"Run to obtain", The Magnificent Seven, Chris/Vin, R
Here's my not-quite-finished M7 ficathon assignment. Oops?
Title: Run to obtain
Author: scrollgirl
Written for: i_want_2
Prompt: Chris catches Vin. Either Vin's a wild man, a jungle bunny, or just someone who don't like people. Must have Chris being dominant, can have BDSM but no spanking.
Words: 1,349
Rating: R for language, violence, sexual situations, nudity, etc.
Summary: Vin won't stop running and Chris can't stop chasing after him. Part of a larger AU centred on Phoenix, Arizona, that's in the works. (To clarify: Chris is a police sergeant, not military. And if you're wondering why a cop is chasing someone across state lines -- oh, look, time travel in the Stargate universe! *runs and hides*)
Author's Note: This story is not yet complete! My sincerest apologies to i_want_2. I was travelling for all of August (Europe, yay!) and as soon as I got home, I immediately got sick. I'm mostly better now, but didn't have enough time to finish my assignment. Will get the rest of it up as soon as possible.
Run to obtain
by Scroll
Tanner's a slippery one, a canny, careful bastard with instincts sharper than any man Chris has ever met. But he's been on the run from the cops and the mob alike for nearly a year with no support and no end in sight, weighed down by the knowledge that he can never go home again. And even canny, careful bastards can make mistakes.
The water shuts off and the door finally opens, and Tanner is framed for a moment in the doorway before he turns off the bathroom light. Halfway across the darkened motel room he freezes, drops the towel he's scrubbing over his hair, suddenly alert to an intruder's presence. Chris shifts out of the recessed corner behind the TV cabinet, cutting off the front door. The yellow streetlight poking through a crack in the curtains isn't much illumination but he can see the line of Tanner's shoulders sag in resignation.
"Sergeant Larabee," he sighs, and flicks on the bedside lamp. "Been a while."
Chris nods. "Too long." They haven't laid eyes on one another since those ten hot and humid minutes in Houston six months ago. Chris had caught Tanner sneaking out of an abandoned building at the asscrack of dawn and tackled him into a nearby alley, overflowing trashcans clanging to the ground. Their fight had been intense, focused. Bloody but not brutal, neither wanting to maim. They'd crashed together, limbs tangled, torsos straining, almost too close to land decent blows. Then,
Tanner caught him in the back, a rabbit punch to the kidneys. Not full power but enough to drive breath from body. Chris faltered, Tanner trapped his legs, and down they went into the muck and filth of the alley. Tanner straddled him, pinning his arms over his head. "You ain't taking me in, Larabee!" he spat, face red and sweat trickling down his cheek. "Give up!"
"I'm bringing you in if I have to chase you to your grave," Chris shot back, just as pissed. "I've got a job to do, Tanner, and I aim to do it."
"Bullshit!" His grip tightened on Chris' wrists and he leaned so close they shared the same air. Blue eyes blazing, he seethed. "Stop chasing me. You're wasting yer time."
Chris held himself still under the younger man, feeling the weight and heat and life of him. Feeling the erection pressing hard against his belly and tasting the arousal in the air. "No," he said, voice low and full. "I'm not." He arched up, forcing Vin to resettle his weight lower, and watched the anger in those eyes shade to fear and desire, listened to Vin's sharp inhalation at the feel of the hard cock against his ass.
"Vin," he groaned, and arched up again, loving how Vin rode him, all lust and instinct, thighs clenching his hips. Every thrust had Vin moaning, grinding back down on him. Another minute and they'd be coming in their pants in a filthy Houston alley, but who the hell cared. "So good, Vin, knew you'd be like this." Chris worked one arm free and grabbed him by the nape of the neck. "Gonna fuck you before this is all over," he vowed, staring up at him, their mouths barely an inch apart. "Fuck you good and hard like you want me to."
And he knew Vin wanted it, they both did, but Vin shook his head frantically, looking half wild. "No, no," he gasped, fighting to get away, to get out from under Chris' hand before they did something disastrous like come or kiss or gaze into each other's eyes for one more second. "Let go, stop, stop it." The heel of a hand to his abdomen and he lost his grip on Vin.
Vin rolled off and into a protective crouch. "God, Chris, stop it," he pleaded, closer to begging for mercy than Chris had ever seen before. "You ain't doing this to me, not this."
"Goddammit, Tanner, I ain't forcing you," Chris growled, unhappy with the implication. He staggered to his feet and backed off to the far wall. For a long, silent moment they waited, Vin miserable and still hard but desperate to get away, Chris angry and discouraged.
"What the hell do you want from me, Vin?" he finally asked, at a loss.
Vin straightened, took a step toward the mouth of the alley. "Don't try to find me."
Regretful but unmoved, Chris replied, "You know I can't do that."
"Then I can't stop running."
Chris had let Tanner walk out of that alley, but he'd paid for it. A false trail had led to a freighter bound for Brazil and by the time they'd searched the ship stem to stern, Tanner had vanished without a trace. Chris fixes him in his sights now, the solid reality of his presence pushing aside the gutting disappointment of six months of dead ends.
