Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol: Ethan Hunt/William Brandt, NC-17
Title: On The Edge Of A Blade
Fandom: Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ethan Hunt/William Brandt
Warnings: knife play, blood
Summary: Will's on edge and sometimes the only thing that helps is Ethan and his knives.
Notes: Written in response to this prompt at ghotocol_kink.
On The Edge Of A Blade
2:30 am in some ramshackle building in Venezuela. There’s nothing in the room but a table, a chair and a bed that Will wouldn’t trust if it were the last bed in the world. Ethan’s sitting on it anyway, a knife in each hand and methodically scraping the blades against each other. Will’s been playing at cleaning his gun for the past ten minutes, but if he’s honest he’s not really getting anywhere. He can feel sweat trickling down his back beneath his once-white shirt, there are roaches scuttling in the corner and he can’t deny that he might be feeling a little sick. It’s been a long week, a long chase and they’ve been running on adrenaline more than anything else for way too long. On edge, that’s how Will feels and Ethan, fuck him, isn’t helping, is distracting in a way Will shouldn’t be distracted in their current situation. Sure, they are only waiting for extraction, now, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t sitting ducks right where they are.
The sharp sound of metal against metal continues to wash over Will and he shivers; swallows and sets his gun down to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ethan looks up at the sound, those dark blue eyes now trained on Will, but the knives never rest.
Oh, Will knows what Ethan can do with those. Has seen them move fast through deft fingers, dance through the air in an almost poetically deadly choreography and slice through flesh and sinew. Will has seen them draw blood from his own skin, has felt the careful restraint with which Ethan could use them. Will has put himself at Ethan’s mercy like that and has loved and feared it like nothing else. Little was as intoxicating as balancing on that edge between pleasure and danger and pain. All of a sudden, Will is transfixed by the movements of Ethan’s hands.
The moan forming in Will’s throat breaks free, completely unbidden and he watches as Ethan’s lips twitch upwards just ever so slightly into a smirk. Will feels himself stir, in more ways than one: anticipation, anxiety and arousal. He feels high as Ethan gets up from the bed and stalks across the room like a predator. Will finally leaves his chair, rounds the table and leans on the edge and he’s glad he is when Ethan crowds against him and leans in against Will’s throat where he slowly mouths the skin. Ethan sets one of the knives down on the table behind them and keeps the other in his hand and just the sound of that motion makes Will shiver and moan.
“Please,” he gasps. He’s hard already, breathless and defenceless.
“Wrong time, wrong place,” Ethan chides, even as he steps back and places the knife against Will’s chest with the flat side of the blade. “But you need it, don’t you? Tell me how you need it.”
Will lets his head fall back with a defeated moan. It’s true, he needs it. He’s hard and wanting and too fucked up to think straight right now and he wants it: the focus, the release and the relief of tension. That’s what this is, in part. He remembers the first time they’d done this. He’d been driving Ethan crazy with his skittishness and worry until Ethan had slammed Will against a wall with a knife dangerously close to his throat. It had spiralled into something spectacular from there.
“Do it,” Will rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his throat dry from the heat. He gazes at Ethan from beneath lowered lashes. “Take me apart… Cut it out.”
Ethan chuckles and leans in to kiss Will with firm demand.
“Can’t take you apart too much. Gotta be ready to get out of here,” Ethan says, even as he slides the knife down the front of Will’s shirt. The shirt comes apart in a long tear, but it doesn’t matter. There’d been no salvaging it, anyway.
Will groans and bucks his erection into thin air. It earns him nothing but Ethan’s hand sliding around his wrist in a firm grasp.
“You know the rules,” Ethan reminds Will. “I do this, you hold still.”
Will nods and closes his eyes. Yes, he knows the rules: holding still to allow for shallow, clean cuts, handing over control, letting go.
He feels the first press of the knife against his chest and draws in a sharp breath before making himself relax. The blade draws a line across Will’s left pectoral and it takes a moment before it stings. When he feels the sensation coming on, Will opens his eyes. They dip down to the thin line of red on his chest before focusing on Ethan’s face. Ethan is concentrating, planning the next cut with a surgeon’s precision, Will is sure. He knows Ethan is doing this for him, more than anything, though Will can see the beginnings of an erection tenting Ethan’s jeans.
