way in the back, behind the mess of frills he used in his last competition. His new costume is sans frill and lace, but it is a rather shocking shade of purple in addition to being covered in sparkling sequins.
Putting it on in front of Alex is awkward more than anything. His skin tingles and the hair on the back of his neck stands up because he knows he’s being watched and it isn’t as if he’s never changed in front of other people before, he’s just never been so aware of his body while doing it. Alex has the decency to look away while he finishes his final, more intimate, adjustments and that earns him brownie points if nothing else.
“You look really nice,” Alex says softly and Sasha catches himself starting to smile.
Although Sasha must admit, he does look good. Now that his makeup is done, it’s tastefully simple, and his hair is fluffy and perfect, he hardly even recognizes himself in the mirror. He would even go as far as to say he’s beautiful and that in itself is a rarity as of late. More and more often he finds himself just wanting to stay in bed with a pillow over his head, but now that he’s all dressed up he can actually appreciate his figure, slender and graceful instead of lanky and long-limbed.
Someone in the room is definitely enjoying the view, that much is certain. Sasha glances at Alex in the mirror to find him slightly pink in the face and it makes him feel more than a little cherished even though he’s only known Alex for a couple days. He can’t afford to linger on the feeling however- his event starts in an hour and he’s got to be out on the practice rink to warm up.
Sasha stops right in front of Alex on his way out, staring up at him with a blank expression like he’s waiting for something and maybe hockey players are just a little slow, but Alex stands there looking confused for a few seconds before realizing what’s going on.
“Not on the mouth,” Sasha grumbles, turning his head to expose his cheek, “Don’t want to mess up my makeup.”
Alex smiles at him and he almost manages to look adorable. Almost.
It’s with surprising tenderness that he brushes his lips against Sasha’s cheek, one hand coming to rest on his hip and Sasha would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a few beats. Alex’s lips are soft and this close, he smells the way all men should smell- like a splash of something spicy and just a bit like sweat. It makes Sasha feel a little dizzy and he finds himself wanting to close the space between them back up when Alex finally pulls away.
He doesn’t though- he can’t afford to let himself get distracted just yet. After his event, however, is a different matter entirely.
“Will I get to see you later?” he asks, wrapping both arms around Sasha’s waist and pulling him close.
It feels nice- Alex’s larger body against his own, the heat of it. But Alex doesn’t need to know that just yet.
“Maybe,” Sasha thrums back, obviously pleased to be the center of attention and this close? Alex isn’t just kind of adorable or a little attractive. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
Alex scowls a little before pressing his lips to his forehead and murmuring, “Good luck.”
X x X x X
GhostsMichal knows there’s something wrong with the house before he makes the decision to move in.
It’s a bit too old, a little too creaky, and painfully outdated. And that isn’t even taking into consideration the civil war graveyard within eye-shot of his bedroom window, a hundred yards or so into the sparse woods. It doesn’t make sense for anyone to buy the house, really. If anything, it should be made into some kind of museum, or even left to the mercies of a wrecking ball, but it certainly isn’t habitable.
Michal’s got his reasons though. They aren’t reasons he’s going to share with anyone and truth be told, even he feels a little silly for it, but the dreams- they’re so realistic. How could he not come all the way out here?
His crappy little Honda ends up parked at the end of the driveway- he doesn’t think it can survive the trip all the way up to the house on the pit hole filled dirt road and he’d rather not get stranded his first night out here.
He spends the rest of the day getting acquainted with the house and discovers it’s even more out dated than he previously believed. The water on all the taps comes out a brackish color before finally fading to clear and it’s so cold he can scarcely bring himself to bathe.
Up until the sun goes down, he toys with the idea of walking out to the graveyard. The realtor that gave him the initial tour had told him this plot of land was in the middle of a battlefield dating back to the Civil War, but he hadn’t registered what that meant until now.
People had probably died in this house, and on the grounds surrounding. The entire area was probably a graveyard.
Michal retires early, fighting with the fireplace for a while before he finally gets a small blaze going and he settles on the loveseat a few feet away. He doesn’t even realize he’s drifting to sleep until a sudden rattle brings him back to earth.
“You came.”
The voice is soft and Michal figures it’s just the wind playing tricks on him. And then it speaks again-
“I didn’t think you would, I’ve been alone for so long.”
He almost doesn’t have the courage to look over his shoulder at the window, the origin of the whispering cold. But he steels himself, taking a deep breath before turning slowly.
