dustandroses' fan fiction

Recent Updates

Mon, 14 Mar 2011 07:17:53 GMT

It's been a while since I've updated this page - turns out that most people prefer to read my fic on Live Journal, where they have their own journals. So at the moment, you can find more recent updates on my LJ Fic Journals.

If you're looking for HBO's Oz fan fic - go here: Breaking Parole

All my other fan fic can be found here: Dusty's Fic

If you're just looking for me - look here: Dustandroses at LJ or Dustandroses at Dreamwidth.

See ya around!

Dusty

Oz, The Price, Beecher/O'Reily, NC17

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 05:26:20 GMT

Title: The Price
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Pairing: Tobias Beecher/Ryan O'Reily
Rating: NC17
Categories: First Time, Angst, Drama
Warnings: Discussion of NonCon and Rape
Spoilers: The First Season, Through Capital P
Synopsis: Beecher and O'Reily strike a bargain that ends up helping them both deal with the pressures of their first harsh year in Oz.
Status of Story: Complete
Word Count: 12,620
Disclaimer: Don't own' em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for callmerizzo for Oz Magi 2008. Originally posted on January 2, 2009. Divided into two parts due to length.

My prompts:
Pairing: Beecher/O'Reily
Prompt Phrase: I'd do anything for you / Just you ask me and it's done / But everything has its price (Suicidal Tendencies)
Canon/AU/Either: Canon
Special Requests: A little smut would be awesome, but if you don't want to go there, just go wherever inspiration takes you. :)

The Price:

Part One

Part Two

~

Oz, Ill Gotten Gains, Beecher/Keller, NC17

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 05:08:41 GMT

Title: Ill Gotten Gains
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Pairing: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Rating: NC17
Categories: PWP, Humor, AU
Warnings: Possible overdose of chocolate
Spoilers: The entire series.
Synopsis: ...if he had anything to do with it, as soon as they called lights out he was wrapping Chris’ cock in chocolate brownies and swallowing him whole.
Word Count: 3441
Disclaimer: Don't own' em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for roguemarche for Oz Magi 2008. Originally posted on January 3, 2009. A last minute pitch hit.

My prompts:
Pairing: Beecher/Keller
Prompt Phrase: “Beecher, it has been, what, 20, 30 years now?”
Canon/AU/Either: AU please
Special Requests: Humor, Smut welcome(preferably with Chris on top)

Ill Gotten Gains

As he stood against the rail overlooking the quad watching Chris play poker with a couple of bikers, Toby smiled. Life, he thought, can sometimes be good even in a hellhole like Oz. Sure, his parole was shot so he wasn’t getting out of prison anytime soon, and he hadn’t seen his children in years, but as horrible as things were in his life he had a decent job for this place, friends like Sister Pete and O’Reily, a man who loved him more than life itself, and hard won chocolate in the pod behind him. And if he had anything to do with it, as soon as they called lights out he was wrapping Chris’ cock in chocolate brownies and swallowing him whole.

He knew how different his life here could have been. If Chris hadn’t told McManus what Schillinger and Metzger were up to, Toby could have been crippled for life in that gym. But Chris hadn’t been able to betray him like that and once he got out of protective custody, Toby had forgiven him. They’d spent years battling with Schillinger and the Aryans, but they’d survived and had even arranged a truce now that Schillinger was dead. Now, despite the fact that he was still in Oz, life was pretty good.

O’Reily sauntered by, acting all chill and laid back and Toby turned away from the rail and headed into his pod, O’Reily trailing casually behind him. It wouldn’t do for the new fish to know he’d been in on the scam, after all. Toby passed O’Reily’s cut of the goods to him. They disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie as Toby stuck the bundle of cash O’Reily had exchanged it for into his pocket. He’d have to wait to count it later, but Toby got the idea that they’d done well for themselves this time.

“Thanks, man. I’m really looking forward to those brownies.” He headed out of the pod, but turned back at the last second his eyes bright with laughter. “Oh, tell Keller that was beautiful work today. Couldn’t have pulled a better hustle myself. When he started spouting all that shit about you two being brothers growing up together. ‘What’s it been, Toby, 20, 30 years now we’ve been fucking?’ Shit. I thought I was going to lose it, right there. Almost couldn't keep a straight face."

Toby laughed. “Yeah, that one guy, Reynolds, he just gave in right then, didn’t he? He wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the game after that. He might as well have just handed us his brownies and walked away.”

Ryan agreed, leaning up against the doorpost after a quick glance around. “But the homeboy, it’s weird the way his own buddies just sat there and watched him lose his homemade chocolate chip cookies to you two."

“I’m still surprised at the way nobody lets the new fish know what’s going on. It’s been over a year since the last time anyone warned a newbie what we were up to.”

“Hell, Even the hacks get off watching you two get their goodies away from them. I guess they figure it's better to learn from you guys and lose some brownies than learn from some Aryan fuck and lose their cherry. It's kind of like…” O’Reily grinned at the thought – “…like it’s become an Em City tradition, is what it is. Everyone looses their first visitor’s baked goods to you two.”

Toby smiled at that. “A rite of passage? I like that. Well, it works out well all around, doesn’t it? How’d you make out on the side bets?”

“You guy’s cut is close to two hundred bucks.”

“Excellent!”

“Yeah, not bad. We make a good team,” Ryan said with a well-pleased grin right before he headed out. He passed Keller on the way up the stairs and then it was just the two of them. Chris headed straight for the brownies, but pulled his hand back when it was smacked.

“Ow. What the hell was that for?” Chris pouted at Toby with a sideways glance at the brownies as if he was trying to figure out the best way to get around Toby to get to the good stuff.

“Oh no you don’t. You’ve already had three brownies.” Toby pulled out a couple of cookies. “Here. This will have to tide you over. I’m saving the brownies for after lights out.”

“Lights out?” Chris looked intrigued by that as he bit into a double chocolate chunk cookie. He looked impressed and Toby didn’t blame him. The cookies were excellent. “Mmmm…these are pretty good, huh? I guess I can make do for now.”

Toby swooped in for a quick chocolate cookie flavored kiss, backing off when a hack banged on the Plexiglas with a half-hearted complaint of, “It’ll keep until lights out, guys.”

Toby flushed and turned away as Keller jumped up onto his bunk and leaned against the wall, smirking as he ate his cookies.

Just before lights out, Toby grabbed a brownie and leaned against the sink unwrapping the treat noisily. Waiting until he had Chris’ undivided attention, he slowly pinched off a bit of the sticky brownie, bringing it to his mouth and licking it inside before closing his eyes and moaning appreciatively. When he opened his eyes again, Chris had put his magazine down and was staring hungrily at Toby.

He wasn’t sure if it was the brownie that was appealing to Chris or Toby or both, but he took advantage of the interest to pinch off another bit and slip it into his mouth as seductively as he knew how. After he’d swallowed, his sticky forefinger followed the bit of brownie into his mouth and he sucked enthusiastically until he’d removed every trace of brownie.

He slowly pulled his finger out and slipped the next finger in with a wicked smile. This time it was Chris that moaned. “Toby…”

Toby pulled his finger out with a pop and reached for another bit of brownie, this time choosing to use the tip of his tongue to transfer the brownie from his fingers to his mouth. Chris grabbed his cock right through the material of his pants, squeezing rhythmically. “That’s really hot, Toby. I want to be the one sucking brownie off your fingers. As a matter of fact, I’d like to…”

He was interrupted by the sound of, “Lights Out!” and the loud popping noise that always accompanied the banks of lights snapping off one section after another.

Chris stayed where he was until the last bank had snapped off then jumped out of his bunk and closed in on Toby. It never got totally dark in Em City, so Chris has plenty of light to see Toby pull off another bit of the gooey brownie, holding it out to Chris like he was going to feed him the treat. When he got close enough, Toby pulled back, using it like bait to tempt Chris even closer to him. Then he popped the brownie bite in his mouth and started chewing, smirking evilly.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Chris dove into Toby’s mouth after the bite and Toby had to move fast to keep the brownie in his other hand from getting squished between them when Chris’ chest hit Toby’s forcefully, his arms going around Toby and holding him close. Their tongues fought over brownie and then dueled just because they could, deepening the kiss as they got more involved in each other and less involved in the chocolate.

When they finally parted, Toby reached over and pinched off some more brownie and held it out to Chris who took the brownie and Toby’s fingers into his mouth, making both of them moan this time.

There was a sharp rap on the Plexiglas as that asshole Yardley walked by swinging his stick and mumbling something about fuckin’ faggots, but neither of them moved. They knew that after the other hacks had no luck cooling him down, the Warden himself had taken Yardley aside and told him he’d given up on keeping Toby and Chris apart and told him to lay off. So unless they made things impossible for the hacks to ignore, they got left alone for the most part.

Like the time Toby had come face to face with Murphy, pressed up against the Plexiglas while Chris fucked him from behind, smearing Toby's come into the clear wall between him and Murphy. Oh yeah. That had definitely been too much to ignore. Toby grinned at the memory of the shocked look on Murphy's face. That alone had practically been worth a week in the hole.

As soon as Yardley was gone, Chris went back to sucking on Toby’s finger, his tongue laving it thoroughly before releasing it. Toby reached in again and smeared Chris’ lips with chocolate that was getting gooier every minute he held it in his warm hand. Before Chris could suck his fingers in his mouth, Toby attacked his lips, sucking and licking and dipping into his mouth before going back to his lips again.

He could feel Chris’ hips moving against his own, that lovely fat cock nudging against his hip and Toby finally opened his mouth again for another long, sexy kiss. God, he could kiss! He never got tired of that, but right now he wanted more. He took a step forward, forcing Chris to back up towards the bunks and Chris took the hint and quickly pulled Toby with him onto the bottom bunk which was currently covered with both their towels.

Chris reached for the blanket to get to the sheets underneath, but Toby grabbed his wrist with one slightly sticky hand and grinned. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not sleeping on sticky sheets tonight. That stuff stays there until I’m good and through with you.”

“Oh? You got plans for me, Beecher? What're you gonna do? You gonna eat me like that brownie, Toby?” Chris’ voice was enough to make Toby skip right past the preliminaries, but he’d had this planned out all afternoon and he wasn’t gonna give up now.

“Oh yeah. That’s exactly what I have in mind.” He deepened his own voice and practically growled at Chris. “Take your clothes off. Now.”

Chris looked at him, admiration in his eyes. He stood up, grabbed the hem of his wifebeater and pulled it off slowly and sensually. “Like this, Toby? Is this what you want?” He reached for the button on his pants and stripped out of them and his underwear, making a show for his lover, who appreciated every minute of it. Toby grabbed his own cock right through his boxers, leaving a sticky handprint when he finally let go to pull Chris to him for another brownie-filled kiss.

He finally pulled away and pushed Chris back on the bunk, telling him to grab a pillow for his head as he lay across the bunk, his head and shoulders on the Plexiglas wall between their pod and their neighbor’s. He got comfortable while Toby was covering the brownie up again and sticking it at the bottom of the bunk. It might come in handy later. But for now, the hand that had held the brownie all this time was covered in sticky chocolate, and that was all he needed.

Toby knelt between Chris’ spread legs and grinned at him. “I had this all planned out, Chris. I was going to make a sandwich out of two pieces of brownie and your cock, but I think I like this better. Besides, my dad always said you should always be flexible when new opportunities came around.” And with that he grabbed Chris’ hard-on with his sticky hand and smeared it liberally with gooey, sweet brownie.

It looked like Chris couldn’t decide whether to laugh or moan. His eyes were wide open, surprised, and his mouth hung open. “Jesus, Toby. What the hell?”

Toby looked up at him and grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “The better to eat you with, my dear.” Then he licked a wide stripe up the bottom of Chris’ cock and Chris’ head fell back and hit the wall with a bump.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was a heartfelt sentiment, Toby could tell as he went to work, licking and sucking the sticky mess off Chris’ cock, moaning at the taste of Chris' precome mixed with the chocolate. Savory and sweet, a delicious combination, he thought, with a creamy filling inside. He almost snorted at that, but he had his mouth full, so he did his best to repress it and kept his humor internal for now.

He got his hands on Chris’ balls, rolling and squeezing them gently, just the way Chris liked it. He felt like purring when Chris put his hands on his head, running his fingers through Toby’s hair, tugging gently, just because he knew Toby like it. When Chris started talking to him, his already hard cock practically sat up and begged. That low, sexy voice always did him in and tonight was no exception.

“God, Toby. I love your mouth. It’s so fucking good. Hot and wet, and when you start sucking me like that, with your tongue swirling around…yeah – like that – you make me crazy. I’d do anything for you, Toby. You’re everything to me. When you get down on your knees in front of me, it makes me the most important man in the world. All because you want me, no one else but me.

“God, Toby, you gotta stop soon. If you don’t I’m gonna pop. And I don’t want to do that, yet. I want to be inside you when I come. I wanna fuck you so hard you’re gonna feel me next week. When I’m inside you, there’s nothing better in the whole world. That’s where I belong, Toby. That’s where I’ll always belong.”

When Chris gently pushed his head back, Toby let go of his treat, licking up one last drip of chocolaty precome off the tip then wiping his hands off on his boxers before letting them drop to the floor. Chris pulled him onto the bunk and he spread his legs, letting Chris’ bulk settle between them. Chris took his mouth in a forceful kiss and Toby sighed into his mouth. He loved this.

He loved the powerful muscles of Chris’ back that flexed under his hands as he wrapped his arms around Chris’ shoulders. He loved the strong legs that spread his thighs even further apart, pushing with his knees to pull Toby’s body off the mattress so his ass was resting on Chris’ thighs. He really loved the strong fingers Toby coated liberally with the lube Chris grabbed from under the pillow, the fingers that knew the most intimate parts of his body well enough to slip inside him without fumbling, aiming straight for his sweet spot and hitting it unerringly.

He loved how well Chris knew his body. How did that saying go? Chris played Toby’s body like a fine violin. And Toby responded just as well as that violin. He practically hummed with pleasure. Chris pulled his fingers out and Toby held his breath. When Chris slid into him on a low moan of pleasure, Toby sighed again. Oh, yes.

They moved together, Chris’ hips grinding into Toby in a circle, making him feel Chris’ cock like it was everywhere all at once. The pace was slow and leisurely, like they had all the time in the world and were determined to take it all. Chris bent his head to Toby’s chest, teasing one nipple then the other, biting them gently, pulling on the sensitive nubs and drawing gasps out of Toby. He arched his back to give Chris better access and got a laugh for his efforts.

“You’re so easy, Toby. Just give you a little attention and you’ll do anything, won’t you?”

“Not anything.” He gasped, wondering why the breathy sounds Chris was making sounded so much sexier than his wheezy, panted words. “I still won’t do windows, no matter what how much you torture me.”

Chris laughed and raised his head, aiming for Toby’s mouth once again. Toby ran his hands down Chris’ back, then zeroed in on his favorite spot, one hand on each of Chris’ ass cheeks, squeezing and running his fingers lightly up and down his crack. He needed more. This leisurely pace was driving him insane and he knew just what to do to get what he wanted.

He slipped one finger between Chris’ ass cheeks, moving lower with each pass. Chris pulled away from their kiss to pant heavily into his neck. “Toby. That’s so good. Fuck, Toby, what you do to me.”

Toby groaned loudly at the sharp pain when Chris bit down at the junction of his shoulder and his neck. Oh god, that was going to show. Sister Pete’d rib him all day for that one. But he didn’t care. The suction was paced with the rhythm Chris’ hips were moving inside Toby and it felt good, inside and out. Then Chris moved away slightly, but before Toby could complain, Chris pulled himself up on his elbows, wrapped his arms under Toby and gripped him firmly.

Toby let out a gasp and grabbed Chris’ ass hard, holding on, because he knew what Chris was doing. Yes. This was what Toby needed. “Do it, Chris. Now.” His voice sounded thin and reedy in his ears, but he really couldn’t care less. The important thing was that Chris was getting ready to move. The first hit felt like lightening in his spine, hard and pounding right on his prostate and Toby saw stars. “God yes!”

Chris moved fast and powerfully, his hips pistoning into Toby and making him flush with pleasure. He hung on as best he could, moving his hands up to Chris’ waist to get a better grip. When Toby pulled his knees up, bracketing Chris’ hips, his position shifted slightly and it felt like Chris was able to stroke even deeper into him. For just a second, Toby stopped breathing.

The new angle was putting more pressure on Toby’s cock, wedged between his and Chris’ stomachs, and he felt a rising heat running through him. He shuddered helplessly, digging his fingers into the muscle of Chris’ back, holding tight. He could tell Chris was almost there, too, and he concentrated, trying to squeeze Chris’ cock and make him come. But it was hard to control his muscles when they were trembling the way they were, so he finally just gave up and let his orgasm come, blowing him away and whiting out his vision.

He felt Chris come a minute or so later, but it was all he could do to just lie there and gasp. When Chris collapsed to the side he marshaled all his efforts into lifting one hand to pat at him awkwardly. When his breathing had slowed down a bit, Chris laughed, and Toby opened one eye and blinked at him groggily.

“Jesus, Beecher. I’m all sticky!”

Toby laughed. “That’s what the towels are for. And the washcloths.”

“What washcloths?”

Toby’s arm flew out disjointedly and he fumbled around for a bit on the floor before he came up with two wet cloths. “They’re kind of cool now, but at least they’re wet. They’ll get the worst off, anyway.”

Chris laughed as he wiped chocolate and lube and come off his body haphazardly. “Always thinking ahead, huh, Toby? I like that about you. Well, that and the way you whine when I’m pounding into you.”

Toby paused in his cleaning. “I whine? That’s horrible.”

“No it’s not. I love it. You only do it when you lose control and I’m the only one that gets to hear it. I think it’s the best sound in the world.” Chris threw his washcloth on the floor and pulled the blanket back, letting Toby slide in next to him. Toby knew they’d have to separate eventually, Chris going back to his upper bunk, but for now he was content just to lie there, listening to Chris breathe.

Out of nowhere, the image of a sticky, half-eaten brownie drifted into Toby's mind. Mmm, brownie. He raised his head carefully, searching in the dimly lit room until his eyes lit on the crumpled paper it was wrapped in lying on the floor. He looked at Chris, then back at the brownie then back at Chris again. If he was careful, maybe he could stretch out his leg and use his toes to pull it to him without waking Chris.

End

~

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Wild Ride, Spike/Xander, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 04:38:57 GMT

Title: Wild Ride
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Betas: ozsaur and janedavitt, my heroes and shit
Rating: R
Category: Romance - What? I can do romance!
Warnings: None
Summary: Spike and Xander have been together for a while now, but it takes Spike spinning free of reality on a wild ride to make him wake up to what he has in Xander, and what he's willing to do to keep him.
Spoilers: Pretty much everything in both Angel and Buffy - if you don't want to be spoiled for the end of either Series, you probably shouldn't read this one.
Word Count: 10,094
Angel Advisers: Special thanks go to sffan and janedavitt for their invaluable information on AtS, as well as their efforts in containing my panic and offering good advice that I mostly ignored. But hey, they tried, right?
Author's Notes: Written for reremouse's Spander Valentine's Day Ficathon for talamascasknight, who asked for a lot (see prompts below.) I think I got pretty much everything they asked for except the possible revenge attempt by Wolfram & Hart. Sorry, I just couldn't fit that one in. Originally posted on February 14th, 2009.

Some dialogue from the Spike & Anya scene was taken from the episode "Entropy," Season 6, Episode 18 - written by Drew Z. Greenberg. Transcribed by Joan the English Chick for BuffyWorld.com.

My prompts were:

How Spike and Xander express their love: Physically, non verbally, and verbally.
When Spike and Xander express their love (what era Spander you want): Post everything Angel and Buffy. I don't follow the comics so whatever you feel like writing plot wise.
Where Spike and Xander express their love (optional): LA
Who else (if anyone) is involved: The LA crew and The Buffy crew (Not all at once, they're mostly based in England now, right? And Buffy is off with the Immortal. Everyone is busy.)
What else (if anything) is involved: Coming to terms with how things are post everything, finding their niche. Maybe a revenge attempt by what's left of Wolfram & Hart.
Up to three things you don't want: No MPreg please, no wacky prophecies, and no killing off of Spike or Xander, turning is okay, killing no.

Wild Ride

The elevator doors opened, and Spike stuck his head out, looking around quickly before stepping out into the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, he adjusted the collar of his coat with one hand, and casually sauntered down the hall, trying not to look like he had anything to hide – just in case. Of course just then, he heard footsteps on the stairs, and who should call out his name but the old poofter himself.

“Spike.”

Spike kept walking. He knew that Angel would never believe he hadn’t heard him, but hell, he'd never paid any attention to what the old bleeder had said in the past, so why start now? He heard footsteps as Angel moved swiftly toward him – damn, he was still only half way to his door, he’d never make it unless he ran, and he refused to give Angel the satisfaction, so he just kept up his casual stroll until Angel reached out and grabbed his arm.

He stopped, his handful of packages swinging and turned to stare at Angel's hand, which was firmly gripping his upper arm. “You got a problem, mate? How about you take your hand off me? Now.”

Angel frowned at him, and Spike rolled his eyes. The man really needed to find a new facial expression; he was wearing this one out. His grip on Spike’s arm tightened. “I’d like a word with you, Spike.”

“This is not the time, Peaches. I’ve got to get some things set up before the whelp comes upstairs, so we can talk another time, right?” He tried to pull free of Angel’s hand, but the strong grip held him securely.

“No. We can talk now. Xander is in the library with the S.I.T.s, so you and I are going to talk.”

Spike smirked at him. “The S.I.T.s. You know, when you say that, you sound just like that Andrew twat. Next thing you know you’re gonna be sucking on a pipe and calling us Vampyrs.” He said the word with Andrew’s exaggerated style – accenting the last syllable to make it sound like vam-peers. “Fucking poof.”

“Well what do you want me to call them? Slayers in Training is a mouthful, and since you’re the only one who can call them Baby Slayers and get away with it, there aren't a lot of other options.”

“Yeah, well they know better than to mess with me. I’ll kick their arses all over L.A. if they try.” He gave an exaggerated sigh and motioned down the hall with his head. “Come on, then. You can talk to me in my room. I don’t want anyone seeing what I’ve got here – it’s a surprise, and I've timed it a bit close. If I don't get this arranged before Harris shows up I'm going to be an unhappy Vampyr, got it?”

He tugged again, and Angel finally turned his arm loose so that he could hurry up the hall to the last room in the corner – as far away from the baby slayers as he could get and still be on the same floor as Xander.

Angel trailed behind him. “What were you doing out in the day, anyway? The sun won’t be down for another hour yet.”

Spike set his bags down on his dresser, shuffling through them and ignoring Angel – he never passed up an opportunity to annoy the bugger.

"Spike..." Angel paused and sniffed, looking puzzled. "Do I smell flowers?"

Spike casually dropped one of the bags off the edge of the dresser, away from Angel. "No." He realized immediately how defensive he sounded and winced at the look of doubt on Angel's face.

"Yes I do. Roses. You went out in the sunlight and brought back roses? What the hell, Spike?" He moved closer and Spike stepped between Angel and the dresser - arms crossed and feet planted firmly, effectively stopping him from getting any closer to Spike's cache of shopping bags.

"That's what the sewers are there for, right? I don't see what the big deal is. You go out in the daytime all the time, why can't I?"

That stopped Angel in his tracks. "Well, it's just that you usually don't, so it seems strange that you did."

Spike rolled his eyes. "That makes a lot of sense, you poof. So what did you want to talk about? The fact that I come back from the sewers smelling like roses while you come back smelling of shite? Doesn't surprise me in the--"

Angel interrupted him, obviously reminded of the reason he'd come upstairs to find Spike in the first place. "I have a problem. I need you to cover the phones for me tonight."

Spike snorted with laughter. "You've got to be bloody kidding me. Sorry. Me and Xander have plans. You'll have to find someone else to do your dirty work for you. What about the Watcher? That old fart doesn't have a life, he can cover for you."

"I need someone who can go out if an emergency comes up. You know I can't leave Anderson here alone like that. He's in his sixties, I can't ask him to go out on a call."

"You've got a cellphone, give him the number, and have him call you if anything comes up. Or maybe just declare a day off; you don't have to be available to every needy bugger out there twenty-four hours a day. Just leave a message and get on with your bleeding life. What there is of it. Now get out of here, I've got things to do."

