[FICTION] Stockpiled
Title: Something Witty About Guns and Violence
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: Um. Sometime. It's pretty flexible, to be honest.
Complete: Now it is.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: There is a gun involved. Don't worry, it isn't loaded.
Summary: They get stranded, and then they get creative with their use of time until they get retrieved.
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. NEITHER OF THEM. This applies to all the following.
Notes: Hahahaha took me long enough didn't it? Also, ji-ba basically means cock in Chinese. Like, not the chicken type. If you couldn't figure that out from context clues and all.
It started with the barrel...
No, the whole of it started long before, either with the tail light of Serenity as it lifted off and broke atmo, leaving them stranded or when the boredom and dust of the cabin they'd found near the drop point had given way to talking about things other than the many ways Malcom Reynolds could be locked in his bunk for a month without so much as a protein pack.
What started with the barrel was trying to like it, Simon sucking on it eagerly as Quatre pushed it past his lips instead of simply opening his mouth to it.
There were no bullets. Always the doctor, he'd insisted. Needed the caution, the assurance of the lack of danger before he'd do anything more than nod and consider it. He'd even watched, kept a count in his head (just to make sure) as each round was set aside.
Knowing that didn't keep his heart rate below a nervous, adrenaline fueled flutter, but still, he tried. Closed his eyes and wrapped his lips tighter around it, as he sucked and licked, tasted the oil and powder (was that what sulfur would taste like?) and kept on. Even as Quatre pulled the gun back, the butt against his hip and his trigger finger just barely reaching out to trace the edge of Simon's lips.
"Stop," and when he said that it was the first time Simon heard anything, really, and suddenly the sound of it all invaded, the slick wet noise of sucking and the click of Quatre undoing his pants, the rustle of cloth as he pulled out his ji-ba right next to his face.
Simon hadn't realized how much he would enjoy Quatre's enjoyment until that moment.
And then he was opening his mouth again, stretching it to fit around both barrels, metal clinking against his teeth on one side and hard flesh scraping against them on the other, to the point that he couldn't fit either in properly no matter the effort. But the effort was still there, the pulling in, the tongue darting between the gaps to lick roughly at what of Quatre's cock it could reach while one hand moved up to compensate for depth with a firm grip and well-timed friction.
Even moans, effort on both parts, first Quatre at the hand as his own fisted itself in Simon's hair, encouraging and demanding all at once. Then Simon's, breathed out through the gaps, through his nose the moment the gaps were otherwise occupied, as he moved his hand between his own legs for a different type of encouragement.
It didn't take long for Simon to work his cock out, one-handed hurried carefulness making the whole ordeal fumbly and awkward looking. Not that either of them were looking. Gunmetal demanded a certain amount of attention, sucking demanded a certain amount of attention and it didn't take long before Quatre had a hand fisted in Simon's hair as he came (sudden as a gunshot but only half as surprising with all the noise he's made). Doubled over and stomach twitching against Simon's forehead as he groaned and forced Simon's jaw that much wider.
Still clutched, pressed in the heat and with a drop of Quatre's sweat rolling into his eye, jaw sore, it didn't take long for Simon to come. Jerking himself fast, noisy around Quatre's ji-ba and the barrel of the gun and the come in his mouth, he managed to hit mostly the floor and the side of Quatre's shoe. Not an expensive pair, but it would mar the shine until he got them cleaned.
Neither of them take notice as they catch their breaths and disentangle slowly, heat and a peculiar adrenaline-tinted afterglow making them sluggish. Even so, Simon swallows when he can close his mouth again and they both end up laying in a stretched out disheveled heap on the dirty floor. There isn't much in the way of pillow talk, either, let alone pillows, save one small exchange before they let themselves doze through the hottest part of the day.
"Should we still lock him in his bunk for a month?"
Followed by a considering pause, and then, "Maybe half a month."
Title: They Think I'm How Small?
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: In the middle somewhere. Throw a dart.
Complete: Indeed.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: The usual sex.
Summary: Finding Rule 34 porn of yourself on the internet is a truly humbling experience.
Quatre was still fuming, days after finding the depictions of himself as. Well. Less than when it came to how he was endowed.
"Still angry?"
"Any reason I shouldn't be?"