The next cut is placed a little below the first one, is a little shorter, but it makes Will moan, makes his cock twitch. He wants to reach out to Ethan, looks at the other man with that desire, but one stern look from Ethan has Will’s hand gripping the edge of the table.
Ethan nods slowly, smiles and leans down to kiss Will’s slightly bloodied skin. Will gasps, almost whines.
“Ethan?” Will’s so hard now he feels his knees might buckle. Still, he’s kept in place by the rules and rewards of this game. Ethan has made Will come before, just by this, just by the touch of a knife. Now, Ethan’s sliding to his knees, mapping his next move. It’s low on Will’s abdomen, just an inch above the waistband of Will’s trousers. The cut stings and the sting travels and Will makes a slightly broken sound as the sensation fans his arousal even further.
“God, Ethan,” Will mumbles, too far gone to be particularly articulate. Right now there’s only Ethan and the sting of a blade and the slight tang of blood in the otherwise rank air.
“Good,” Ethan mumbles as he gets up and discards the knife on the table. He runs his hand into Will’s hair and kisses will, hard. Then, Will finds himself spun around and Ethan’s hand is on his erection, Ethan’s own hard cock pressing as closely against Will’s cleft as possible with both of them still clothed.
Ethan doesn’t bother to get the pants off either of them and Will supposes it doesn’t matter. Will ruts back against Ethan, even as the cuts on his torso are still bleeding and Ethan works Will with his hand until they’re both in a frenzy.
Suddenly Ethan goes still behind Will and smothers a groan in the back of Will’s neck. Ethan’s hand tightens on Will and that’s the last push Will needs to hurtle over the edge, his thoughts going blank for a moment.
In the aftermath, Will sags forward leaning, on the table with his arms while he’s catching his breath. There’s blood on the knife on the table and Will knows it’s his blood and it makes him feel strangely calm. He doesn’t turn until his feels Ethan’s hand on his shoulder.
Will gives Ethan a slightly questioning look as the shirt is held out to him; Ethan’s shirt.
“Trade,” Ethan says, ready to receive Will’s ruined shirt. Will gives a tired but genuine smile.
“Thanks.”
Fandom: Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ethan Hunt/William Brandt
Warnings: knife play, blood
Summary: Will's on edge and sometimes the only thing that helps is Ethan and his knives.
Notes: Written in response to this prompt at ghotocol_kink.
On The Edge Of A Blade
2:30 am in some ramshackle building in Venezuela. There’s nothing in the room but a table, a chair and a bed that Will wouldn’t trust if it were the last bed in the world. Ethan’s sitting on it anyway, a knife in each hand and methodically scraping the blades against each other. Will’s been playing at cleaning his gun for the past ten minutes, but if he’s honest he’s not really getting anywhere. He can feel sweat trickling down his back beneath his once-white shirt, there are roaches scuttling in the corner and he can’t deny that he might be feeling a little sick. It’s been a long week, a long chase and they’ve been running on adrenaline more than anything else for way too long. On edge, that’s how Will feels and Ethan, fuck him, isn’t helping, is distracting in a way Will shouldn’t be distracted in their current situation. Sure, they are only waiting for extraction, now, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t sitting ducks right where they are.
The sharp sound of metal against metal continues to wash over Will and he shivers; swallows and sets his gun down to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ethan looks up at the sound, those dark blue eyes now trained on Will, but the knives never rest.
Oh, Will knows what Ethan can do with those. Has seen them move fast through deft fingers, dance through the air in an almost poetically deadly choreography and slice through flesh and sinew. Will has seen them draw blood from his own skin, has felt the careful restraint with which Ethan could use them. Will has put himself at Ethan’s mercy like that and has loved and feared it like nothing else. Little was as intoxicating as balancing on that edge between pleasure and danger and pain. All of a sudden, Will is transfixed by the movements of Ethan’s hands.
The moan forming in Will’s throat breaks free, completely unbidden and he watches as Ethan’s lips twitch upwards just ever so slightly into a smirk. Will feels himself stir, in more ways than one: anticipation, anxiety and arousal. He feels high as Ethan gets up from the bed and stalks across the room like a predator. Will finally leaves his chair, rounds the table and leans on the edge and he’s glad he is when Ethan crowds against him and leans in against Will’s throat where he slowly mouths the skin. Ethan sets one of the knives down on the table behind them and keeps the other in his hand and just the sound of that motion makes Will shiver and moan.