Spike turned his back to Angel and rustled his bags, sorting through them without pulling anything out, refusing to let Angel see what he'd gone out for today. But Angel didn't budge, just sighed heavily and leaned against the far edge of the dresser, frowning.

"I hate that phone."

"Well tell that to wolfgirl, not me. I'm not the one who insisted you carry it. Why not ask her to cover the phones for you if you have to have someone pretending this office is run efficiently?"

Angel mumbled, "No, not tonight."

Spike looked up, a smirk spreading over his face as he settled his hip against the dresser and pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. "You've got a date, haven't you? That's why you're being such an annoying bugger. Well, you should have asked earlier." He lit his cigarette and blew the smoke into Angel's face, earning facial expression number two, the angry frown.

"I still would have said no," Spike continued, "but at least you'd have had time to find another replacement. Taking your girl out for a candlelit dinner? You bringing her something special?" At Angel's puzzled look he rolled his eyes. "It's Valentine's Day, you idiot. You don't just show up empty handed on a day like today." The look of panicked shock on Angel's face was priceless. "You didn't even know what day it was, did you? What a bleeding fool you are. With six teenage girls in this hotel, you still didn't realize Valentine's Day was on the way? Some bloody great detective you are."

Angel started pacing - to the window and back again, his agitation showing in his jerky steps as he kicked a path through the clothes spotted around Spike's bedroom floor. "She called me this morning out of the blue and asked if I wanted to go to a party with her. I didn't even think of Valentine's Day."

"You're going to a Valentine's Day party?" Spike snorted smoke out his nose with his laughter. "You're going to a Valentine's Day party? I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

He shot Spike an angry look. "Nina didn't mention it was a Valentine's Day party, but now that you've pointed it out, it must be. What the hell am I going to do now? I can't go to a party. What the hell would I do at a party?"

"I'm surprised she asked you. What the fuck was she thinking?"

Angel's eternal frown surfaced again, as he defended Nina. "She told me it was just a small gathering - just a few of her art school friends. She said it would be a quiet evening, that we didn't even have to stay long." He paused for a moment, staring down at the floor. "I asked if I should bring anything, but she said no, that she had that covered."

Spike shook his head, settling his ass on the dresser as he watched his grandsire resume his pacing, wondering if Angel would forget himself enough to stop watching the floor, and Spike would get the pleasure of watching him trip over Spike's scattered dirty laundry or his spare pair of Doc Martens. One could always hope; he could use a little entertainment. He took another drag off his cigarette.

"Yeah, well you'd better show up with something, mate - you don't meet your girl on Valentine's Day empty handed. I know you two are still fairly casual, but wolfgirl deserves better than that."

Angel came to a stop at the shuttered window, turning around swiftly to point a finger at Spike. "That's why I smell roses." He stalked over to Spike as he finally figured it all out. "You bought Xander roses! And chocolate, too. You did, didn't you?"

Spike bristled. "I did not!" he denied vehemently. Then at Angel's raised eyebrow, he deflated, leaning back onto the edge of the dresser. "Well, maybe."

When Angel smirked at him, Spike defended himself. "He doesn't usually have a lot of luck on Valentine's Day. We weren't together last year this time, but we went out for a beer and a game of pool to get away from his charges for a while. They were all mooning like silly fools over Connor; he'd just started training with them at the time. Harris was with his demon girl for years - she was good at taking, but not so much for giving, you know? So I thought he might like to be on the opposite side this year." He snarled as Angel's smirk spread, puffing himself up like the Big Bad he knew he wasn't being today, but faking it fairly admirably, he thought.

"Yeah, well, you can bet he'll be very grateful. You'd best not stop on the second floor tonight after your little date, if you don't want to hear exactly how grateful he'll be. We'll be at it all night, if I don't miss my guess. Don't fret, we'll do our best to keep the noise to a minimum." Angel's frown was back; that was more like it. He hated thinking about Xander and sex at the same time, so Spike rubbed his nose in it as often as he could. "Xander's one hell of a good fuck. He's got the hottest, most incredible mouth I've ever felt on my cock, and that tight arse of his - bloody hell..."

"What the hell am I going to do, Spike?"

Angel sounded a bit panicked, and Spike ate it up, smirking at Angel through the smoke of his cigarette. "I don't know, Peaches, and I don't much care, but whatever it is, you'd better get to it. Close down the office for the night, and go find your Nina something nice. She deserves it." He turned his back on Angel again, rattling through his bags, hoping the stupid sod would finally get the hint. "And don't you dare bother us tonight. Me and my boy have got some new toys to play with, if you know what I mean..."

He pulled out a pair of padded black leather wrist restraints and dangled them from one finger as he glanced over his shoulder at Angel. The look on Angel's face was priceless - panic and disgust warring with a healthy dose of lust for control as Angel practically ran out the door, slamming it behind him. Spike breathed a sigh of relief. He should have pulled those out when the poof first showed up, would have been a much shorter conversation. What a wanker.

He got down to work, setting everything up, hiding things under pillows and in bedside tables, sticking some sandwiches and snacks for later in the little mini-fridge he kept up here for his beer. Xander would be hungry at some point tonight, and he didn't want to have to get dressed to go down to the kitchen. The roses and a big box of expensive Belgian truffles took pride of place on the dresser, the blood-red roses tucked neatly into a black marble vase that showed them off admirably. Now, he just needed to strip and get into bed, like he'd been asleep the whole time, and wait for Xander to slip in next to him and kiss him awake as he did every day right before sundown.

He'd already warned that Watcher twit Anderson not to expect Xander around this evening, so Anderson was prepared to keep an eye on the baby slayers by himself for once, instead of foisting them off onto Xander as he usually did and hiding in the library. Everything was all set up, and his boy didn't suspect a thing. He settled back in the bed with a smile on his face - this was going to be a Valentine's Day to remember.

Xander deserved it, after all. What with the cheerleader dropping him on Valentine's Day for Christ's sake, and Demon Girl being so self-centered and all. He didn't even want to think about that slut of a slayer that took his boy's virginity - that made him so angry sometimes, he just wanted to forget his soul and just snap her neck. Okay, so there might be a bit of jealousy in that one. Not like he would have been Harris's first or anything - Demon Girl would have been there before him anyway, but damn it all. The poor boy never seemed to get a break in love, did he?

Spike wasn't sure he could be what Xander really needed; he was a bit on the crazy side himself from time to time, what with the demon popping out to war with his soul on occasion. But he liked to think he was a bit more stable than most of Xander's past romantic interests, and that seemed to be a good thing, at least for now. He'd like to hang on to Harris for a while, yet - at least until Xander figured out what he really wanted, and left him to find it. He had no doubt that would happen eventually; Xander was constantly rambling on about finding his perfect girl, which more and more often was bringing Spike's demon out growling in jealousy. But for now at least, Xander was enjoying his life for once. And that made both Spike's soul and his demon happy.

Spike stretched in the bed, feeling for the wrist cuffs he'd already attached to the headboard, and the lube and chocolate sauce that were stashed under the pillow. He grinned widely - yes, this Valentine's Day was going to be one Xander would never forget.

When Spike awoke, he realized he'd slept longer than he'd expected to - the clock on the bedside table said it was close to midnight, but he couldn't feel the night the way he usually did. It still felt like it was light outside, despite there being no glow of daylight around the edge of the blackout shutters Harris had installed in his room. There was no sound anywhere, not even the normal nighttime sounds of the sleeping girls down the hall, or of the old Watcher's loud snores - although he might have still been awake downstairs in the library, or more likely snoozing over a book in an easy chair.

They'd found Anderson that way many times since he and Harris had arrived with six slayers in tow, to shock them out of the sullen quiet that had overtaken the Hyperion in the wake of the final battle with Wolfram and Hart. The hotel and its undead inhabitants had fallen into a depressed silence as they'd mourned their fallen, and Illyria had left them to it, spending most of her time kicking ass in Compton, where she'd developed quite a following among the local gangs. Angel complained about it constantly, but he'd been better since the Slayers had arrived just over a year ago, bringing laughter and vibrant life back into the dark hotel.

The Hyperion had resembled an old crypt in sad need of repair, with much drinking of whiskey, mourning of the dead, and ceaseless brooding. Not Spike, of course, he didn't brood, but Angel had done enough for the both of them. It was only when Harris had shown up, nosing around to ferret out the truth of what had actually happened here in L.A. that Spike, at least, had realized what a boring old sod he'd become and started to change his ways. Xander had spent several months in L.A., and with the help of Spike, the two of them had finally made Angel realize that brooding over the past wasn't going to change things, and that they needed to move forward. Maybe even do some good for someone. You never know.

So Angel had reincarnated Angel Investigations once again, and he and Spike had been open for business for about three months when Xander had returned with a deal for them. They would give Andrew and two slayers a place from which to live and work, and in return they would have a Watcher and two Slayers in Training as backup for the Agency, plus the Council, what there was left of it, would make themselves available for research and advice. In a conference call with Xander and Spike in Angel's office and Giles in London, Angel had refused their offer, but had made a counter offer that had stunned them all: a Watcher, four Slayers and Harris were welcome, as long as they kept Andrew far away from L.A. Hell, Spike agreed with that - they would keep Andrew in a different dimension if he had anything to do with it.

Of course it wasn't that simple. Once he recovered from the shock, Giles agreed with the Watcher and Harris, if they could increase the Slayer contingent to six. It seemed that Harold Anderson, the only other Watcher he'd feel comfortable sending to work with two souled vampires, was currently working with two slayers that he'd need to bring with him. But if Xander was willing to sign on to help keep them in check, Giles would agree to the arrangement. It had taken Spike two days to bring Xander around - silly git had no idea what he was capable of, and how much Giles and, reluctantly, even Angel respected the man he'd become since they'd first met him as a high school sophomore. But it had been worth the struggle, and finally they'd arrived, transforming the bleak, dusty hotel into a home that brimmed with life. It had been good for them all.

Spike padded naked to the window, carefully unlatching the shutters to discover that as strange as it seemed it was indeed nighttime. He sealed them up again in any event, unsettled by his body's stubborn resistance to the facts. He didn't understand why Xander hadn't come to wake him. Even if he couldn't stay, he always let Spike know what was up. And why had Spike slept so late? Despite getting up early to go shopping, he really hadn't needed the sleep; there was no reason he should have slept beyond sundown.

"Bloody hell." The back of Spike's neck prickled as he pulled on a pair of still serviceable jeans and shoved his feet into his Docs. There was something strange going on, and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it at all. He pulled on a T-shirt, then spent a moment at the bathroom sink fixing his hair - he did want to look good when he finally found Xander, after all. He grabbed his duster at the last minute; if something bad was up, he night not have time to come back for it, and that prickling sensation hadn't abated, so he felt the need to be as well prepared as possible.

Spike listened at the door for a moment, but heard nothing, so he finally opened it as quietly as he could and stepped out cautiously. Strangely enough, the only sounds he heard were mechanical in origin. He couldn't place them, but they were the kinds of sounds you heard in offices and laboratories - the whir of something spinning, the white noise of a fan or air conditioner, clicks and clacks as something was moved. The closer he got, the more he could hear, underneath them all, the sound of a human - or at least a demon with lungs and a pulse. The smell was odd, kind of filtered, and familiar as well, but he couldn't place it.

He stood before the door all the noise was coming from, unsettled. The room wasn't used, it was a dusty bedroom left empty when Xander's crew had taken over the second floor of the hotel. It sat halfway between his own end room and the first slayer's room - Carol's room. And for some reason, the sounds coming from inside made the room seem larger than it should - it echoed strangely. Spike shook his head. Right, then. Nothing for it but to open the door and find out what the fuck was going on here. He reached for the knob and pushed the door open.

He stopped right inside the door, staring around blankly. This was definitely not right. He was in Fred's lab in the Wolfram and Hart building, but that building didn't even exist anymore. He turned around rapidly, but the door had closed behind him, so he reached out to grab the knob and bleeding hell if his hand didn't go right through it.

"Oh, no! Not again!"

"Spike!" He froze, afraid to turn around in case this was a dream, and he'd discover that wasn't really Fred's voice behind him. He felt the pain of her death in the pit of his stomach, his first real friend here in this man-made hellhole called Wolfram and Hart. He could never explain to anyone how much he'd missed her when Illyria had taken her place.

"I've been waiting for you. I think I might have an idea on how to make you corporeal again. I can't really concentrate on it until I get this werewolf problem solved, but don't you worry, I'll take care of you, Spike. I promise." She looked back at her computer then, and Spike sighed, crossing over to her.

"It's been taken care of, love, I've been solid for a couple of years now, but somehow I'm a ghost again, and I don't really understand what's going on." He felt the same pointless despair he'd felt the last time this all happened when he realized she wasn't even listening to a thing he said. "Fred, love? Can you hear me?" He sighed, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard of her computer. It felt so good to see her again. He'd been despondent when they'd come back from England and she'd already died, transformed into Illyria.

Fred reached for something on the other side of the computer and came back with a chocolate, biting into it with relish. Spike blinked - what the hell? "Oi! Those are Xander's chocolates! Where the hell did you get those?" He reached right through the computer for them, but his hand slipped through the box and he kept going, falling through the floor of Fred's lab, down and down until he landed with a thud in the basement, flat on his face. "Oh, bloody hell." As he got up, dusting himself off, he heard a repetitive chopping noise coming from down the hall, and rolled his eyes, thinking of the apparition that he'd found the first time this had happened: the man chopping off his fingers one at a time. "Not falling for that again. Been there, done that. He can bloody well chop his todger off for all I care."

He headed for the stairway, hoping that might prove a way out, stopping right before he reached for the knob. He braced himself, then walked though the door to find himself in Buffy Summer's kitchen. He turned around quickly, but behind him was the door that led to the back porch. He looked around the room; he'd spent some quality time here, sharing cocoa with Joyce. What a lovey woman she'd been. He still found himself missing her from time to time. He listened to the many voices coming from the next room - young, loud, and female. It made him think of the Hyperion, with their gaggle of slayers that found it impossible to not make a racket even when they slept, and suddenly he placed the time and circumstances. He reached out to the kitchen table, and his knuckles met the top soundly. At least he was a real boy again. "As real as a vampire with a soul can be," he thought, sparing a fond smile for Fred.

He took a deep unnecessary breath to center himself, and entered the living room, the heavy slayer buzz that had seemed ever present in the Summer's household while they had been fighting the First crackling over his nerves. He was used to it to an extent, with six slayers in the hotel, but it seemed heavier and more ominous here - maybe due to the pressures they'd been under at the time. Everyone's nerves had been wound tight as a spring, and the fear had practically enveloped the house whenever some new horror had surfaced. All those children, trapped in a fate they had no control over. Brave, foolish girls who'd fought at the slayer's side with minimal training and a large amount of bravado.

There were girls spread out over every piece of furniture and most of the floor, eating pizza and sipping soda. Willow was having a heart to heart with Kennedy on one couch, sitting very close together and sharing a piece of pizza. He saw Anya talking to one of the other Potentials - Spike couldn't remember her name, but he remembered her. She'd been a right mess, up until she'd dusted her first vampire on patrol. She'd shaped up nicely after that. She'd been wounded the last time he saw her, right before the Hellmouth had done for him - or he'd done for the Hellmouth, as the case may be. He wondered if she'd survived?

It hurt to see Anya, knowing how hard it had been on Xander losing her. She'd been a decent sort for a vengeance demon. A good girl, all in all, if a bit narrow in her focus. He saw Dawn standing in a corner, talking to that twit Andrew, who looked much less sure of himself at this point in time, which suited Spike just fine. No Buffy or Harris anywhere to be seen. He joined Dawn and the twit; maybe he could figure out the lay of the land from them.

"Where's Buffy?" It seemed the right thing to say, considering that he wouldn't have asked about Harris right off the bat like that. Not back then, anyway, so unless he wanted to explain everything to them, he'd best behave as normally as possible for now.

Dawn looked rather uncomfortable. "Oh, Spike. Um. Buffy's changing, I think. She'll be down later."

Andrew piped up. "For her date."

Spike frowned. "Date?"

Dawn smacked Andrew on the arm. "Way to go, big mouth."

"Uh." Andrew shrugged, obviously unsure of what he'd done. "Sorry?"

Dawn spoke up quickly, babbling over Andrew's response. "Want some pizza, Spike? There's plenty. And there's soda and..."

"With Wood, you mean? She's going out with Wood tonight?" At Dawn's nervous nod, it came to him. That meant Xander was meeting that demon woman that wanted to bleed him out over the seal above the Hellmouth. "Bloody buggering hell. Has Harris left for his date, yet? We have to stop him."

Dawn looked confused. "Xander? What are you talking about? You aren't upset that Buffy is going out with Mr. Wood?"

Spike shrugged. "Yeah, well he's an arsehole, no doubting that, but he's not going to stick a knife in her ribs. It's Xander that's in danger. We've got to stop him." He headed for the front door, but stopped in shock as he realized that Demon Girl had just passed a familiar looking box of Belgian chocolates to that Chinese Potential Chao-Ahn. She took one and passed the box on, saying something that he didn't understand as she looked up at him nervously, fingering the pocket where he knew a stake lived. Spike pointed his finger at Amanda as she dug through the chocolates for something she liked. "Where the hell did you get those? Those are Xander's, dammit."

Andrew was going around the room handing a blood-red rose to each of the Potentials, and Spike grabbed his shirt and growled in his face. "Put those back, right now." Andrew clutched the roses to his chest, his eyes wide, and Spike smelled the scent of blood from the prick of a thorn in Andrew's palm. "There had better be twelve roses sitting in a vase when I get back with Harris, or someone is going to regret it. Is that understood?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just turned rapidly and ran out the door, not realizing what had happened until he found himself in Angel's Wolfram and Hart office, staring at the puppet sitting in Angel's chair. He just couldn't help himself - he burst out laughing. "Oh, god! You're a bloody puppet!"

Angel attacked without warning and they landed in the hall, rolling and scuffling as Spike fought to keep those hilarious but incredibly strong puppet hands from closing around his neck. He knew it would be easier to fight Angel off if he could just stop laughing, but try as he might, it was impossible to stop. And besides, it was well worth getting the shit beaten out of him by a puppet, just to be able to laugh in Angel's face and call him a wee, little puppet man.

But afterwards, as he checked out his wounds and followed puppet-man Angel back to his office, he noticed Harmony was biting into a chocolate from Xander's box of Belgian truffles and snarled at her, snatching the box and a suspiciously familiar bouquet of roses off her desk. "If you touch another one of Xander's chocolates, I'll have your guts for garters, you stupid twat!" He hurried across the threshold into Angel's office, just hoping that wherever he landed next he'd be able to keep them safe, somehow.

He stepped right into Giles's flat, and bloody hell, Buffy was there playing with a damned wedding cake topper, humming the wedding song, and Spike realized that this was not going to be pretty. Buffy squealed as he stepped through the door, rushing over and kissing him soundly as he slipped one arm around her. Damn, but he'd forgotten what it was like to hold her. That slender frame seemed so easily overpowered by his larger one, but her athletic body possessed a power he could never hope to contain, no matter how much he wanted her. And he did want her - once upon a time. But now, it just seemed wrong to be holding her, when Xander should be in his arms.

"Ow!" Buffy pulled back from him to reveal the crushed roses and the box of chocolates, the edge of which had been pressing into her collarbone. "Oh, honey! You brought me roses! And chocolates? Oh, you're going to be the best husband the world has ever known!" She pecked him on the cheek, then grabbed the gifts from him and turned away while Spike stood there shocked speechless. So much for protecting Xander's Valentine's prezzies. Buffy skipped over to Giles who lay on the couch with a washcloth over his eyes. "Look Giles! Spike bought me roses and chocolates!"

There was a scoffing noise from Giles's direction, and Buffy sat heavily on the edge of the couch, looking guiltily at him. "Oh, sorry Giles - I forgot you're blind and all. But you can smell them, can't you?"

She shoved the roses in his face, but Giles batted them away angrily. "Buffy, please! We have more important things to deal with than roses from a besotted, bespelled vampire."

She pulled them away to take a deep sniff herself. "Mmmm. Don't they smell just wonderful? Oh! Maybe you'd like a chocolate, instead. Ooo, Belgian Truffles. Spike, honey, you really went all out, didn't you? I love you so much." She popped a truffle into her mouth, then pulled out another one to offer to Giles, and Spike's unbeating heart clenched at her words. It did hurt, even now. But not nearly as badly as it used to. Spike realized with a start that someone else had taken her place in his heart. He'd always think fondly of Buffy, and he ached when he thought that he hadn't done right by her, but in the end he had another love, now. Someone who returned his affection without the necessity of a muffed spell by Willow, and that was much more important for him.

"Xander. I need to find him." He looked at Buffy regretfully. "Sorry, I have to go. You can keep the flowers, pet." Spike turned away from Buffy and her bewitched love and walked quickly out the door, looking for home. Looking for Xander.

When Spike stopped moving, he was inside the Magic Box, the bell still ringing behind him. Anya was standing behind the counter, with that demon bint - the one who was Anya's maid of honor at the wedding that wasn't. Another bleeding vengeance demon; just what he needed. The scene looked familiar to him, with Anya and this other one whispering together before - Halfrek, that was her name - walked out the door with a box of Belgium chocolates under her arm.

"Good luck with that. Ta-ta!"

It was only when Anya pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniel's, that Spike took a closer look at her and recognized her outfit. She looked sexy in red, but damn. The last thing he needed right now was an angry Xander trying to kill him with an axe. At least this way he'd finally locate the man, but he didn't think it would be a happy reunion under the circumstances. He'd best keep things rated PG this time around, or find a way to turn off their live camera feed. Besides, he thought, as he slammed back the shot she'd poured him, he was happy this time around. Well, not at this actual moment, but in general. He was happy with Xander, and not in the least interested in fucking around with that. Literally or figuratively.

"Bollocks." He tossed back another shot. "Right. But this is it - just sharing the bottle with you. Nothing else."

Anya leaned on the counter as she filled their glasses again. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind, just keep them them coming, all right?"

Anya smiled. "I can do that."

A dozen or so shots later, and Spike was about over this particular scenario. He'd thought it might be a good thing to talk Anya around. He'd known what she had been doing before, trying to get him to make a wish against Xander. Not that he'd really been averse to the idea at the time, but he'd never liked being manipulated, and his stubborn pride had made him hold out, hoping she'd at least have the guts to admit what she was doing.

This time, he was actively trying to convince her to rethink her plan, but he wasn't having any success. The biggest problem was that for the most part, he totally agreed with her. Harris had been a bleeding fool. Spike knew what had been going on at the time, Xander had filled him in on everything that had happened, but no matter what that demon bastard had told him about his future life, Xander should never have left Anya at the altar like that. It just wasn't right. And he was getting tired of fending off her attempts at manipulation. He took one last shot. The sedative effects of the whiskey were taking their toll on Anya, and she was beginning to get maudlin. Looked like it was time for him to leave.

"This whole time, I've been coming on all hell-bent and mad. Wanting his head, you know? When, really, I..." Spike looked up at the tears he heard in her voice. "...can't sleep at night, thinking it...has to be my fault, somehow."

Spike started to panic; he'd never been good with tears. "Shh..."

"What if it was just pretending? What if he never wanted me ... the way I wanted him?" She snapped out of it a little and shook her head. "Ohh. I'm sorry."

Spike brushed some stray hair out of Anya's face, then cupped her cheek in his hand. "He would have to be more than just the git he is, Anya. He'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to want a woman like you."

Anya spoke in little more than a whisper. "Then why?"

He looked away from her then said, "I can't explain that, but I'll tell you what, though. It was never you. You need to remember that, all right? It was never you that was the problem. Will you trust me on that one?"

She smiled at him, tears bright in her eyes, but he thought she seemed happier for the moment, at least. He hated that Harris had caused her so much pain, but there was nothing for it. Nothing he could do to change that. He might love the git, but that didn't mean Xander was perfect. And there it was. He really did love Xander, and he didn't think he was ready to settle for "until he finds something better." He guessed it was time he faced up to it, and fought for the chance to keep his happiness for as long as he could. He needed to talk to Xander. It was time to move on.

