[newtypeshadow] Packington Meets His Match
Title: Packington Meets His Match (or, A Bubble Wrap Romance)
Author: newtypeshadow
Rating: R
Fandom: Original. Sequel to " The Church of Bubble Wrap" ficlet.
Pairing: Packington/Staples
Wordcount: 901
Warnings: the f-word, talk of human extermination, implied smut, no beta.
Notes: Written because of a conversation I had a month ago with alice_montrose, during which she insinuated very strongly that Packington's boyfriend must especially enjoy the sexual-bent pun in his name if it's true...and then continued to feed the plotbunny by suggesting the founder of the bubble wrap firm could well be boyfriend material who wouldn't get in the way of Packington's revenge. *sigh* I was doomed from the start to write this fic. Doomed! Even putting it off did not lessen its hold! *snuggles her* ^_^
Mage Packington still wanted to sleep with the stranger who'd shown up on his doorstep with the neatly bubble-wrapped and cardboard-covered book in his hand that Packington ordered the previous week. Now, though, he wanted the man to remember every detail-especially since his desire to use magic to burn away all that beautiful olive skin after they finished was rising with every word out of the stranger's mouth. Let him remember that no one messed with Mage Packington and got away with it. “Let me get this straight,” he said, blocking the the stranger's access to the dingy couch and scratched up second-hand desk and bookshelves of his tiny living room, “you want me to take you with me, back to the universe with a mage council I fully intend to exterminate, so that you can-you think-use magic there in greater quantities than is found here.”
“Yes.” The stranger's sleek mahogany hair, perfectly shaped eyebrows, and eyes dark as rich, wet earth seemed to mock Packington, who looked plain and poor in his threadbare gray sleep pants, slowly regrowing dirty curls, and the off-white bathrobe he'd stolen from a hotel. The man had the gall to wear tailored black slacks and a deep red tie-in this neighborhood! Packtington was surprised his shoes hadn't been stolen. Hell, he hoped the man's undoubtedly lux car was broken into or carjacked while the man was in here trying to use Packtington as a piggyback ride to power.
“And for that,” Packington continued, “you want me to use the magic I'm gathering for myself. To help you.”
The stranger's lips quirked into a mocking smile. “I'm not asking for charity, Mr. Packington.”
“Mage. Mage Packington.”
“Of course.” The stranger turned the package over in his hands. “Mage...Sender Theodore Packington.” He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Packington's spine as much as it made him bristle. “Do you prefer Sender or Teddy?”
“Packington. And while we're talking of names, I don't believe I caught yours,” Packington snapped.
“Thom Staples,” the man said, holding out a hand.
Packington yanked the package from him instead of making nice, and swept over to his desk as menacingly as he could in a hotel bathrobe, ripping open the package as he did so. “Thank you for delivering this. You can go now.”
The sound of footsteps got closer instead of farther away and out the door.
Packington's eyes narrowed as he turned. “You don't follow orders well.” His fingers closed around one of the bubbles in the bubble wrap. This was one of the books from the store in England with all the real magic information, which meant the packing materials were from Thumb Inc., which meant, in turn, that the moment Packington popped the bubble in his hands, enough magic would be released for him to harness and send this “Thom Staples” running for the hills-or at least out Packington's front door. “If you know as much as you claim, then you know the moment I pop this, things can get very ugly for you.”
Staples raised an eyebrow and slinked right up into Packington's personal space. “Do it.”
That was never a good sign. Neither was the stranger reaching out and popping the bubble himself, then breathing in the magic through his nose and slowly blowing it out his mouth to thrum against Packington's quivering lips.
“I'd like to propose a deal,” Staples said, mouth bare inches from Packington's own.
And suddenly, things were interesting in the best possible way. “What are the terms?” Packington's eyes flicked from Staples's eyes to his luscious mouth, and hoped the deal involved dirty, half-clothed sex and trading breaths electric with fresh magic.
“Take me with you to your world,” Staples said, pressing chest to thigh against Packington and trapping him against his desk, “and I will find you all the magic you desire. I have a knack for finding and distributing it, as you might have noticed from my packing company.” Knowing fingers trailed down Packington's arm and removed the forgotten packaging from his slack grip before pressing that hand into the scarred wood.
Packing company? Why was he talking about-wait, wait! Staples was-? “You're the founder of Thumb Inc.!”
Staples's smile should not have been able to get more predatory, but it did. “Indeed. So, do we have a deal?”
Packington's body throbbed with want, and with the unnatural angle of leaning half backward across his desk, and with the prospect of a magic dowsing rod at his beck and call. “In both worlds,” he said, proud of himself for speaking only a tinge more deeply than usual. “You find magic for me in both worlds.”
“Well, that might cost extra,” Staples said, and dragged Packington to him by the collar in a fiery kiss.
Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, they fucked against a wall. Somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen the next morning, they cemented their deal with a bit of bubble-popped magic and a rug-burning romp on the carpet. And somewhere between Staples leaving in his miraculously untouched luxury convertible and Packington padlocking the door after him, each of the two decided theirs was a deal well made, which should be further exploited as soon as possible.