“Please,” he gasps. He’s hard already, breathless and defenceless.
“Wrong time, wrong place,” Ethan chides, even as he steps back and places the knife against Will’s chest with the flat side of the blade. “But you need it, don’t you? Tell me how you need it.”
Will lets his head fall back with a defeated moan. It’s true, he needs it. He’s hard and wanting and too fucked up to think straight right now and he wants it: the focus, the release and the relief of tension. That’s what this is, in part. He remembers the first time they’d done this. He’d been driving Ethan crazy with his skittishness and worry until Ethan had slammed Will against a wall with a knife dangerously close to his throat. It had spiralled into something spectacular from there.
“Do it,” Will rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his throat dry from the heat. He gazes at Ethan from beneath lowered lashes. “Take me apart… Cut it out.”
Ethan chuckles and leans in to kiss Will with firm demand.
“Can’t take you apart too much. Gotta be ready to get out of here,” Ethan says, even as he slides the knife down the front of Will’s shirt. The shirt comes apart in a long tear, but it doesn’t matter. There’d been no salvaging it, anyway.
Will groans and bucks his erection into thin air. It earns him nothing but Ethan’s hand sliding around his wrist in a firm grasp.
“You know the rules,” Ethan reminds Will. “I do this, you hold still.”
Will nods and closes his eyes. Yes, he knows the rules: holding still to allow for shallow, clean cuts, handing over control, letting go.
He feels the first press of the knife against his chest and draws in a sharp breath before making himself relax. The blade draws a line across Will’s left pectoral and it takes a moment before it stings. When he feels the sensation coming on, Will opens his eyes. They dip down to the thin line of red on his chest before focusing on Ethan’s face. Ethan is concentrating, planning the next cut with a surgeon’s precision, Will is sure. He knows Ethan is doing this for him, more than anything, though Will can see the beginnings of an erection tenting Ethan’s jeans.
The next cut is placed a little below the first one, is a little shorter, but it makes Will moan, makes his cock twitch. He wants to reach out to Ethan, looks at the other man with that desire, but one stern look from Ethan has Will’s hand gripping the edge of the table.
Ethan nods slowly, smiles and leans down to kiss Will’s slightly bloodied skin. Will gasps, almost whines.
“Ethan?” Will’s so hard now he feels his knees might buckle. Still, he’s kept in place by the rules and rewards of this game. Ethan has made Will come before, just by this, just by the touch of a knife. Now, Ethan’s sliding to his knees, mapping his next move. It’s low on Will’s abdomen, just an inch above the waistband of Will’s trousers. The cut stings and the sting travels and Will makes a slightly broken sound as the sensation fans his arousal even further.
“God, Ethan,” Will mumbles, too far gone to be particularly articulate. Right now there’s only Ethan and the sting of a blade and the slight tang of blood in the otherwise rank air.
“Good,” Ethan mumbles as he gets up and discards the knife on the table. He runs his hand into Will’s hair and kisses will, hard. Then, Will finds himself spun around and Ethan’s hand is on his erection, Ethan’s own hard cock pressing as closely against Will’s cleft as possible with both of them still clothed.
Ethan doesn’t bother to get the pants off either of them and Will supposes it doesn’t matter. Will ruts back against Ethan, even as the cuts on his torso are still bleeding and Ethan works Will with his hand until they’re both in a frenzy.
Suddenly Ethan goes still behind Will and smothers a groan in the back of Will’s neck. Ethan’s hand tightens on Will and that’s the last push Will needs to hurtle over the edge, his thoughts going blank for a moment.
In the aftermath, Will sags forward leaning, on the table with his arms while he’s catching his breath. There’s blood on the knife on the table and Will knows it’s his blood and it makes him feel strangely calm. He doesn’t turn until his feels Ethan’s hand on his shoulder.
Will gives Ethan a slightly questioning look as the shirt is held out to him; Ethan’s shirt.
“Trade,” Ethan says, ready to receive Will’s ruined shirt. Will gives a tired but genuine smile.
“Thanks.”