"Right." Spike grabbed the last shot, and tossed it back. "That's it for me, then. I've got to go, love." He got up, and shrugged on his duster, wondering when he'd taken it off. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last drink, after all. He paused, and turned back at the door. "Thanks, Anya, I needed that."

"Thank you, Spike." Anya wiped her eyes then pointed a stern finger at him, but he could hear the humor in her voice. "You tell anyone I fell apart like that, and you'll know what it means to be on the bad side of a vengeance demon."

He grinned at her as he grabbed the door handle. "Your secret's safe with me, love."

He found himself in the house on Crawford Street, realizing with dismay that he was once again in that damned wheelchair. He looked up to see Drusilla humming softly to herself as she danced around a table, pouring tea for her dollies, spinning off to swirl around the room before returning with a box of chocolates that she opened and offered to the table, placing one chocolate on each plate before biting into one herself. She drifted across the room to where he was sitting and rubbed the soft center of the truffle over Spike's bottom lip, staining it with chocolate.

"Drusilla." It seemed having his heart strings tugged constantly wasn't getting any easier. Just seeing his dark princess hurt like hell.

"Spike, my handsome, evil boy." She sucked on his lower lip, licking the chocolate off, then popped the rest of the truffle into her own mouth before sharing her chocolate with him. He lost himself in their kiss for a moment, aching as he thought of how long they'd been together. When they parted, she stared into his eyes, frowning. "The stars told me you're searching tonight, lost and wandering their realm like an honest seeker of truth. But you've left it behind you, Spike; you'll have to go back to the beginning to find it again." She smiled gently at him, then spun round in a circle, her long dress flaring out. "You've found your truth in my little kitten, haven't you?"

She growled in the back of her throat, her lip curling up in a sneer as she imitated a kitten's snarl. "He's good for you, you know. I'm glad you've finally come to your senses. What ever would you do with a slayer, silly boy?" She took his hand and tried to pull him forward, urging him to join her at her dollies' table. "Come have tea with us, lovely. Then Daddy and I will go out and bring you home a dolly of your own for your dinner. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Before Spike could answer, he heard Angelus's voice in the next room, calling for Drusilla. She dropped his hand, her eyes brightening in a way he now realized he'd never been able to duplicate. "Daddy's calling! We'll be back soon, Spike. Now, you be a good boy, and keep my dollies company while I'm gone. And save some chocolates for my kitten!" And she was gone.

"Good bye, Drusilla." Spike rolled himself over to the table and took Miss Edith's chocolate off her plate, biting into it before licking at the soft center with his tongue.

"Right. Back to the search then." He popped the rest of the chocolate into his mouth, and rolled himself to the nearest door.

Spike opened the door into his old crypt, amazed that for once, there didn't seem to be anyone else around. He flopped down in his chair and reached for the remote. "Thank Christ. I can use a break for a moment." But out of the dark, from the hole that lead down to his bed he heard something that terrified him. Something that had him up on his feet, backing up toward the door immediately.

"Is that my blondie bear I hear up there?" He stumbled over the door stoop as he heard the first foot land on the rung of the ladder up to his crypt. "Spikey? Where are you?"

"Harmony." He shuddered. "Bleeding hell, no." And he was gone.

And there he was, entering the elevator at Wolfram and Hart, with Wesley, Lorne, Fred, Gunn and oh god, there was Harmony again. He suppressed his shudder, and turned around to the door in time to see Cordelia disappear into Angel's office, and the moment came to him in a flash. They were on their way to a pub for a drink, and Cordelia was about to disappear again - dead in a coma that she never recovered from. There was that shudder back, demonically induced comas and mystical apparitions had never been his favorite things.

Spike wished this particular dream would last past the elevator door, because he still didn't feel numb enough, no matter how much he'd drunk with Anya just minutes before. He grinned and hummed softly as the door closed them in. "I wanna be sedated." Somehow it seemed appropriate to be thinking in terms of the Ramones right now. When he heard Lorne's gasp, he realized his mistake. Never make any kind of music in front of an empath demon. He flinched slightly as he glanced over; Lorne was looking spooked. Not a good sign.

"We need to have a talk, yeah?" At Lorne's shaky nod, he sighed. "I thought as much." Bloody hell. He'd become good at avoiding Lorne's gift in the past, but with things the way they were right now, he could use some insight into what would get him out of this nightmare.

Lorne touched the wound on his throat, where they'd gathered the arterial blood they'd needed for their spell to rid Lindsey of his tattoos. "And here I thought the excitement was over for the evening."

Gunn frowned in their direction. "What's up? You gonna need help with this one?"

Lorne smiled and waved his hand in their direction. "Don't worry, tall, dark and handsome. I think I can handle this one on my own. Just a little reading...setting a path or two. I can do it in my sleep." He sighed. "I'd rather be asleep, actually. No. I'd rather have a seabreeze. This will only take a moment. Maybe we can just talk in the lobby, while you guys go on ahead."

"Well, if it won't take long, I suppose we could just wait for you." Wesley raised one eyebrow. "You did say only a moment? I'm looking forward to that drink."

Sweet Fred spoke up then, "That sounds good, Wesley. We'll just wait for you two. It looks like you could use some help right about now, Spike," she said with a gleam of humor in her pretty eyes. Lord but he'd missed her - even more so, now that Blue was back helping them at the office, a constant reminder of what had been.

He grinned wryly at her and joked back. "Thanks love. I'll take that as a compliment then, shall I?"

Her smile grew. "That would probably be best."

Just then, Harmony held out that damned box of truffles and everyone dug in. Spike was too tired at this point to even fight it, but he shook his head when he was offered one. If it weren't for Xander's obvious addiction to it, he'd swear off the stuff for good. But if he ever got back, there was a bottle of chocolate syrup with Xander's name on it under his pillow, so he wasn't willing to go that far just yet.

The door opened and they piled out, but Spike stopped Lorne as he stepped forward, holding him on the elevator. "Maybe we should talk in here, Green Bean. More private, right?" He really wanted to speak to Lorne. He hadn't realized until then how much he'd missed the guy since he'd left. It would be nice to talk, if only for a moment. And if Lorne could give him some insight into all this, he should probably hear it. If he left the elevator, he'd never know what Lorne had to say.

Lorne nodded, and as the door closed he waved and called out, "We'll just be having a private consultation here in my executive office, sweeties, see you in a moment."

Spike looked hard at the group gathered outside the elevator, trying to fix this moment in his memory. He missed them all, except for Harmony, of course, and it was good to see them, even as exhausted and bedraggled as they were from their busy day. Sometimes he thought the price of being a good guy was just too high if it included losing people like those he's seen tonight. Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Anya - so many familiar faces lost in the fight. But then he'd think of Xander smiling in joy at some simple pleasure and realize it was worth it all if he could keep Xander alive and by his side.

The doors closed, and Spike locked the elevator down, then turned to Lorne, "Let's get this over with, all right?"

"You've been on a wild ride tonight, haven't you?"

Spike agreed bitterly. "On a roller coaster from hell. Think you can help me get out of this mess, Green Bean?" He really wanted a cigarette right now, but in deference to Lorne's vocal cords he just fiddled with his lighter instead, snapping it open and closed compulsively.

Lorne looked at him compassionately and Spike almost snarled, holding it in check with some effort. He didn't need sympathy right now; he just needed a way out. "I'm sorry, sweet cheeks, but I think you're going to have to just ride this one out."

Spike lost it then, cursing fluently in as many demon tongues as he could remember at the moment, and putting a dent in the stainless steel of the elevator door, as well as a fair amount of hurt into his knuckles.

"Whoa there, Blondie, calm down." Lorne examined Spike's knuckles, shaking his head at the swelling that was already developing. "Just keep reminding yourself that it's only a dream. It'll be over soon enough, and you'll be right back where you belong. I promise."

"So this is just me then, yeah? There's no spell or time traveling involved? I'm just having a bloody dream?"

Lorne patted his knuckles as he dropped Spike's hand. "Not so bloody, I think. It looks like you just needed to work some things out for yourself, and this is your way of doing it. And you have, haven't you? You're happy with your handsome little Scooby Doo aren't you?"

Spike smiled crookedly, slightly embarrassed to be admitting it, but what the hell, it was a dream, yeah? It didn't really matter, did it? He was just admitting it to himself, and he'd already done that more than once tonight. "Yeah, I am happy. I'm gonna keep him for as long as he'll let me. And then I'll fight for more. He's special, Lorne. He's worth the fight."

"Then tell him so, dumpling. You'll feel better for it, I think." Lorne reached for the button to open the elevator back up, but paused, turning back to Spike instead. "Oh, and as for that declaration of mine, back when, or is it up when? This time travel thing is tricky. I think I've been alone long enough, don't you? Maybe you could look me up when you get back home. I might not mind the occasional visit from a friend. And who knows, I might even be amenable to a consultation or two from time to time." He paused and gave Spike a stern eye. "As long as there are no evil law firms involved, that is."

Spike grinned like a school kid before he realized what he must look like and quickly put the Big Bad back on like a mask. He leaned casually against the elevator wall. "Yeah, I could do that. It's not the same as when you last lived there, of course, but you might get a kick out of the changes the Hyperion has been put through in the last year. You might even see a few changes in the old poof. He's off at a Valentine's Day party at the mo. Ain't that a kick in the pants?"

They shared a laugh as Spike pushed the button and the elevator doors opened. Lorne stepped out, then turned around to give Spike a solemn look. "Good luck, sugar cakes. See ya later, all right?"

Spike nodded. "Thanks, Green Bean."

Lorne walked over to the group who were discussing chocolate of all things, and Spike stopped the door from closing on him. Then he braced himself and walked out.

With pristine white walls surrounding him on all sides, Spike panicked, turning rapidly around to grab at the door behind him. He froze in the doorway, because inside the room was that evil professor Maggie Walsh, sitting at a table admiring a vase of roses. She looked up at him, and sneered as she bit into a chocolate.

"Oi!" That bloody bitch was eating Xander's chocolates! He stepped forward, but suddenly, standing in the doorway were soldiers with tasers, who shot him before he could get through the door. He fell to the floor, convulsing with the shock. And then the lights went out.

When he came to, he was struggling with hands that held his arms, a heavy body over his own, holding him down. "No! Not this time, you bastards." He gathered his strength together; he wouldn't let them neuter him again. But something was wrong, it was dark, and he recognized the voice calling his name, the scent of this human as familiar as his own.

He gasped. "Xander?"

Xander relaxed on top of him, "Thank god, Spike, I was afraid you'd toss me off the bed again."

"Again? Are you all right?" Spike tried to touch him, to see if he'd been hurt, but without breaking Xander's hold on his wrists he couldn't do much. And he found himself reluctant to do that. The weight and heat of Xander's body was comforting to him, and he hoped against hope that this time he'd finally made it back home.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just a bruise or two. I landed on my ass." He smirked down at Spike. "You could always kiss it and make it better."

Spike smirked back at him. "I suppose I could, if I could get up." When Xander started to move Spike hurried on, "Not that I mind things the way they are now." Xander grinned down at him, his eye sparkling as he wiggled his eyebrows. Spike burst out laughing.

"Hey! I offer you my best lecherous face and you laugh at me."

Spike snorted. "Love the lechery, Xan, but your eyepatch wiggles like crazy when you do that, and as much as I hate to admit it, that is not a sexy look for you."

Xander rolled over onto his back, "Damn. The patch defeats me yet again. I'm never gonna find the girl of my dreams this way."

Spike's demon roared. That was the final straw. Spike was up, straddling Xander's waist, snapping the cuff of one of the restraints he'd put in place earlier around Xander's wrist with lightning speed.

"What the hell?" Before Xander'd finished the sentence, Spike had the other restraint in place. He rarely used his full vampire enhanced speed in front of humans if he could avoid it as it tended to startle them, but there was a time and a place for everything, and he was putting a stop to this right now.

He sat back and surveyed his work. Xander's hair was a mess, probably from rolling around on the floor and the bed trying to subdue a vampire caught in the midst of a nightmare, and there was a bright red spot on his chin where a bruise was likely to form. He'd taken off his clothes before he'd climbed into bed, because he was totally nude, and slightly sweaty from their tussle. All in all, extremely shaggable, but Spike had something else in mind at the moment. He hopped it didn't spoil their evening, but it needed to be said.

"Spike?" Xander was staring at him, warily, obviously not sure exactly what he had in mind. Well, no wonder; Spike realized he was in game face and was snarling down at Xander angrily.

"While you're in my bed, there will be no more talk of searching for your dream girl. I'm not enough for you, it that it? Don't I satisfy you?"

Xander looked shocked. "What? I - what?"

"I don't want to be your 'until something better shows up', Harris. I want to be the one to make you happy. I want to be the one you're content to stay with. And I'm willing to fight for it if I need to. I won't take no for an answer any longer."

Xander swallowed heavily. "I didn't know you were asking the question."

Spike shrugged. "I didn't either, obviously. But I've had a revelation tonight, Xander. I want you. All of you. Not just what you're willing to share for now. Love's fool, after all, aren't I? Will you accept me? Am I good enough?"

"God, yes!" Xander stared up at him, a huge smile lighting his face. "Spike, I just thought you were passing the time - thought I was just something you'd have some fun with and you'd get bored with me eventually. I just didn't want to act like a fool in front of you. I didn't want to be the idiot left behind."

"You're not an idiot, you wanker. You're Xander Harris, and you're mine. That makes you the most important man in the world, now doesn't it?" He paused for a moment, uncertain. "You are mine, aren't you? You won't change your mind when I undo these restraints?"

"No! No changing of the mind. I'm yours." Xander tugged on the restraints, the chain connecting them together rattling against the headboard, his smile turning sly. "But you know, you don't actually have to take them off right now. I mean, if you don't want to."

Spike grinned at him. "Oh, uncovered a kink, have I? Well, let's just see what we can do about that. But first things first; I didn't get my wake up kiss. Think you can find that for me?"

"Oh, I know exactly where that is, but you'll need to get a little closer. Can you manage that?"

"Like this?"

"Little closer. Little closer." Xander raised his head slightly and spoke directly against Spike's lips. "I think you've just about found it now."

And then they were kissing. Spike stretched out over Xander, reveling in the heat of his boy, their tongues tangling and the kiss growing more and more intense and passionate. Spike broke off suddenly, and pulled back. "Is that Belgian chocolate I taste in your mouth?"

Xander's eye got large and he nodded. "Oh, yeah. Some crazy man left my favorite chocolates lying on your dresser! I just couldn't help myself. I had to have one. Or two. Okay, maybe six. But who the hell do you think would leave Belgian chocolates where I could find them? I had no choice but to investigate. Besides, it gave me something to do while I was admiring the roses."

"Liked those, did you? Good. I've had to defend them with my very life for the last..." he glanced over at the clock, "...twenty minutes or so. Twenty minutes? It's only been twenty minutes since I fell asleep? Is that clock right?"

Xander strained his neck to see the clock. "Yeah, I think so. Where were you that you needed to defend my chocolates? Wait. You defended my chocolates in your sleep?"

"And your roses. Can't forget them. Some friends we've got, every time I turned my back they were gobbling down your chocolates or stealing your roses."

"Our friends gave you nightmares?"

"Well, yeah." Spike defended himself. "We've had some dodgy friends through the years, mate. You should know that, by now." He leant down over Xander again, rubbing up against him, and sneaking a leg between Xander's, awakening some interesting responses in return. "But happy Valentine's Day, love. The box was unopened when you got it, right?"

Xander laughed, "Don't worry, none of our friends got to my chocolates. Or my roses." He blinked up at Spike coyly, wrapping one leg around Spike's. "I've never gotten roses before, Spike. Does this mean we're engaged?"

"Oi. Not going there. You're just going to have to settle for...romantically involved. That work for you?"

Xander's grin was wicked. He chirped in a high voice reminiscent of his teenage charges. "My boyfriend gave me roses!"

Spike snorted at that. "Shuddup, you."

He pouted exaggeratedly. "Does this mean I have to give my other Valentine's Day gift back?"

Spike's demon raised its jealous head, "What other gift?"

"Well, it was really a gift for both of us, I guess. Or maybe for everyone else...it's hard to tell, exactly - under the circumstances."

'What the bloody hell are you on about? Remember, I've still got you chained to my bed. I will get my answers sooner or later."

"Harold."

"The Watcher gave you a Valentine's Day present? What the hell is he trying to do?"

Xander shrugged. "Probably get some sleep, if I know him. He gave us a muffling spell. It's the candle I put on the dresser."

"What a brilliant idea. No more trying to keep ourselves quiet in the throes of passion! If he wasn't such an ugly bugger, I'd kiss the bastard."

Xander smiled up at him. "Why don't you kiss me, instead?"

End.

SG-1, Not Quite Sex, Jack/Daniel, NC17

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 02:54:16 GMT

Title: Not Quite Sex
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC17
Category: PWP, First Time
Warnings: None
Prompt: Frottage
Summary: Jack thinks he's in heaven the first time he kisses Daniel. Then he realizes things can only get better.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 739
Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins) -first posted on February 1, 2009.

Not Quite Sex

Jack clenches his hands tight in Daniel’s hair, holding him close as their kisses heat up. He’d had no idea he’d love kissing Daniel so much, but right now there’s not much he can think of that he’d want to do more. Just then Daniel pulls their hips closer together and a spark buzzes in his balls as their erections brush and Jack’s breath catches.

Okay, so maybe there are a few things he wants to do more than just kiss - or at least as much as. Like get just a bit more of that rubbing action going. So he pushes Daniel up against the counter, never breaking the kiss, and shuffles, moving blindly until both his legs are between Daniel’s, forcing his thighs wide apart as Daniel lets the counter take his weight.

His hips seem to know just what he needs, because he finds them circling and thrusting into Daniel’s, and this time when his cock rubs against Daniel’s it’s more than just a brush, and they both moan at the same moment, right into each other’s mouths. Jack takes advantage of the distraction to pull his mouth away long enough to take a deep breath, and Daniel’s head falls back to thud onto the kitchen cabinets as Jack begins to explore his throat with lips and teeth.

“Oh god, Jack! You feel so good!” Daniel has one hand in his hair now, holding Jack’s head firmly against the pulse point in his neck, and the other has moved down from Jack’s hips to clutch frantically at Jack’s ass as he slowly grinds his cock into Daniel’s. He’s too busy appreciating the dual sensations of Daniel’s words buzzing his lips and Daniel’s hard cock sending the most amazing jolts of pleasure through into his balls and up his spine that he can’t even think of stopping long enough to ask Daniel which sensation he’s referring to.

But that’s okay, because it seems Daniel’s found his own way of communicating what he really wants. He hikes his leg up and wraps his calf around Jack’s thigh, canting his hips up and increasing the pressure between them until Jack can’t help but gasp loudly against Daniel’s salty skin. He grabs Daniel’s thigh, hitching it higher so Daniel’s calf pushes against his ass forcing them even closer together.

Jack’s panting harshly now as he licks a stripe up to Daniel’s ear, biting on the lobe and whispering. “I want to lay you out across my bed, Daniel. I want to search every inch of your skin with my tongue and my hands. I want to know every part of your body. I want to make every part of you mine.”

Daniel’s sharp sob tears at Jack, and he pulls back far enough to look into Daniel’s eyes, but what he sees there reassures him and he leans in again, taking Daniel’s mouth with his own as he feels the growing signs of impending orgasm. He bends his knees slightly, thinking with some distant part of his brain that he’s not going to be able to keep this up for long, and increases his angle and tempo, his final assault driving their hard-ons into each other fiercely, as the sound of Daniel’s deep moan forces Jack even closer to climax.

Jack cries out as he feels his orgasm crash over him, "Now, Daniel, now! Jesus, Daniel!” His hips stutter as he comes, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he grinds and jerks in the most intense orgasm he’s felt in years. He feels Daniel’s hips still pushing and seeking friction that’s too much for him now, and he reaches between them, pressing his palm against the thick bulge in Daniel’s jeans and pushes, letting Daniel’s hips provide the movement he needs for completion.

Daniel’s sharp cries make him shudder as Jack feels the cock under the cloth throb and pulse in his hand, Daniel’s face in his neck, breath hot and moist on Jack’s flushed skin. As their breathing slowly calms and the after-shocks of their orgasms slowly fade, Daniel kisses his way up Jack’s jaw to his mouth.

“That was the hottest not-quite-sex I’ve ever had in my life!” He scatters a few kisses over Jack’s face, until Jack’s hand on the back of his neck pulls him in for a deeper exploration.

Jack grins at him. “You think that's good, just wait 'til we make it to the bed.”

End

Oz, Bruised, Alvarez/Keller, NC17

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 02:25:39 GMT

Title: Bruised
Fandom: Oz
Pairing: Alvarez/Keller
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Category: PWP, First Time
Warnings: Rough Sex
Prompt: Bruised
Summary: Alvarez shuddered through the shock, panting heavily at the overwhelming mix of sharp, clear pain and desperate pleasure that rushed through him.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 671
Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins) - first posted on February 1st, 2009.

Bruised

Keller shoved Alvarez up against the shelving unit, his face pressed into the reams of copier paper.

“No. Motherfucker! Stop it!”

The crazy bastard bit the back of his neck and held on - teeth digging in as Alvarez shuddered through the shock, panting heavily at the overwhelming mix of sharp, clear pain and desperate pleasure that rushed through him.

Keller eased up enough to whisper in his ear. “Now you just keep still – you got that?” Alvarez opened his mouth to answer, but Keller slammed his head up against the reams of paper, knocking some of them off the other side of the shelf, onto the floor of the Library’s storage room.

“No talking. You just nod your head for yes. I don't want to see any nos, so you'll just nod your head and do what I say if you know what’s good for you. You got me?”

Alvarez nodded as best he could with his chin pressed up against the shelf, his body tense for whatever Keller had in mind. When he felt Keller’s hand reaching around his body, snaking around to his groin, he struggle; he’d promised himself there was one thing he’d never give Keller – this time he wouldn’t let Keller suck him in.

As Keller’s hand clamped tight on his cock, he realized that Keller sucking was an unfortunate image. His hips thrust into Keller’s harsh grip, drawing a moan out of him, and he thought about Keller's talented mouth. He was one hell of a skilled cocksucker. Hell, that pretty mouth of Keller’s was what had gotten Alvarez into this mess in the first place.

He’d sweet-talked his way right into Alvarez’s pants with promises of the best blowjob Alvarez had ever experienced. And he’d delivered, too. But then he’d insisted Alvarez return the favor, and fuck that. Miguel Alvarez didn’t get on his knees for anybody, no matter how good they were with their tongue.

But when Keller had gotten aggressive, he’d discovered Alvarez’s weakness, his shame. Keller’d walked away satisfied, and all it had taken was Keller’s fist against his jaw, his knee pressed into Alvarez’s groin, waking his cock back up again with the sweet agony of pain. When Keller had pressed his big hands against the blackblue of Alvarez’s bruises, he’d been willing to surrender everything he had to feel the blossom of angry pleasure under his skin.

He swore to himself he wouldn’t bend over for anyone, no matter how they made him feel, even as he felt Keller’s hand unzip his pants and pull them roughly down his legs, his underwear following, ripped up one side. He told himself that he didn’t need Keller’s rough hands gripping his bruises, shooting tendrils of aching pleasure through his body. He didn't need teeth hard on the back of his neck, making him shudder with a deeper satisfaction than he’d ever felt with anyone else in his life.

He couldn’t help but protest when Keller kicked his legs apart, stepping on the bunched cloth of his pants – he may as well have had restraints wrapped around his ankles. Keller bit his nape again in response to his struggles, reaching around with one hand to twist and pinch Alvarez’s nipples harshly. Alvarez choked back a groan and arched into the tight grip that made his tender nipples throb and his already hard cock thump against his stomach leaving a trail of precome behind, cooling on his skin.

Keller thrust slick fingers between his ass cheeks, circling and sliding, and Alvarez didn’t know what to do – his mind in turmoil. This was wrong, wasn’t it? How could he allow this? But it felt so good – everything Keller had ever done had given him more pleasure than he’d ever felt before. How could he not allow this? So he surrendered to the pleasure, surrendered to Keller. As Keller shoved two rough fingers into him, and Alvarez found a new pain to cherish, Keller whispered in his ear.

“Trust me, Alvarez. You’re gonna love this.”

