dance to the music i hear inside my head

FRIENDS CUT DONE.

2009-10-19T19:04:32Z

I have been unhappy with Livejournal for some time now and in an attempt to get happier posting on here again, it's time to cut my flist. There are people who have me friended that I have no idea who you are or where you came from; there are dead journals; and there are people that I just feel I've grown apart from.

If you were cut (hovering the mouse over my icon seems to work, if it doesn't say mutual...) please remove me from your list as well. If I never added you back to begin with, please defriend me also. No hard feelings towards anyone, I just have my own reasons for finally doing this.

I am about to start the process of making this journal almost completely Friend's Only, this is in preparation for that. If I didn't defriend you, I hope that you'll enjoy staying on my flist, but to anybody who's been waiting for the chance, please take this time to defriend me as well. Comments are screened for anyone who has anything to say, but this is done.

if I don't come home covered in fake blood then i haven't done my job as a horror director.

2009-08-26T03:28:17Z

My dad and I saw Inglourious Basterds tonight. He doesn't know whether or not he liked it, but I think it was kind of an awesome piece of art. I'm not really a huge Quentin Tarantino fan, but this movie made me really respect his work. And Eli Roth's even more than I already did, because he directed a film-within-the-film that I thought was done gorgeously. And this is where this turns into me fangirling Eli Roth and horror movies, somehow.

Now. I love Eli Roth's stuff, I love him, I am really attracted to the guy. I had heard/read before that he was a member of the so-called Splat Pack ("the group has been credited with bringing back ultra-violent movies, as well as moving away from PG-13 rated movies and into the R-rated spectrum, all while operating with low budgets"), but tonight, I actually looked at the full list of Splat Pack members and Splat Pack movies. I know I'm a horror movie fan. It is my absolute favourite genre, and I try not to miss any that get released to my theatre, on the off chance that it will be amazing and actually scare me, or it will just be super gory and awesome. Some people hate that stuff, I completely live for it. Tonight, I am proud to say that I have seen at least one movie by every member of the Splat Pack.

Alexandre Aja - The Hills Have Eyes
Darren Lynn Bousman - Saw II, Saw III, Saw IV
Neil Marshall - The Descent
Greg McLean - Wolf Creek
Eli Roth - Cabin Fever, Hostel, Hostel II
James Wan - Dead Silence, Death Sentence
Leigh Whannell - Saw, Saw II, Saw III, Dead Silence
Rob Zombie - House of 1000 Corpses, The Devil's Rejects, Halloween

Now, I know, not much of an accomplishment, I'm sure that more than one somebody on my flist can step up and say the same thing, but as the horror movie fan I am, this made me really happy. And what's more, I liked all the movies I saw. Which I'm sure not everybody will say, because I know a lot of people who shudder to even think about watching them. But these movies, these movies are my movies! Call it torture porn, call it crap, call it whatever, I would watch it any day of the week.

So, to sum it all up: Inglourious Basterds is a gorgeous art film, Eli Roth is an even bigger god to me and I would do naughty things with him, those horror directors do it the best and I'm undeservingly proud of seeing so many of them. Plus, Halloween 2 this weekend! Another movie to add to the list.

i am pretty sure i am a doppleganger for alan alda.

2009-07-29T21:03:20Z

I think that I am starting to like Megan Fox a lot more than I ever wanted to like Megan Fox. I don't really like to watch her on the red carpet, or when she's all sexed up, but I have seen some gorgeous photo shoots of her just looking pretty, not with her tongue sticking out or anything, and when she's just out and natural, she's kind of gorgeous. I think once I made a picture of my desktop and got excited to see Jennifer's Body, that's when I figured out I didn't dislike her. I actually am really excited for Jennifer's Body, and I hope that it will disprove my theory that she's not really that great of an actress. I think that she tries too hard, or plays too much into the sex symbol idea (I've never seen anybody lick their lips as much as her), which is why I like it when she's just being pretty and normal.

God, next thing you know, I'll start to get a girl crush on Taylor Momsen. Okay, haha, yeah right, that one I know for sure will never happen. Leave me alone, you converters! I dislike Taylor a lot more than I ever disliked Megan.

