annundriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
annundriel) wrote2011-01-28 03:04 pm
annundriel) wrote2011-01-28 03:04 pm
Three Ficlets
Reposting these here on LJ.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spacefragments:
Chris’ back hits the wall with a dull thud. Leon reaches up to cover Chris’ mouth with his hand before Chris can make a sound, alerting the villagers outside to their whereabouts. Chris struggles for a moment, hips pushing against Leon’s, before Leon’s able to catch his eye and stare him down.
It’s all cool here.
Chris gets the message.
They’re standing there, pressed together from chest to chest, hip to hip, thighs to thighs, and Leon’s just starting to notice that his heart is knocking against his ribs from something other than adrenaline when he feels something move against the palm of his hand, a focused bit of heat seeping through his gloves.
Leon startles and blinks at him; he’d forgotten he was covering Chris’ mouth. Chris is watching him with something that looks like amusement and…something Leon can’t quite put his finger on. He’s about to move his hand away, though, when Chris’ hand wraps around his wrist, holds him in place. Leon opens his mouth to—
Chris’ mouth on his bare fingers is hot and wet and, Jesus fuck, Leon’s knees wobble.
Chris pulls away and grins, predatory and dangerous, and then licks up Leon’s forefinger before sucking it into his mouth, teeth teasing at the line where skin and glove meet. When he pulls back up, his teeth scrape lightly along Leon’s skin, catching gently at the rise of his knuckle. He pulls off with a slick pop and does the same to the next.
And the next.
Chris teases at the pad of each finger with his tongue, nips at the inner curves of his knuckles. Licks and sucks and drives Leon crazy with his mouth.
Leon’s cock is hard in no time. He can feel Chris is hard, too, pressed together like they are.
He wants nothing more than to find out what that mouth can do elsewhere.
Reaching down between them, Leon cups Chris’ cock through his pants, loves the way Chris’ eyes darken, the way his breath stutters. The way his teeth close a little bit harder around Leon’s thumb. Leon squeezes him, tries to get across that if Chris takes care of him, he’ll take care of Chris.
They work well as a team, because Chris lets out a groan that’s almost—almost—silent and then pushes him away, letting go of Leon’s hand so he can drop to his knees. Chris’ fingers fumble for a moment and then he’s got Leon out and that slick, wet heat is wrapped around his cock.
It’s a struggle not to come then and there, to keep silent even though Leon’s almost positive any immediate threat has passed. This wouldn’t be playing out like this if there was. (He wouldn’t have his back to the door, for one.) Leon doesn’t think with his dick, no matter how things might…he doesn’t.
Leon slides his still damp fingers through Chris’ hair, slipping them through the short strands, and watches Chris work, watches his dick disappear between Chris’ lips only to reappear, shiny with Chris’ spit, a breath later.
Chris pushes into his hand and swallows Leon down, but it’s the look in Chris’ eyes as he watches Leon that makes Leon’s hips stutter and his breath catch, makes Leon bite his lips and come with a groan he has to swallow.
They can’t afford to make that much noise.
Chris licks his lips when he pulls away, brings his hand up to catch a bit of come at the corner of his mouth. It shines on the pad of his thumb, and Leon wants…wants…
He wraps a hand around Chris’ wrist and hauls him to his feet, brings Chris’ hand to his mouth, and sucks his thumb in.
*
Forsephirothflame:
There’s ink on Nate’s fingers, caught on the smooth stretch of skin between his knuckles, dark against the pale flesh. It’s not the first thing Brad notices, not at all. Not when he’s missed so much about Nate in the past few months, things he’ll never admit missing to anyone (Nate’s smile, the color of his hair when they take their morning run together, the smell of Nate on Brad’s sheets).
And the ink…the ink is nothing, really. Brad’s sure he wouldn’t notice it if Nate’s hand wasn’t wrapped around Brad’s cock right now, if Brad’s eyes weren’t pinned there, not wanting to miss the sight. There’s something about it, something about that black smudge that hits Brad in the gut. This isn’t the LT, whose fingers were covered in dirt and grime and, sometimes, blood. This is Nate. Nate who’s gone back to school, who looks tired and over-worked, but still so damn good Brad sometimes doesn’t know how he get so lucky.
Nate, who’s working his hardest to uphold ideals that got shaken and tested but never quite failed.
Nate, who is Brad’s. Who picks Brad up at the airport, drives Brad back to his apartment. Who touches Brad like this on the rumpled sheets of his bed, their hands relearning each other.
Brad reaches for him, stilling Nate’s hand on his cock, and Nate blinks at him, eyes so green.
There’s something Brad wants to say, something he needs to say, but all of his words are caught in his throat.
Nate looks at him for a moment and then smiles, that ridiculous mouth of his pulling wide, his teeth shining in the late afternoon light, and Brad doesn’t need to say a word.