He was sitting at his desk, writing too hard with his pen and pressing the ink all through the small stack of papers he was making notes on, most of it made unreadable by the bleeding ink.
Simon walked over, behind Quatre's chair, and put his hands on his shoulders. "You shouldn't worry so much about how they think of you, you know." And slowly, he was massaging small circles into his back with his thumbs before moving his hands firmly up and down Quatre's upper arms. A gesture intended to comfort and relax.
"Why shouldn't I? How many people can just assume that I-- That I have--" He cut himself off with a frustrated noise and let his head fall back against Simon. "It's insulting."
"You and I know they're entirely wrong, though," as Simon's hands moved further down, and then in against Quatre's sides as he leaned forward so his cheek was against Quatre's ear. "I love your ji-ba," with a kiss against his neck, "and I love it when you fuck me," his tone turning more and more suggestive as his hands moved down to Quatre's thighs. "You know I do."
Quatre just made a noise, half exasperated that they were still talking about this and half content at the closeness and the movement of those hands, moving steadily closer to his ji-ba.
Simon moved up, just enough to kiss him, half upside-down, half sideways and with one hand pawing Quatre's cock through his pants while the other roamed his stomach and chest, pressing him back against the seat and pinching, now and then, in strategic sensitive spots.
"Fuck me."
And Quatre was getting hard, just at hearing the phrase, feeling those hands, and a second later he was reaching up to put a hand on the back of Simon's neck while his other covered the hand moving roughly between his legs, pressing it down harder. Keeping it there longer as he moaned into another kiss.
"Right here, Quatre. Fuck me..."
Simon moved, slowly, pulling just one hand up and around Quatre's neck as he got in front of him, keeping the other on his ji-ba, pressing it harder and then kissing his neck as he knelt down between Quatre's knees.
"Against the desk."
Quatre moaned again, low, and pushed Simon back a little, one hand moving to pull at the wasitband of his pants, pulling him up by them.
"Bend over, then."
Title: Fuck Yeah I Knew It
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: Early earrrrly on.
Complete: Has been for a while now, just never made public.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Infirmary sex!
Summary: Forgot to shut the door. Embarrassment abounds. I think this is actually the first Simon/Quatre thing I ever wrote. NOSTALGIA!
"Shh," he said, pressing his mouth against Quatre's in an attempt to quiet him. If anyone found out, Kaylee would want to kill him. Hell, River would probably want to kill him for making Kaylee want to kill him, but he couldn't think about that now.
Simon had balance and the careful thrusts to consider. Trying to stay upright and not knock everything over, not make too much noise, not get seen through god, who put so many windows in this the infirmary in the first place?
He had the blond pushed up against a wall, one arm against it for stability and the other, well... The other was busy doing something a lot less stabilizing between the two of them. Quatre, though, was doing his part to keep them both from falling over. Legs were wrapped tightly around Simon's waist, arms over his shoulders and clutching at his back, letting his weight shift back into the wall instead of forward no matter how badly he wanted to buck against that hand.
"Then hurry," he said, his head rolling back against the wall. For a second, he forgot about balance an let himself push his hips forward, onto and into, but they didn't fall. Quatre just groaned from somewhere deep in his chest and Simon shuffled his feet to keep them up.
"Don't do that, either," was muffled against Quatre's neck, just above his pulse and just before Simon opened his mouth to bite softly at it. He kept the rhythm with both, all three, and with all three started to go a little faster.
A little more hurried, more insistent, and the blond had to bite back another groan as everything in him twitched and tensed around Simon at once.
Not that biting it back would help much now, as the distinct clank and grind of metal sounded behind them and Simon froze.
"I knew it!" Jayne was standing in the door to the infirmary looking something between horrified and very, very amused. "See Mal! I told you that prissy doc was sly," he called as he walked back to the cargo bay. "He's in there ruttin' that friend of River's!"
Title: This Chick Is Trouble
Fandom(s): Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Dorothy Catalonia/Quatre Winner
Timeline: A 'verse FAR FAR AWAY
Complete: Has been for a while now, just never made public.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Guns and knives and bloodplay, oh my! This one is actually possibly triggery.
Summary: Random sex between mutually hateful parties. Also has been sitting around for ages. MORE NOSTALGIA.