There’s a soldier standing in his living room, donning a deep blue uniform with a musket in hand. He shimmers, his body fading in and out of focus. Only his eyes do not change or flicker about- they continue to burn into Michal’s skin. He looks exactly the way Michal remembers him.
“I thought you were just a dream,” Michal breathes, unable to move. “How can you be real?”
The soldier smiles sadly. “I’m not real, Michal, not yet.”
X x X x X
DoctorsJay hates going to the doctor, but not for the typical reasons. He loves going in and being told there’s nothing wrong, likes the attention he gets from the nurses that take his blood pressure and weight because they always manage to flatter him in some way or another.
But the rooms- they’re too white, too bright, and they smell like absolutely nothing. Sitting in one of them for any length of time makes him feel like he’s being deprived of his senses.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to deal with it for very long because the doctor comes in pretty quick.
There are two things he notices about the doctor- first, he’s new. It isn’t the same guy he’s been seeing for the better part of the year and the fact that he wasn’t informed of the change ticks him off a bit. Second, and more important, the man is gorgeous enough to make him forget his own name and he has to pick his jaw up off the floor to keep from letting out an undignified squeak.
“Hello, Mr. Beagle?” the doctor looks over his clipboard for a moment before extending his hand, “I’m Jeff Halpern and I’ll be your doctor today. Dr. Stein came down with a bug a couple hours ago and had to go home, I hope you don’t mind.”
Jay works to form words- he’s got an unfortunate disposition which causes his brain to turn into mush on occasion and this is one of them.
“You’re fine- No- I mean,” Jay feels his cheeks turn pink and he averts his gaze. “It’s fine. No problem at all.”
Jeff smiles at him, his eyes practically sparkling and Jay feels like he’s going to make a fool of himself.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Jay?”
“I- uh- My knee’s been sore recently,” he blurts, sliding to the edge of the paper covered exam table and motioning to his right leg. “I play hockey and it can get a little rough.”
The doctor makes a quick note in his file and sets it down. And then he’s rolling over on his little stool until he’s situated right between Jay’s legs, pulling a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket.
Jay says a quick prayer of thanks to who or whatever made him choose to wear shorts instead of pants today when Jeff’s hands start feeling around his knee.
“Where does it hurt the most?” Jeff asks, his fingers massaging where knee becomes shin.
“Left side, just when I bend it a certain- shit!” Jay cuts himself off with a curse when Jeff’s fingers find a tender spot and he’s appalled at himself. “Sorry- I just-”
Jeff smiles and shakes his head, “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse, trust me.”
The reply that flies up to Jay’s throat is grossly inappropriate and he catches himself before he’s able to blurt out some ridiculous pickup line, opting to chew furiously on his bottom lip instead.
“I was wondering if you might be an athlete when I came in,” Jeff says suddenly, moving his touch to the back of Jay’s knee and it tickles a little. “You’ve got a great physique.”
It occurs to Jay that he’s being hit on, but he writes it off as just being a typical doctor thing to say. Never mind the fact that none of his previous doctors have lingered that long on his thigh, winked at him from between his legs, or looked him up and down like a piece of meat. No, the doctor’s just being friendly, obviously.
“Yeah, I’ve been playing pretty much all my life,” Jay replies, glad to find a comfortable topic that doesn’t involve him making a fool of himself, “I’m not the best out there on the ice, but I think I’m about to make a big break.”
Jeff turns to his other knee, starting the same procedure of rolling the pads of his fingers around the kneecap, straying down to his shin and then back up his thigh. It feels good, almost too good and Jay shifts a little.
“You doing okay?” Jeff asks, smiling up at him, “Tell me more about hockey. What position do you play?”
“Right wing mostly. I wanted to play center when I was little, but that didn’t pan out so great...”
He drifts off because Jeff’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, an expression of deep concentration making his brow furrow and doctors just aren’t supposed to be that good looking.
“What’s your number?”
Even before the words finish forming, Jay is ready to shoot himself. He can’t even apologize because his throat has suddenly decided to go completely dry and even if he was able to speak, it would probably just come out as a ridiculous croak.
Jeff pauses what he’s doing, palm resting non-chalantly on his inner thigh and one eyebrow cocked up in amusement.
“That was a little unexpected,” Jeff grins, “But you’re my last patient and there’s a bar across the street, if you’re up to it.”