*
Forcloudyjenn:
“Misha Collins to see you, sir,” Jensen’s assistant says over the intercom.
It isn’t until the door is opening and the new intern is walking through that Jensen puts two and two together and realizes there really can’t be that many Misha’s in the area. Jensen’s just not that lucky.
“Shit.”
Misha pauses halfway between the door and the two chairs placed in front of Jensen’s desk. He blinks at Jensen, eyes wide and surprised, before shrugging it off. He continues to close the distance between them. “Not exactly the first impression I was hoping for,” he says, “but then this isn’t exactly a first impression, isn’t it?” He finishes with a wink, hand held out over Jensen’s desk.
Jensen stares at it. He already knows how that hand will feel, what sort of grip Misha’s capable of.
Misha’s fingers twitch. “Jensen?”
God, that voice. That voice is going to get Jensen into so much trouble.
Looking up, Jensen notices Misha’s eyes are very blue. He doesn’t remember that. He remembers Misha’s eyes being dark, intense. They’re still intense, just…lighter. There’s a definite spark of amusement in there, a sort of ‘hey, can you believe this?’ look tempered only by the tension Jensen can see gathering in the corners.
Jensen swallows hard shakes himself into action, reaches for Misha’s hand before he can pull it away.
Misha’s grip is as strong as Jensen remembers.
“Misha,” he says, releasing Misha’s hand and looking away as quickly as possible. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you again. Take a seat.” Jensen shuffles some papers on his desk and tries to control the beating of his heart. At the edges of his vision, he can see Misha sit.
“So,” they both say at the same time.
Jensen clears his throat, waves at Misha to continue.
Misha grins. “So this is what you couldn’t stay the night for. Cushy desk job to get to in the morning.”
It makes Jensen blush until he remembers—“Hey, I’m not the only one working here.”
“True, true.”
Misha’s still grinning. It makes Jensen nervous.
Jensen narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old to be interning?”
Misha just shrugs, a smooth roll of shoulders as he settles more comfortably back in his chair. Jensen hates that he looks so at home there, hates that he wants to crawl between those legs. Maybe straddle those thighs with his own.
“Oh, you know,” Misha answers, looking around Jensen’s office. “I got bored. Wanted to try something new.” His eyes land on Jensen again. “Pick up something new. I pride myself on being a man of many talents.”
Jensen bites down on his back teeth, wills his body to behave. “And you think you can satisfy your boredom at Singer Morgan Advertising?”
“Oh,” Misha says. “I know I can.”
For
spacefragments:Chris’ back hits the wall with a dull thud. Leon reaches up to cover Chris’ mouth with his hand before Chris can make a sound, alerting the villagers outside to their whereabouts. Chris struggles for a moment, hips pushing against Leon’s, before Leon’s able to catch his eye and stare him down.
It’s all cool here.
Chris gets the message.
They’re standing there, pressed together from chest to chest, hip to hip, thighs to thighs, and Leon’s just starting to notice that his heart is knocking against his ribs from something other than adrenaline when he feels something move against the palm of his hand, a focused bit of heat seeping through his gloves.
Leon startles and blinks at him; he’d forgotten he was covering Chris’ mouth. Chris is watching him with something that looks like amusement and…something Leon can’t quite put his finger on. He’s about to move his hand away, though, when Chris’ hand wraps around his wrist, holds him in place. Leon opens his mouth to—
Chris’ mouth on his bare fingers is hot and wet and, Jesus fuck, Leon’s knees wobble.
Chris pulls away and grins, predatory and dangerous, and then licks up Leon’s forefinger before sucking it into his mouth, teeth teasing at the line where skin and glove meet. When he pulls back up, his teeth scrape lightly along Leon’s skin, catching gently at the rise of his knuckle. He pulls off with a slick pop and does the same to the next.
And the next.
Chris teases at the pad of each finger with his tongue, nips at the inner curves of his knuckles. Licks and sucks and drives Leon crazy with his mouth.
Leon’s cock is hard in no time. He can feel Chris is hard, too, pressed together like they are.
He wants nothing more than to find out what that mouth can do elsewhere.
Reaching down between them, Leon cups Chris’ cock through his pants, loves the way Chris’ eyes darken, the way his breath stutters. The way his teeth close a little bit harder around Leon’s thumb. Leon squeezes him, tries to get across that if Chris takes care of him, he’ll take care of Chris.
They work well as a team, because Chris lets out a groan that’s almost—almost—silent and then pushes him away, letting go of Leon’s hand so he can drop to his knees. Chris’ fingers fumble for a moment and then he’s got Leon out and that slick, wet heat is wrapped around his cock.
It’s a struggle not to come then and there, to keep silent even though Leon’s almost positive any immediate threat has passed. This wouldn’t be playing out like this if there was. (He wouldn’t have his back to the door, for one.) Leon doesn’t think with his dick, no matter how things might…he doesn’t.