Random, but I was out in the sun all day, so maybe it all went to my head and made me write this. By tomorrow, I'm sure she'll say something equally as dumb as other crap she says and she'll just annoy me all over again.

splash.

2009-06-26T15:52:02Z

No spoilers, but Harper's Island was one of the saddest things ever this week. And that made it a great episode, I think. I don't know if other people will like it, but I thought it was really good.

Star Trek 2009: McCoy/Chekov NC-17

2009-06-12T16:24:45Z

Title: You Got Me Into This, Information Overload Situation Lost Control
Fandom: Star Trek 2009. It could be Star Trek TOS, but then it wouldn’t be these two GQMFs.
Disclaimer: I’m not Gene Roddenberry, JJ Abrams, or anybody else who ever had a part in Star Trek. And I’m not claiming them as my own.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Leonard McCoy/Pavel Chekov
Warnings: Chekov may still be seventeen in this story, I haven’t decided. Takes place after the movie but there are no spoilers for the movie.
Summary: The crew is on leave on Tellar Prime when Chekov throws Scotty’s scotch on a Tellarite. When he then proceeds to get punched in the face, McCoy, who had been hoping for an actual vacation, has to heal his ass. Chekov sees it as an opening to finally bring up the subject of them having sex together.

Chekov raised his hand to Scotty, nodding as he tipped his glass to clink against his. “Budem zdorovy,” he cheered, bringing his drink to his mouth.

Scotty looked at Chekov, slightly confused, mouth open. “Ah, yes,” he nodded. He mumbled indiscernibly, “to you too. Slainte mhath, my little Russian friend!” Scotty tipped his drink backsighing in pleasure when he finished drinking it down. Scotty squinted, reaching out to take Chekov’s glass from him, examining the vodka inside. “What, what it is, exactly? Only looks like water. I know you’re young but I thought you were still a man.”

Chekov took his glass back from Scotty quickly, downing the rest of it. “In Russia, only little old women drink scotch, Mister Scott.”

Scotty shrugged, lifting his glass up to his eye, frowning as he looked at the empty bottom. “From what I hear, Mister Chekov, the Russian women are a little manlier than the men.” He set his glass back down and picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch. “Can I offer you something that will put a little hair on your chest?” He tipped the bottle over Chekov’s glass to pour, but Chekov quickly pushed his glass out of the way.

“Thank you, Mister Scott,” Chekov said politely, if not annoyed, “but I am very happy with-”

“Oh, come on now!” Scotty protested, following Chekov’s glass over the table, still reading to pour. “Just a little bit for ya, won’t hurt nothing.”

“Try the vodka then,” Chekov suggested, keeping his glass out of Scotty’s reach.

Scotty sputtered, shaking his head in disgust, and pushed himself up. Chekov reached out to his glass again but before he could cover it or move it away, Scotty managed to pour the brown liquid into the shot. “Aha!” he cheered in success, sitting back down. “Now, no man could possibly deny the-”

Chekov picked up his glass and thrust it over his shoulder, throwing the liquid behind him.

Scotty’s mouth fell open and he stared past Chekov in disbelief.

Chekov smirked proudly and heavily dropped his glass on the table in front of him. As Scotty continued to stare, Chekov laughed softly. “Mister Scott, it’s just scotch.”

Scotty shook his head. Chekov frowned and glanced behind him, all expression fading from his face. The Tellarite stood behind him, the top of his head wet with scotch running down his face and snout in tiny rivulets. “Oh,” was the only thing Chekov could say, jumping in his seat when the Tellarite stomped forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” the alien demanded angrily, nostrils flaring. “We allow you onto our planet and you insult us by throwing your drinks around?”

Chekov shook his head. “I was trying to insult Mister Scott, not you.”

“Hey!” Scotty protested.

“Well,” Chekov shrugged quietly.

“Stand up and fight like a man,” the Tellarite demanded.

“If he stands up,” Scotty began, “I think he may have a sizable advantage over you, sir.” His mouth shut and his eyes widened when the Tellarite’s glare shifted to him. “Ah, perhaps you should stand up and fight the man, Chekov.”

Chekov slowly pushed his chair back, stumbling slightly over the chair leg as he stood. “I won’t fight you, but I will offer an apology.”