He shouldn't like this. He shouldn't want her on top of him, shouldn't want to be inside her, shouldn't want her to keep going.
But fuck it, he does. He's making noises in his throat against the knife edge pressed against it, bucking his hips up to her as she nudges that gun into his side. He shouldn't be writhing under her, groaning and shuddering every time she bends down to lick at that trickle of blood dripping down his chest.
He reasons that it's only a small nick, a simple slight obtained from her brand of foreplay. The tiniest little blight on his flesh, but she's moving the knife back to it. Opening it up like a red, blooming flower and painting his chest slowly with the flow.
Then, oh, then she paints him with her gun. Lets the icy barrel dip into the open wound like an expensive brush, pushing it harder (an easy mimic of penetration, of her dominance over him because he may be inside but she's the one in control) in time with her ups and downs. Each little irritation, each shallow intrusion reminding veins of their exposure. A pink little tongue stretched out to lick the twitch in her lips as the blood bubbled up for her. Damn, she loves when other people's bodies did just as she pleased.
She keeps her finger off the trigger, slipping it over only when the barrel of the .22 is pointed at something that isn't important. A kidney, the appendix. He wouldn't miss those, surely, if she got a little excited and squeezed.
Her legs are starting to burn from the unending movement, but she's keeping her rhythm just as it was. To hell with her legs, to hell with his pleading little thrusts. Give her a few more minutes of it (knife back in the open wound, playing at the edges; gun guiding his blood to pool in his belly button and he gasps when she jabs it in) and she'll be rolling happily on those defiant little hips of his.
But that little jab pressed a button and he's straining (shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't) to work into her faster, setting his own pace (so close so close shouldn't so close) and her name dies as a gurgle in his throat as his hands grab her hips hard enough to bruise.
Dorothy growls at him, knife falling from her hand so she can dig her fingers into his chest, "Don't you dare," with the gun still pointed into his belly (mine mine mine mine) and a finger on the trigger.
Quatre doesn't dare, tries to think of all the ways this shouldn't be happening (wrong wrong so wrong) and he's still bucking like mad into her, stomach heaving against the .22 as he gasps and groans.
Bang-
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: Um. Sometime. It's pretty flexible, to be honest.
Complete: Now it is.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: There is a gun involved. Don't worry, it isn't loaded.
Summary: They get stranded, and then they get creative with their use of time until they get retrieved.
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. NEITHER OF THEM. This applies to all the following.
Notes: Hahahaha took me long enough didn't it? Also, ji-ba basically means cock in Chinese. Like, not the chicken type. If you couldn't figure that out from context clues and all.
It started with the barrel...
No, the whole of it started long before, either with the tail light of Serenity as it lifted off and broke atmo, leaving them stranded or when the boredom and dust of the cabin they'd found near the drop point had given way to talking about things other than the many ways Malcom Reynolds could be locked in his bunk for a month without so much as a protein pack.
What started with the barrel was trying to like it, Simon sucking on it eagerly as Quatre pushed it past his lips instead of simply opening his mouth to it.
There were no bullets. Always the doctor, he'd insisted. Needed the caution, the assurance of the lack of danger before he'd do anything more than nod and consider it. He'd even watched, kept a count in his head (just to make sure) as each round was set aside.
Knowing that didn't keep his heart rate below a nervous, adrenaline fueled flutter, but still, he tried. Closed his eyes and wrapped his lips tighter around it, as he sucked and licked, tasted the oil and powder (was that what sulfur would taste like?) and kept on. Even as Quatre pulled the gun back, the butt against his hip and his trigger finger just barely reaching out to trace the edge of Simon's lips.
"Stop," and when he said that it was the first time Simon heard anything, really, and suddenly the sound of it all invaded, the slick wet noise of sucking and the click of Quatre undoing his pants, the rustle of cloth as he pulled out his ji-ba right next to his face.
Simon hadn't realized how much he would enjoy Quatre's enjoyment until that moment.
And then he was opening his mouth again, stretching it to fit around both barrels, metal clinking against his teeth on one side and hard flesh scraping against them on the other, to the point that he couldn't fit either in properly no matter the effort. But the effort was still there, the pulling in, the tongue darting between the gaps to lick roughly at what of Quatre's cock it could reach while one hand moved up to compensate for depth with a firm grip and well-timed friction.