"You look good, Tanner," he says softly, and he does, freshly washed and hair curling damply around his face, bare skin everywhere save the worn plaid boxers covering the last of his modesty. So much bare skin and Chris lets his eyes wander at will. When he's finally done looking -- for now -- Tanner is flushed, breathing hard. But he's not shying away and he's not saying a word, just standing there, within hand's reach. He seems rested, healthy. Not so bone-thin or worn as the last time Chris saw him -- which probably speaks to Tanner's (erroneous) belief that Chris had given up the hunt.
He hates himself for killing what little peace he's found.
"You ready to stop running yet?" he asks, and if Chris has an ulterior motive for wanting Tanner to come quietly beyond an officer's natural desire to see justice served, well, that's between him and God.
Tanner lifts one shoulder, an eloquent shrug, and Chris is transfixed by the subtle play of muscles under all that skin. This is the closest to naked he's ever seen him, and it's going to his head. To his cock, really, and Tanner is tense but motionless despite Chris drifting closer and closer until their bodies brush up against one another.
"Don't," he says. But holds still.
Chris trails a hand down the other man's arm, revelling in the goosebumps beneath his fingertips. "Maybe you should've put out that restraining order after all," he rasps, other hand toying with a strand of hair drying on Vin's cheek. "I doubt this is what the DA had in mind when he told me to drag you to court by your hair."
"Pigs shoulda listened to me about my stalker," says Vin shakily, and he's practically vibrating with the effort to not move, and Chris has no idea why he's not running, but he's not complaining, not when he can curve himself around Vin's body, run both hands all over him, a tactile feast of warm, silky skin over bone and flesh and life.
"Vin," and he breathes the name soft and small, "Vin," and oh God, he gets it now, gets why he can't stop chasing after this man. "I missed you," he says, "I missed you so fucking much."
It's a hard thing to admit to himself, and harder still to share, but the hardest thing is Vin twitching back from him, a look of dismay, a look Chris knows so fucking well because he's seen it presage every mad dash, every sucker punch, because damn it, that's the look Vin gets right before he runs.
"Vin, no." It's his turn to beg. "Don't."
Vin looks torn, but he's already pushing away, and he might be barefoot, in skivvies, but Chris knows that's not going to stop him. "Sorry, Chris," he whispers, then shoves and Chris fights for balance, falls, but he's still closer to the door than Vin, so Vin jumps the bed and makes for the bathroom, oh thank God, and Chris lets out a gasp of relief, because the bathroom window is wide enough for a body to squeeze through, but that's why he nailed it shut from outside.
to be continued
(no, really)
* * *
Cross-posted to mag7_fic. Feedback welcome :)
Title: Run to obtain
Author: scrollgirl
Written for: i_want_2
Prompt: Chris catches Vin. Either Vin's a wild man, a jungle bunny, or just someone who don't like people. Must have Chris being dominant, can have BDSM but no spanking.
Words: 1,349
Rating: R for language, violence, sexual situations, nudity, etc.
Summary: Vin won't stop running and Chris can't stop chasing after him. Part of a larger AU centred on Phoenix, Arizona, that's in the works. (To clarify: Chris is a police sergeant, not military. And if you're wondering why a cop is chasing someone across state lines -- oh, look, time travel in the Stargate universe! *runs and hides*)
Author's Note: This story is not yet complete! My sincerest apologies to i_want_2. I was travelling for all of August (Europe, yay!) and as soon as I got home, I immediately got sick. I'm mostly better now, but didn't have enough time to finish my assignment. Will get the rest of it up as soon as possible.
Run to obtain
by Scroll
Tanner's a slippery one, a canny, careful bastard with instincts sharper than any man Chris has ever met. But he's been on the run from the cops and the mob alike for nearly a year with no support and no end in sight, weighed down by the knowledge that he can never go home again. And even canny, careful bastards can make mistakes.
The water shuts off and the door finally opens, and Tanner is framed for a moment in the doorway before he turns off the bathroom light. Halfway across the darkened motel room he freezes, drops the towel he's scrubbing over his hair, suddenly alert to an intruder's presence. Chris shifts out of the recessed corner behind the TV cabinet, cutting off the front door. The yellow streetlight poking through a crack in the curtains isn't much illumination but he can see the line of Tanner's shoulders sag in resignation.
"Sergeant Larabee," he sighs, and flicks on the bedside lamp. "Been a while."
Chris nods. "Too long." They haven't laid eyes on one another since those ten hot and humid minutes in Houston six months ago. Chris had caught Tanner sneaking out of an abandoned building at the asscrack of dawn and tackled him into a nearby alley, overflowing trashcans clanging to the ground. Their fight had been intense, focused. Bloody but not brutal, neither wanting to maim. They'd crashed together, limbs tangled, torsos straining, almost too close to land decent blows. Then,
Tanner caught him in the back, a rabbit punch to the kidneys. Not full power but enough to drive breath from body. Chris faltered, Tanner trapped his legs, and down they went into the muck and filth of the alley. Tanner straddled him, pinning his arms over his head. "You ain't taking me in, Larabee!" he spat, face red and sweat trickling down his cheek. "Give up!"