Kirk grinned and turned around on his stool, leaning back on his elbows on the bar. He brought his drink up and quickly shot it down. He gasped and reached out, clasping onto McCoy’s shoulder. “This is what it’s about, Bones.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, jerking his shoulder away from Kirk. “Drinking yourself into a goddamn stupor and ending up in my sickbay tomorrow worried you’ve come down with some sexually transmitted alien infection.”

Kirk laughed once and grinned. “You always say that like it’s a bad thing.” He tilted his head back, raising his hand. “Uh, three more over here,” he said to the bartender. He looked back at McCoy. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine,” McCoy gritted, looking around the bar. He straightened up and sighed, looking at Kirk. “Do you plan on doing any captaining on this trip?”

Kirk shrugged. “I think we’re adults here, Bones. And I’m always captaining. I’m Captain. It’s a permanent thing.” He picked up one his shots, clinking it against an imaginary glass in the air.

McCoy sighed heavily, reaching back to snatch one of Kirk’s shots off the bar. “Since you’ve got more experience in bar fights, how about I play back-up on this one?”

“What are you talking about, Bones?” Kirk asked, shaking his head.

McCoy stood up and grabbed onto Kirk’s arm, jerking him off the stool. He led Kirk over to the fight he had noticed earlier, thrusting him into the middle of it.

Chekov immediately straightened up, arms by his side. “Captain,” he said, nodding once.

“So, what’s uh, what’s going on here?” Kirk asked, looking back and forth between Chekov and the Tellarite.

“I tried to apologize, Captain,” Chekov explained, “but-”

“Apologize for what?” Kirk interrupted.

“Your little boy threw his drink on me,” the Tellarite man replied to Kirk. “I demanded that he fight me.” He raised his slightly hoof-like hand up to the Russian, trying to get at his face again.

Chekov stumbled back, hitting the table.

“Alright, alright,” Kirk said, raising his hand between them. He thought for a moment, looked at the alien, then Chekov, then Scotty who was nursing the scotch bottle. “You know what?” he said, his words starting to slur and McCoy sighed when Kirk swayed on his feet. “I think that I might just puke. Chekov, handle this.”

“Captain!” Chekov protested, pushing himself up to stand again.

“What?” Kirk asked. He patted Chekov on the shoulder, leaning down to his ear. “They’re like little pigs anyway,” he murmured drunkenly, “you’ll be fine.” He grinned and straightened up, starting off towards the bathroom.

McCoy scowled as Kirk walked by him, shaking his head. The Tellarite moved closer to Chekov, bringing his fist back. He waited another moment before he sighed and reached out, grabbing onto Chekov as the Tellarite swung. He jerked him out of the way, pulling him from the table. “Goddamn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a baby-sitter.” Following after Kirk, he kept pulling Chekov with him until he realized it. He stopped walking, let go of his arm and clasped his hands onto his shoulders. “As the medical officer chiefly responsible for your health--”

Chekov shook his head. “Nyet, he did not hit me,” he assured him, assuming that McCoy was about to offer him medical advice.

“I’m ordering you to get your ass back to the Enterprise,” McCoy finished with a command, letting go of him and following after Kirk again.

“Oh,” Chekov said quietly, slightly disappointed, watching McCoy walk away. He looked up when Scotty appeared beside him, holding his bottle up to his mouth.

“I think the Captain handled that well,” Scotty said, looking back at Chekov. “Are you going back to the ship?”

Chekov looked at McCoy again, then shook his head. “Nyet,” he replied. Scotty and Chekov turned together back to their table. Chekov cried out as the fist hit his face. “Bozhe moy!” he muttered as the pain radiated from his nose to the rest of his head.

“Where’s your captain now?” the Tellarite demanded.

“Uh, I think he went to the toilet,” Scotty said, sticking his thumb up over his shoulder, showing the Tellarite the direction.

Chekov wavered on his feet as he bent over and clutched at his head.

Scotty moved his arm around Chekov, holding onto him. “Are we done here now?” he asked, and the Tellarite nodded once before storming off. “Christ kiddie, let me look at what he did to ya!”

Chekov lifted his head, blood from his nose flowing freely onto his hands. Scotty flinched, hiding the look of disgust on his face by looking around for the doctor.