End

NCIS, Crazy On You, Gibbs/DiNozzo, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 02:13:20 GMT

Title: Crazy On You
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/Tony
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: R
Category: PWP, First Time, Seduction
Warnings: just a touch of D/s
Prompt: Tremble
Summary: Gibbs had been driving Tony crazy all week, touching him every time they’d spent a moment alone.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 602
Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins) - first posted on January 31st, 2009. Inspired by Ozsaur's imagination. The title taken from the Heart song of the same name, off their first album: Dreamboat Annie.

Crazy On You

Gibbs had been driving Tony crazy all week, touching him every time they’d spent a moment alone. His hands had never landed in strictly inappropriate places, just unusual ones - for Gibbs anyway. He placed a firm hand in the small of Tony’s back while they waited for Abby to come back to her lab, their offering of a giant Caf-Pow! slowly dripping water drops onto the counter. Gibbs’s fingers brushing back and forth across the cotton of Tony’s button down shirt had made him shiver and his nipples harden as they casually discussed blood spatters on a wall.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder when he came up behind Tony to see what he’d found on their one and only suspect, his rough, callused thumb rubbing the side of Tony’s neck above the collar of his shirt. His hand lingered for just a moment before McGee showed up to compare notes on their Marine. Once, he'd put a hand out to stop Tony from walking into a puddle of water outside a coffee shop, his fingers warm through the layers of cloth as his hand rested on Tony’s abs for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Tony had gasped as Gibbs’s hand moved with his trembling stomach muscles.

Tony might have brushed those incidents away as wishful thinking, letting his imagination get away from him as his lust-filled fantasies flashed through his mind. But then Gibbs squeezed his thigh, his fingers sliding over Tony's trousers to curl around the sensitive area inside before disappearing again as Gibbs shoved his office chair away from Tony’s desk when Ziva walked into their section of the bullpen. Tony realized with a shudder as his cock hardened in his pants – this was really happening.

That afternoon as they’d stood in the alley outside their suspect’s back door waiting for Ziva and Tim to stir him up enough to send him running in their direction, Gibbs’s eyes had burned into his for just a moment, unnerving him. He’d had to look away from that intensity, his gaze falling to the ground in some kind of signal that Gibbs had understood, even if Tony had not. When he dared to glance back up, Gibbs was smiling, one half of his mouth curled up in a sly, satisfied grin that shocked Tony, even as it sent hot blood rushing to his face as well as other parts he’d rather not have been thinking about when a murder suspect had just stepped into their alley, gun drawn.

When they’d finished the job, exhausted but pleased by the results of their day’s work, Tony was totally unprepared for Gibbs to stop the elevator on their way down to the car park, freezing Tony’s half-formed question with a commanding glare. Then he wrapped his big, warm hand tight around the nape of Tony’s neck. Tony’s hands started to tremble, and his eyes fell closed of their own accord. Gibbs’s callused thumb brushed the tender skin under Tony’s ear, making him sigh as he arched his neck into Gibbs’ hand.

They were close enough that Gibbs’s words rumbled in Tony’s chest when he spoke. “I want you to follow me home tonight, Tony. Come home with me.”

Tony blinked his eyes open and searched Gibbs’s, the fierce, hungry look shocking him to his core. He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded, and when Gibbs took his mouth in a dominating, urgent kiss, he opened himself wide and surrendered to the strength of Gibbs's need.

Later that night, Gibb's hands traced Tony's body with the arrogance of possession, and drove him crazy all over again.

End

SGA, Get a Grip, Rodney/Ronon, NC17

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 01:53:58 GMT

Title: Get a Grip
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Rodney/Ronon
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17, I guess...not a lot of explicit detail.
Category: PWP, First Time, Aliens Made Them Do It, Humor
Warnings: Nah, not really
Summary: Rodney gets himself into a bind, and Ronon goes the extra mile to help him out of a tough situation.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 736
Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins) - first posted on January 27th, 2009. Special thanks to Ozsaur for both the title and the last line! That's why she's my hero and shit, huh?

Get A Grip

“John. Please, just do something! I can’t take this. It’s excruciating. I need help.”

Sheppard paused in his pacing. “He told you not to touch it. I told you not to touch it. Did you listen? I ought to just let you suffer.”

“He said arousal. He said once it was relieved it would be over. I figured I’d just take care of it and that would be that. No big deal.” Rodney looked down at the hard-on threatening to poke its way through his trousers. “Pretty big deal, actually.” He sounded smug, and John snorted angrily.

“It's a big deal, all right. You’re chained to the wall and you can’t take care of this on your own, can you?”

“They didn’t mention a ritual!” That was aimed at the priest, who waited patiently by the door.

“But now, one of us has to take care of the – the problem for you, McKay. You’ve put us in an awkward position, here. I won’t ask Ronon or Teyla to do this for you, and you know the way the military feels about this kind of thing.”

Ronon shoved himself off the wall where he’d been watching the argument. “Move. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank god.”

Ronon shouldered Sheppard out of his way and reached for McKay’s fly, pulling back as Sheppard slapped at his hands.

“I can’t ask you to do that, Ronon.”

Ronon rolled his eyes. “It’s just a hand job, Sheppard. McKay was right, your people are so narrow-minded.”

That smug look was back on Rodney’s face. “Ronon’s language doesn’t even have a word for homophobia, Colonel. I had to explain it to him.”

“Along with faggot, queer and what was that other one, McKay? Butt pirate.” He shook his head dismissively. “Won’t be the first time I’ve helped out a guy in need. I don’t mind.” Grinning salaciously, Ronon angled his body to keep John from interfering again. “I might even like it.”

“If I wasn’t so hard I could hammer nails, that smile might possibly worry me. But all I want to know is could you possibly hurry up?” Ronon’s grin got bigger as he reached inside Rodney’s pants and pulled out his engorged cock to the tune of Rodney’s gasps of relief.

He whistled, shaking his head at the swollen length and purpled head, “Damn, McKay, that has got to hurt!”

John watched, his face pale, as Ronon got right to work. Dipping his hand in the bowl of oil supplied by the priests, Ronon started a slow, steady stroke. He stopped to run his thumb over the crown, adding an occasional twist of his wrist that had Rodney jerking in his bonds and biting his lip.

Ronon smiled, leaning forward to murmur in his ear, “You can make noise, McKay. I don’t mind.”

Rodney let out a loud, guttural moan. “Thank you. I didn’t want to be rude or anything.”

Ronon laughed. “My hand’s on your dick, McKay.”

Rodney was having trouble concentrating, but he attempted to answer Ronon. “Good poi…oh.” His body jerked. “Could you do that again? Yeah – that’s nice. Oh yes!” Rodney's body writhed as Ronon used his left hand to twist around the crown and his right hand to twist around the shaft in different directions. “That’s fantastic!” he panted, unable to stop talking even under duress.

John shut his mouth abruptly as a shudder shook his frame. “I’ll just be over – over there. With Teyla.” Neither of them noticed his retreat. Ronon was watching Rodney’s face intently, and Rodney’s eyes were closed as he thrust his cock into Ronon’s hands.

“You’re so good at this. Oh. I won't break, you know. You can squeeze ti-- Oh, yes! Like that! Keep doing that!"

Rodney took a deep hitching breath, then shuddered when Ronon whispered in his ear. “If I'd known you'd be this much fun, I'd have tried this a long time ago.” He closed his teeth over the curve of Rodney’s neck and bit.

Rodney exploded – a wordless shout, his body tensed and arched in a bow. Finally he relaxed, his body slumped bonelessly from the chains. His voice was raw when he spoke. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt in my life. How can I possibly thank you?”

Ronon leaned close, “When we get home, you can return the favor.”

Rodney swallowed. "Touch that artifact and I'll do it right now."

End

SG-1, Dinner and a Movie, Jack/Daniel, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 01:24:34 GMT

Title: Dinner and a Movie
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: R
Category: PWP, First Time
Kinks: Accidental Arousal, Restricted Movement, Accidental Blindness
Warnings: Enclosed Spaces
Summary: Jack and Daniel find themselves in a very awkward situation.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 982
Author's Notes: All Dialogue. First posted on January 21st, 2009.

Dinner and a Movie

"I’m sorry, Jack, but I need to…"

"Be careful, Daniel. I told you not to move. Are you all right? Did any of the debris hit you?"

"No. I think you pretty much took the brunt of it. Sorry. My wrist was twisted up and it hurt like hell."

"Better now?"

"Well, it’s still pretty awkward, but…yeah. It’s better."

"Good. Just don’t move anymore. Okay?"

"I won’t. Don’t worry."

…

"Jack? How long before Sam and Teal’c get here?"

"Twenty-five minutes, maybe half an hour. Why?"

"Do you think we have enough oxygen to last us?"

"I can feel the air circulating, we'll be fine. Just try not to move."

"How’s your head feel?"

"Better. I don’t think I have a concussion after all."

"But with all the rocks and dirt up there…"

"We’ll be okay, Daniel. As long as no more debris falls on my back we'll be fine until Carter and Teal’c get here. Okay?"

"Right."

…

"Daniel?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"What are you doing?"

"Just stretching my hand a bit, it’s still cramped, and it’s tingling like it’s going to sleep on me, so I thought I’d try and get some circulation back in it. Why? Does that bother you?"

"I don’t know if 'bother' is the term I’d use. Um. Where exactly do you think your hand is, Daniel?"

"Well, it’s pressed up between my stomach and your thigh at the moment, Jack. But if it’s bothering you I can try and move it…"

"Watch your elbow!"

"Sorry. No, maybe I shouldn’t move it. I’ll just leave it where it is. Is that okay?"

"I just thought you should know…that’s not exactly my thigh."

"Oh my god. Jack. I’m so sorry! I had no idea…"

"No problem. Just…stop moving your hand like that, all right?"

"Right. Yeah. I can do that. Sorry."

"It’s just… Well, usually I prefer dinner and a movie before I let a guy get to second base, you know?"

:::snort:::

"Hey! I am not a cheap date."

"Sorry. I was just envisioning you in the back seat of a convertible, refusing to spread your legs for less than an engagement ring."

"Watch it buster, or your ass is walking home. Daniel. Stop laughing."

"I can’t. Sorry, I just..."

"Jeez, Daniel. I can’t believe we’re trapped under tons of rubble and you’ve got me laughing like a loon. Stop it."

:::snort::: "I can’t… Oh, shit!"

"Daniel!"

…

"Daniel? Are you okay?"

"Let me get the dirt out of my mouth… That’s better. Yuck."

"You all right?"

"I’m fine, Jack. What about you?"

"I’m okay."

"You don’t sound okay. Are you having trouble breathing? What’s wrong?"

"You need to stop…"

"Stop?"

"Stop squirming. Please?"

"What?"

"Stop. Moving. Now!"

"Right. No moving. Jack?"

"Let me calm down a bit, all right?"

"Calm down? Oh shit! I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to…"

"I know. I know! I just need a minute… Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? I’m the one…stirring things up. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I’m working on it. It's just - been a while...if ya know what I mean. Nothing personal, all right?"

"No, that's fine. I’m oddly flattered."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really. I am.”

…

“You know - I could help you with that."

"With what?"

"Your problem. I mean, if you want me to. I don’t want to - push myself on you or anything. Well, I guess it’s a little too late for that, isn't it? But I wouldn’t mind. If it’s fine with you, that is. Let me just get you out…"

"Daniel! What the hell are you doing? Stop!"

"I’m sorry, Jack. I just wanted to help. But I wasn’t thinking. I don’t care if you’re a guy – if that’s what’s holding you back. Really. I couldn’t care less."

"That’s not the problem."

"No, I know. You could pretend I was someone else. In the dark here, this hand could belong to anyone."

"Daniel!"

"Some woman you’re attracted to. Someone you want to be with. Close your eyes and pretend I’m Selma…"

"Don’t finish that sentence."

"What?"

"What if I don’t want to think you’re a woman? Would that freak you out?"

"You don’t?"

"Would it bother you if I would rather it were your hand?"

"No. Not at all!"

"It wouldn’t?"

"God no, Jack! I wish… Well, if things weren’t so – cramped in here. The things I want to do to you. I’ve wanted to for so long. Can I… Can I keep going, Jack?"

"Yes. Please, Daniel. That’s good. Daniel, I’m not going to last long. Pressed up against you like this. Feeling you under me."

"You like that, do you, Jack? You like that I'm lying under you. Don’t move. Hold your hips still. We don’t want things crashing down on us now. You stay still and let me do all the work."

"I wish I could kiss you. I want to touch you so bad. You just don’t know, Daniel… Oh god. Do that again! Yeah. So good. I want…"

"Don’t move, Jack! Stay still. I’ll take care of you. Trust me. Let me take care of it. That’s it. Come for me, baby. You can do it. Yeah. That’s it."

"Did you call me baby? Oh. Jesus! Daniel! Oh, shit! Watch out!"

…

"Daniel? Are you okay? Don’t move!"

"I’m okay. I’m…are you all right, Jack?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. I'll be fine."

"Good."

"Daniel?"

"Yes Jack?"

"Can you…do you think you could tuck me in, there?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Let me…"

"What are you doing?"

"Handkerchief. There. I’ll just stick that back in my pocket. No one will ever know. There you are. All buttoned up."

"Thanks."

"You’re welcome."

"For everything, I mean. Did you mean it? What you said? About me - us?"

"When we get back home Jack, I’d like to take you out for dinner and a movie."

"Yeah? Sweet."

End

Oz, In the End They Always Beg for It - A Drabble, Jaz Hoyt/Fiona, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 01:00:07 GMT

Title: In the End They Always Beg for It
Characters: Jaz Hoyt/Fiona
Rating: R
Prompt: in the end they always beg for it
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 100 words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Originally posted on January 20, 2009, in Are You There, God? It's Oz Drabble Tree.

In the End They Always Beg for It

Hoyt slips into the corridor to where he knows he’ll find her. Her. That’s a laugh. But it’s easier if he pretends it’s a woman sucking his cock. He don’t fuck guys - but with a cock like his he never has any trouble finding a mouth eager to open wide for a taste of his spunk. And he don’t pay for it either. One look at his fat dick and Fiona handed him his money back and sucked him down like a Hoover. That’s the way it always works with him – in the end they always beg for it.

End

Oz, The Nature of the Beast - A Drabble, Ryan O'Reily, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 00:50:55 GMT

Title: The Nature of the Beast
Characters: Ryan O'Reily
Rating: R
Prompt: Cold Glass
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 100 words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Originally posted on January 20, 2009, in Are You There, God? It's Oz Drabble Tree.

The Nature of the Beast

O’Reily leans on the cold glass and studies the dark. The hacks make their rounds - ignoring the furtive movements in the pods around them. It’s hard to miss, though. He watches the guys across the way - two bodies moving sensually in the lower bunk, feet in the air. A blanket shifts and a flash of pale, firm ass catches the light from the guard station. He palms his half-hard cock. Don’t get him wrong - he’s no fag. It’s just the nature of the beast, right? All these guys and no women? Anybody’d get horny after a while.

End

Oz, Inside Track - A Drabble, Jaz Hoyt & Bob Rebadow, R

Mon, 16 Feb 2009 00:09:15 GMT

Title: Inside Track
Characters: Jaz Hoyt & Bob Rebadow
Rating: R for language and some violence
Spoilers: Season One - Plan B
Word Count: 100 words
Notes: Originally posted on January 16, 2009 in hardtime100 for Challenge #143: That's Entertainment!

Inside Track

It took five hacks to carry Beecher away, screaming and struggling and cursing in his Dixie Flag t-shirt. But what shocked Hoyt the most was a wounded Schillinger – blood streaming out between his fingers and down his pale, frightened face. Schillinger had always seemed larger than life – to see him like that was just disturbing. And dammit all, now he owed that fucking Rebadow ten bucks.

“I didn’t think that prag had it in him.” Hoyt grudgingly handed over the money. “How the hell did you know?”

Rebadow glanced at the ceiling with a sly grin. “I have my ways.”

End

~

NCIS - Truth Will Out: Tuesday, Gibbs/DiNozzo, NC17

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 23:48:40 GMT

Title: Truth Will Out: Tuesday
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo, DiNozzo/OMC
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: D/s, Kink
Synopsis: Tony decides it's time to make some changes in his life - time to try out a few things he's always wanted to do, but never had the courage to.
Spoilers: Through the beginning of Season 3 - Kill Ari, I think
Word Count: 2210
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Author's Note: This story is for Rebecca. It started out as her ncis_tinsel gift, and the rest is just 'cause Rebecca is who she is. And we're all better off because of it.
WIP Note: Tuesday was first posted February 6, 2006 at nciskink. I've recently started working on Truth Will Out again, so I've decided to post it here, so I'll have it all in one place for those interested in reading it. I expect Wednesday to be posted sometime in March of this year.

Previous Part: Monday

Tuesday

There’s no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Ain’t life unkind?

Ruby Tuesday
– The Rolling Stones

Abby yelled voiceless frustration at the walls of her lab. It just wasn’t right. Tony needed her, and she was stuck in the lab again. She wouldn’t be able to go out for lunch after all – the second day in a row that she’d had to let him down. She much preferred to work alone, but there were times it was important to be able to leave the lab, even in the middle of crucial, if ill-timed, tests.

Tony was desperate to talk to her, she could tell, although why, he’d kept from her, so far. Which was part of the reason it was so important. He never kept anything from her. Well, except for his bi-sexuality, which was frustrating. She knew, of course, but that was because of her Extra-Sensory Powers, as her Granny had always called them.

Oh, she knew she wasn’t really psychic – for the most part, anyway – but she was extremely good at intuiting what was going on behind the masks that most people wore. So she knew Tony liked the boys, too. It had always frustrated her that despite her extremely broad hints, he’d never admitted it to her. He’d always kept that one wall up between them. She wondered if that was what this was all about. But she didn’t think so.

There was more to it than bisexuality, and Abby was beginning to wonder if there was more hiding behind that wall than she’d thought. There was something else, and she was determined to figure it out. And if he wouldn’t come out and say it, she’d get it from him the hard way. She knew where all his ticklish spots were, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. But she didn’t think she’d need them. He was coming to her after all, he needed to talk, he needed her, and she wasn’t going to let him down. She’d figure out something.

Abby was thinking about Tony so hard that she almost missed one of her babies’ bells going off. That would simply not do. Her mind had to be clear, so she could concentrate on her job. She usually didn’t have much problem with multi-tasking, but this was an unusual case; she was going to have to put Tony’s problem aside for a while and give this her total attention.

She wondered idly if Palmer could be talked into running out for another CafPow! She’d finished off her first one hours ago. Palmer. Now there was an idea… Before she knew it, she was bouncing along to the music, head keeping the rhythm, a big smile on her face. Yes. She thought this might just do the trick. Her baby caught a 9 point match on that partial thumbprint she’d been searching for and Abby did a couple of cartwheels across the floor in celebration. Things were definitely looking up!

As Tony walked into the lab, he realized something was wrong. He scanned the room carefully. Abby was no where to be seen, but that wasn’t all that unusual. They usually let her out on weekends and holidays, according to her at least, although the cord tying her to her lab was sturdy and could be used to pull her back at any moment. But there was something different, today, and he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He moved further into the room and called out: “Abby?” A head popped up over the top of a counter covered with equipment that Tony knew less than nothing about.

Bright eyed and with red ties flying in her pigtails, Abby stood up and called out: “Yo, Tony – over here. Come on over, Dude!”

A couple of long, chest high storage cabinets had been pulled out from the wall, far enough for 3 or 4 people to hide behind, if for some reason they’d want to, and he guessed Abby must want to. She disappeared behind the cabinetry again.

“Did I interrupt spring cleaning, Abby?” Intrigued, Tony peeked around the cabinet to find Abby pulling napkins and paper plates out of a large covered picnic basket. She was sitting on a red and white checked table cloth spread on the floor, and he could smell food – something fried?

“Grab some floor, Tony, you’re just in time. The chicken is still warm.”

“Fried chicken?” He asked, hopefully.

“You betcha! Sit down, DiNozzo, it’s time for lunch.” She handed him a plate and fork with a grin and a sparkle in her eye, and was thrilled to see the huge smile that spread across his face.

“Abby! But I thought I was taking you out?”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I can’t really leave the lab today, so we’re eating in, instead.” She pulled out several deli containers, opening them as she did – potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans – “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m gonna have to interrupt lunch a couple of times, but only for a moment each time. I just wanted to apologize for ignoring you yesterday, and then today turned out a mess…”

“Abby, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble. I totally understand -”

“I didn’t do all that much, Tony, just order the food over the phone. Ducky let Palmer out of Autopsy long enough to go shopping and pick up the food, and he even helped me set it all up. It was easy.”

She held out the box of fried chicken to him and Tony sank to his knees almost worshipfully and carefully took the box from her. He opened it reverently, holding it to his chest and sniffing deeply. “Mmmm…comfort food. Abby, this is just perfect!” He blinked at her solemnly for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low and scratchy. “I think I love you.”

She grinned. “I think you’re sublimating.”

He took another deep sniff, “I’ve always wondered – are you psychic?”

“Nah, not most of the time, anyway. It just seemed right for a picnic, you know? I did good, huh?”

“Oh, Abby, you did perfect.” Tony reached over to pull his plate closer, without relinquishing his hold on the fried chicken box. “Thank you.” He grinned ear to ear, feeling more relaxed than he had in - forever. He sighed as he loaded his plate with some of everything and caught the bottle of lemonade Abby tossed his way. Finally relinquishing the box of chicken so Abby could hunt for a chicken wing, he bravely left it on the floor between them instead of grabbing it back. It would be safe there.

A nice secluded spot, private from prying eyes, a picnic for two and – he finally realized what had been bugging him since he walked into the lab. “Is that New Orleans Jazz on the boombox?”

“Like that? I’d almost forgotten I had it here, and I was rummaging around to find something right for the mood, and whammo! This one just hit me. Perfect.”

“Yeah, perfect, Abby. Thank you.”

Abby smiled around her chicken wing and they ate in companionable silence for a while. But eventually, she pointed her potato salad laden fork at Tony, and asked: “Well, what’s up?”

Tony sighed again. Well, he knew he was going to have to say it eventually, even though he hated to break the peace that had descended between them.

“Make yourself comfortable, Abs – this may take a while.”

Abby grinned and settled in, her back against the wall, long legs in front of her and her Doc Martens crossed at the ankle, “Cool! I love a long, involved story…”

“I don’t get it. So where does the flogger fit in, then?” She picked out a chicken leg and bit in, crunchy skin crackling as she sighed with delight. Tony agreed. There’s nothing like a good piece of fried chicken to lift your spirits, he decided as he put down his fork and reached for his napkin.

“The flogger is symbolic, more than anything, Abby. I’m not really interested in pain as such, although if I were to try that out, a flogger might be a good place to start. Speaking of – what did you figure out about that marine? Was it a single tail that caused all those marks?” He opened another bottle of lemonade and poured them both some while Abby answered his question with another question.

“I thought you didn’t know anything about that stuff, Tony. What gives?”

“Well, I had time on my hands last night, so I pulled up some research.” He shrugged. “Just curious, you know?”

“Just curious. Yes, it was a single tail, but they haven’t found it, yet. That wasn’t what killed him, anyway. He actually suffocated. The collar was pulled so tight, he couldn’t breathe. So what else did you find out while you were doing your research?” Abby’s eyes sparkled, Tony could tell she was dying to know. “Come on, out with it, bud!”

“Okay. So does the phrase ‘Dom/sub’ mean anything to you?”

She grinned, and her eyes got bigger. “Ooohh, Tony! Interested in a little sub action, are we? Cool! This should be lots of fun.”

“Yeah, well it’s not going to be as easy as you think, Abby, that’s the whole problem. I mean look at me. I’m a poster boy for heterosexual normality, here. I’m not just going to slide into this whole thing without a second thought. I’m used to things the way they are.”

“You know, Tony, both sexes like the games, it’s not just one or the other. Unless…” She cocked her head to the left, eyes narrowed, like she could see farther than skin deep. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Tony? Something I should know about your sexuality, perhaps?”

Tony found he couldn’t face her at the moment. He felt like he’d lied to her, one of his closest friends, but he really hadn’t, he’d just avoided the whole issue.

“Well…I may not be quite as - heterosexual - as I’ve always led you to think. I mean I like women, don’t get me wrong, I love women! But I guess I’ve always – well, women are just half the equation, you know?” He was tearing his napkin into tiny little pieces, dropping them one by one onto the blanket.