Unethical? probably. But that doesn’t keep Jay from saying yes.
X x X x X
Bakery“Is not right!”
Sasha’s yell makes the windows in the small bakery shake in their frames and in that moment, John wishes he was about two feet shorter because it would make cowering easier.
“Russian cake is not American cake! Different, not sweet on outside, like a puzzle, you see?” No, John doesn’t see, but he nods regardless. “Why Alex even hire you? Stand around, texting friends, no heart in your cooking!”
Sasha chooses that moment to ramble off in Russian and he wanders off to another part of the bakery, presumably to find someone else to rip to shreds.
In John’s defense, the cake he made doesn’t actually taste bad. It’s the recipe- translated into English from Russian by the one person in the entire shop that really shouldn’t be doing translations, ever. While Sasha is perfectly capable of holding proper conversation, he gets sloppy when he’s upset and recently he’s been upset all the damned time.
John blames Alex for that. Ever since that fiasco with the Crepe Shop across the street, Alex has spent more time out of the bakery shop than in and it’s taking its toll on everyone.
Speaking of the which, Alex chooses that exact moment to come meandering in and it’s obvious he is neither expecting nor the least bit prepared for having Sasha in his face, oven mitts and pink apron to boot, shouting what sounds like a line out of a Spanish soap opera.
Not that John knows anything about soap operas of any kind, of course not. But Sasha insists on keeping them in the break room, probably because it creates a horribly uncomfortable atmosphere that makes his workers take as short of breaks as possible.
It all started a month ago, really.
Sasha had wanted something new- something no one else had done before. Sure, the pastries and baked goods the small shop was producing were top of the line, but he found something was lacking.
So he’d sent Alex over to Malkin’s Crepe Shop over on 14th street hoping for some innovative new ideas. He hadn’t expected Alex to break into the shop and steal their recipe book.
Since then, Malkin had been doing everything possible to drown their business, including a reciprocation of the theft with Sasha’s own thick book of recipes he’d gotten from his grandmother, or so he said. More likely, it was just a collection of things he’d janked off the internet and copied messily into an old notebook.
Hence the horrible recipes John had been stuck cooking from as of late. Badly translated messes, most of them recalled from the terrifying depths of Sasha’s memory and who the hell puts curry powder in pound cake anyway?
The yelling continues and John tries not to stare, but he just can’t help it. Alex does his own fair share of yelling when things get slow and watching him get told makes John grin until Sasha finally stops and Alex is pulling him into a loose hug, hand straying down to the back pocket of his jeans and fuck- he didn’t need to see that.
Sasha comes scampering back, cheeks a little pink and eyes a little crazy and he peers into the pot John’s currently stirring for a moment before resting a hand on his shoulder.
“You can take care of shop for a little bit, yes?” Sasha asks, unblinking, “I can trust you?”
John nods and Sasha leans in to place a messy kiss on his cheek before he’s skipping over to his office, where Alex just entered seconds before. He doesn’t have to hear the lock click, or the sound of everything on Sasha’s desk being thrown on the floor to know this is a good time to plug in his iPod and pretend he doesn’t exist for an hour or so.
X x X x X
author : russian torque
note : I have nothing to say for myself.
CopsOfficer Jason Arnott knows there’s going to be trouble the minute this douche bag in the Porsche next to him pulls up to the stoplight. He glares at the driver from behind his mirrored aviators, silently willing the guy to stop yapping on his phone, put both hands on the wheel, and actually start paying attention to what’s going on around him.
Of course, that doesn’t happen.
What does happen, however, is just about nearly a disaster because he floors it before the light’s even turned green directly into a school zone of 35 mph going uncomfortably close to the triple digits.
Jason sighs, curses the dumb kid for ruining his otherwise uneventful day of driving about, and flicks on his sirens before peeling off after him. For a moment, he thinks the guy isn’t going to stop and he picks up his radio, ready to call in for backup. But then the guy finally pulls over, turning onto an otherwise unoccupied side street and putting his car in park.
He jots down the car’s license plate number before getting out of his car and as he’s approaching, the thundering rhythm of obscenely loud techno music makes his stomach turn. This guy has got to be some kind of spoiled punk, driving around in an exotic sports car with his shitty music that isn’t really music. He’s the sort that can afford to have his wallet ravaged by speeding tickets. Hell, a night in jail might even do him some good.
