Two Men Walk into a Cell: Gregory/Mole NC-17

Jul 06, 2010 14:52



Everything was going to shit. Absolute, monumental, irreversible shit.

The Brazilians, who Gregory had been in negotiations with about smuggling some illegal goods out of the country, had been offended by the actions of a member of his team on a drunken return from the pub. They’d searched his belongings and found weapons and explosives enough to equip an army battalion. Outraged, they’d taken Gregory and his teammate hostage and locked them in an underground cell to await their judgment. Needless to say, Gregory was livid.

“-and complete lack of respect for me or what I’m trying to do here! Do you even realize what you’ve just done? What were you trying to do, start a firearms kiosk outside of our top secret Headquarters?” Gregory ranted, while pacing back and forth around their holdings.

The teammate in question took a long drag of his cigarette and watched the British boy from his place on top of a table that was bolted to the ground. He waited for Gregory to stop raving before he spoke calmly and with a thick French accent.

“I thought we could cut out the middle man and take 50% more of the prophet for ourselves. There are, what, twelve men up there? You and I could have easily taken them all out and made up for the cost of the flight here.” The Mole pivoted on his ass and lay down lengthwise on the table, his hands behind his head and cigarette dangling casually from his lips.

Gregory made a sound of helpless anger and, with no other means of expressing his frustration, pushed the Mole’s feet off the table, the dark haired boy just laughed and flicked some ashes in his direction.

“Do you have any notion of just how royally you have fucked us? Those Brazilians are going to cut our ears off and feed them to us because they think you were planning to do… exactly what you were planning to do!” He pounded a fist on the table but that only succeeded in making him yelp in pain, which only made the Mole laugh harder. Smiling, he turned onto his stomach and grabbed Gregory by the chin.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry, mon cher.”

And that was the last straw. Gregory made a particularly gruesome scream before clocking his teammate right in the jaw. He was rather satisfied when he heard the grunt of pain and the crack of bone against bone.

When the Mole recovered and looked back to the blond boy, his lip was bleeding and his eyes had gotten dark. He lifted himself off of the table, slow and snakelike in all of his movements, and took a step toward Gregory, his eyes smoldering the whole time. To his credit, Gregory only took one step back before pride caught him and made him stand his ground; this turned out to be a bad idea.

Before Gregory could duck away, the Mole had snarled and captured one of his wrists. His nails dug into the pale, clean skin there and he jerked up, holding Gregory’s wrist high above his head and demonstrating how much shorter the blond boy was. The Mole made sure their faces were mere inches apart before he spoke again. “And you punch like a girl.”

“How can you possibly think you have the right to talk to me like that after what you did, you son of a-”

“Now, now, darling.” The Mole cooed, wiping a thumb across his bloodied lip, as if he’d only just noticed it now. He studied the glistening red substance on his thumb before giving Gregory a positively evil smirk and smearing the blood all over the blond boy’s face. He then forced his thumb past the other boy’s lips and into his mouth. Gregory squirmed and protested and bit down hard on the thumb but the Mole was soon done with it, and quickly replaced it with his own mouth.

The kiss was messy, hard and violent, but not one-sided. Teeth clacked together in a battle for dominance; tongues and lips battled, mashed together and explored and somewhere along the way, Gregory felt the edge of the table collide with his ass.

He was forced onto his back on the table by arms much stronger than his own and he gasped when he felt callused fingers creep under his shirt and on to the bare skin of his stomach. Gregory had never stopped squirming or trying to get out of the Mole’s grasp, but he also hadn’t broken the kiss; it was painfully clear to him that he wanted this on some level, had done for a while. But in his fantasies and furious wankings, he’d always been the one holding the Mole down; taming the savage beast, so to speak.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the French boy broke the skin of his lip with one pinch of sharp teeth.

“Hey--!” Gregory protested.

“Your mind was wandering,” The Mole explained, grabbing a handful of each of Gregory’s thighs and situating himself between them. “And I owed you one.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Christophe?” Gregory demanded, trying to get himself off of the table. The Mole just laughed and ground their groins together hard, coaxing a gasp out of the blond boy.

“You know exactly-” he ground down again, “-what-” again, “-I’m doing, Gregory. And you fucking like it.” Gregory bit back his moans and instead tried to focus his attention on pushing the Mole away. "If you weren't such a fucking bitch you'd let yourself admit it. But you are, so I'll do it for you." The brunette pinned down his wrists and bombarded his mouth again, all while gyrating his hips in a cruel imitation of what they both knew was coming.