Leon slides his still damp fingers through Chris’ hair, slipping them through the short strands, and watches Chris work, watches his dick disappear between Chris’ lips only to reappear, shiny with Chris’ spit, a breath later.
Chris pushes into his hand and swallows Leon down, but it’s the look in Chris’ eyes as he watches Leon that makes Leon’s hips stutter and his breath catch, makes Leon bite his lips and come with a groan he has to swallow.
They can’t afford to make that much noise.
Chris licks his lips when he pulls away, brings his hand up to catch a bit of come at the corner of his mouth. It shines on the pad of his thumb, and Leon wants…wants…
He wraps a hand around Chris’ wrist and hauls him to his feet, brings Chris’ hand to his mouth, and sucks his thumb in.
*
For
sephirothflame:There’s ink on Nate’s fingers, caught on the smooth stretch of skin between his knuckles, dark against the pale flesh. It’s not the first thing Brad notices, not at all. Not when he’s missed so much about Nate in the past few months, things he’ll never admit missing to anyone (Nate’s smile, the color of his hair when they take their morning run together, the smell of Nate on Brad’s sheets).
And the ink…the ink is nothing, really. Brad’s sure he wouldn’t notice it if Nate’s hand wasn’t wrapped around Brad’s cock right now, if Brad’s eyes weren’t pinned there, not wanting to miss the sight. There’s something about it, something about that black smudge that hits Brad in the gut. This isn’t the LT, whose fingers were covered in dirt and grime and, sometimes, blood. This is Nate. Nate who’s gone back to school, who looks tired and over-worked, but still so damn good Brad sometimes doesn’t know how he get so lucky.
Nate, who’s working his hardest to uphold ideals that got shaken and tested but never quite failed.
Nate, who is Brad’s. Who picks Brad up at the airport, drives Brad back to his apartment. Who touches Brad like this on the rumpled sheets of his bed, their hands relearning each other.
Brad reaches for him, stilling Nate’s hand on his cock, and Nate blinks at him, eyes so green.
There’s something Brad wants to say, something he needs to say, but all of his words are caught in his throat.
Nate looks at him for a moment and then smiles, that ridiculous mouth of his pulling wide, his teeth shining in the late afternoon light, and Brad doesn’t need to say a word.
*
For
cloudyjenn:“Misha Collins to see you, sir,” Jensen’s assistant says over the intercom.
It isn’t until the door is opening and the new intern is walking through that Jensen puts two and two together and realizes there really can’t be that many Misha’s in the area. Jensen’s just not that lucky.
“Shit.”
Misha pauses halfway between the door and the two chairs placed in front of Jensen’s desk. He blinks at Jensen, eyes wide and surprised, before shrugging it off. He continues to close the distance between them. “Not exactly the first impression I was hoping for,” he says, “but then this isn’t exactly a first impression, isn’t it?” He finishes with a wink, hand held out over Jensen’s desk.
Jensen stares at it. He already knows how that hand will feel, what sort of grip Misha’s capable of.
Misha’s fingers twitch. “Jensen?”
God, that voice. That voice is going to get Jensen into so much trouble.
Looking up, Jensen notices Misha’s eyes are very blue. He doesn’t remember that. He remembers Misha’s eyes being dark, intense. They’re still intense, just…lighter. There’s a definite spark of amusement in there, a sort of ‘hey, can you believe this?’ look tempered only by the tension Jensen can see gathering in the corners.
Jensen swallows hard shakes himself into action, reaches for Misha’s hand before he can pull it away.
Misha’s grip is as strong as Jensen remembers.
“Misha,” he says, releasing Misha’s hand and looking away as quickly as possible. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you again. Take a seat.” Jensen shuffles some papers on his desk and tries to control the beating of his heart. At the edges of his vision, he can see Misha sit.
“So,” they both say at the same time.
Jensen clears his throat, waves at Misha to continue.
Misha grins. “So this is what you couldn’t stay the night for. Cushy desk job to get to in the morning.”
It makes Jensen blush until he remembers—“Hey, I’m not the only one working here.”
“True, true.”
Misha’s still grinning. It makes Jensen nervous.
Jensen narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old to be interning?”
Misha just shrugs, a smooth roll of shoulders as he settles more comfortably back in his chair. Jensen hates that he looks so at home there, hates that he wants to crawl between those legs. Maybe straddle those thighs with his own.
“Oh, you know,” Misha answers, looking around Jensen’s office. “I got bored. Wanted to try something new.” His eyes land on Jensen again. “Pick up something new. I pride myself on being a man of many talents.”
Jensen bites down on his back teeth, wills his body to behave. “And you think you can satisfy your boredom at Singer Morgan Advertising?”
“Oh,” Misha says. “I know I can.”
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Every time I go to start something with those two, or with Dean/Leon, they seem to want it to happen mid-danger.
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those idea's you have should like ... HAPPEN ... pretty please?
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