The music cuts off just as he comes to the driver’s side and the window rolls down and all of Jason’s expectations just sort of disintegrate like rice paper left in a bowl of water.
“I can help you, officer?”
Thick Russian accent and a bit of a stutter, but that’s probably just because of the language thing. It’s his voice- the flavor of it that almost stops Jason in his tracks. He sounds too playful to have just been pulled over, like he’s laughing at a joke. Like he’s about to get fucked.
“You know how fast you were going?” Jason asks back, peering into his car. Nothing’s out of place. “Why don’t you give me your license and registration?”
The guy scowls, obviously not expecting to actually have to do anything, but doesn’t complain. Jason looks over his registration first, then his license.
Alexander Semin.
“Mr. Semin-”
“Sasha,” he corrects, lip curling into a smile, “You call me Sasha.”
This is going from a potential pain in the ass to very strange very quickly. It doesn’t help that the guy sitting in the car looks like he just stepped out of a club or something with ripped jeans and a shirt that’s just a bit too tight. His hair, the color of honey, is disheveled and it leads Jason to believe that yes, he probably did get fucked quite recently.
“So, Sasha,” Jason lets the name roll off his tongue and he has to admit, it feels good. “Any previous driving violations?”
He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Jason’s except to look him over, gaze straying and lingering on all the best parts of him.
“I want to keep this way, yes?” Sasha suddenly says, long fingers curling on the steering wheel as he leans out the window, just a little closer and they’ll be touching. “You understand what I mean?”
Jason grins. He definitely understands.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car,” he practically breathes the words and watching the play of emotion on Sasha’s face go from seductive to disappointment to worry is almost laughable. “Put both hands on the roof of the car, legs apart, no sudden movements.”
Sasha swallows, jaw clenched.
But he doesn’t argue. He slides out of the car with more grace than a man his size should be able to manage and puts his hands on the roof, and damn- this kid has a hell of an ass on him. Jason knows he’s going to enjoy this a lot more than he should, but he’s got a feeling Sasha’s been through worse.
His feet aren’t far enough apart, so Jason nudges one boot between them and kicks them apart. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but he remembers the basics well enough to know where to start.
Shoulders first- his hands come to rest on tight, knotted muscle and he runs them all the way down to Sasha’s wrists. It gives him a reason to step closer, invade his personal space in one more way and Sasha’s body is so long and slender that Jason’s finding it hard not to want to take him up on whatever he might be offering.
More importantly, he’s finding it difficult not to close the space between them that extra inch. That would be going just a little too far.
He’d rather just stick with his hands, listening to the hitch of Sasha’s breath as he runs them down his sides. He knows the only reason a guy like Sasha’s putting up with this is for the hopes that maybe his pristine record won’t end up with a big fat X on it because yeah- Jason could fuck him over if he really wanted to.
But doing this is much more entertaining, for the moment.
“Been drinking?” he asks, just to keep up the pretense that this is some sort of legitimate procedure.
Sasha manages little more than a quiet ‘No’ before Jason’s hands are working their way back up his sides and it takes a special effort not to pinch at his nipples when he slides his palms along his chest.
“Smoking anything? Any drugs?” Jason continues and Sasha just shakes his head.
It’s good he’s being this compliant, it really is. It makes sliding his hands under Sasha’s shirt and letting his fingers drag over his hot skin all the more easy. Sasha’s breath hitches then, maybe because the touch is more intimate than he was expecting, or maybe because Jason’s hands are cold. Either way, it doesn’t stop him from pushing his limits just a little bit, thumbing under his pants, just where the button is.
He pulls away for two reasons- because if he lingered there, slipping his fingers into the front of his jeans one after another, searching further and further down, there would really be no way to stop himself. And that in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he remembers just then that they’re actually standing at the side of the road and anyone who just so happens to pull in behind them is going to get a real eyeful.
The second reason is much more petty. He really just wants to see Sasha get uncomfortable, wants to crack that pretty boy exterior and make him worry for longer than a second that maybe he won’t just walk away from this.
Sasha’s legs are tense when he finally gets to them, going as far down as the knee before trailing back up and around, avoiding all the places that could potentially get him in trouble. He digs his fingers into the backs of his thighs, right under his ass, and Sasha hisses and mutters something in his mother tongue.
“What was that?” Jason asks, digging his thumb in just a bit too hard, just hard enough to make him squirm. “Resisting an officer of the law?”