Slowly but surely, Gregory’s fight was dissolving away until finally Mole broke the kiss and they stared at each other for what seemed like ages; fighting a battle of the minds. They both knew they wanted it, and if Gregory was honest with himself he even knew that he was going to give in. He just had to hold his defiance for long enough that he could keep his pride. Just a few more seconds… then he could surrender to his baser needs.

There was a moment in Gregory’s eyes, the Mole saw it and they both felt it, something unexplainable snapped and they knew that he wasn’t going to fight anymore. They stared for a little longer until Gregory snapped his teeth at the other boy’s mouth and suddenly they were kissing again. Mole let go of Gregory’s wrists in favor of undoing his belt and Gregory didn’t fight; he set his hands to the task of removing Mole’s shirt.

Soon Mole was completely naked and working on Gregory’s pants while the other boy unbuttoned his shirt. When the French boy had taken care of the pants, he produced a small bottle of lubricant from what Gregory has previously assumed was thin air.

“How did you…?” Gregory asked, still struggling with his buttons.

“Those Brazilians are shit at full body searches, no?” He coated two of his fingers with the slippery substance before sinking them into Gregory’s tight opening. The blond boy let out a cry of pain and pleasure as his body was home to a battle of urges, the urge to get away from this foreign penetration and the urge to bear down on it and get more. Mole made quick work of preparing him, scissoring his fingers and adding a third, and soon he was coating his own hard cock with the lubricant.

He positioned himself at Gregory’s opening and waited until it looked like Gregory was going to say something before pushing himself all the way in. The blond boy keened and gritted his teeth against the pain. Mole just smirked the whole time and grabbed one of Gregory’s ass cheeks in each hand before beginning his merciless thrusts.

Gregory could only imagine what he must have looked like, shirt open but still on, legs spread wide, clinging to the edge of the table for some kind of anchorage, getting thoroughly fucked and loving every brutal second of it. He started to rock back against every thrust and threw caution to wind, moaning loudly and wrapping his legs around Mole’s waist.

The other boy was clearly enjoying himself as well, if the look of pure bliss on his face said anything. Gregory savored the image and stored it away in his mind to think about later. The Mole must have noticed Gregory’s smug look because he growled and wrapped a hand around Gregory’s neck, squeezing hard until the blond boy found it difficult to breathe. He tried to cry out but his voice had abandoned him; he felt as though he was sinking down into a dark, hot, pulsing coma as the Mole’s cock continued to work him hard, brushing against his prostate with every few strokes and setting off another spark inside him. When a hand wrapped around his own throbbing cock he couldn’t take it anymore. One, two, three pumps and he was crying out and coming in thick spurts all over the dark haired boy’s chest.

It wasn’t long before Mole lost control as well and spilled himself deep inside of Gregory. The British boy groaned when Mole pulled out of him without warning and collapsed next to him in a pile of self-satisfied Frenchman. They lay there, panting, until Gregory broke the quiet.

“You’re fired.” He said, still breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. The Mole let out a bark of laughter and offered him a cigarette; Gregory took it and Mole lit them both without a word. They stayed there, in a comfortable silence, until they’d gone through what was left of Mole’s carton; after that, they didn’t make eye contact until they were both dressed again.

Gregory leaned against the table, flinching at the tinge of pain in this tender ass, and started to think. He felt much more relaxed than he had before, despite the fact that the Brazilians were probably coming to kill them any moment now. Still, it was a major concern.

“What are we going to do?” He said aloud, tapping his chin. Sharp movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see a dark object flying in his direction. He caught it, if somewhat clumsily, and discovered that it was a sheathed knife, about the length of his hand. Gregory looked up to see the Mole removing a similar knife from its leather casing; he gaped, “How did you-what?”

“Did I not tell you? The Brazilians can’t do a body search worth shit.” The Mole smirked and Gregory didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or kill him. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for either as he could hear footsteps approaching the door; but he did have time to demand an answer.

“Why didn’t you just give this to me earlier? We could have avoided this whole mess.” They were back to back now, and even though Gregory couldn’t see the Mole’s face, he could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You would never have let me do that to you if you didn’t think you were going to die soon.” In spite of himself, Gregory shivered at the dark sensuality that was laced in the other boy’s voice and told himself to focus on the upcoming fight. The voice came again, closer this time, in the form of a hot breath on his ear. “And now you’re going to win this fight for us because you have something to live for.” Teeth grazed the shell of Gregory’s ear and were gone in a flash. The door swung open and four men, twice his age and three times his size, stood at the threshold looking bloodthirsty.

Gregory almost felt sorry for them.

nc17, gregory/mole, fic, south park

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