“There’s nothing wrong with being bi, Tony. How long have you known?”

“Oh, I guess since I was 14…15. Something like that. But I’ve never done anything about it. That’s the thing. I’m totally lost as to how to go about this. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed here, Abby; I don’t know where to start.”

Abby reached for his hands, pulling what was left of the napkin out of them and dropping it on the pile of shredded paper. “Tony, look at me.” He looked in her eyes, and was relieved to see only concern, not pity for the clueless idiot he felt like. “You just need to move slowly, bro. Don’t go jumping in with both feet. And remember, I’m here if you need me. I’ve got your back, Tony. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

She squeezed his hands, and he smiled, relieved. He knew Abby would make him feel better about all this. He was counting on her to help him sort it all out. He hoped he wasn’t depending on her for too much. But Abby had always been there for him. He knew she’d do her best to help.

“So,” she asked, reaching for another biscuit, “where do you want to start? You want to get into the scene first, or start out with some vanilla boys and then advance to the kinky stuff as you go?”

“Well, I was thinking about the guys first. You know? Then, when I started to get into the D/s I’d already be familiar with that and it wouldn’t throw me, but…”

“But? But?” She pointed at him with her half eaten biscuit. “Don’t leave me hanging, Tony…not fair! Give!”

“Well, I had this dream last night, Abby. It was…something else. I’m sure it was due to all the BDSM sites I’d been searching, but – well, there was this man. He wasn’t any bigger or stronger than me, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to overpower me physically. All it took was his presence. I just knew he was in charge. That he would make the decisions, tell me what to do. Take care of me-”

Tony broke off, aware that he’d revealed more than he wanted to about himself. He felt ashamed, there were some things even Abby didn’t need to know. He’d rather nobody knew just exactly how pathetic he really was. He turned away, thinking maybe he should get up and leave, but going back to work feeling this vulnerable wasn't a good idea, either.

Suddenly he had a lapful of Abby, her arms around him, cradling his head. “Oh, Tony. I understand. Really, I do. Sometimes you just need someone to stand between you and all the bad stuff out there. Someone to offer you a place of refuge outside the real world. Someone you know you can count on. Someone you can trust. Don’t worry, Tony, we’ll find him for you. He’s gotta be out there, we just have to know where to look. Okay?”

He hugged Abby tight, and held on, sighing, as she ran her fingers through his hair. “We’ll find him, you’ll see.” He should have known that Abby would understand and not judge him or see him as weak. They sat there for a few minutes, Tony’s head on her shoulder, just enjoying the closeness.

“I don’t know who he is. But I recognize him, and I am aware of the power he has over me. It’s not a physical thing, although my wrists are tied behind my back and I’m blindfolded. But he doesn’t need those things. I know he could make me do whatever he wanted using only the sound of his voice.”

Tony’s own voice is low and velvet as he remembers the dream. He’s surprised by Abby’s shiver, he hadn’t thought about how this might affect her. That thought actually makes him grin – it doesn’t seem right that Abby can get as horny as she likes. As long as she keeps her nipples covered, she’s alright. He, on the other hand, has to work to control the ache in his groin; the last thing he needs here at work, is a hard-on.

“I’m on my knees, totally naked, and he’s circling around me. He talks some, not a lot and it’s very low – I have to struggle to hear what he says. But I’m afraid not to hear him because I know every word he says is important. Sometimes, he touches me lightly as he circles around or stops behind me to blow across the hairs on the nape of my neck, or on my cheek or forehead.

“It all happened in flashes, Abby, or at least that’s all I can remember. It’s hard to describe, but I know how I felt about it. It was the single most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced – he’d barely touched me, but my heart was pounding, my body alternately flushed hot and chilled by my nervous sweat. But I was so hard I thought I’d come if he ever truly touched me.

“But I didn’t, obviously, because the next thing I remember, I’m sucking him off – or more like it, he’s fucking my mouth. There wasn’t much I could do about it, tied up like I was, but it didn’t matter – it was incredibly erotic. When I woke up - ” He paused, and his face flushed bright red. “When I woke up, I’d come all over myself.”

“Oooo, a wet dream!”

“Not funny, Abby, I haven’t had one of those since I was in my teens. That’s how I know how serious this is. I need to do something, and soon! I don’t think this is going away.

“But last night, all those sites, all the bullshit – it was really difficult to tell it all apart. I’m not really into pain. I mean, a little can be erotic, I guess, but I get hurt enough just doing my job, I don’t need any more of that.”

“What about bondage? You know – handcuffs, leather restraints, silk ties; you didn’t seem to have a problem with that in the dream.”

“No I don’t have a problem with that. Over the years, I've had dreams about being tied up in many different ways. I think that's about a loss of power, right? Being at someone else's mercy, that kind of thing?"

“But that’s not the main thing for you?”

“No – it’s all about the other person; the one holding all the strings, the one in control.”

“Tony, have you ever heard the phrase ‘Power Exchange’?”

“Yeah, I saw that a couple of times last night. I marked it for further study, but then I fell asleep and…well, you know. So I just took a shower and went to bed instead. Why? Should I check into that one?”

“Most definitely. I - ”

There was a loud buzzing noise, and Abby jumped up. “My baby is calling me, Tony. Sorry – I’ll be right back, okay?”

While she was gone, he contemplated the words ‘Power Exchange.’ One site he’d visited had called it ‘the willing exchange of power.’ He had an idea of what that must be about. He would have to willingly give up control to someone else. Despite all the trappings of force, it would have to be his decision in the end.

He thought about that for a bit. Handcuffs, ties – being held down by someone as strong as himself – that wasn’t what was important for him. What Tony wanted was someone who could take what he had to give, could hold on to him, and make him know that he was safe in their hands. He shivered, thinking of that anonymous man touching his skin like it belonged to him. Like Tony belonged to him. He felt a kind of pulse inside, like his heart had just turned over and started beating after a prolonged rest. He felt himself begin to harden to the rhythm of that heartbeat.

Shit! He quickly started to run “The Glass Bottomed Boat” through his head, scene by scene – he’d discovered long ago, it was impossible for him to maintain a hard-on in the presence of Doris Day. He began to get himself back under control and sighed as Abby came back and flopped down.

She picked up her plate, then stared at him, a frown wrinkling her brow. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, now,” he answered, relieved at his timing. “But I think I’ve got part of it figured out.”

“What part?”

“The ‘why it needs to be a man and not a woman’ part. Why the most erotic and satisfying of my dreams are about men. I need the strength, the power of a man.” He quickly continued on, before Abby could say anything. “Not as force. I don’t want to be forced into anything. But I’m looking for someone who has the potential to protect, to keep me safe when I feel out of control. The problem is going to be trust, isn’t it? Who can I trust with my body? Hell, it could be my whole life in their hands if I chose the wrong person. Trust is crucial to this, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. If you don’t feel safe handing over everything to a Dom, then it just won’t work, no matter how hard he tries.” She glanced at her watch, then started putting things back in the picnic basket. “Come on; help me clean up this mess before you have to get back upstairs. Gibbs would not be happy if you were late. Why he’d tan your hide, but good – Tony!”

He looked up at her in surprise – just as her words hit him, and he realized what she was thinking. “Oh, no! No, no, no! Abby, you have got to be crazy. No. Put it out of your mind, right now. I mean it.”

“Tony, think about it. It’s just perfect! I mean, really. Who do you know you can trust more than you trust Gibbs? And even if he’s not into Domination, who cares – it’s Gibbs, he’ll dominate you no matter what, it’s just who he is. He already does. All of us. Of all the team leaders I work with, who do I answer to first? Who is the only one who is Bossman? He’s perfect, Tony! Perfect!”

“Abby!” The sound of Gibbs’ voice echoed through her lab, making them both start.

“Abby? DiNozzo? Where the hell are you two?”

Two heads popped up from behind the storage cabinets at exactly the same moment. “Over here, Bossman! We were just talking about you!”

Tony ground her name out threateningly under his breath. “Abby…”

“Were you telling DiNozzo to get his ass back to work? Isn’t your lunch over by now, DiNozzo?”

“Not yet, he’s still got 5 minutes – I’m counting.”

Gibbs stalked in their direction. “So you were telling Tony you’d send up my test results with him when he came up, right?” He stopped abruptly as he came around the storage cabinets. “What the hell is all this?”

“We were having a picnic. Want to join us? We’ve still got plenty. Fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw-”

“Lemonade?” Gibbs stood over the basket, staring in, shaking his head.

“Oh, Tony, we forgot the cherry pie! Hurry, we’ve got five minutes to eat desert.” She dropped down to her knees and started cutting into the pie.

“Maybe I should take mine upstairs with me, Abby, I really need to get back to work.”

“Yeah, he does,” Gibbs growled.

“Will you take up a piece for McGee, too? Oh, and I guess Ziva might like one…”

“Cherry pie?” Gibbs was sounding more interested, and less angry. Abby looked up at him, and pursed her lips, then looked over to Tony, who was helping clean up their mess, putting away deli containers, gathering up trash. He ignored the look in Abby’s eyes.

“Well, I guess you could have one, too, Gibbs. But you have to be nice to Tony, all afternoon.”

“Do what?”

“Abby!” Tony was slowly shrinking down to the floor in embarrassment. “Shut up!”

“Nice, but firm. Discipline is good, but no yelling without provocation, okay?”

“Abby. Shut. Up. Now.” Tony ground the words out between clenched teeth, his face dark red from his embarrassed flush.

“Oh, alright, Tony. But we will continue this conversation, later. Give me a call, before you leave, okay?” She handed him a plate full of cherry pie, and gave Gibbs the napkins, plastic forks and extra plates. As the two of them headed out of the lab, she waved, “Bye guys! Play safe!”

Tony could hear her chortling all the way to the elevator.

Gibbs punched the up button, and fortunately the elevator was there in moments. The awkward silence stretched between them, so that even entering the elevator and watching Gibbs push the floor button was a welcome relief. Then silence descended again.

“Discipline?” The word seemed to come out of nowhere, and Tony jumped.

“What?”

“Discipline. Abby thinks I should discipline you?”

“What? No. That was just a joke, boss. Just Abby. You know Abby. You never know what will come out of her mouth at any time. I mean, really-” Tony broke off; he knew he was rambling, he just had no idea what to say.

“Then what’s wrong with you, DiNozzo? Your face is about 4 shades of red, and you’re staring at the floor, you won’t even look at me. Something is going on. Give it up.”

Fortunately, the elevator doors chose that moment to open, and Tony practically ran through the bull pen, headed for his desk, where he successfully distracted everyone with pie. But he kept his eye on Gibbs all afternoon, because every time he looked up, it seemed that Gibbs was staring at Tony, eyes narrowed, brow creased.

Tony prayed that Gibbs was just frustrated; that he really didn’t know what was going on. It was with a great sense of relief that they snagged a case around three o'clock, giving Gibbs something else to concentrate on.

Tony’s hands are clenched behind his back, the leather cuffs tight, but not uncomfortably so. The blindfold is just a little loose, and pale yellow light leaks underneath the bottom edge. He closes his eyes to it. It’s distracting him, and he needs to use his other senses; needs to concentrate on what’s happening in the room around him

The touch is light and fleeting, warm skin against chilled, leaving a burning sensation across his shoulder blades, trailing like fire. Hot breath puffs on his cheek; he lifts his face to it, but it’s already gone. He can hear the man now, as he moves – very softly, but he’s not hiding the sound anymore. He turns his head to follow the sound, but a solid smack to his bare ass reminds him he’s been told not to move.

He gasps in shock, then tries to calm his breathing. It’s harder to hear the footsteps over his labored breath. He’s directly in front of Tony, now. Standing still, hands ghosting over his face, his neck, down across his collarbone. He can feel the air shift, but that’s all. Then suddenly, there’s a mouth on his nipple, sucking hard, and he fights to not moan out loud and arch into the heat of that wet mouth. He doesn’t want to break any more rules.

He cries out loud when the sucking turns to a bite, then the teeth are gone. So is the mouth. He’s breathing faster now, unsure of what will happen. He’s finding it so hard to stay quiet. He gulps in air and bites down on his lip when the hand strikes his ass again. Both cheeks this time, one right after the other. It’s a struggle, but he manages to not move, not make a sound. Something moves over his lower lip; he recognizes a thumb rubbing and unclenches his jaw to try and relieve the pressure.

“Open.” The voice is deep; it resonates throughout his entire body, leaving him tingling. Tony doesn't hesitate; the voice is one of command, one he knows and obeys without thought. Warm, calloused flesh runs over his lip. It stings slightly, and he realizes he must have broken the skin with his teeth. The thumb rubs across his tongue – salty, faint taste of soap, the coppery taste of his own blood.

“Suck it.” He closes his mouth over it, rubbing his tongue across the pad as he sucks it into the warmth, losing himself in the mindless pleasure as the thumb moves in and out, fucking his mouth while the rest of the hand cups his cheek, stroking softly.

“Enough. Let go now.” He does so, sighing reluctantly.
“On your knees.”

He drops before he even realizes what he’s doing, and winces as his knees hit the hard wooden floor. He doesn’t let out a sound, though, and is proud of himself for that. He’s learning. Fingers run through his hair, and he leans into the touch, and then freezes as he realizes what he’s doing.

But the deep, rich voice sounds tolerant, almost amused: “It’s all right. You can move, now. You’re going to need to. But no noise.” He shakes his head, keeping it bowed, respectful. “Spread your knees more. Yes. That’s better. Back straight.” He hears the ratcheting noise of a zipper, and his heart beats louder. He opens his mouth unasked and hears low, rumbling laughter.

“What a good boy you are. Now give me your tongue.” He sticks it out, and feels slick skin run across. He licks, the tip rubbing across the bundle of nerves at the bottom of the corona. “Yes, good. Good. Now suck.” He closes his mouth around the tip, sucking gently as he continues to stroke with his tongue. He feels the hands on his head, guiding him, the thick cock sliding in a little more with each thrust.

He makes a startled noise of surprise when the head hits the back of his throat, but those firm hands are gentle, backing him up just a bit, until he feels comfortable again. He sucks harder, hollowing out his cheeks as he runs his tongue along the underside, caressing the vein that pulses down the length of the cock.

The hands grip his head harder, he can hear the labored breathing coming from above him as the thrusts come closer together, more forceful. He presses his tongue up, pushing that thick cock against the roof of his mouth, hoping to intensify the sensations, and it must work, because suddenly the cock freezes in his mouth, and the hands clench spasmodically against his head.

He puts on one last spurt of effort, sucking so hard his head aches from the pressure, and he’s rewarded by a groan that makes him shudder as his mouth is filled with thick, salty-bitter come. Tony swallows it down as fast as he can, but he feels some leak out and run down his chin. He keeps licking, sucking, cleaning the softening cock until it slides from his mouth as the man above him takes a step back.

One hand caresses his head as the other moves down, wiping the come off his chin.

“Open.” He does and that same thumb slips inside. Tony sucks the still warm come off, licking it thoroughly, making sure it’s clean before relinquishing it.

He shudders again as that deep laughter shakes him inside out; one last glide of a strong hand through his hair.

“Good boy.”

Tony woke with the sound of that deep voice resonating in his mind. “Good boy.” He was so hard that he felt like he’d explode if he didn’t come right then. He wrapped his hand around his cock, the feel of that other cock in his mouth, those heavy hands in his hair and all it took was two strokes. He came so hard that it hurt, pulling him off the mattress, his back arching as he cried out loud.

He fell back against the pillow, his stomach and chest covered with his come. Remembering the thumb on his chin, he swiped his fingers across his belly, bringing them to his lips. His tongue flicked out, licking his fingers clean. Shuddering, he reached over and grabbed a handful of tissues off his bedside table. He wiped himself off and tossed them into the trash, then curled up, pulling the blankets over his shoulders.

Tony closed his eyes. It was like he was still in the dream; dark behind his eyelids. He thought of those strong, warm hands pulling him in, wrapping around him and holding him close. He felt those fingers run through his hair, that deep voice murmuring softly as he drifted off to sleep.

“Good boy.”

End

~

NCIS - Truth Will Out: Monday, Gibbs/DiNozzo, NC17

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 23:10:37 GMT

Title: Truth Will Out: Monday
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo, DiNozzo/OMC
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: D/s, Kink
Synopsis: Tony decides it's time to make some changes in his life - time to try out a few things he's always wanted to do, but never had the courage to.
Spoilers: Through the beginning of Season 3 - Kill Ari, I think
Word Count: 2210
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Author's Note: This story is for Rebecca. It started out as her ncis_tinsel gift, and the rest is just 'cause Rebecca is who she is. And we're all better off because of it.
WIP Note: Monday was first posted January 7, 2006 at NCIS Tinsel. I've recently started working on Truth Will Out again, so I've decided to post it here, so I'll have it all in one place for those interested in reading it. There's a link to Tuesday at the bottom of the page.

Monday

How does it feel
To treat me like you do
When you've laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are

And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me
Just how I should feel today

Blue Monday
- New Order

"What do you mean, it's not bondage? Of course it is.” Tony held the 8x10 glossy in front of Abby’s face, his fingers tapping impatiently on the heavy paper as he pointed out the leather restraints holding the man in place on the bed. “Looks like bondage to me. He's bound to the bed – hand and foot. This is a game that got away from them. It got too heavy, got out of control." Tony shrugged as Abby took the glossy back from him, her head shaking adamantly.

"No, Tony. I don't believe it. Just because they're using fetish gear doesn't mean this is BDSM. I mean, look at the flogger for instance; there's blood all over it. Those are suede tails, Tony. They couldn’t make those kinds of marks on the human body. That's not what a flogger is for." Abby went back to her computer, and Tony followed along behind her, not ready to give up yet.

"Not what a - It’s a flogger Abby, it’s for flogging someone.” He grabbed the picture away from Abby for another look. “He looks pretty flogged to me."

"No, he looks dead, Tony. It's really hard to kill someone with a flogger - it's not what they're designed to do. We don't have the autopsy results from Ducky yet, but I can guarantee you this flogger,” Abby held up the large evidence bag the flogger was sealed in, “did not even contribute to that death.” Tony stepped closer to examine the black suede flogger. He had to admit, except for the darker ones with the dried blood on them, the long suede strands did look pretty soft.

He wanted to touch them, see what they really felt like. He wanted to ask Abby what they felt like dragged over skin. How hard you’d have to hit with something like that to leave a mark. Would it sting - like a belt? Or bruise deeply like a frat paddle? He couldn’t imagine getting a bruise from that suede, but the flogger looked well constructed – if it were swung by the wrong (right?) person, he bet it could leave a lasting impression.

He could see what Abby was saying. The bloody wounds on the marine were deep and thin, he didn’t think anyone could wield this thing hard enough to cut like that. He wondered if he could get Abby to explain to him just exactly what a flogger was designed for. He’d reached out unconsciously to take the evidence bag from Abby when the door opened behind him and a familiar voice rang out.

"That your flogger, Abby?" Tony looked around quickly and pulled his hand back as if caught doing something dirty. Gibbs stopped right next to him and offered Abby her usual monstrously large Caf-Pow!, grabbing the photo out of Tony’s hand at the same time.

"Hey, O Wise One!” She took a big slurp out of her drink and then toasted Gibbs with it. “Thanks. This was found with the body of that marine they shipped in this morning."

Gibbs studied the photo in his hand, his head down, a frown of concentration on his face. "They can't seriously be considering that this flogger had something to do with that death, can they?"

"Exactly my opinion, Gibbs. I don't know what they’re thinking. That would be as about as effective as trying to crack someone's skull open with a wet noodle."

Puzzled, Tony looked at Gibbs. "Hey, boss. How come you know a flogger when you see one?"

"I know a lot of things, DiNozzo. You'd do well to remember that." He handed the photo to Abby, then slapped Tony up the side of the head as he turned to leave the room. “For instance, I know that this is not even our case. Why are you down here? You want to get upstairs and go to work, DiNozzo?”

“Yeah, boss. I’ll be right there.” Tony looked back at Abby as if he wanted to say something else, but Gibbs stood in the doorway, waiting for him, “Now, DiNozzo.”

Tony sighed and turned to the door, calling back over his shoulder, “Hey Abs, wanna catch lunch, later? My treat?”

“Cool. As long as it’s not at that nasty hotdog stand in the park.”

“Damn. Alright, your choice, Abby.”

He heard her exclaim “Excellent!” as he rushed toward the elevator to catch up with Gibbs.

Tony sat back on his couch, feet on the coffee table, and pulled his laptop over to start a search, the buzz of ESPN low in the background. Bondage led to Fetishes, which led to Sado-Masochism, which led to BDSM…it was an endless circle that cut back in on itself over and over again, surrounded on all sides by porn sites and the call of the perfect orgasm. But Tony was not distracted – well, not for long, anyway. He ignored the siren call of bound silicone breasts and pouty lips that asked him to “Hit me, Daddy, you know you want to,” and instead, found his way to where the bywords of every site he went to were: “Safe, Sane and Consensual.” Well, that was a step in the right direction, at least.

He felt pretty much overwhelmed by all the catch phrases and jargon that was spouted every where he clicked. He was having real trouble trying to fit sadists, bondage, domination, masochism, submissives and discipline all into the 4 little initials of BDSM. And what about role playing, and dominatrix’s and slaves and pain and safe words and tops and bottoms and fetishes and power exchanges and ponies? (Ponies?) And what the hell was subspace all about, anyway? He’d never worked Vice, but he’d hung out with a couple of Vice cops in Baltimore; it was difficult for him to reconcile what he was finding here with what he’d learned as a cop.

He was totally frustrated that Abby had canceled their lunch date, due to the overload of work thrust upon her. He understood, really. Speaking of slaves, she was probably still there, toiling away. She’d promised to come over when she was done, if she had the energy, but when he’d brought her that last Caf-Pow! before he left, he told her not to worry about it. He could see how drained she was; she was definitely going to need every bit of sleep she could get tonight. But he really needed her advice, slogging through all this crap. He needed someone to help him dig through this and sort out some answers.

He’d had his fantasies since he was a teen. It wasn’t like he was really into the pain; he’d known since college that what turned him on about this stuff was the loss of control. Giving control to someone else. Power exchange? Hmmm…maybe. He’d put that on top of the list of things to do more research on later. It wasn’t like he was afraid of all this, but every time in the past that he’d come close to it, he’d ended up with an excuse not to delve too deeply into why he found certain aspects of all of this attractive.

As a teen, it had been easy to sort out: he’d desperately wanted to fit into the mold his father had built for him. So he listened to the old man’s prejudices and preconceived notions and done his best to fit in. He went for the girls, the grades, the sports, the acclaim of his father and everyone his father had deemed important. By the time he made it to college, he’d realized he could never be what his father wanted, so he’d gone out of his way to piss the old man off. But he’d still been afraid to go too far from the only things he knew, so he’d stuck with the basics: fraternities, more girls, more sports, more of what everyone thought he should be.

A couple of times his frat bros had come close to uncovering his fantasies, but he’d quickly learned that some things never really change: being different meant being an outsider, and there was nothing he’d wanted more desperately than to belong. So the fantasies stayed in the closets. They only came out late at night, when he was safely under the bed sheets.

Then he’d been a cop. What better excuse to not delve too deeply into what he and everyone else, in and out of the Vice Squad, thought of as perversion? By then, he’d pretty much suppressed the largest part of it. Refused to admit to even himself what he really wanted.

But truth will out, as the saying goes. So he’d wake up in the middle of the night, hard and shaking, remembering dreams of being tied up and forced to submit to faceless people, male and female both. He’d ache with the desire to give up everything he had, everything he was, for the chance to give pleasure to someone else. The need to be used by someone, give himself completely to someone, be cared for and nurtured by someone, anyone, would keep him awake for the rest of the night.

In the end, he decided it was all about the sex. Forget about that other stuff. Concentrate on getting laid. If he got laid often enough, the dreams would go away. It hadn’t totally worked, but it had helped. And when he woke up hard and aching in the middle of the night, it was okay to think about it, fantasize about it, as long as he didn’t do anything about it, right?