Jason is legitimately surprised when Sasha moans. He was expecting something more along the lines of a yelp or a slap on the wrist and he’s totally caught off guard by Sasha rolling his hips back instead.
“Of course not, Officer,” Sasha bites back,
This changes things quite a bit, Jason thinks, and he responds to the flirtation in his own way, glancing over at the practically desolate main road before shoving him roughly against the car. He doesn’t make even a half-assed attempt to be gentle about it and if Sasha just so happens to bang his mouth against the roof or his ribs get a little bruised up by the impact, then that’s just dandy.
“I can’t stand brats like you,” Jason says, grinding hard against Sasha’s ass. “Kids like you think they can get away with anything just because you’ve got money or some shit.”
His hands are groping about at the front of Sasha’s pants, undoing the button and zipper clumsily and pulling them down just below his ass with one swift yank.
“I bet you think you’re some hot piece of ass, don’t you?”
He avoids touching Sasha’s cock, even though it’s bobbing stiff between his thighs. This isn’t about pleasing the kid or buying into whatever weird kink he’s got. It’s about Jason exacting some sort of justice because no one can be that haughty and get away with it.
“You got condoms in your car?” Jason has the good sense to ask before he starts getting ahead of himself and Sasha nods.
“Glove box,” comes the breathless reply and Jason grins.
It takes all of half a minute to reach into the Porsche and dig about for a box that isn’t empty before he finally finds one.
“Fucking slut,” Jason says under his breath and Sasha must hear him because he looks over his shoulder and winks.
Jason unzips and pulls his cock out, thick and heavy with arousal and strokes it a few times before rolling on the rubber. He considers pulling the douche cop move and being as rough as possible without actually crossing the line into brutality, but this kid is cute and doesn’t really seem the type to enjoy that sort of thing.
He presses in slow, hyper-aware of the fact there’s nothing extra to slick the way and Sasha is unbelievably tight for someone with a mountain of condoms in his car. It’s difficult to sit still once he’s bottomed out, his hips still against Sasha’s ass and the body beneath his shudders with slow, shaky breaths.
When he does start moving, it’s a gentle rock of the hips, just enough to tease until Sasha’s grinding back against him with a moan.
“Harder,” Sasha whines and Jason doesn’t really have a problem fulfilling that request, snapping forward none too gently and getting a keening cry in return. The sound is both encouraging and sexy all at once and Jason wants to work all the more hard to make Sasha feel good, to keep him from forgetting this encounter.
At the same time, as much as Jason wants to draw this out, he can’t stop himself from glancing down the street to where cars are still speeding by on occasion. He’s got a feeling that Sasha might be able to bounce back from a scandal like this, but his career is slightly more mercurial.
His fingers dig into Sasha’s hips, pulling him forward to meet his thrusts and Sasha’s hands are splayed out on the roof of the car, his entire body tense and rocking back into Jason’s like his legs are buckling beneath him. Jason bites harshly at Sasha’s shoulder when he’s close, leaving a mark just because he can, but also so that he can pull back and lick over it, kiss it.
He’s vaguely aware that he hasn’t actually adressed Sasha’s need this entire time and he figures now isn’t really the time to start. So when he’s about to climax, he pulls out and rolls the condom off just in time to come all over the small of Sasha’s back. It’s a beautiful sight, watching the thick splatters of white dripping down to his ass and thighs and he wants to take a picture, but that’s probably a bad idea.
Sasha whimpers when he realizes he’s going to have to take care of himself, but Jason isn’t entirely heartless. Once Sasha reaches down and starts jacking himself off, Jason spins him around and kisses him hard, biting at his lips and tongue until Sasha’s all gasps and a choked few words he can’t understand.
And then Jason goes in for another kiss, languid and gentle and far too quick, but he’s got to get back to business and there’s something he needs from his car.
Sasha’s still leaning against the car, out of breath and looking thoroughly fucked when Jason comes back with his notepad, writing as he walks. The expression of complete and utter disappointment on his face makes Jason want to laugh out loud, but he contains himself just long enough to rip off the speeding ticket stub, fold it up, and slide it into Sasha’s hand.
From his car, he watches Sasha open up the paper, eyes scanning it quickly before he looks over at Jason with a crooked smile. He ends up keeping his phone close at hand for the rest of the day because it turns out that Sasha texts about as often as normal people breathe.
X x X x X
Figure Skating“Just one kiss?”