Even moans, effort on both parts, first Quatre at the hand as his own fisted itself in Simon's hair, encouraging and demanding all at once. Then Simon's, breathed out through the gaps, through his nose the moment the gaps were otherwise occupied, as he moved his hand between his own legs for a different type of encouragement.
It didn't take long for Simon to work his cock out, one-handed hurried carefulness making the whole ordeal fumbly and awkward looking. Not that either of them were looking. Gunmetal demanded a certain amount of attention, sucking demanded a certain amount of attention and it didn't take long before Quatre had a hand fisted in Simon's hair as he came (sudden as a gunshot but only half as surprising with all the noise he's made). Doubled over and stomach twitching against Simon's forehead as he groaned and forced Simon's jaw that much wider.
Still clutched, pressed in the heat and with a drop of Quatre's sweat rolling into his eye, jaw sore, it didn't take long for Simon to come. Jerking himself fast, noisy around Quatre's ji-ba and the barrel of the gun and the come in his mouth, he managed to hit mostly the floor and the side of Quatre's shoe. Not an expensive pair, but it would mar the shine until he got them cleaned.
Neither of them take notice as they catch their breaths and disentangle slowly, heat and a peculiar adrenaline-tinted afterglow making them sluggish. Even so, Simon swallows when he can close his mouth again and they both end up laying in a stretched out disheveled heap on the dirty floor. There isn't much in the way of pillow talk, either, let alone pillows, save one small exchange before they let themselves doze through the hottest part of the day.
"Should we still lock him in his bunk for a month?"
Followed by a considering pause, and then, "Maybe half a month."
Title: They Think I'm How Small?
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: In the middle somewhere. Throw a dart.
Complete: Indeed.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: The usual sex.
Summary: Finding Rule 34 porn of yourself on the internet is a truly humbling experience.
Quatre was still fuming, days after finding the depictions of himself as. Well. Less than when it came to how he was endowed.
"Still angry?"
"Any reason I shouldn't be?"
He was sitting at his desk, writing too hard with his pen and pressing the ink all through the small stack of papers he was making notes on, most of it made unreadable by the bleeding ink.
Simon walked over, behind Quatre's chair, and put his hands on his shoulders. "You shouldn't worry so much about how they think of you, you know." And slowly, he was massaging small circles into his back with his thumbs before moving his hands firmly up and down Quatre's upper arms. A gesture intended to comfort and relax.
"Why shouldn't I? How many people can just assume that I-- That I have--" He cut himself off with a frustrated noise and let his head fall back against Simon. "It's insulting."
"You and I know they're entirely wrong, though," as Simon's hands moved further down, and then in against Quatre's sides as he leaned forward so his cheek was against Quatre's ear. "I love your ji-ba," with a kiss against his neck, "and I love it when you fuck me," his tone turning more and more suggestive as his hands moved down to Quatre's thighs. "You know I do."
Quatre just made a noise, half exasperated that they were still talking about this and half content at the closeness and the movement of those hands, moving steadily closer to his ji-ba.
Simon moved up, just enough to kiss him, half upside-down, half sideways and with one hand pawing Quatre's cock through his pants while the other roamed his stomach and chest, pressing him back against the seat and pinching, now and then, in strategic sensitive spots.
"Fuck me."
And Quatre was getting hard, just at hearing the phrase, feeling those hands, and a second later he was reaching up to put a hand on the back of Simon's neck while his other covered the hand moving roughly between his legs, pressing it down harder. Keeping it there longer as he moaned into another kiss.
"Right here, Quatre. Fuck me..."
Simon moved, slowly, pulling just one hand up and around Quatre's neck as he got in front of him, keeping the other on his ji-ba, pressing it harder and then kissing his neck as he knelt down between Quatre's knees.
"Against the desk."
Quatre moaned again, low, and pushed Simon back a little, one hand moving to pull at the wasitband of his pants, pulling him up by them.
"Bend over, then."
Title: Fuck Yeah I Knew It
Fandom(s): Firefly, Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Simon Tam/Quatre Winner
Timeline: Early earrrrly on.
Complete: Has been for a while now, just never made public.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Infirmary sex!
Summary: Forgot to shut the door. Embarrassment abounds. I think this is actually the first Simon/Quatre thing I ever wrote. NOSTALGIA!