“You just let me go find somebody to take care of that, eh?” Scotty asked, stepping back. “Looks fine, hardly a mark.” He jogged after McCoy, who was back to sitting at the bar. “Ah, doctor? A moment, please?”

“Goddamnit,” McCoy muttered, slamming down his shot glass before turning around in his seat. “What is it now?” he demanded.

“Ah,” Scotty was breathing heavily, “Chekov…the fist got him right in the nose. He’s bleeding all over the place.” McCoy stared at Scotty, apparently waiting for him to continue. “I’m sorry, are you not on duty?”

“I was hoping I’d have a night off,” McCoy explained, climbing off the stool, “but I guess I can just never be that lucky.” As he moved through the small crowd of people he could see Chekov sitting at the table, hand squeezing his nose. “Leave it to Jim to let you try and fight,” he muttered, sitting down beside Chekov, taking his hand away from his face. He squeezed Chekov’s nose.

“Ow!” Chekov cried, flinching back.

“It’s not broke,” McCoy assured him, “and since you don’t appear to be bleeding to death, I can safely assess that you’re going to be fine.” He looked down at his hand, now smudged with Chekov’s blood and frowned. “Wash up and pinch it until the bleeding stops.” He stood back up, letting Chekov put his hand back to his face.

“That is it?” Chekov asked in surprise, looking up.

He turned his head to Scotty. “You couldn’t have fixed it yourself?” McCoy asked quietly. He looked back to Chekov. “You start picking bone fragments out of your nostril or the bleeding won’t quit, you find me. Until then, it’s not an emergency. I've been cleaning up after bar fights my whole career and this ain’t nothing.”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov nodded obediently, sighing as he shifted in his seat, his arm getting tired.

* * * *

Chekov looked around the bar that appeared to have it hit its peak hour with patrons. He quickly looked away when he saw the Tellarite still glaring angrily at him, and he decided to stand up. He walked away from his table and kept an eye out for anybody left from the Enterprise crew. He headed towards the bar, halting and looking around awkwardly when he saw McCoy still there, drinking. He didn’t plan on bothering the doctor, but he assumed any attempt at conversation would be a bother after how annoyed he was after his nosebleed. He turned his direction to the other end of the bar, sitting down on one of the stools.

McCoy saw Chekov move out of the corner of his eye, hunched slightly over the bar. He sighed and turned in his chair, looking past the two other customers at the bar to look at Chekov. “Kid!” he called out after a moment’s debate.

Chekov lifted his head, looking at McCoy. He straightened up quickly and stepped off his stool. “Aye, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed heavily and waved Chekov over, glancing at the empty stool beside him.

Chekov hurried over to the doctor and sat down, smiling brightly up at him. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“How’s the nose?” McCoy asked, turning back to face the bar, picking up his glass.

“Very good, sir,” Chekov nodded, “thank you.”

“Great,” McCoy muttered, taking a drink.

“Did the captain leave?” Chekov asked, turning on his stool to look around.

“I wouldn’t be giving away his seat if he didn’t,” McCoy remarked.

“Ah,” Chekov said quietly, nodding. “Do you want me to buy you a drink?” he asked suddenly, looking over at McCoy, spinning on his stool, going back to facing the bar from facing the crowd.

McCoy scoffed, picking up his shot. “I don’t need you to buy a drink for me,” he snapped, bringing it up to his mouth, the strong alcohol a relief.

Without hesitation, Chekov continued, “will you buy a drink for me?” he asked hopefully.

McCoy took the glass away from his mouth, looking down at for a moment before setting it down on the bar and gesturing to the bartender. When another shot appeared, Chekov eagerly reached out to take it from him, licking his lips before drinking. “I thought I was too goddamn old for anything else to surprise me,” he muttered, watching Chekov’s neck as he threw the shot back.

Chekov gasped as he took the glass away, eyes opening. He coughed once , clearing his throat. “I prefer vodka,” he said, wincing as he swallowed hard, the taste McCoy’s alcohol still lingering in his throat.

“You got a point here, kid, or are you just planning on making me angry and drunk?”

“I think you would have a good time in my room,” Chekov suggested.