Sasha rolls his eyes and peers at himself in the mirror, doing his best to ignore Alex hovering about behind him. He still has to do his makeup, smudge some kohl around his eyes and get the rest of his costume on and Alex isn’t making it easy. In fact, he’s doing everything in his power to impede Sasha’s routine and he even seems to be enjoying it.
“How long are you planning on standing there?” Sasha snaps, putting the finishing touches around his eyes and moving down to his mouth.
He hates painting his mouth, he really does. His lips are too thin, mouth too wide, and no matter how often he uses lip balm, they’re always dry from the cold.
Just as Alex is about to reply, Sasha makes a point of cutting him off with a rather tremendous can of hairspray, the fumes making both of them choke a little as he freezes his perfectly styled hair in place.
“Come on, it’s good luck,” Alex whines at him once the toxic fumes have dispersed a bit. “Will you at least have dinner with me later?”
Sasha wants to throw something at this point. Hockey players aren’t even supposed to be in this set of dressing rooms to begin with, they’re reserved for figure skaters. And sure, this guy’s some kind of hot shot with his team back in America, but that isn’t enough for Sasha- even if he is a little cute.
He continues to ignore Alex, moving across the room to rummage through the closet. The top he’s looking for is all the way in the back, behind the mess of frills he used in his last competition. His new costume is sans frill and lace, but it is a rather shocking shade of purple in addition to being covered in sparkling sequins.
Putting it on in front of Alex is awkward more than anything. His skin tingles and the hair on the back of his neck stands up because he knows he’s being watched and it isn’t as if he’s never changed in front of other people before, he’s just never been so aware of his body while doing it. Alex has the decency to look away while he finishes his final, more intimate, adjustments and that earns him brownie points if nothing else.
“You look really nice,” Alex says softly and Sasha catches himself starting to smile.
Although Sasha must admit, he does look good. Now that his makeup is done, it’s tastefully simple, and his hair is fluffy and perfect, he hardly even recognizes himself in the mirror. He would even go as far as to say he’s beautiful and that in itself is a rarity as of late. More and more often he finds himself just wanting to stay in bed with a pillow over his head, but now that he’s all dressed up he can actually appreciate his figure, slender and graceful instead of lanky and long-limbed.
Someone in the room is definitely enjoying the view, that much is certain. Sasha glances at Alex in the mirror to find him slightly pink in the face and it makes him feel more than a little cherished even though he’s only known Alex for a couple days. He can’t afford to linger on the feeling however- his event starts in an hour and he’s got to be out on the practice rink to warm up.
Sasha stops right in front of Alex on his way out, staring up at him with a blank expression like he’s waiting for something and maybe hockey players are just a little slow, but Alex stands there looking confused for a few seconds before realizing what’s going on.
“Not on the mouth,” Sasha grumbles, turning his head to expose his cheek, “Don’t want to mess up my makeup.”
Alex smiles at him and he almost manages to look adorable. Almost.
It’s with surprising tenderness that he brushes his lips against Sasha’s cheek, one hand coming to rest on his hip and Sasha would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a few beats. Alex’s lips are soft and this close, he smells the way all men should smell- like a splash of something spicy and just a bit like sweat. It makes Sasha feel a little dizzy and he finds himself wanting to close the space between them back up when Alex finally pulls away.
He doesn’t though- he can’t afford to let himself get distracted just yet. After his event, however, is a different matter entirely.
“Will I get to see you later?” he asks, wrapping both arms around Sasha’s waist and pulling him close.
It feels nice- Alex’s larger body against his own, the heat of it. But Alex doesn’t need to know that just yet.
“Maybe,” Sasha thrums back, obviously pleased to be the center of attention and this close? Alex isn’t just kind of adorable or a little attractive. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
Alex scowls a little before pressing his lips to his forehead and murmuring, “Good luck.”
X x X x X
GhostsMichal knows there’s something wrong with the house before he makes the decision to move in.
It’s a bit too old, a little too creaky, and painfully outdated. And that isn’t even taking into consideration the civil war graveyard within eye-shot of his bedroom window, a hundred yards or so into the sparse woods. It doesn’t make sense for anyone to buy the house, really. If anything, it should be made into some kind of museum, or even left to the mercies of a wrecking ball, but it certainly isn’t habitable.
Michal’s got his reasons though. They aren’t reasons he’s going to share with anyone and truth be told, even he feels a little silly for it, but the dreams- they’re so realistic. How could he not come all the way out here?
