Fic: Time (X-Men, Scott/Warren, PG-13)
Title: Time
Author: sheryden
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Warren/Scott (comic-verse)
Summary: Warren and Scott are having a fling. Pretty simple. ;)
Author’s Notes: This is a story I wrote years ago and posted to various comms. I thought I had it on my own LJ, but I can't find it. Hence, for archiving purposes, I'm putting it here now.
When I was a young man, my father tried to impress upon me the need for discretion, especially in matters of a more intimate nature. I never bothered to ask him what “intimate” matters he felt the need to keep private, and I’m not sure I’d ever want to know. But as I grew older, his words started to make sense to me, and now that I’m in the public eye, I’ve adopted his policy of discretion. Some things just need to be sheltered from view.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done, and I have no real regrets. I don’t keep things behind closed doors because I’m embarrassed by them, or because I think they’ll ruin me. That’s not even close to being true. It’s just that some things are too precious to be shared with the world.
Chief among those things is the guy who’s pinned against the wall of my Manhattan penthouse, clumsily trying to untuck my shirt. He’s making a damn fine effort of it, despite the fact that I keep pulling his hands away.
After a few attempts, he finally nudges me with his knee to get my attention. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”
“Scotty, you’re always in a damn hurry,” I say. “Foreplay is the fun part. Don’t rush it.”
He leans his head against mine with a thud. “Emma won’t stay at Bloomingdale’s forever, Warren.”
I smirk. “So stop nagging me, and let me have my way with you.”
Letting out a breath, he closes his eyes and relaxes against the wall, muttering something about my shirt.
As I nuzzle his neck, I wonder if Emma knows about us and just goes shopping to let us have our time together. And then I realize I don’t give a damn. Telepath or not, she should know by now that Scott’s a cheat. If she knows and lets us screw around anyway, that’s as good as nod of approval.
I run my thumb along Scott’s bottom lip and then along the strong lines of his jaw. He needs a shave, but not until I’m done with him. I discovered a while ago that I apparently have a stubble kink. So when Scott knows we’re going to be together, he doesn’t bother to shave.
It’s kind of flattering that he does something especially for me.
We’ve been at this-whatever it’s become-for about three months now. The first time, we were both blindsided by the whole thing. Scott was in town to talk to a lawyer about something or other, and he dropped by my place for dinner. After we finished the salad and pasta, we wound up the couch with a few beers and few less clothes than we started with.
I’ve been with men before, but the whole idea of Scott being the man was a lot to process, even after a couple of drinks. Granted, it didn’t seem to bother me when I was sucking on his shoulder…
Scott predictably freaked out, and I didn’t see him again for a week. When he finally got used to the idea, he came back to my place, kissed me on the lips, and said, “This is between you and me, Warren. Take it to your grave.”
So here we are. I’m not entirely sure where “here” is. I’m trying not to overthink this. And I’m definitely not kidding myself by believing that it’s more than a fling or buddy fuck. But I’m also not going to pretend that being with Scott doesn’t matter to me. Our time together is precious and fragile and fleeting. And I like to drag it out for a while, make it last.
My breath hitches when, without warning, Scott reaches around my waist and caresses one of my wings with his knuckle. Damn damn damn, I think, closing my eyes tightly. Touch my wings just right, and I go from zero to over-the-top turned on in like, three seconds.
Licking my bottom lip, I chuckle, “Bastard. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’m not in a hurry,” Scott says, stroking my wing again. “I’m a control freak, and I want to take your damn clothes off”
Smiling, I reach out and touch his stubble with my thumb. “Bedroom?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “And Warren?” Scott says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Don’t worry. I’ll take my time.”
Author: sheryden
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Warren/Scott (comic-verse)
Summary: Warren and Scott are having a fling. Pretty simple. ;)
Author’s Notes: This is a story I wrote years ago and posted to various comms. I thought I had it on my own LJ, but I can't find it. Hence, for archiving purposes, I'm putting it here now.
When I was a young man, my father tried to impress upon me the need for discretion, especially in matters of a more intimate nature. I never bothered to ask him what “intimate” matters he felt the need to keep private, and I’m not sure I’d ever want to know. But as I grew older, his words started to make sense to me, and now that I’m in the public eye, I’ve adopted his policy of discretion. Some things just need to be sheltered from view.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done, and I have no real regrets. I don’t keep things behind closed doors because I’m embarrassed by them, or because I think they’ll ruin me. That’s not even close to being true. It’s just that some things are too precious to be shared with the world.
Chief among those things is the guy who’s pinned against the wall of my Manhattan penthouse, clumsily trying to untuck my shirt. He’s making a damn fine effort of it, despite the fact that I keep pulling his hands away.
After a few attempts, he finally nudges me with his knee to get my attention. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”
“Scotty, you’re always in a damn hurry,” I say. “Foreplay is the fun part. Don’t rush it.”
He leans his head against mine with a thud. “Emma won’t stay at Bloomingdale’s forever, Warren.”
I smirk. “So stop nagging me, and let me have my way with you.”
Letting out a breath, he closes his eyes and relaxes against the wall, muttering something about my shirt.
As I nuzzle his neck, I wonder if Emma knows about us and just goes shopping to let us have our time together. And then I realize I don’t give a damn. Telepath or not, she should know by now that Scott’s a cheat. If she knows and lets us screw around anyway, that’s as good as nod of approval.
I run my thumb along Scott’s bottom lip and then along the strong lines of his jaw. He needs a shave, but not until I’m done with him. I discovered a while ago that I apparently have a stubble kink. So when Scott knows we’re going to be together, he doesn’t bother to shave.
It’s kind of flattering that he does something especially for me.
We’ve been at this-whatever it’s become-for about three months now. The first time, we were both blindsided by the whole thing. Scott was in town to talk to a lawyer about something or other, and he dropped by my place for dinner. After we finished the salad and pasta, we wound up the couch with a few beers and few less clothes than we started with.
I’ve been with men before, but the whole idea of Scott being the man was a lot to process, even after a couple of drinks. Granted, it didn’t seem to bother me when I was sucking on his shoulder…
Scott predictably freaked out, and I didn’t see him again for a week. When he finally got used to the idea, he came back to my place, kissed me on the lips, and said, “This is between you and me, Warren. Take it to your grave.”
So here we are. I’m not entirely sure where “here” is. I’m trying not to overthink this. And I’m definitely not kidding myself by believing that it’s more than a fling or buddy fuck. But I’m also not going to pretend that being with Scott doesn’t matter to me. Our time together is precious and fragile and fleeting. And I like to drag it out for a while, make it last.
My breath hitches when, without warning, Scott reaches around my waist and caresses one of my wings with his knuckle. Damn damn damn, I think, closing my eyes tightly. Touch my wings just right, and I go from zero to over-the-top turned on in like, three seconds.
Licking my bottom lip, I chuckle, “Bastard. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’m not in a hurry,” Scott says, stroking my wing again. “I’m a control freak, and I want to take your damn clothes off”
Smiling, I reach out and touch his stubble with my thumb. “Bedroom?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “And Warren?” Scott says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Don’t worry. I’ll take my time.”