“What?” McCoy asked loudly, jerking his head towards Chekov.

“On the ship,” Chekov explained. McCoy continued to stare at Chekov, who shrugged. “Your room?” he corrected.

“How hard did that alien hit you, Ensign?” McCoy asked. He reached out to grab onto Chekov’s chin, making him face him to look into his eyes. “I don’t think you got a concussion.”

Chekov smiled and shook his head, looking down at McCoy’s hand. “I feel fine,” he replied. “I understand, Doctor, I never brought it up before because I did not know--”

“You’ve thought about this before?” McCoy interrupted in surprise.

“Da,” Chekov nodded eagerly, “and since you are here alone and I am now here alone and you invited me to sit with you and--”

“And you’re too young,” McCoy snapped. “Or I’m too old,” he finished quietly.

“I do not think so,” Chekov assured him, but he climbed off the stool anyway. “Thank you for the drink, Doctor. Dasvidania.” He walked away from the bar, moving through and around the small groups of people towards the exit.

McCoy sighed and quickly raised his hand for another shot. “Thanks,” he said, throwing it back and standing up. He walked out of the bar, straightening up when he saw Chekov standing feet away, his communicator up by his mouth. He cleared his throat and walked over, standing by Chekov. “We’re ready, Enterprise,” he said.

Chekov looked up in surprise. “Beam us up,” he finished.

* * * *

The sound of Chekov’s door opening made McCoy open his eyes and pull back from their kiss long enough to usher the two of them into the room. The door closed behind them and the kiss began again, McCoy gripping the sides of Chekov’s head tightly, fingers dug into his curls and tilting his head back.

Chekov smiled against McCoy’s lips, licking his way into his mouth. He pulled back, laughing softly. “You taste like the alcohol,” he admitted, kissing him again.

“Expect it regularly,” McCoy said, giving Chekov’s room one quick look before pulling off his shirt, dropping it then moving to grasp onto Chekov’s.

Chekov took over, pulling off his own shirt, giving McCoy the time to get his pants down off his hips. Chekov dropped his shirt as he dropped down to the floor, shifting on his knees in front of McCoy.

McCoy swallowed hard, taking a sharp breath when Chekov’s fingertips curled around the top of his briefs and started tugging them down along with his slacks. “You don’t need to do that, kid,” he assured him quietly, halfheartedly.

“You do not want it?” Chekov looked up in surprise.

“Not what I said,” McCoy replied, giving the room another look to try and distract himself from the fact that the kid on his knees was, in fact, practically a kid, but the mementos from home and family scattered on the desk and shelves weren’t helping. He groaned as Chekov’s mouth moved over the head of his dick, sucking gently. He let out a heavy breath and his fingers went back to his hair, tightening when Chekov sucked a little harder.

Chekov moved his mouth down, licking lightly and sucking. He moaned as he himself became more aroused, his own dick pressed tightly against the fabric of his briefs and pants. He opened his eyes, batting them when he saw McCoy watching him. He smiled as he pulled back, a line of spit connecting them. “Will you call me Pavel?”

“Holy hell I’ll call you whatever you want,” McCoy assured him hurriedly. He cleared his throat and looked away, finding time to be slightly embarrassed after that as Chekov licked his lips and moved down the full length again. McCoy swallowed hard and gently tugged on the hair at the nape of Chekov’s neck.

Chekov pulled off, breathing heavily, chest heaving as he looked up at McCoy with darkened eyes and swollen lips. “Yes?” he asked, moving back in surprise when McCoy slowly got down on his knees in front of him, pulling him in for a kiss. Chekov laid his hands on McCoy’s chest, moving them up through the dark hair and over the lean muscles to rest on the curve of his shoulders.

McCoy broke the kiss and reached down, undoing Chekov’s pants. Chekov’s breath quickened and his mouth fell to McCoy’s neck when his hand found his cock in his briefs, starting to jerk him slowly. McCoy groaned and tilted his head to the side, giving Chekov more room as he continued to move his hand. “God k-- Pavel,” he groaned, releasing Chekov and moving his hands back to grip tightly at his ass. Chekov lifted himself off the backs of his ankles, straightening up and McCoy went to work at tugging his pants off his hips. Chekov struggled slightly to push himself up, his pants falling down. McCoy looked up at him as he pulled them down the rest of the way, his lips and teeth going to Chekov’s thighs as Chekov stepped out of the fabric.