So he’d jerk off, and think about the dreams, and if truth be told, even invent a few new ones. He’d imagine himself tied to his bed, while he ate out a woman who sat facing his feet, twisting his nipples and torturing his cock. He imagined himself on his knees; hands tied behind his back, while a man shoved his cock down his throat, fucking Tony’s mouth. He imagined being bent over a chair as a woman fucked him with a strap-on, while he licked his own come out of her cupped hand. He imagined rimming some guy, feeling his hairy balls slap on his chin while Tony jerked the guy off.

And after he came, harder than he ever came with any of his countless and interchangeable women, he’d fall asleep to thoughts of being held and cherished and taken care of; hands running through his hair, arms wrapped around him, feeling safe, secure, like he belonged there.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try and tell himself he didn’t know what that was all about. He may be able to convince others he was dense, but he knew better. It was all part and parcel of the same things he looked for when he was awake: security, approval, acceptance, belonging, love. But when he was awake, he knew what he could honestly hope for, and what he might as well get used to doing without. “Happily ever after” was only for fairy tales and Hollywood – you take what you can get and you get by.

But that was then. Before he’d had the time to examine death close up in the form of Y Pestis. Before he’d watched Kate die right in front of him, a little round hole in her forehead. He’d always known he would die someday, and he always thought he’d die the way Kate did, the way a cop was supposed to die: in the line of duty. But standing there as they lowered Kate’s coffin into the ground he’d had a revelation. No more hiding. No more worrying what others would think. No more hating himself for the feelings he couldn’t stop. This time, he was going after what he wanted.

Maybe he’d never get it. There was no way to guarantee that he’d find who or what he needed to finally be satisfied in life. Could anyone ever be totally satisfied in life, anyway? But he wasn’t going to die without trying. He wouldn’t be stupid about it. He wasn’t going to shout it from the rooftops or anything. “I’m a bisexual pervert and proud of it! Please! Tie me up and fuck me!” No. He liked his job, he wanted to stay there. If there was ever any place in the real world he really felt he belonged, this job was that place. All that meant was that he just had to be careful, be smart.

But he had seen that flogger, today, and all these feelings had welled up inside him. He was going to go for what he wanted. No matter what happened, at least he could say he had tried. He shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable way to sit with his dick half hard in his pants. That was going to be the difficult part: how the hell was he going to talk to Abby about this without getting a hard-on? He couldn’t even read the boring, all text sites without getting a boner. He told his cock he’d deal with it later, and clicked on a new link: Alternative Sex for Beginners: A Glossary of Terms. That looked promising.

End

You can find Chapter Two here: Tuesday

~

SG-1, The Games Men Play - Complete, Jack/Daniel, NC17

Sat, 29 Nov 2008 02:39:25 GMT

Series Title: The Games Men Play
Author: dustandroses
Beta for Parts One - Six: ozsaur, my hero and shit.
Betas for Part Seven: ozsaur and paian (my other hero and shit.)
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: None, really
Status of Series: Complete
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em.
Warnings: Very light kink: just a smidge of Power Play and some Spanking
Synopsis: Jack reveals a secret to Daniel that ends up setting both their worlds on end when Daniel asks Jack to introduce him into the world of "Gay Sex." Jack knows it's a very bad idea, but when Daniel challenges him, he just can't say no.
Total Word Count: 44,700 words
Notes: Special thanks to ozsaur for her usual incredible and tireless Beta throughout this entire series. And to paian for holding my hand while I had a meltdown over the last fic, when Ozsaur wasn't available to smack me down.
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to everyone who asked at one point or other in the last several years: "Are you ever going to finish this series?" And to cheights, for whose birthday "A Really Bad Idea" was written way back when. Never expected it to turn into this, did ya Cat? Me either!

The Games Men Play

                             Part One A Really Bad Idea

                             Part Two Who's Zooming Who?

                             Part Three The Lesson

                             Part Four The Seduction

                             Part Five Out of Control

                             Part Six Splashdown

                       Part Seven Game On

~

SG-1, To the Victor Go the Spoils, Jack/Daniel, NC17

Sat, 29 Nov 2008 01:44:01 GMT

Title: To the Victor Go the Spoils
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Category: PWP
Kinks: some Top/bottom play, a couple of Sweaty, Smelly Guys Wrestling Around on the Floor, Frottage and a bit of Dirty Talk
Warnings: None
Summary: "The first one to get the other completely naked tops. That work for you?"
Prompts: Daniel's a lot more alpha in bed than Jack expected & Bottom!Jack
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1896 words
Author's Notes: Written for jd_commentfic for the Jack/Daniel Kinkathon and originally posted on Nov. 23rd, 2008.

To The Victor Go The Spoils

Jack slowly stalked Daniel as he walked backwards across the floor of Jack's exercise room. He swerved to avoid the weight bench at the last second and Jack cursed silently as his quarry got the bench between them. "C'mon, Daniel, you fought hard, I'll give you that, but I won. Don't you think the winner deserves a reward? Just a kiss." He watched avidly as a drop of sweat rolled down Daniel’s cheek and followed the line of his neck before getting absorbed by his perspiration damp shirt.

Daniel shook his head. "Yeah, right. It starts with a little kiss and the next thing you know, I'm flat on my back on this hard floor. You know, Jack, this thin carpeting really isn't a good idea for an exercise room. You should have mats on the floor or something. Especially with your knees."

"I've been thinking about that. I was at Home Depot the other day and-- Hey! Nice try there, Jackson. But I'm not falling for your distractions. I want my kiss. I won fair and square.” Jack wiped his face off with his towel before dropping it onto the bench. “I told you I could do more push ups than you no mater how much you've been working out with Teal'c lately and I was right, wasn't I?"

"Well, yeah Jack, but, look at you - you're all…” He trailed off and swallowed heavily, “…sweaty and...” Jack watched Daniel’s eyes roam Jack’s body greedily before he shook his head and tried a different tactic. “How about we take a shower together?" Daniel stepped close to Jack, putting one knee up on the bench between them, their chests close enough that Jack could feel his heat, Daniel's lips just a breath away from his own. "I'll make it worth your while." His soft sultry voice made Jack shiver, but when Jack tried to close the gap between them, Daniel skipped away from him. "Ah, ah, ah!"

"Hey, I thought you liked me all sweaty and stuff - I like you that way, too, you know.” Daniel’s wet hair clung to his forehead, and Jack ached to lick the salt off his skin, and rub up against him, slick with both their perspiration. “C'mon, Daniel, you never complain when we're going at it hot and heavy. You know you like it. That’s why we always end up fucking after we exercise."

Daniel laughed. "I do, do I? I mean – I do. I like the sex. Nothing wrong with the sex at all, but this floor is hard as hell and it hurts. I know, how about you take it on your back, see how you like being my mattress for a change?"

"Hey, that's fine with me. If you can get me on my back, and keep me there, I'm all yours. You think you can do it, big boy? Think you're man enough to take me down?" Oh, yeah, Jack was getting into this idea – this could be fun.

"Oh, I can do it, alright." Daniel's smug tone was getting to Jack, so he threw out a challenge.

"Oh yeah? Tell you what: the first one to get the other completely naked tops. That work for you?"

"Fine. You might as well take your clothes off now buster, because you're gonna end up on your back any minute now."

"Oh, not if I get to you first." Jack didn't wait for a response; he just stepped over the bench and grabbed a fist full of the hem of Daniel's shirt. Daniel backed up, trying to break his hold, but when Jack didn’t let go, the hem ripped in his hand. They both looked down in shock for a second before Jack smirked and pulled up, tearing the shirt right up the center, baring Daniel's sweaty chest.

Jack crowed, "First blood!" and Daniel frowned, reaching for Jack's shirt to even the score. But that brought him within range of Jack's hands, which went immediately for the waistband of Daniel's pants.

In a surprise move, Daniel used a Jaffa technique Teal’c taught him which caught Jack off balance and tipped him over onto the floor. But as he went down, he grabbed Daniel around the waist and brought them down together. Jack thought distantly that Daniel was right, the carpeting didn’t pad this floor at all, but at the moment he had other things on his mind, so he set that thought aside. They wrestled across the room, scrabbling for purchase as they grappled with each other, each struggling for an advantage. Jack was aware that Daniel had the edge when it came to weight, but Jack wasn't really worried. He'd always loved a good brawl and had both training and experience in his corner.

Besides, Jack wasn't really in a hurry to end the match. He was enjoying the way their bodies slid against each other, the way Daniel’s muscles flexed and bunched under his hands. He realized with shock that he was even enjoying the press of Daniel's body as he covered Jack, pushing into him, holding him down. A sizzle of electricity ran through him when he realized that from their current position, Daniel could easily overpower him if he didn't always have a trick or two up his sleeve. The flood of heat he felt from that thought made his head reel for a moment.

Not that he was out to lose or anything, he rushed to tell himself, he’d just realized that maybe there were more important things than always ending up on top. For instance, the way things were at that moment was kind of hot – despite the fact that he was the one on his back. Daniel had one hand braced on the floor and the other was struggling with his shirt, trying to pull the stubborn thing off by sheer force of will. He had one thigh thrust between Jack's legs, and Jack could feel Daniel's hard-on pressed against his leg as he struggled to keep his balance, his face intent on his efforts, and his eyes gleaming with a fierce glee.

Jack stopped abruptly, as his attraction to this new side of Daniel blazed through him. When he stopped struggling, Daniel was forced to let go of Jack's shirt and put both hands on the floor to keep from tipping over face first onto the carpet. He looked down at Jack startled, and Jack surprised them both by grabbing his face in both hands and pulling Daniel to him. Jack reveled in the passionate kiss. He'd always loved the way Daniel kissed. He put every bit of himself into everything he did, and his kisses were no exception. All the pent-up energy they'd been throwing at each other just seconds ago was now focused right there and it almost overwhelmed Jack for a moment. There’s intensity – and then there’s Daniel.

Daniel pinned Jack’s shoulders against the floor as if he were actually still fighting. But instead, Jack was thinking of ways to encourage Daniel to stay right where he was, so he circled his hips a bit, bringing his own cock in line with Daniel's and thrust up, rubbing them together roughly through their clothing. Daniel was obviously as hungry for Jack's touch as he was for Daniel's, and he echoed Daniel's moan with one of his own. They made out like school kids, all ragged breaths, clumsy hands and eager, impulsive movements as they moaned “I need” and “Oh, god” and “Please can I just…” It was awkward and incredibly erotic at the same time. They grasped and thrust, urgently needing the touch, the feel of each other.

Daniel pushed his other leg between Jack's and used both to spread Jack wide until it felt like their bodies just interlocked. His hips did a rotating, grinding kind of thing that brought their cocks together over and over again, making Jack pant and cry out into Daniel's open mouth. Daniel's ass flexed in Jack's grip when he tried to bring them even closer together, pulling up his legs so his thighs bracketed Daniel's hips. Daniel responded by biting a stinging trail down Jack's jaw line and onto his suddenly extra sensitive neck, so Jack moaned and tipped his head back to give Daniel better access.

Jack wallowed in the intensity and power he could feel running just under Daniel’s skin, right there under his fingertips. He kneaded Daniel's ass cheeks with his palms and griped him so tightly his fingers ached. He still needed more, so Jack began thrusting up rhythmically into Daniel's grinding hips and only noticed he'd stopped breathing when he started to see stars. He took a huge gulp of air and realized he could almost taste the musky scent of their lust – heat and sweat and arousal. His cock was so hard it hurt every time he pushed up into Daniel’s desperate pressure, but he couldn’t stop, it felt too good.

Daniel pushed himself up onto his elbows. Jack felt the increased weight on his hips and couldn’t help but let Daniel know how good that was. “Yeah. That’s it, Daniel. Harder!”

Daniel leaned down over Jack's ear and his wicked words rumbled deep in Jack's chest. “Is this what you want, Jack? Is this what you need? Hard and fast…” he had to pause for breath, “…and just a bit angry?” His hot breath on Jack's ear and neck made Jack shudder. “You like this, don’t you? Down and nasty – oh, god - push and shove. You want me desperate and hungry – pushing myself into you. My hard prick in your tight ass.”

“Daniel!” His filthy words tipped Jack over and he cried out as he came, spilling hot and wet inside his boxers like a teenager. Daniel traded his words for forceful gasps as he let loose and just started to thrash and pound against Jack, who just wrapped his arms tight around Daniel and hung on for the ride as best he could. He felt the moment Daniel came, his orgasm stiffening his body and making his arms shake as he tried to hold his upper body off Jack. When he finally collapsed, Jack was ready for him. That's when he realized Daniel wasn't the only one shaking. That made him laugh.

“Hot damn!” Jack couldn't help himself. He just had to whoop. “Holy shit, Daniel, I didn’t know you had it in you! Jesus.” His knees dropped to the sides, flopping limply, but he couldn’t be bothered to move them.

Daniel finally recovered enough to lift up his head and glare at Jack with one baleful eye. But Jack couldn’t stop grinning. He pulled Daniel's head around and kissed him hard. It didn’t last long, neither of them had the breath for it and Jack could feel Daniel's overheated body still quivering and shaking above him.

Daniel drew in a deep breath. “Liked that, did you?”

Jack looked at him incredulously. “You just made me come in my pants, Daniel. What do you think?”

“I guess it wasn’t too bad.” He was still short of breath, but he had a smug, ‘guess I showed you’ look on his face.

For once, Jack was willing to concede gracefully. “This round, Daniel, belongs to you.”

“Yeah?”

Jack let his head fall back to the hard floor with a thud. “Oh, hell yeah.”

End

~

SG-1, Daddy's Boy, Jack/clone!Daniel/clone!Jack, NC17

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 10:17:11 GMT

Title: Daddy's Boy
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Clone!Jack/Clone!Daniel/Jack
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Category: PWP
Warnings: Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Daddy/boy kink, Spanking, Adult/Minor
Summary: "I love that sound, the smack of a hard hand on tender young flesh."
Prompts: Jack as a voyeur & Somebody needs a good spanking.
Spoilers: Fragile Balance
Word Count: 792 words
Author's Notes: Clone Fic - originally posted on Nov. 23rd, 2008 in jd_commentfic for the Jack/Daniel Kinkathon.
Series Notes: In this series, to keep the originals and the clones easily identifiable, the clones go by the names of Jon and Danny.

Part of the Clone to the Second Power Universe. Takes place after:
Clone to the Second Power
Self-Love
The Target Has Been Acquired

Daddy's Boy

Look at him, Jack. Lying there all spread out, lips swollen and bruised from sucking my cock, the shine of my come still on his lips. There’s still a little bit on the corner there. Oh, that’s nice, Danny. I love your tongue. We both do, don’t we Jack?

He’s still a little breathless from the way I fucked his face, or maybe that’s from lust. Look how hard he is, his pretty cock bouncing in the air, already slick from his precome, the foreskin pulled back from the head. I love how hard he gets just from sucking my cock. He likes sucking my cock. It excites you, doesn’t it Danny?

Ah, ah, ah! No talking. You know the rules of this game. Just nod. That’s my good boy. You are a good boy, Danny. You’re doing just what you’re told, the way a good boy should. Did you see the way his cock twitched? He wants to be good for me. For us. He wants to be good for you, Jack. You can’t hide over there in the corner. He knows you want him, too.

What would you like him to do? You want him to touch himself? You want him to jerk himself off for you? Or would you rather know what he wants to do to you? You want to get on your knees for Jack, Danny? Do you want to take your Daddy in your mouth like a good little cocksucker? Or would you rather bend over for him? Take his big cock up your little boy ass?

Oh! Almost came, didn’t you. But you know, I didn’t tell you that you could touch yourself. Ah, ah, ah! No talking. That will only make it worse! You’ve been a naughty boy, Danny! And what happens to bad little boys? They get punished, don’t they? That’s right. Hands and knees on the bed. Show your Daddy that hot ass of yours.

I thought you’d like that, Jack. You want to do it? You want to be the one to turn that sweet ass cherry red? Feel the heat from his skin in your palm as you spank your little boy’s ass? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Danny? That big, rough hand smacking your smooth ass? Showing you who’s in charge – who’s the Daddy?

Come on, Jack. You know you want to. You want to touch that soft skin, feel his muscles quiver under your fingers, ‘cause you know he can’t stand the waiting. He’s aching for you, Jack, just begging for his Daddy’s touch. Yes. That’s right. He’s so smooth, isn’t he? That supple, flawless skin, anxious for your hard hand, waiting for the first stroke. The first loud smack across his ass. Jeez, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.

Help Daddy take his clothes off, Danny. Oh, c’mon, Jack. You don't want Danny’s wet cock smearing all over your BDUs. Look at him, he’s about to come just from thinking about lying across your lap while you heat up those pretty ass cheeks. There you go. That’s more like it. No, Danny. You can’t touch. You’ve been a bad boy, remember? Just help him with the buttons; it looks like Daddy’s feeling a little uncoordinated right now. See how much he wants his little boy, Danny?

That’s it. He feels good lying across your lap, doesn’t he? Stop squirming, Danny. You know your Daddy won’t touch you until you do. That’s it. Go on, Jack. Do it. He’s been a very bad boy. You know he needs it. Yeah, that’s it! I love that sound, the smack of a hard hand on tender young flesh. The crack when your hand comes down hard on your little boy’s sore ass.

Christ. Listen to him moan. That’s all for you, Jack. See the way he pushes his ass back into your hand? He wants it. He loves it. Feel his cheeks warming up now? Hear the way he’s gasping for breath? You know he’s fighting not to ask you for more. He wants it, though. He wants it harder. C’mon, he can take it. Harder. Don’t stop. Make him shout. Yeah, that’s it. Make him scream. That’s it, just a little more. That’s it!

Oh, Danny. Someone’s been a very bad boy. Did Daddy give you permission to come? No, I didn’t think so. We’ll have to think up a special punishment for a boy as bad as you are. Now, get on your knees and lick your come off Daddy’s thighs while we decide what to do with a wicked boy like you. That’s right. Don’t miss a drop. He’s such a bad boy, isn’t he, Jack? But that’s okay. That’s just how Daddy likes him.

End</b>

~

NCIS - Chasing Shadows, Tony DiNozzo, NC17

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:56:01 GMT

Title: Chasing Shadows
Fandom: NCIS
Character: Tony DiNozzo
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Slash, Rough Sex
Synopsis: Tony searches the basement of an old abandoned apartment building for a snitch/suspect. He has no idea what he's just stepped into.
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 5,674 words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for Spook Me and Ozsaur because she loves this horror stuff.

Chasing Shadows

Tony shivered in the cool air as he slid along the wall, making his way toward the intersection of two hallways, toward the soft noise he’d heard just a few moments before. He really thought their suspect had gone up to the roof instead of down to the lower levels, so the noise he had heard may have been a rat, or maybe a squatter – who knows. But you couldn’t be too cautious, even if the guy they were after was just a little rat bastard of a stool pigeon.

If Dawson had gone downstairs into the basement of this derelict old 30’s apartment building, then Tony could be coming face to face with him any second. He’d finally reached the corner, so he listened intently for any movement, his senses focused on the hallway he was about to turn into. Tony paused, wishing he'd worn his trench coat; it was colder down here than he would have thought. But it had been an unseasonably warm autumn day, and he'd taken advantage of the last of the sunny weather and left his coat behind. He ignored the goosebumps and put his concentration back where it belonged.

No noise. Right. He took a deep breath, braced his gun on his hand and went for it; he swiftly turned the corner and came face to face with – nothing. There was nothing there. He scanned both sides of the hallway, using the faint light that spilled through the open doorways into the hall, dividing the dusty pools of shadows on the cracked linoleum floor.

He stepped quietly up to the closest door – peered around, but saw no one. Finally he moved into the room, ready for anything, but the room was totally empty. The light coming from the cloudy glass of the half windows up near the ceiling was enough to see that there was nothing for anyone to hide behind, nothing to account for the sudden sense of uneasiness crawling over his skin.

He shook his head to clear it and moved quickly and carefully back into the hallway and across to the next door. By the time he’d reached the end of the hallway and the broken exit sign that claimed the darkness inside led to a fire exit, he was truly puzzled. He’d found nothing but empty fast food bags and booze bottles in brown paper, a few ragged blankets and a pair of worn boots strapped together with dirty, unraveling duct tape.

He’d been expecting to find furnace rooms and janitor’s closets, or at least storage units – something. But whatever those large empty rooms had been used for, there was nothing there now. With an internal groan, he realized what that meant – there must be another basement level. He looked through the doorway of the fire exit. Great. A dark, filthy staircase leading to a sub-basement that was probably even more dark and filthy.

Damn Gibbs, anyway. It wasn't Tony's fault that their beautiful, young witness couldn't keep her hands to herself. It wasn't like he'd encouraged her or anything - at least not while Gibbs was in the room. If Gibbs was going to get pissed off at him, it should at least be for something under his control. Sending him down to search the basement was pure and simple punishment for being his own irresistible self and Tony railed at the injustice of it all for just a moment.

He sighed softly, not wanting to advertise his presence any more than his trip down the hall already had, shrugged, and pulled out his flashlight. None of the faded sunlight made its way into the stairwell, so he was gonna have to do this the hard way. He was positive the noise he’d heard had come from this direction. There was nothing for it. As little as he wanted to do this, he was going have to brave the sub-basement.

Tony checked over his shoulder, although why, he wasn't sure. If there was anyone here, they were in front of him, not behind his back. Besides, Dawson was almost definitely upstairs, which meant that Tony was probably chasing down some junkie. With his luck, Probie would end up with the arrest while he spent his time hassling some drunkard. Flashlight between his teeth, he transferred his gun to his left hand just long enough to wipe his sweaty palm on his pants leg, briefly thankful he wasn’t wearing anything designer today. Well, nothing that showed, anyway.

He toed the door further open. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself. Then he stepped into the stairwell.

The coolness of the hallway hadn't prepared him for the plunge in temperature. Tony shivered all over as he was wrapped in an icy chill. He shrugged it off, moving the beam of his flashlight around the narrow space. The trip downstairs was nerve-wracking if uneventful. On just about every step, he wished he was heading up instead of down, but Gibbs, Kate and Probie were upstairs – his assignment was down. Besides, with the amount of trash littering the stairs leading up, he knew he’d have heard it if Dawson had used that flight. The way down was clearer – the garbage pushed to either side as if the stairs were used more regularly. He didn’t know if that was good or bad, but at least it made it clear which direction he should go.

There was a bundle of old rags and some boxes stacked in the corner under the stairs, and after exploring it briefly, he decided someone had spent some time living here, but not recently. He stepped into the sub-basement hallway knowing that his flashlight made him a rather obvious target – there was no light at all down here. But there was no way he was stumbling around in the dark, so he used it, wishing it were a searchlight instead of a small penlight, but thankful for what he had.

He found the furnace rooms quickly enough, but there was little evidence of any visitors, the dust on the floor was thick, and obviously undisturbed, so he left those rooms alone. The elevator machine room was full of junk, the vintage equipment scavenged, but it was empty of squirrelly little snitches who preferred to hide rather than face Gibbs, so he kept going.

He glanced into the bottom of the empty elevator shaft, sighing - wishing he were upstairs instead, where he could see the actual antique elevator itself. He could just imagine the gilding on the elevator doors – would it be shiny metal, or warm inlaid woods with brass edgings? He reined in his thoughts harshly, it wouldn’t do to get caught up in the ambiance of this old building and forget what he was here to do.

He needed to get this done as quickly as possible, it wasn't simply cold down there any longer. There was a chill wind blowing on his neck, and he kept turning around to check behind him, even though he knew there was no one there. He couldn’t figure out where the wind was coming from – it had been cold on the stairs but he didn’t remember a breeze, so it had to have origins elsewhere. It wasn’t strong enough to disturb the thick dust and the heavy cobwebs hanging everywhere, but it was definitely enough to make him shiver.

It was only when he turned back to the hallway that he noticed the scuff marks. He should have noticed those before, even if the penlight did have a rather small scope. But it looked like someone had entered the sub-basement ahead of Tony, the footprints in the dust were clear and well defined, fresh. They went directly down the middle of the hallway, so despite the fact that he felt uncomfortable doing so, Tony eventually just gave the rest of the cluttered rooms a cursory glance and concentrated on making his way to the intersection of the two halls he had just approached from the other direction, one floor up.

By the time he reached the meeting of the two hallways, there was still just one set of footsteps heading around the corner. If Dawson was in the hallway, by now the flashlight would have made it clear to him that Tony was here, too. There was probably no reason to keep quiet now. But he couldn’t seem to announce himself, and in the end, he just went around the corner fast, hoping Dawson wouldn't want to confront him.