"Shh," he said, pressing his mouth against Quatre's in an attempt to quiet him. If anyone found out, Kaylee would want to kill him. Hell, River would probably want to kill him for making Kaylee want to kill him, but he couldn't think about that now.
Simon had balance and the careful thrusts to consider. Trying to stay upright and not knock everything over, not make too much noise, not get seen through god, who put so many windows in this the infirmary in the first place?
He had the blond pushed up against a wall, one arm against it for stability and the other, well... The other was busy doing something a lot less stabilizing between the two of them. Quatre, though, was doing his part to keep them both from falling over. Legs were wrapped tightly around Simon's waist, arms over his shoulders and clutching at his back, letting his weight shift back into the wall instead of forward no matter how badly he wanted to buck against that hand.
"Then hurry," he said, his head rolling back against the wall. For a second, he forgot about balance an let himself push his hips forward, onto and into, but they didn't fall. Quatre just groaned from somewhere deep in his chest and Simon shuffled his feet to keep them up.
"Don't do that, either," was muffled against Quatre's neck, just above his pulse and just before Simon opened his mouth to bite softly at it. He kept the rhythm with both, all three, and with all three started to go a little faster.
A little more hurried, more insistent, and the blond had to bite back another groan as everything in him twitched and tensed around Simon at once.
Not that biting it back would help much now, as the distinct clank and grind of metal sounded behind them and Simon froze.
"I knew it!" Jayne was standing in the door to the infirmary looking something between horrified and very, very amused. "See Mal! I told you that prissy doc was sly," he called as he walked back to the cargo bay. "He's in there ruttin' that friend of River's!"
Title: This Chick Is Trouble
Fandom(s): Gundam Wing
Character/Pairing: Dorothy Catalonia/Quatre Winner
Timeline: A 'verse FAR FAR AWAY
Complete: Has been for a while now, just never made public.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Guns and knives and bloodplay, oh my! This one is actually possibly triggery.
Summary: Random sex between mutually hateful parties. Also has been sitting around for ages. MORE NOSTALGIA.
He shouldn't like this. He shouldn't want her on top of him, shouldn't want to be inside her, shouldn't want her to keep going.
But fuck it, he does. He's making noises in his throat against the knife edge pressed against it, bucking his hips up to her as she nudges that gun into his side. He shouldn't be writhing under her, groaning and shuddering every time she bends down to lick at that trickle of blood dripping down his chest.
He reasons that it's only a small nick, a simple slight obtained from her brand of foreplay. The tiniest little blight on his flesh, but she's moving the knife back to it. Opening it up like a red, blooming flower and painting his chest slowly with the flow.
Then, oh, then she paints him with her gun. Lets the icy barrel dip into the open wound like an expensive brush, pushing it harder (an easy mimic of penetration, of her dominance over him because he may be inside but she's the one in control) in time with her ups and downs. Each little irritation, each shallow intrusion reminding veins of their exposure. A pink little tongue stretched out to lick the twitch in her lips as the blood bubbled up for her. Damn, she loves when other people's bodies did just as she pleased.
She keeps her finger off the trigger, slipping it over only when the barrel of the .22 is pointed at something that isn't important. A kidney, the appendix. He wouldn't miss those, surely, if she got a little excited and squeezed.
Her legs are starting to burn from the unending movement, but she's keeping her rhythm just as it was. To hell with her legs, to hell with his pleading little thrusts. Give her a few more minutes of it (knife back in the open wound, playing at the edges; gun guiding his blood to pool in his belly button and he gasps when she jabs it in) and she'll be rolling happily on those defiant little hips of his.
But that little jab pressed a button and he's straining (shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't) to work into her faster, setting his own pace (so close so close shouldn't so close) and her name dies as a gurgle in his throat as his hands grab her hips hard enough to bruise.
Dorothy growls at him, knife falling from her hand so she can dig her fingers into his chest, "Don't you dare," with the gun still pointed into his belly (mine mine mine mine) and a finger on the trigger.
Quatre doesn't dare, tries to think of all the ways this shouldn't be happening (wrong wrong so wrong) and he's still bucking like mad into her, stomach heaving against the .22 as he gasps and groans.
Bang-