Chekov closed his eyes and cupped McCoy’s head, breathing quickly as his mouth moved closer to his full, heavy dick, now free of his briefs. “Please, Doctor,” he breathed, starting to waver on his feet.

“Get on the bed,” McCoy commanded, jerking his head over in the direction of Chekov’s mattress.

Chekov nodded jerkily, stumbling back a step or two, “yes, sir,” he said, looking behind him to make sure he knew where he was headed. He dropped to the mattress, pushing himself up towards the pillows.

McCoy pushed himself up and kicked off his pants, starting to look frantically around the room. “You got anything?” he demanded.

“Anything?” Chekov repeated, eyes widening.

“Anything, anything,” McCoy nodded, waving his hands around. “Lubricant, prophylactics.”

Chekov nodded, waving McCoy over to the bed before reaching over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and bringing out a tube of lube. He looked down in embarrassment when he realized that the doctor knew exactly what he had been using it for previously, and he handed it to McCoy.

“Nothing else?” McCoy asked, expecting a condom.

Chekov shrugged, slamming the drawer shut. “I am out.”

It took McCoy a moment to repeat, “out? How often do you use them?” he asked.

Chekov sighed and laid back on the bed, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the bed. “I think we shall begin, now, da?”

McCoy rubbed at his face with one hand as he opened the lube with the other. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he muttered to himself. He sighed and shook his head, bringing his legs up onto the mattress, getting on his knees between Chekov’s legs, dropping the tube and smearing the slick on his fingers. He moved over him and leaned down as he pushed his fingers inside. Chekov gasped and arched up, pushing their lips together.

“Ah,” Chekov panted, head falling back against the pillow. “Doctor?” he whimpered, head going to the side, reaching up to cup the back of McCoy’s head.

“What?” McCoy asked, moving his mouth over Chekov’s chest, dragging his tongue around the pale skin to follow it up with gentle nips from his teeth.

“Is this necessary?” Chekov asked, groaning and whining, toes curling and hips lifting off the bed as McCoy continually pressed upon his prostate.

McCoy roughly pulled Chekov’s nipple into his mouth, it already hard on his chest, pushing his tongue around it as he slipped his fingers out from Chekov. He lifted his head and straightened up, pulling Chekov’s legs askew over and around his hips. He moved forward and jerked himself with what left of the lube on his hand, positioning himself against Chekov. He quickly thrust his hips in, pausing for a moment before rocking back and forth on the mattress, his dick quickly sliding in and almost all the way out, over and over again. One of McCoy’s hands held tightly onto Chekov’s thigh, while the other moved to his cock, jerking him with the time of his thrusts.

Chekov’s fingers curled until his nails were digging into his palms, unable to keep himself from moving and moaning as it was pleasure overload, but McCoy still didn’t seem to be getting him there quickly enough. “Doctor,” he began, trying to uncurl his fingers, trying to reach out to him.

“If I,” McCoy began, grunting with his thrusts, “gotta call you Pavel…” his head fell forward for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Chekov stared at McCoy questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

McCoy quickly lifted his head, flipping his hair off his forehead. “Leonard!” he finished, rolling his eyes when Chekov nodded eagerly. “Get it?”

“Da,” Chekov smiled, trying to push himself up on his elbows, pulling McCoy down onto him. “Leonard,” he whispered, moving his lips to his, licking his mouth open.

McCoy shifted his legs, his hips rocking into Chekov with ease, their lips moving together and Chekov’s hands began their wandering over McCoy’s body. He murmured his name despite himself, moving his mouth down his jaw then up his neck, breathing heavily in his ear, tongue licking the shell.

Chekov chuckled softly, tilting his head away from McCoy. He gasped when McCoy bit down on his shoulder and thumbed the head of his dick, his fingernails taking their turn in McCoy’s skin as his muscles tightened and he came, shooting into long, thin stripes on both their stomachs. Fragmented sentences of Russian began slipping out of his mouth as he continued to jerk in the aftershocks against McCoy, whimpering quietly.