No one was there. With his heart pounding in his chest, he followed the footsteps on. He passed a number of doors on both sides, but they were all padlocked - the metal rusted and pitted, but the locks held. So after Tony checked the first few, he dusted the cobwebs and the grainy rust off his fingers and ignored the locked doors in favor of concentrating on the shadowy open door the penlight showed him at the end of the hall.
The footsteps led into the very last room on the left. One set of footsteps going in, and none coming back out. He leaned up against the wall outside the open door, listening for the slightest sound, but there was nothing but an almost unnerving silence. Despite his instincts screaming at him to just leave, he knew he had to enter the room and check it out. Using all the caution he’d learned over the years, he entered the room, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. A swift examination of the small, cluttered room revealed no one there, and no other exit.

Focusing on the largest covered pieces of furniture, he did another check, but by the time everything was uncovered he was sure there was no one there but him. He sneezed loudly – he’d stirred up a lot of dust taking off the dust covers. Holding his breath, he waited for something, expecting some reaction from someone, but nothing happened. He really was alone in here.

The penlight revealed shelves along the walls, crowded with boxes, suitcases and trunks. Piles of junk and stacks of books were everywhere. Larger pieces of furniture were shoved into the corners with smaller pieces piled on top; there was no doubt this was a storage room - and a strangely undisturbed one, considering the wide open door - especially compared to the disarray in the rest of the basement.

Well, if Dawson had been here, he was gone now. Tony grabbed his phone and hit Gibbs’ number on speed dial, after checking to make sure it had been the prerequisite 15 minutes Gibbs had given him before he needed to check in – it had, but just barely. Weird. It seemed like he had been down there a lot longer. He put the phone to his ear just in time to realize he wasn’t getting any signal. He checked the charge, but it was fine. It must be the sub-basement. He must be too far underground to get his signal through.

He knew he needed to get upstairs before Gibbs started to worry, but this storage room fascinated him and he took a few minutes to look a little closer – uncovering more furniture with lush fabrics and plump pillows, glancing through boxes of old letters and journals, opening trunks full of draperies and bed clothes. It looked like someone had just packed their whole apartment into this cramped room, and all of it vintage 30’s antiques, mostly Art Deco.

He sighed as he ran his hands over a gorgeous glass and metal coffee table, etched glass glittering through the dust in the light of his flashlight. This stuff was worth a small fortune these days; he couldn’t imagine why no one had taken all this to an antique dealer years ago. He picked up a heavy brass ashtray that gleamed dully – someone had polished it recently, and then covered it up with a sheet. So very strange.

That chill breeze was back puffing against the nape of his neck. He turned quickly around, trying to figure out where the hell it was coming from. Shrugging it off, he was about to leave the room when a spot of bright color caught his attention – the lid of a large trunk sitting open, a flash of dark red and silver in a pool of black. He crossed the room, mesmerized, to find a beautiful, deep red cummerbund laying on top of a formal tuxedo – tails and all, an untied white bow tie draped across the black fabric.

His hands itched to touch all of it, the white gloves and top hat, the elegant lines of an exquisite silver flask and matching cigarette case and lighter, but there was no dust on any of this, it was like the owner had just taken the clothing off and laid them down just minutes before. He looked behind him, like he expected the owner to come striding up, then shivered again. He noticed a stack of pictures tucked in a corner of the trunk. Glancing around quickly, he holstered his gun, then picked them up, holding the penlight in his teeth to free up both hands.

The scene was a large, ornate ballroom, bright chrome and gorgeous inlaid panels decorating the walls. There were a number of men and women in the pictures, laughing, dancing, standing around in groups smoking cigarettes, sitting at tables drinking champagne or tumblers of dark liquor. He wished he could see the colors they wore - the stark black and white didn't really do them justice, although it did add to the mood invoked by the images. They all looked so refined and sophisticated, so very – thirties.

God, he loved that era. He’d always been fascinated by it. Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, Jean Harlow, Garry Cooper, Greta Garbo, Clark Gable – if he’d lived back then, what he could have done. He’d have lived in a building like this, surrounded by all this lush beauty and striking, streamlined décor. He’d have gone to parties like this, top hat and tails, white gloves and colorful cummerbund – dancing around the ballroom floor with a gorgeous woman in his arms.

He flipped through the pictures, caught up in the atmosphere; the laughing crowd, the dancing throng of people, couples pressed together – eyes only for each other, glimpses of the big band playing in the background – a beautiful woman at the microphone. One picture caught his eye and he pulled the flashlight out of his mouth to focus it better on the photo –a dark-haired man, tall and handsome and strongly built, leaned casually against the wall smoking a cigarette, the ornate flask in his hand proclaiming him to be the owner of the top hat and tails Tony was lusting over. The photographer had obviously caught him unaware, like he’d glanced around just as the camera had snapped his picture.

He took a deep breath. The dark, angry look in the man’s eyes sent yet another shiver up Tony’s spine – hurt and hunger warred in equal parts in that penetrating gaze, and Tony wondered what could possibly have caused the man that much pain. That chilly, elusive breeze brushed up against the back of Tony’s neck just then, setting the hair on his arms on end and making his breath catch in his throat.

Before he could react, he was thrown up against the wall face first, a hard, solid presence forcing him into the cold concrete wall and pushing the air out of his lungs. The photos in his hand went flying, and the penlight bounced off the top hat and landed on the cummerbund, pushed up against the fabric so just a little light escaped to cast a faint reddish glow over the objects in the trunk.

Tony’s cheek was forced up against the wall, and a solid body pressed against him, gripping one of Tony's arms behind his back. He tried to shove back from the wall, but his attacker pushed his hand farther up between his shoulder blades, and blinding flashes of pain shot up his arm. He couldn’t reach his gun, pressed up against the wall as he was; his entire body was between his free arm and his holster.

“What are you doing here?”

Dark and angry – the tone of voice alarmed him. He stilled, not wanting to take the chance of his assailant taking anymore of his anger out on Tony's arm. Despite the darkness, he knew it couldn't possibly be Dawson. The little rat was a foot shorter than Tony, and was as skinny as a runway model. Besides, his voice was about an octave higher than this deep growl. He knew it really couldn’t be, but Tony's mind’s eye kept throwing up the image of the man in the photograph. He’d trespassed, and now the man would exact his revenge.

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn’t know!” He wasn’t even really sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“You think that’s enough? Just an ‘I’m sorry.’ You don’t even know who you’re messing with, do you?” The deep, raspy voice seemed familiar, something just off the edge of his conscious mind, and he searched for the connection, coming up blank.

He had no clue what the man was talking about, but it didn’t really matter at this point. He felt the hard body pressed up against him, not warming the chill that had penetrated right through his jacket, like he’d been down in this cold basement for much too long. Tony’s mind was blank – he couldn’t think of anything to say, and that was just so unlike him. This was not good. This was so not good. If he got out of this alive, Gibbs was going to kill him.

Gibbs. Gibbs? In an instant, everything snapped into place, bright behind his eyes, like the flash on a camera. What the hell was he thinking? Relief hit him and he slumped against the wall. He was such an idiot sometimes. Tony let his forehead rest against the cool concrete, then asked resignedly, “Let me go, please, Gibbs? My arm is going numb.”

A gust of breath blew past his ear as Gibbs sighed. “You had your back to the only entrance in the room. What the hell were you thinking?” The hand holding his sore arm let go; Tony stifled a cry as the limp arm fell heavily, brushing against Gibbs’ body as gravity pulled it down between them. He tried to push away from the wall with his good hand – wanting to massage the tingles from his abused muscles, but Gibbs pressed up tight against his back as soon as his arm was free.

“Gibbs?” He hated the thready, unsure quality of his voice, but he couldn’t help it – he was still trembling inside from the shock of someone taking him by surprise that way and couldn’t seem to get himself back under control. He usually managed to hide stuff better than this – especially from Gibbs. Showing too much emotion in front of his boss was never good.

Gibbs pressed his face into Tony’s hair, into the space behind his ear. “Mmmm. So warm.” That low, gravelly voice was back, sending blood to parts of his anatomy that Tony had tried, for over two years, to keep under control whenever Gibbs was around. He tensed. This was so bad.

“You feel so good against me. Let me…” His breathing was harsh in Tony’s ear, Gibbs’ hands tight on his arms. “I need…” He ground his hips firmly into Tony’s ass, revealing a hard-on that he couldn't mistake as anything else.

“Oh, god!” Tony's mind reeled. This wasn’t happening. He never got what he wanted when it came to Gibbs. He’d given up hope of that long ago. Tony gasped out, “What are you doing? Gibbs, we can’t…”

“I need you. Now.” His voice was urgent, and Tony’s mind supplied, in vivid detail, the look on his face. He’d never seen that level of need from Gibbs, but he had his fantasies to draw from – years worth of repressed desire bursting into his mind from the corners where he’d shoved them.

The thought made him moan. He wished Gibbs would let go of him – he needed to see Gibbs’ face, needed to see that this was real, not just an unusually vivid fantasy. Gibbs pulled Tony against him away from the wall, Tony’s feet stumbling to keep up, and suddenly powerful hands were roaming all over Tony’s chest. His thin button down offered Gibbs plenty of opportunity to explore his body, fingers catching on his nipples as they slid down to his belly.

He felt the blunt edge of Gibbs’ teeth gently press the skin at the nape of his neck, followed by a soft, open mouthed kiss. Tony shuddered helplessly, his head falling forward to allow Gibbs better access, his heart pounding so hard he knew Gibbs must hear it. “Please.” It was more of a moan than anything else. Desperate need voiced aloud. His eyes closed of their own accord – like it mattered in here. He was in the dark anyway. Even with his eyes open, his penlight’s glow was faint, practically smothered by the cummerbund.

When Gibbs’ hands moved below his waist, rubbing the length of his hard-on through his trousers, Tony grabbed his wrists against the almost overwhelming surge of pleasure. The twinge in his left arm reminded him this was real, not his imagination. He made one last, weak effort: “Kate and Probie…”

“…are gone. It’s just us, here. I need you. Now.”

Tony recognized that tone of voice. That was not a request, it was a demand. He had no choice but to acquiesce. Rolling his head back along Gibbs’ shoulder, he bared his neck and submitted. “Yes.”

Hands on his waist, Gibbs pushed him to stand on his own again. “Pants. Get them off.” The low growl got his sluggish mind working again, and he fumbled with his belt, surprised at how hard that simple, low command had made him. He felt light headed, still a little shocky from being manhandled that way. He paused and took a deep breath, then lowered his zipper.

The sound of the lid of the trunk slamming startled him, just before Gibbs’ hands pushed his trousers and boxers down together and bent him over the top of the dusty surface. Tony leaned on his elbows, his leaking cock rubbing against the side of the trunk, and gasped as Gibbs spread him wide. Slick fingers found his hole. He wondered where in hell the lube had come from as two fingers slid past the initial resistance of his body. Gibbs roughly opened him up, scissoring his fingers and thrusting them all the way in.

He thanked his lucky stars that he regularly played with his own toys, so he was fairly used to the intrusion. Then Gibbs pulled his fingers out and Tony felt the cold wetness of the tip of Gibbs’ cock brush over one butt cheek as he grabbed Tony's hip and lined up. Tony barely had time to brace himself, breathing out and pushing back against the burn he knew was coming. Gripping the edges of the trunk, he clenched his teeth, trying not to cry out as Gibbs plowed into him. Gibbs didn't stop until his hips were pressed firmly against Tony’s ass.

Tony panted through the stretch and burn – not really pain, but still more than he was used to with as little preparation as he’d gotten. Gibbs’ hoarse cry went a long way towards helping him accept that there was more up his ass than usual. “So good. I knew it would be. Knew you would be.” And then he started moving, and Tony forgot about everything else but the feel of Gibbs inside him – his hands gripping Tony’s hips tightly, his lips on Tony’s neck as he bent over and mouthed the skin there.

"You're mine now."

Tony tried hard not to come at those words, at the growling, panting voice in his ear. He didn’t understand how just a voice could be so erotic, but when Gibbs said something like that, every part of him wanted to surrender to whatever Gibbs demanded. Tony jerked cried out and his elbows slipped on the slick surface of the trunk, as Gibbs changed his angle slightly and his thick cock slid directly over Tony's sweet spot.

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been looking for. You like this, don’t you.” It wasn't a question. Gibbs' low voice held too much certainty. “You’ve wanted my cock up your ass for a long time. I can feel it, how desperately you want me. You crave me like a junky after a fix.” Gibbs took a deep breath like he was scenting Tony’s skin. “I can smell it on you. The longing. It smells like this, like sex and musk and need. You smell so good. So good.”

“Please – Gibbs…”

Those rough, powerful words stirred Tony in ways he'd never imagined. He felt raw and exposed; as if Gibbs could see right through all the masks he habitually wore. Combined with Gibbs' forceful presence and the possessive way he handled Tony's body, as if he had every right to control it and make it his own, Tony felt overwhelmed by the onslaught. The hands clenching his hips were his anchor. Gibbs gripped him as if Tony would be torn away from him at any moment if he didn’t keep him there by brute force.

Firm lips dragged across his skin just beneath his ear, the sensation adding to the pleasure of being fucked by someone who obviously knew what he was doing. The long smooth strokes of Gibbs' cock alternated with short, almost vicious jabs aimed directly at his prostate. A warm buzz spread throughout his body, slowly building in intensity, making it possible to ignore the coldness all around him. He could feel sweat form on his body as he fought to keep his balance.

“That’s it. So hot around me, so perfect. I knew you would be. From the moment I first saw you I wondered what you’d feel like from the inside. What it would be like to take you, make you mine. What that mouth of yours would feel like on my skin. My nipples. My cock. Oh. I want to know what that feels like. I bet you’re a good cocksucker. Those soft lips and that tongue of yours would feel so good, so damn good.”

Tony wasn’t sure how much more he could take. His cock was rubbing against the side of the trunk, sending bolts of pleasure up his spine. All those hot, sexy words coming out of Gibbs’ mouth were almost enough to make him spill without a hand touching him. He tried to hold still, tried to hold on, not wanting it to end, but tensing like that had a side effect – the pressure of his muscles clamping down on Gibbs’ cock was just what Gibbs must have needed to lose all control.

Gibbs cried out, adjusted his stance again, and started pounding into Tony. The force of his thrusts pushed Tony's arms along the top of the trunk and he lost his grip, slipping off his elbows to lie flat across the slick surface. He was having trouble breathing - Gibbs body pushed the air out of him with the ferocity of his thrusts, and left him half stunned.

When Gibbs teeth closed over Tony’s nape and bit savagely, Tony screamed and came. His body jerked as the powerful sensations jolted through him, overwhelming him. The last thing he heard was Gibbs whispered voice in his ear.

“Mine.”

Then everything went black.

There was a buzzing in his ear, rattling his brain, pissing him off and making him snarl at the annoyance. He was lying on something flat and uncomfortable, and he was bent at the waist, his legs pressed against… His eyes popped open. Shit! He was still draped over the trunk, his pants tangled around his feet, and the buzzing noise was his phone, sitting right in front of his nose. He grabbed the phone and flipped it open, his eyes going to the time. He’d only been out for a second or two, he was pretty sure of that.

McGee’s voice was scratchy and faint. “Tony? Hello? Tony? Are you there?”

Tony put the phone to his ear and tried to speak, but nothing came out until he cleared his voice and tried again. His voice was rough. “Yeah, I’m here, Probie, no need to shout.” He cleared his throat again. “Are you at headquarters already?” He looked around for Gibbs, squinting in the dark. Remembering his penlight was inside the trunk, he got shakily to his feet, almost stumbling over the pants around his ankles.

“God, Tony, where have you been? Gibbs is about to blow a gasket, why didn’t you check in? He’s ready to strangle Dawson, and he keeps threatening to leave you here by yourself while he takes Dawson to headquarters.”

Tony shoved open the trunk and fumbled for the little flashlight still glowing red against the cummerbund, and noticed with regret that the trunk lid has damaged the top hat beyond repair. He puzzled through McGee’s words as he flashed the light around the room, looking for Gibbs.

“What do you mean – I thought… I thought you'd left already.”

“No, Gibbs wants Kate to go with me in the ambulance. There’s really nothing wrong with me, just a bump on the head and a bruised throat, but Gibbs wants to be sure.”

No sign of Gibbs. Tony propped the flashlight on the crushed top hat to give him some light and grabbed the handkerchief from his back pocket. He cleaned himself up before pulling his boxers and trousers over his freezing legs, holding the phone between cheek and shoulder as he spoke.

“Dawson grabbed you? That little weasel? What the hell, Probie?”

“I was with Gibbs up on the third floor. Dawson hit me from behind, then he grabbed me around the neck. He and Gibbs were in a stand off until Kate distracted him long enough for me to stomp on his foot and break away. He started to run, but Gibbs tackled him. You should have been here, Tony, you missed all the excitement.”

Tony finished buckling his belt, and straightening his clothes while McGee talked, a sense of unease building in his gut. If Gibbs had been upstairs tackling Dawson to the floor, then how had he had time to get down here and fuck Tony senseless on top of that old trunk? Gibbs had said Kate and McGee had already left, but…

“Tony? Tony, are you okay? Did something happen down there? What’s wrong?”

He grabbed the flashlight and swung it around, the beam moving wildly from corner to corner, but he was still the only one in the room. He swallowed, trying to regulate his breathing before it gave him away. “Nothing’s wrong, Probie. Nothing at all. Just jealous that you guys had all the fun while I was down here chasing – dust.”

“We’ve been trying to get you for ten minutes, now. Did you have your phone set on vibrate again?”

“No. Well, yeah, I did. But that wasn’t the problem. I tried to check in, but there was no signal. I’m in the sub-basement, so I thought that was the problem, but…”

“The ambulance is here, Tony. I have to go.” He could hear Kate’s voice urging McGee to hang up, and Gibbs’ voice came through loud and clear: “Tell DiNozzo to stop playing around and get the hell up here before I leave him.”

“Gibbs says…”

“Yeah, I heard him. Tell him I’ll be there in just a minute, okay?” Tony hung up. He was having trouble taking all this in. What the hell had happened? He realized with a start that he hadn’t seen Gibbs’ face the whole time he’d been down here. And it had been Gibbs. He knew that. Knew it. There was no one else it could have been.

He shivered. The only signs that anything had happened here was Tony’s come dripping down the side of the trunk and Tony’s bruised and aching body. He rubbed his hand over his hipbone to ease the soreness from when it had pushed over and over into the trunk lid. It was just too much. He had to get out of there. He used his handkerchief to clean off the trunk – it just didn’t seem right to leave that there – then stuffed the cloth in his pocket.

As he turned around to the door, his shoe slid on something, one of the photos he’d dropped, lying face down on the floor. He picked it up, turning it over to the image of the man in the elegant tuxedo, those intense eyes staring right into him. He shivered again, threw the picture into the trunk, and pushed the lid down with a bang. That was it. He he was outta there.

As he trained his penlight on the door, the dusty footsteps that had led him into the storage room caught his eye. Two sets of prints led in, and none led out. He felt a chill run up his spine, and he practically threw himself out the door. He intentionally scuffed the dust and obscured the footsteps as he left, slammed the door shut and walked rapidly to the exit. As he headed to the stairs, he felt that chilly wind across the back of his neck again. He reached up and the raw soreness on the nape of his neck jolted him like a surge of electricity.

He turned his back, and jogged up the stairs – and if he thought he heard his name called softly behind him as he left, he didn’t look back. It was just his imagination.

End

HBO's Oz, There's A First Time For Everything, Beecher/O'Reily, NC17

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:47:06 GMT

Title: There's A First Time For Everything
Pairing: Ryan O'Reily/Tobias Beecher
Rating: NC17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 764 words
Summary: Ryan decides it's Beecher's turn.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Comment fic style - written for Ozsaur's birthday and the Oz Halloween Grab Bag. Happy Birthday, Stacey!

There's A First Time For Everything

As Ryan watched, the cock before him started to wilt. He raised his eyes to Toby apologetically, but Toby just shrugged.

“It’s okay Ryan, just use your hand.”

O’Reily shook his head. “No. I can do this. You do it for me all the time. I want to do this, Beecher.”

“Okay.”

Ryan glared at Beecher’s cock. He knew he could do this. He reached out, slowly running his hand down the length before wrapping it around Toby’s cock and stroking firmly – just the way he liked.

He and Toby had been doing this for months – rubbing off against each other at night in their pod, hand jobs in the shower when no one was looking, sneaking into storage closets so Toby could get down on his knees and blow Ryan’s mind. Now it was Toby’s turn.

He ran the fingers of his other hand around the head of Toby’s cock, and felt pride when it jumped in response. It was fully hard again, and he watched as a drop of precome slowly swelled on the slit. He gathered up the drop, then curiously licked it off his finger.

Toby gasped and Ryan looked up, surprised. Toby’s mouth was open slightly – his breathing rough and fast, and the hungry look in his eyes was all the incentive Ryan needed. He stuck out his tongue and licked the end of Toby’s cock. His whole body jerked, but Ryan held on, and did it again. It was weird. Not like normal skin – it was sort of slick, and tasted kind of bitter and salty. But it wasn’t too bad, and if Toby could get used to it, so could he.

So he opened his mouth, and slipped the tip in, running his tongue around it like Toby always did. He figured if he liked it, Toby would, too. Toby moaned, and Ryan was rewarded by more precome. Oh yeah. Toby liked that a lot. This wasn’t so bad. What the hell had he gotten all worked up about?

Taking advantage of his newfound courage, he sucked, pulling more cock into his mouth in the process. Toby’s hips jerked, and his cock slid across the roof of Ryan’s mouth, to the back of his tongue. He didn’t gag or anything, but he realized then why Toby always held onto his hips.

So he grabbed Toby’s hips in his hands, holding him firmly against the wall, ignoring Toby’s apologies. He’d get him for that later. He went back to sucking again, and running his mouth up and down Toby’s cock, but it was hard to judge how far down he could go, and this time he ended up choking himself.

Toby pulled one of Ryan’s hands off his hip and positioned it on the base of his cock, gasping something about that helping. And he was right – it stopped him from going down too far. He kept one hand on his hip, though, just in case, and went back to sucking and licking – that seemed less likely to lead to injuries.

He finally started to get the hang of things, getting more and more enthusiastic the more comfortable he felt. Before he knew it he was sucking on the end, bobbing his head up and down and jerking the bottom of Toby’s cock off with his hand. Damn. Good thing he was good at multi-tasking. He never would have guessed just how complicated a blowjob could be.

He sighed, wondering how long he had to keep this up. His jaw was tired, he couldn’t get a deep enough breath through his nose, his cheeks hurt from sucking so much, his lips were sore from where he’d bit them covering his teeth and his face was all wet and slippery from spit and precome – shit, if Toby didn’t come soon he was gonna be really disappointed when Ryan collapsed at his feet.

Suddenly Toby was pushing him away, his cock spurting come onto the floor between them. Ryan watched with fascination, grinning widely as Toby collapsed and slid down to the floor, his legs stretched out before him.

“Damn, Beecher – that was intense!”

Toby just smiled at him, panting. After a moment he grabbed the paper towels he’d stashed nearby and wiped up the mess, throwing the towels in the trash under the janitor’s sink. He grabbed Ryan’s arm and pulled him close.

“That was incredible, Ryan. Thank you.”

They kissed for a moment, and Ryan laughed when Toby broke off the kiss to wipe off their faces.

“Happy birthday, Toby.”

End

HBO's Oz, Hurt Like Hell - A Drabble, Schillinger/Beecher, PG13

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:17:41 GMT

Title: Hurt Like Hell
Pairing: Schillinger/Beecher
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: NonCon
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Spoilers: General Season One
Word Count: 100 words
Notes: Written for Ozsaur's The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could. Originally posted March 31st, 2008.

Hurt Like Hell

This was gonna hurt like hell.

Toby backed into the corner of the pod – knowing there was nowhere to hide, but instinctively trying to protect himself, anyway. Schillinger closed in, shoving him hard into the cinder blocks, the spot where Toby’s fist had connected with Schillinger’s jaw a darker splotch in an angry red face.