Author: newtypeshadow
Rating: R
Fandom: Original. Sequel to " The Church of Bubble Wrap" ficlet.
Pairing: Packington/Staples
Wordcount: 901
Warnings: the f-word, talk of human extermination, implied smut, no beta.
Notes: Written because of a conversation I had a month ago with alice_montrose, during which she insinuated very strongly that Packington's boyfriend must especially enjoy the sexual-bent pun in his name if it's true...and then continued to feed the plotbunny by suggesting the founder of the bubble wrap firm could well be boyfriend material who wouldn't get in the way of Packington's revenge. *sigh* I was doomed from the start to write this fic. Doomed! Even putting it off did not lessen its hold! *snuggles her* ^_^
Mage Packington still wanted to sleep with the stranger who'd shown up on his doorstep with the neatly bubble-wrapped and cardboard-covered book in his hand that Packington ordered the previous week. Now, though, he wanted the man to remember every detail-especially since his desire to use magic to burn away all that beautiful olive skin after they finished was rising with every word out of the stranger's mouth. Let him remember that no one messed with Mage Packington and got away with it. “Let me get this straight,” he said, blocking the the stranger's access to the dingy couch and scratched up second-hand desk and bookshelves of his tiny living room, “you want me to take you with me, back to the universe with a mage council I fully intend to exterminate, so that you can-you think-use magic there in greater quantities than is found here.”
“Yes.” The stranger's sleek mahogany hair, perfectly shaped eyebrows, and eyes dark as rich, wet earth seemed to mock Packington, who looked plain and poor in his threadbare gray sleep pants, slowly regrowing dirty curls, and the off-white bathrobe he'd stolen from a hotel. The man had the gall to wear tailored black slacks and a deep red tie-in this neighborhood! Packtington was surprised his shoes hadn't been stolen. Hell, he hoped the man's undoubtedly lux car was broken into or carjacked while the man was in here trying to use Packtington as a piggyback ride to power.
“And for that,” Packington continued, “you want me to use the magic I'm gathering for myself. To help you.”
The stranger's lips quirked into a mocking smile. “I'm not asking for charity, Mr. Packington.”
“Mage. Mage Packington.”
“Of course.” The stranger turned the package over in his hands. “Mage...Sender Theodore Packington.” He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Packington's spine as much as it made him bristle. “Do you prefer Sender or Teddy?”
“Packington. And while we're talking of names, I don't believe I caught yours,” Packington snapped.
“Thom Staples,” the man said, holding out a hand.
Packington yanked the package from him instead of making nice, and swept over to his desk as menacingly as he could in a hotel bathrobe, ripping open the package as he did so. “Thank you for delivering this. You can go now.”
The sound of footsteps got closer instead of farther away and out the door.
Packington's eyes narrowed as he turned. “You don't follow orders well.” His fingers closed around one of the bubbles in the bubble wrap. This was one of the books from the store in England with all the real magic information, which meant the packing materials were from Thumb Inc., which meant, in turn, that the moment Packington popped the bubble in his hands, enough magic would be released for him to harness and send this “Thom Staples” running for the hills-or at least out Packington's front door. “If you know as much as you claim, then you know the moment I pop this, things can get very ugly for you.”
Staples raised an eyebrow and slinked right up into Packington's personal space. “Do it.”
That was never a good sign. Neither was the stranger reaching out and popping the bubble himself, then breathing in the magic through his nose and slowly blowing it out his mouth to thrum against Packington's quivering lips.
“I'd like to propose a deal,” Staples said, mouth bare inches from Packington's own.
And suddenly, things were interesting in the best possible way. “What are the terms?” Packington's eyes flicked from Staples's eyes to his luscious mouth, and hoped the deal involved dirty, half-clothed sex and trading breaths electric with fresh magic.
“Take me with you to your world,” Staples said, pressing chest to thigh against Packington and trapping him against his desk, “and I will find you all the magic you desire. I have a knack for finding and distributing it, as you might have noticed from my packing company.” Knowing fingers trailed down Packington's arm and removed the forgotten packaging from his slack grip before pressing that hand into the scarred wood.
Packing company? Why was he talking about-wait, wait! Staples was-? “You're the founder of Thumb Inc.!”
Staples's smile should not have been able to get more predatory, but it did. “Indeed. So, do we have a deal?”
Packington's body throbbed with want, and with the unnatural angle of leaning half backward across his desk, and with the prospect of a magic dowsing rod at his beck and call. “In both worlds,” he said, proud of himself for speaking only a tinge more deeply than usual. “You find magic for me in both worlds.”
“Well, that might cost extra,” Staples said, and dragged Packington to him by the collar in a fiery kiss.
Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, they fucked against a wall. Somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen the next morning, they cemented their deal with a bit of bubble-popped magic and a rug-burning romp on the carpet. And somewhere between Staples leaving in his miraculously untouched luxury convertible and Packington padlocking the door after him, each of the two decided theirs was a deal well made, which should be further exploited as soon as possible.