McCoy only grunted loudly as Chekov tightened and jerked around him, the guttural noise coming to an end with a crack in his throat as he came inside him, continuing to thrust his way through the rest until both of them were simply breathing heavily, muscles tired and relaxed. Their eyes met for a moment before McCoy cleared his throat and looked down, carefully pulling out of the ensign. He sat up, Chekov’s position on the mattress not leaving a lot of room for him to do anything else, and cleared his throat again. “I should really--”

“I make room,” Chekov offered happily, closing his legs and stretching them out before moving closer to the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, thanks,” McCoy said, scratching his shoulder as he laid down next to him, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, shifting to get comfortable. He couldn’t help but look over to Chekov, who was watching the ceiling with a smile on his face, hands folded comfortably on his stomach. “And you’re just okay with this?” he asked.

“With what?” Chekov asked, turning his head towards him.

“With what we just did,” McCoy explained. “With what we’re doing now.”

Chekov nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “And you?”

“You’re too damn young and I’m too damn old,” McCoy began quickly. “We’re crew members, it’s your job to make sure we get where the hell we’re going and I’m supposed to make sure everybody is healthy enough do it.”

“I don’t understand why that concerns this,” Chekov said.

“Goddamnit, neither do I,” McCoy admitted, shaking his head and letting his eyes close. “What I’m trying to say is…” He trailed off, trying to think about what he was actually trying to say and finally he just sighed, opening his eyes again. “What I’m trying to say is either you’re gonna have to go find some goddamn rubbers or we do this in my room next time.”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov nodded. “Although I do not--”

“Because I’m chief medical officer and I say so,” McCoy interrupted. “Get it?”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov said again. “Do you need to go back to medical bay now?”

“Why the hell would I?” McCoy asked. “I’ve only got two patients tonight, and while your nose looks fine, I’m inclined to let Jim suffer a little longer from whatever issues he’ll be having in the morning. And I guess since we’re remaining in orbit for a few more hours, you’re free too.”

“Yes,” Chekov nodded. “Does that mean we should get ready to go to your room for the next time?”

McCoy looked at Chekov in surprise, who was looking at him back. “Ah, what the hell,” he said, waving his hand. “We’re already here and I know both our medical histories.” When Chekov eagerly pushed himself up to climb onto McCoy, McCoy had to push his hand against his chest. “This is a part of the I’m too damn old bit, kid.”

“Pavel,” Chekov corrected.

“Pavel,” McCoy repeated. “Sit your ass down and entertain yourself for a few minutes while I get ready for the next time.”

Chekov smiled and waited a moment, but didn’t lay back down. Instead, he pushed himself up further and moved his legs over McCoy’s hips, settling onto his lap.

“Pavel,” McCoy protested. “I just said--”

Chekov continued to smile and pressed a finger to McCoy’s mouth. He leaned down and gave him a kiss, moving his hands over his chest as he moved his mouth to McCoy’s ear. “I think this will help you get ready.” He pulled back and kissed him again. “You’re not so old, Leonard,” he assured him.

McCoy gripped the back of his neck and pulled Chekov back down into the kiss, forcing his mouth open with his tongue. Chekov's tongue moved alongside his until Chekov pulled back and licked his lips.

“I will entertain you while we wait.”

"omigod, total 80's flashback!"

2009-05-16T23:07:53Z

Valley Girls. Oh my god, Gossip Girl this week! Okay, I hated like, two-thirds of it, but the third of it that was the backdoor pilot...I need that show to be picked up! I don't care, as of now I've only heard one report that they're not picking it up, so I still have faith. Because I already love Shep (Shep! It's just Dick Casablancas in the eighties!) and Carol. If Valley Girls gets picked up, I don't even think I'll need actual Gossip Girl anymore. I am over Gossip Girl. Seriously, the eighties totally rocked. The wardrobe, gah. I want.

Move over the-getting-old couples of Gossip Girl, Shep/Carol, Dick/Gia v2.0, and future!Lily/Keith (why isn't Matt Barr on every show I watch again?) are kind of it. And if it doesn't get picked up, because despite it only being one report that I've read, it's still a report, I'll always have this episode, and Ryan Hansen wearing acid washed jeans, doing the robot. And that's all this girl ever needs.

my boner's got weird old candy bars.