His crappy little Honda ends up parked at the end of the driveway- he doesn’t think it can survive the trip all the way up to the house on the pit hole filled dirt road and he’d rather not get stranded his first night out here.
He spends the rest of the day getting acquainted with the house and discovers it’s even more out dated than he previously believed. The water on all the taps comes out a brackish color before finally fading to clear and it’s so cold he can scarcely bring himself to bathe.
Up until the sun goes down, he toys with the idea of walking out to the graveyard. The realtor that gave him the initial tour had told him this plot of land was in the middle of a battlefield dating back to the Civil War, but he hadn’t registered what that meant until now.
People had probably died in this house, and on the grounds surrounding. The entire area was probably a graveyard.
Michal retires early, fighting with the fireplace for a while before he finally gets a small blaze going and he settles on the loveseat a few feet away. He doesn’t even realize he’s drifting to sleep until a sudden rattle brings him back to earth.
“You came.”
The voice is soft and Michal figures it’s just the wind playing tricks on him. And then it speaks again-
“I didn’t think you would, I’ve been alone for so long.”
He almost doesn’t have the courage to look over his shoulder at the window, the origin of the whispering cold. But he steels himself, taking a deep breath before turning slowly.
There’s a soldier standing in his living room, donning a deep blue uniform with a musket in hand. He shimmers, his body fading in and out of focus. Only his eyes do not change or flicker about- they continue to burn into Michal’s skin. He looks exactly the way Michal remembers him.
“I thought you were just a dream,” Michal breathes, unable to move. “How can you be real?”
The soldier smiles sadly. “I’m not real, Michal, not yet.”
X x X x X
DoctorsJay hates going to the doctor, but not for the typical reasons. He loves going in and being told there’s nothing wrong, likes the attention he gets from the nurses that take his blood pressure and weight because they always manage to flatter him in some way or another.
But the rooms- they’re too white, too bright, and they smell like absolutely nothing. Sitting in one of them for any length of time makes him feel like he’s being deprived of his senses.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to deal with it for very long because the doctor comes in pretty quick.
There are two things he notices about the doctor- first, he’s new. It isn’t the same guy he’s been seeing for the better part of the year and the fact that he wasn’t informed of the change ticks him off a bit. Second, and more important, the man is gorgeous enough to make him forget his own name and he has to pick his jaw up off the floor to keep from letting out an undignified squeak.
“Hello, Mr. Beagle?” the doctor looks over his clipboard for a moment before extending his hand, “I’m Jeff Halpern and I’ll be your doctor today. Dr. Stein came down with a bug a couple hours ago and had to go home, I hope you don’t mind.”
Jay works to form words- he’s got an unfortunate disposition which causes his brain to turn into mush on occasion and this is one of them.
“You’re fine- No- I mean,” Jay feels his cheeks turn pink and he averts his gaze. “It’s fine. No problem at all.”
Jeff smiles at him, his eyes practically sparkling and Jay feels like he’s going to make a fool of himself.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Jay?”
“I- uh- My knee’s been sore recently,” he blurts, sliding to the edge of the paper covered exam table and motioning to his right leg. “I play hockey and it can get a little rough.”
The doctor makes a quick note in his file and sets it down. And then he’s rolling over on his little stool until he’s situated right between Jay’s legs, pulling a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket.
Jay says a quick prayer of thanks to who or whatever made him choose to wear shorts instead of pants today when Jeff’s hands start feeling around his knee.
“Where does it hurt the most?” Jeff asks, his fingers massaging where knee becomes shin.
“Left side, just when I bend it a certain- shit!” Jay cuts himself off with a curse when Jeff’s fingers find a tender spot and he’s appalled at himself. “Sorry- I just-”
Jeff smiles and shakes his head, “It’s okay. I’ve heard worse, trust me.”
The reply that flies up to Jay’s throat is grossly inappropriate and he catches himself before he’s able to blurt out some ridiculous pickup line, opting to chew furiously on his bottom lip instead.
“I was wondering if you might be an athlete when I came in,” Jeff says suddenly, moving his touch to the back of Jay’s knee and it tickles a little. “You’ve got a great physique.”
It occurs to Jay that he’s being hit on, but he writes it off as just being a typical doctor thing to say. Never mind the fact that none of his previous doctors have lingered that long on his thigh, winked at him from between his legs, or looked him up and down like a piece of meat. No, the doctor’s just being friendly, obviously.