“You ever raise your hand to me again, and you won’t live to regret it. Now, hold still.” He shoved a washcloth into Toby’s mouth, gagging him. Schillinger smiled cruelly. “This is gonna hurt you a hell of a lot more than it hurts me.”

HBO's Oz, Tuesday, Dino Ortolani/Ryan O'Reily, NC17

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 01:57:58 GMT

Title: Tuesday
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Pairing: Dino Ortolani/Ryan O'Reily
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Violence
Spoilers: None
Synopsis: Dino likes to keep an eye on his closest competitors, and the O'Reily brothers are definitely worth keeping an eye on. It's become a regular thing for him - Tuesday night out with the boys.
Word Count: 4421 words
Disclaimer: Don't own' em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for poetfades2black for Oz Magi 2007. Originally posted on January 8, 2008.

Tuesday

Dino took one last drag off his cigarette, impatiently pulling in smoke before dropping the butt on the floor and grinding it under his boot. He tipped his almost empty beer at the scantily clad waitress and downed the dregs as he watched her dodge the hungry men and desperate looking women to the bar, tits swaying under her shirt. She worked there every Tuesday. By now he knew she never wore a bra under those tight tees she favored. She didn’t need one, those tits didn’t understand the meaning of gravity - they stood up and said hi every time she waited on him.

He shook his head to clear it and focused back on the couple out on the dance floor – the fuckin’ mick shaking his skinny white ass without a hint of rhythm. At least they were slow dancing now, much less painful to watch. His hands were all over her plump ass, his tongue in her ear, one knee between her legs pushing her short black skirt up far enough to see flesh over the tops of her stockings. They might as well be fuckin’ right there on the goddam dance floor.

At least Dino didn’t have to keep track of both brothers anymore. O’Reily had sent his brother Cyril home an hour ago, his arm draped around another skanky whore’s waist, his hand trailing down to squeeze her ass. The brothers usually left together, a chick on each of their arms. They’d take them back to Cyril's apartment, then toss them out in the morning. Dino had still been there a couple of times to see them off. They hadn't looked happy - he wondered if the brothers had even bothered to spring for cab fare. “So long, and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”

That was all these women were good for. He frowned as some blond girl sitting at the bar pursed bright red lips at him, one eyebrow raised in what was obviously supposed to be a 'come hither' look. Like he’d look twice at a slut like that. Nice rack, but that don’t mean nothing. He had a wife to go home to. No telling what he’d take home to Gini if he was stupid enough to get within ten feet of something like that.

They were desperate for it here; easy pickings for a guy like Dino. The girls were always sweet on him. He knew he had the looks – always had. The O’Reily brothers had them, too. Cyril had those broad shoulders, an easy smile on his handsome face, and that long hair of his was like a magnet. He watched them every week; the chicks always went for the hair first thing, fingering it like it was silk or something.

That asshole Ryan had a bit of a rougher time. He had decent looks, but his eyes were sharp and his smile was never really warm. Ryan O’Reily looked dangerous, even when he was sweet-talking his own granny. There was more going on behind his eyes than showed up on his face, and what was going on in there was ice cold, but he always managed to walk out with something before the night was over. He was a smooth talker, that was for sure.

Dino lit another cig while he watched O’Reily. He was gonna cut that son-of-a-bitch’s sweet-talking tongue out of his lying mouth one of these days. That rat bastard, calling him a fag in front of Dino’s own lieutenant. If it hadn’t been for the big guy, Dino’d have smashed him to a pulp right then and there. Disrespecting him like that.

One of these days soon, he’d show O’Reily who the faggot was. He figured that’s why they came here each week; even a queer could pick up a girl in this place. O’Reily knew he’d get lucky every time he walked through the door, if he didn’t mind sloppy seconds, or maybe even thirds. Dino snorted, might as well shell the money out up front and pay for it – probably less chance of disease that way.

At least O’Reily was smart enough to bring protection. Dino could see the ring in his back pocket – his washed-out jeans so tight that the condom showed through plain as day where his wallet ought to be. He never brought his wallet with him on Tuesday nights. That made Dino laugh. He didn’t trust them enough to let them that close to his wallet, but he’d fuck ‘em through the mattress, as long as he had that little piece of latex.

The waitress brought his drink, finally, and he smirked at her when she shoved her nipples in his face as she grabbed his empty. Nice firm tits, wide nipples - just the way he liked them. Dino waved his change off when she tried to return it, and she crinkled her nose at him when she smiled. But she was no dummy; she knew he wasn’t tipping her to watch her smile, so she winked at him as she leaned forward to thank him, her nipples sharpening under her shirt as she rubbed them against his arm.

He licked his lips, watching her ass wiggle as she walked away. She was the cleanest looking thing in this joint. Thick brown hair tied back at her neck, make-up simple and straightforward; it never looked like she’d put it on with a trowel like some of the waitresses and more than a few of the patrons. If he had ever been serious about doing somebody from here, he’d go after her any day. But he wasn’t. He had a wife, and he’d made his choice. He was faithful.

O’Reily had a wife, too. That pissed Dino the hell off. He had his own slice, right there at home. Nice girl too, from what he’d been told. A bit skinny for his tastes, and kinda flat on top, but she had nice hips and a sweet ass and he bet she was a firecracker in bed. Hell, the point was: O’Reily chose her, married the woman, why the fuck was he out screwing around every Tuesday night like this, taking a different cunt each week when he had his own fine slice at home?

Dino didn’t get these two – the O’Reily brothers. That’s why he was there. He had a territory to keep, and these two; they were his only real competition. His pop had pounded it into his head: know your enemies. He’d seen his father do this same thing, keeping track of the competition, knowing what they were up to, learning their weaknesses, their strengths.

He probably should let his soldiers take care of stuff like this, and for the most part, he did. But for some reason these Tuesday nights bothered him, and he felt more comfortable being there in person, getting a feel for his enemies. The more he saw though, the less he thought of O’Reily – he had a real lack of respect for his own gang, his brother was the only person he really trusted.

O’Reily was supposed to be the brains of their organization, but Dino didn’t see it. Yeah, he seemed to be good at getting other people to do his dirty work for him, but when he was on his own, he wasn’t that much to write home about. Without his brother around to beat some respect into their gang, Ryan would be nothing. From Dino’s perspective, Cyril was the big guns in that organization – Ryan’s strength came from the fact that Cyril worshiped his big brother. But there was something about Ryan that troubled Dino, and he was determined to figure it out.

Dino turned back to the dance floor to realize that O’Reily was gone. Shit! A quick search of the spot he'd been sitting didn't reveal him, so Dino got up, cursing, grabbing his beer and his cigs off the table and headed to the bathrooms. They’d been at it pretty heavy on the dance floor. Maybe he was fucking her in a stall. That would be just his style, the fuckin’ pig. Dino’d brushed off three different women by the time he got to the bathrooms; the desperation was thick enough that he could almost taste it tonight.

O’Reily and his chick weren’t in the men’s bathrooms and he hesitated over the women’s, not wanting to bring that much attention to himself. He’d been trailing them for a couple of months now without their knowledge, he’d hate to ruin his advantage over something stupid like this. He thought about just leaving. He knew where the night would end up, and he had to be up early himself, but he didn’t go.

He didn’t want to think about why it was important that he know where they’d gone – he just needed to know. Just as he was steeling himself to brave the women’s can he saw the orange light of the Exit sign reflecting off the shiny black material of the skirt O’Reily’d been chasing all night. They were headed out the back door, and he followed, breathing a sigh of relief.

By the time he slipped out the back door, O’Reily had the girl shoved up against the wall across the alley, a mural painted on the wall behind her, lurid colors splashed across the concrete. He was humping her like he was some kind of dog or something, growling and panting, one hand under her top. Dino could tell he had her bra unhooked – he was squeezing her tit while she moaned in his ear. Silently, he slid behind a stack of empty boxes shoved up against the dumpster, his clothes blending into the shadows of the dimly lit alley.

O’Reily’s other hand was up that slut’s skirt, the flesh above her stockings almost glowing in the yellow light from the streetlamp at the front of the alley. He was rubbing at the crotch of her panties and Dino felt a jolt in his cock – he bet those panties were soaking wet. He leaned against the wall beside the dumpster and chugged the rest of his beer before setting the bottle on the pavement by his feet. He could almost smell the lust from all the way over the other side of the alley.

He could imagine slipping his fingers in under the cloth, feeling the slick slide of her pussy as he pushed his fingers inside, making her moan. He wanted to be there, wanted to feel her fingers fumble with his belt, pushing inside his jeans to pull his cock out. O’Reily’s pants slid slowly down his ass as she went to her knees and sucked his cock right into her mouth.

Dino grabbed his own cock through his jeans. Christ! He loved to have his cock sucked. He massaged his cock through the cloth as she grabbed O’Reily’s ass cheeks and squeezed. O’Reily cried out, and Dino took a deep breath, biting his tongue to try and calm himself down. This was crazy; he needed to get out of here. Needed to slip away before things went too far. He didn’t need to be watching this.

O’Reily moved his hands from the chick’s head to the painted wall behind her, his ass moving in and out like he was fucking her face and Dino forgot to breathe. That looked so good. He wanted that. He wanted to be fucking her mouth, to push himself in hard; to shove in so hard he made O’Reily choke on his dick.

What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want O’Reily to suck his cock. He wanted – fuck. Maybe he did. What better way to show him who was boss, to show him that he needed to respect Dino. He’d have O’Reily on his knees before him – his cock down O’Reily’s throat. And Dino would give it to him. He’d fuck O’Reily until he bled, until he pleaded for him to stop.

Dino ached to pull out his cock, but he didn’t want to take that chance. There was no way he was gonna get caught with his pants around his ankles while he watched someone else fuck in an alley. Anyone could open that door, some employee with bags of trash, or another couple looking for a quiet place to fuck. He pressed the palm of his hand to his hard-on and promised himself that he’d get relief soon.

The chick let go of O’Reily’s cock with a noisy sucking sound and slid up the length of O'Reily's body until they were face to face. It looked like she wanted a kiss, but O'Reily turned his face to the side. Smart move - he wouldn't kiss that mouth either. Dino forced himself to concentrate on them, to stop the fantasy running through his head of his cock tearing into O’Reily, because he needed to stay alert here. He couldn’t afford to be distracted like that while he was in such a precarious position.

O’Reily reached into his back pocket for that condom, and Dino smirked at him – oh yeah. This was getting good now. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth, rolled the latex on with shaking hands, then he lifted the girl’s leg, wrapping it around his hip, giving him clearer access to her cunt.

The girl gasped when O’Reily reached between her legs and ripped the crotch right out of her panties. It took all Dino’s effort not to laugh out loud at that. That was the first move O’Reily had ever made that he could applaud wholeheartedly. About time he did something right, the mother-fuckin’ fag boy. He clenched his cock hard right through the black denim and tried to calm himself down; there was no way he could walk if he needed to right now, he was so turned on.

The girl cried out loud when O’Reily shoved his cock in her, and then she pulled herself up, her arms around his shoulders, and wrapped both legs around his waist, holding tight while O’Reily’s white ass started a slow grind. Dino nodded as he watched – at least now he could see no signs of that miserable lack of rhythm O’Reily showed out on the dance floor. That was definitely more like it.

He could still show that asshole a thing or two about fucking, but at least here O’Reily moved with a sense of purpose he’d lacked before. Maybe that was it. Maybe he didn’t see the sense of dancing, not the way he saw it in fucking. Well, that was a mick for you.

Dino shifted slightly to get a better angle on the show they were putting on, and kicked his empty beer bottle. It fell over with a clink and he froze. He heard the girl say something and his heart just about stopped when O’Reily turned, looking in the shadows where he was standing.

Suddenly, O’Reily pulled back slightly, and the girl yelped, her legs letting go of O’Reily’s waist and dropping to the alley pavement. He fumbled, tucking himself awkwardly into his pants, the condom falling to the dirty pavement as he shoved the girl way.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“What? Fuck you, asshole!” The chick was obviously pretty pissed off, but O’Reily turned his back on her and stepped over to where he had a clearer view of Dino.

“Ortolani. I should have known. What, you need some help figuring out where to stick that tiny dick of yours, so you sneak around in alleys to see how a real man fucks?”

Dino took a step out of the shadows, no sense hiding now. “From what I saw you could barely find the right hole, O’Reily. No wonder you have to beg for pussy in a pit like this every week. There’s no way something like you could satisfy a fine slice like the one you got at home. I bet she won’t even let you near her, will she?”

Dino was angry, now. O’Reily always seemed to be able to piss him off faster than anyone he’d ever known. He used his anger to push aside his embarrassment at being caught like some peeping tom, and stepped up the insults. No defense like a good offense, right?

“At first I thought she must be frigid or something, if you have to go looking for it elsewhere, but I don’t think so now. But hey, if she is, you be sure and let her know I’ll be glad to help her out with that problem. I don’t have any problems keeping a woman satisfied.”

“Fuckin’ dago wop. I handle my wife just fine, but there’s nothing like a little variety – spice things up. And what the hell are you doing here if your wife is so happy with you? I can’t believe you’ve been watching me fuck. That’s just sick, man.”

Dino was practically in O’Reily’s face now – the cocksucker just pushed all his buttons, and it seemed like O’Reily felt the same. He was practically bristling with anger, his finger poking just inches from Dino’s chest. Asshole had better watch that. He didn’t have his trained gorilla to back him up, now – the first time he touched Dino he’d find out exactly how fast Dino could fuck him up.

He may be shorter than O’Reily, but Dino was a fighter. He was heavier, too – lots of meat on his bones, compared to that skinny-assed piece of white trash. O’Reily never lifted a finger in a fight if he could talk his way out of it; that’s how Dino knew he was shit in a fight. He was too smart to get caught fighting and show his weaknesses to everyone. That’s why he never did the dirty work himself.

Dino heard the door to the alley slam and realized O’Reily’s piece of ass had deserted him. Stupid cunt. Didn’t know what she was playing with out here. O’Reily looked over to the door, disgusted.

“Goddammit. Fuckin’ faggot, look what you cost me!”

That was it. That was the last straw. Dino swung, hardly realizing he’d done it – his fist was just there, connecting with O’Reily’s jaw with a solid thunk, the impact jarring Dino’s arm, all the way up his shoulder. O’Reily staggered backwards into the dumpster, knocking over the haphazard pile of boxes stacked there and only catching himself at the last second before he would have tumbled down with them.

Dino headed after him, but O’Reily pushed away and skirted around the mess, aiming for a clear spot away from potential stumbling blocks, anger and panic and cold calculation all vying for control of his face. Guess he remembered which ‘faggot’ he was messing with. That thought brought a fresh wave of rage with it and Dino just acted – a pure flash of brilliant white anger surging through him, pushing him forward, his fists flying.

When he got this angry, he never remembered the details of what he had done, afterwards. So when O’Reily fell to his knees, one hand against the alley wall for support, Dino stepped back, breathing hard, not at all surprised to see that O’Reily’s face was bleeding in two places and that the way he was clutching his ribs, he’d be lucky if they were only badly bruised. O’Reily wasn’t a coward, that’s for sure – he pushed himself to his feet, his hands coming up in fists to protect himself from Dino’s anger.

“Fuckin’ --”

Dino was on top of him, pushing him into the wall face first. “Don’t you fucking say it, asshole. Don’t you even fuckin’ think it.” He was pressed up against the length of O’Reily – could feel the tremors as he fought to get away, get turned around so he could at least face his enemy, but Dino held him tight. He shoved O’Reily hard, Dino’s whole body pressed up forcefully against the bastard’s back.

“Who’s the fuckin’ faggot now, O’Reily? Huh? Who is it?”

He ground his dick into O’Reily’s ass as he spoke. This was good. He'd accused Dino of being a faggot; now he could get a dose of what would happen if he really were. O’Reily fought against him, but Dino had the advantage of weight, and he pressed O’Reily tightly against the wall, his face smashed against the lurid pinks and bright glossy blues of the mural.

This was more like it. It felt good – showing O’Reily what a real man could do, so he took it a step further, circling his hips, keeping up the pressure on his hard cock, his thrusts fierce and brutal, fucking his ass right through his clothes. O’Reily moaned, and he felt his pelvis shift like he was searching for a better angle for his cock, up against the wall. Dino leaned in close and spoke in his ear, his voice rough and breathy.

“You like this, don’t you, you cunt. It’s just what you’ve wanted all along. A fat cock for your pussy. I’d show you how a ‘real man’ fucks. You want it, don’t you? Tell me.”

O’Reily struggled against the wall, his hands scrabbling for purchase against the slick surface he was pressed against, his eyes tightly shut.

“Fuck you. I don’t want anything from you, you fuckin’ greaseball. Let me go.”

But his hips were telling a different story, as he pushed himself back against Dino’s bulk, his breath coming in quicker, rougher pants, a moan low in his throat, sending a surge of lust through Dino. The rush of the power he held over O’Reily made the blood practically boil in his veins. He was so hard – as hard as he could ever remember.

He wanted to rip those jeans off O’Reily’s ass and fuck him bloody, show him who was in charge. And O’Reily would take it; he’d spread his legs for Dino, like he was doing now, pushing back against his cock like he’d die if he didn’t get fucked right now.

“Oh, yeah. You want it. You want my dick in your ass, don’t you? Want me to show you who you belong to. Want me to prove to you once and for all who’s the real man around here. You’re the fag here, O’Reily, and you know it.”

O’Reily shook his head, roughly. “You’re the one shoving his cock at my ass --” He tried to say more but Dino thrust harshly, pushing him further up the wall and his words turned into a long, drawn-out moan. “Oh, god! Please!”

“Please? What do you want from me, cunt? Huh? You want more? You want harder?” Dino leaned closer and whispered hotly in O’Reily’s ear, “You want me to fuck you, faggot? Is that what you want?” He pushed savagely against him. “You want this up your ass?”

O’Reily’s voice was broken, and Dino could feel his body trembling like he was right on the edge. “No!” He swallowed. “I want you to stop, you fuckin’ --” He cut off before he said it, and Dino smiled cruelly and laughed. Guess he'd learned that lesson; he might be smarter than Dino thought.

“Do you really want that, O’Reily? You really want me to stop? You’re practically begging for it, aren’t you? Your ass pushing back into my hips. I can tell when a piece of pussy wants it, and you want it. I know you do, your body can’t lie to me.”

Dino pulled back slightly, and O’Reily gasped in confusion at the easing of the pressure on his cock. “What?”

He slipped his hand around O’Reily’s hip, and slid it around to the hard bulge in O’Reily’s jeans. He could feel the wet at the tip where the precome had soaked the material.

“Oh, yeah. You want it, don’t you?” He squeezed hard and O’Reily’s whole body just convulsed, his arms and legs going stiff as he shouted his orgasm at the wall, his hips thrusting against Dino’s hand, his body shaking.

Dino couldn’t take it any more. He had to come. He grabbed at O’Reily hips again and started to thrust, pushing grunts out of O’Reily as he battered against his ass, his hands shaking on his skinny hips. He felt like a battering ram, pushing relentlessly – wildly, like he could pierce O’Reily’s asshole right through both their clothes.

There! That was it – right there! When he came he cried out wordlessly. Yeah. That was it. He gasped harshly against O’Reily’s shoulder, his hot breath making the shirt damp as he brought his teeth together sharply through the material. O’Reily jerked, but didn’t try to push him off. He was still trembling and gasping, and as Dino pulled away from him, he slowly slid down the wall, his knees taking the brunt of his fall until he twisted around to sit on the dirty pavement.

Dino looked down at O’Reily, his legs sprawled, head back against the wall, taking huge gasps of air trying to get his breathing under control, and stop his body from trembling. There was a big wet spot on the front of his faded jeans, and Dino couldn’t help but laugh as he took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag off it before shrugging, then leaning down and holding it to O’Reily’s mouth.

O’Reily took it with his lips, avoiding the split in the corner that still bled sluggishly and sucked in deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke up at Dino who was busy lighting another. His voice was shaky as he squinted up at Dino, “Asshole. You bit me. Fucking scumbag.”

Dino laughed again, and turned and walked away. “At least I’m not a faggot.” He heard O’Reily’s harsh laugh following him out of the alley as he headed toward his car.

“Yeah, right. You didn’t get off on my ass at all, did you? Not at all.”

Dino found his car on autopilot, unlocked his door, and slid into the cool interior, thinking that he’d stop at a gas station on the way home and switch into the spare jeans he always kept in the trunk of his car. He frowned, hearing O’Reily’s words in his head as he started the car and drove away.

“I am not a faggot. I. Am. Not.”

End

HBO's Oz, One Show Nightly - A Drabble, Jaz Hoyt, Schillinger/Beecher, NC17

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 00:53:16 GMT

Title: One Show Nightly
Characters/Pairings: Jaz Hoyt, Schillinger/Beecher
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: NonCon, Voyeurism
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Spoilers: General Season One
Word Count: 100 words
Notes: Written for Hard Time 100's 128th Challenge: Glass Houses. Originally posted November 4th, 2007.

One Show Nightly

Hoyt’s hand moved stealthily under his blanket, eyes on the scene on the other side of the glass. Schillinger’s grunts and the sharp slap of flesh on flesh were muffled but loud enough. He squeezed his cock harder, his breath coming fast – this was the moment he waited for every night. As Schillinger collapsed on Beecher’s back he heard them – sobs of pain and despair that Beecher only ever let escape in this moment. The sweet anguish in those cries sent him over and Hoyt came with a smothered gasp.

He grinned, wiping off his hand. “Best show in town.”

HBO's Oz, The Fuckin' Angel of Mercy - A Drabble, Dino Ortolani, R

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 00:07:02 GMT

Title: The Fuckin' Angel of Mercy
Character: Dino Ortolani
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, Homophobia
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Spoilers: Season One, Episode One: The Routine
Word Count: 100 words
Notes: Written for Ozsaur's The Return of Oz Drabble Tree. Originally posted on September 3, 2007.

The Fuckin' Angel of Mercy

“Please, help me die?”

What the hell do I look like? The fuckin’ Angel of Mercy? I watch Sanchez as I smoke his last cigarette. He don’t want it. He just wants to die. I could do that for him – an Angel of Death. One less junkie fag ain’t gonna make a difference to anyone. ‘Cept maybe a three year old girl.

How the hell did a faggot get a kid, anyway? She’s better off without him. Just like mine are better off without me. We both got life sentences – his is just gonna be shorter than mine.

Lucky bastard.

SG-1, Under the Influence - A Drabble, Jack/Daniel, NC17

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 23:42:22 GMT

Title: Under the Influence
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Beta: ozsaur, my hero and shit
Rating: NC17
Warnings: NonCon, DubCon
Word Count: 100 words
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for Insane Journal's Bring Back the Porn Challenge 2007. Originally written on September 1, 2007.

Under the Influence

Daniel cried out – the ropes scraping against his wrists, stinging the abraded skin as he struggled. Jack laughed into his ear – cruel and rough as he pushed his way inside, muffling Daniel’s screams into his pillow. Jack fucked him brutally – Daniel’s grunts of pain only pushing Jack’s fevered lust higher. He bit the smooth flesh of Daniel’s shoulder as he came, his hips jerking fiercely – pushing Daniel up the bed with the force of his thrusts, smirking as Daniel trembled under him.

Finally, Jack rolled over and Daniel sighed. “Damned wet spot. Next time, I get to be the alien.”

HBO's Oz, Nightmare World - A Drabble, Beecher/Robson & Cutler/Robson, NC17

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 23:12:50 GMT

Title: Nightmare World
Pairings: Beecher/Robson, Cutler/Robson
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Rating: NC-17
Taboos/Warnings: NonCon
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Spoilers: Season Two, Episode One: The Tip
Word Count: 100 words
Notes: Written for Hardtime 100's 125th Challenge: Bite. Dedicated to Ozsaur for giving me the bunny. Originally posted on September 1, 2007.

Nightmare World

The nightmare is always the same. Painfully bright - like a strobe light.

flash

Lying on his bunk rubbing his cock through his boxers.

flash

Beecher on his knees - hot breath on his thighs.

flash

The cold shock of horror as teeth meet teeth through the thickness of flesh.

Pain shatters his troubled sleep and he wakes still screaming.

“Goddammit, Robson! I told you what I’d do if you woke me in the middle of the night again. Where the fuck did you put that spoon?”

Hot tears fall, scalding his cheeks. This nightmare is never going to end.