"I'm bringing you in if I have to chase you to your grave," Chris shot back, just as pissed. "I've got a job to do, Tanner, and I aim to do it."
"Bullshit!" His grip tightened on Chris' wrists and he leaned so close they shared the same air. Blue eyes blazing, he seethed. "Stop chasing me. You're wasting yer time."
Chris held himself still under the younger man, feeling the weight and heat and life of him. Feeling the erection pressing hard against his belly and tasting the arousal in the air. "No," he said, voice low and full. "I'm not." He arched up, forcing Vin to resettle his weight lower, and watched the anger in those eyes shade to fear and desire, listened to Vin's sharp inhalation at the feel of the hard cock against his ass.
"Vin," he groaned, and arched up again, loving how Vin rode him, all lust and instinct, thighs clenching his hips. Every thrust had Vin moaning, grinding back down on him. Another minute and they'd be coming in their pants in a filthy Houston alley, but who the hell cared. "So good, Vin, knew you'd be like this." Chris worked one arm free and grabbed him by the nape of the neck. "Gonna fuck you before this is all over," he vowed, staring up at him, their mouths barely an inch apart. "Fuck you good and hard like you want me to."
And he knew Vin wanted it, they both did, but Vin shook his head frantically, looking half wild. "No, no," he gasped, fighting to get away, to get out from under Chris' hand before they did something disastrous like come or kiss or gaze into each other's eyes for one more second. "Let go, stop, stop it." The heel of a hand to his abdomen and he lost his grip on Vin.
Vin rolled off and into a protective crouch. "God, Chris, stop it," he pleaded, closer to begging for mercy than Chris had ever seen before. "You ain't doing this to me, not this."
"Goddammit, Tanner, I ain't forcing you," Chris growled, unhappy with the implication. He staggered to his feet and backed off to the far wall. For a long, silent moment they waited, Vin miserable and still hard but desperate to get away, Chris angry and discouraged.
"What the hell do you want from me, Vin?" he finally asked, at a loss.
Vin straightened, took a step toward the mouth of the alley. "Don't try to find me."
Regretful but unmoved, Chris replied, "You know I can't do that."
"Then I can't stop running."
Chris had let Tanner walk out of that alley, but he'd paid for it. A false trail had led to a freighter bound for Brazil and by the time they'd searched the ship stem to stern, Tanner had vanished without a trace. Chris fixes him in his sights now, the solid reality of his presence pushing aside the gutting disappointment of six months of dead ends.
"You look good, Tanner," he says softly, and he does, freshly washed and hair curling damply around his face, bare skin everywhere save the worn plaid boxers covering the last of his modesty. So much bare skin and Chris lets his eyes wander at will. When he's finally done looking -- for now -- Tanner is flushed, breathing hard. But he's not shying away and he's not saying a word, just standing there, within hand's reach. He seems rested, healthy. Not so bone-thin or worn as the last time Chris saw him -- which probably speaks to Tanner's (erroneous) belief that Chris had given up the hunt.
He hates himself for killing what little peace he's found.
"You ready to stop running yet?" he asks, and if Chris has an ulterior motive for wanting Tanner to come quietly beyond an officer's natural desire to see justice served, well, that's between him and God.
Tanner lifts one shoulder, an eloquent shrug, and Chris is transfixed by the subtle play of muscles under all that skin. This is the closest to naked he's ever seen him, and it's going to his head. To his cock, really, and Tanner is tense but motionless despite Chris drifting closer and closer until their bodies brush up against one another.
"Don't," he says. But holds still.
Chris trails a hand down the other man's arm, revelling in the goosebumps beneath his fingertips. "Maybe you should've put out that restraining order after all," he rasps, other hand toying with a strand of hair drying on Vin's cheek. "I doubt this is what the DA had in mind when he told me to drag you to court by your hair."
"Pigs shoulda listened to me about my stalker," says Vin shakily, and he's practically vibrating with the effort to not move, and Chris has no idea why he's not running, but he's not complaining, not when he can curve himself around Vin's body, run both hands all over him, a tactile feast of warm, silky skin over bone and flesh and life.
"Vin," and he breathes the name soft and small, "Vin," and oh God, he gets it now, gets why he can't stop chasing after this man. "I missed you," he says, "I missed you so fucking much."
It's a hard thing to admit to himself, and harder still to share, but the hardest thing is Vin twitching back from him, a look of dismay, a look Chris knows so fucking well because he's seen it presage every mad dash, every sucker punch, because damn it, that's the look Vin gets right before he runs.
"Vin, no." It's his turn to beg. "Don't."
Vin looks torn, but he's already pushing away, and he might be barefoot, in skivvies, but Chris knows that's not going to stop him. "Sorry, Chris," he whispers, then shoves and Chris fights for balance, falls, but he's still closer to the door than Vin, so Vin jumps the bed and makes for the bathroom, oh thank God, and Chris lets out a gasp of relief, because the bathroom window is wide enough for a body to squeeze through, but that's why he nailed it shut from outside.
to be continued
(no, really)
* * *
Cross-posted to mag7_fic. Feedback welcome :)