“Yeah, I’ve been playing pretty much all my life,” Jay replies, glad to find a comfortable topic that doesn’t involve him making a fool of himself, “I’m not the best out there on the ice, but I think I’m about to make a big break.”
Jeff turns to his other knee, starting the same procedure of rolling the pads of his fingers around the kneecap, straying down to his shin and then back up his thigh. It feels good, almost too good and Jay shifts a little.
“You doing okay?” Jeff asks, smiling up at him, “Tell me more about hockey. What position do you play?”
“Right wing mostly. I wanted to play center when I was little, but that didn’t pan out so great...”
He drifts off because Jeff’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, an expression of deep concentration making his brow furrow and doctors just aren’t supposed to be that good looking.
“What’s your number?”
Even before the words finish forming, Jay is ready to shoot himself. He can’t even apologize because his throat has suddenly decided to go completely dry and even if he was able to speak, it would probably just come out as a ridiculous croak.
Jeff pauses what he’s doing, palm resting non-chalantly on his inner thigh and one eyebrow cocked up in amusement.
“That was a little unexpected,” Jeff grins, “But you’re my last patient and there’s a bar across the street, if you’re up to it.”
Unethical? probably. But that doesn’t keep Jay from saying yes.
X x X x X
Bakery“Is not right!”
Sasha’s yell makes the windows in the small bakery shake in their frames and in that moment, John wishes he was about two feet shorter because it would make cowering easier.
“Russian cake is not American cake! Different, not sweet on outside, like a puzzle, you see?” No, John doesn’t see, but he nods regardless. “Why Alex even hire you? Stand around, texting friends, no heart in your cooking!”
Sasha chooses that moment to ramble off in Russian and he wanders off to another part of the bakery, presumably to find someone else to rip to shreds.
In John’s defense, the cake he made doesn’t actually taste bad. It’s the recipe- translated into English from Russian by the one person in the entire shop that really shouldn’t be doing translations, ever. While Sasha is perfectly capable of holding proper conversation, he gets sloppy when he’s upset and recently he’s been upset all the damned time.
John blames Alex for that. Ever since that fiasco with the Crepe Shop across the street, Alex has spent more time out of the bakery shop than in and it’s taking its toll on everyone.
Speaking of the which, Alex chooses that exact moment to come meandering in and it’s obvious he is neither expecting nor the least bit prepared for having Sasha in his face, oven mitts and pink apron to boot, shouting what sounds like a line out of a Spanish soap opera.
Not that John knows anything about soap operas of any kind, of course not. But Sasha insists on keeping them in the break room, probably because it creates a horribly uncomfortable atmosphere that makes his workers take as short of breaks as possible.
It all started a month ago, really.
Sasha had wanted something new- something no one else had done before. Sure, the pastries and baked goods the small shop was producing were top of the line, but he found something was lacking.
So he’d sent Alex over to Malkin’s Crepe Shop over on 14th street hoping for some innovative new ideas. He hadn’t expected Alex to break into the shop and steal their recipe book.
Since then, Malkin had been doing everything possible to drown their business, including a reciprocation of the theft with Sasha’s own thick book of recipes he’d gotten from his grandmother, or so he said. More likely, it was just a collection of things he’d janked off the internet and copied messily into an old notebook.
Hence the horrible recipes John had been stuck cooking from as of late. Badly translated messes, most of them recalled from the terrifying depths of Sasha’s memory and who the hell puts curry powder in pound cake anyway?
The yelling continues and John tries not to stare, but he just can’t help it. Alex does his own fair share of yelling when things get slow and watching him get told makes John grin until Sasha finally stops and Alex is pulling him into a loose hug, hand straying down to the back pocket of his jeans and fuck- he didn’t need to see that.
Sasha comes scampering back, cheeks a little pink and eyes a little crazy and he peers into the pot John’s currently stirring for a moment before resting a hand on his shoulder.
“You can take care of shop for a little bit, yes?” Sasha asks, unblinking, “I can trust you?”
John nods and Sasha leans in to place a messy kiss on his cheek before he’s skipping over to his office, where Alex just entered seconds before. He doesn’t have to hear the lock click, or the sound of everything on Sasha’s desk being thrown on the floor to know this is a good time to plug in his iPod and pretend he doesn’t exist for an hour or so.
X x X x X