2009-04-16T17:52:49Z

Gobstopper Trailer from Gobstopper Movie

Martha MacIsaac and Zach Gilford FTW. So my new OTP. Am I the only one that thinks if they actually made this a movie, they could make it scary?

I have two exams done and two exams to go. I'm at 54 pages on Script Frenzy. I got an awesome new haircut yesterday. And my parents are coming in five days. Such an awesome week.

Writer's Block: Desert Island Time

2009-03-03T02:47:57Z

You're packing your bag for that magical desert island that happens to have electricity, a TV, and a DVD player—what five DVDs do you take with you?

View 501 Answers

Veronica Mars season 2. Supernatural season 3. Smallville season 2. House of Wax. Dane Cook: Vicious Circle.

Here's A Good Trick - written for moonstone1220; John/Dean NC-17

2008-12-26T17:59:56Z

Title: Here’s a Good Trick
Pairing: John/Dean
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my show. Not even my idea.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: John and Dean are working a case that they can’t figure out. Even worse: Dean appears to be pregnant, and they can’t think of an explanation for that either.
Author’s Note: Written, of course, for the mpregwinchester Secret Santa. So who did I get? moonstone1220. It’s for you and I really hope that you like it. I tried, I tried.
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers, it starts preseries and then (obviously) goes off into AU territory. Warnings are mpreg and incest – John/Dean, as I said above.

Dean glanced over from the television as the door was pushed open, John shaking raindrops off his jacket as he walked in. “Hey,” he said, hand going to the remote, turning the volume down just a bit.

John nodded at him and shrugged the jacket off, hanging it over the back of one of the chairs. He reached up, pushing his fingers through his damp hair. “You use all the hot water?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, keeping his eyes on the television. “Go for it.”

John toed off his boots, leaving them at the end of the bed, hands already working at his belt as he made his way into the bathroom.

Dean turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of John undressing in the bathroom, leaning forward a couple inches. An explosion on the television got his attention again and he settled back against the wall and his pillows, arms crossed against his chest.

John reached into the shower, turning the taps, realizing how cool and damp his body was as steam started to rise. He nudged the door about halfway closed before climbing into the tub, groaning softly, reaching back to try and massage the stiff muscles of his neck.

“So what is it?” Dean called, waiting a few seconds for John’s response before realizing he was probably under the water by now. Not tearing his eyes away from the television, he climbed off the couch and walked over to the bathroom, knocking quietly on the door as he pushed it open. “What is it?” he asked again, leaning against the counter.

John turned his head and pushed the shower curtain back, seeing Dean. “What?” he asked, moving his head out from under the spray.

“What are we dealing with?” Dean asked loudly, moving closer to the bathtub. “Wolf?”

John shrugged, shifting under the water, letting it just beat down on his sore muscles. “Don’t think so,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Hmm,” Dean nodded slowly, reaching out to stick his hand under the water, feeling how warm it was. “Don’t burn yourself,” he said, gently biting down on the inside of his lip when John grasped onto his wrist.

John looked at him, swallowing hard, water running down his body in rivulets.

Dean nodded again, slipping his hand out of John’s grip to tug his t-shirt over his head. “Yes, sir,” he grinned, pushing his jeans down, stepping out of them as he got out of his boxers as well. He moved the curtain out of the way enough to climb into the tub alongside John and he made a small noise, the water feeling just right. He leaned up against the wall and moved his arm around John’s shoulders, pulling him in.

John ran his hands down Dean’s sides, watching him wince as he moved over a bruise from their last hunt. He licked his lips before leaning in, pressing his mouth against Dean’s. He slipped one of his arms around Dean’s waist, tugging him in closer.

Dean moaned softly and settled into John’s body, hand briefly curling into his chest as the kiss deepened and their tongues began to play, before he thumbed John’s nipple, feeling it tighten under the pads of his fingers. “Is it a gig for us?” he asked, just barely pulling back.

“Don’t think so,” John repeated, kissing Dean again. His lips moved from his mouth, tongue slipping out as his lips worked the wet skin. “How long you wanna stay?” he asked quietly.

Dean groaned, tilting his head back, closing his eyes against the running water. “Long as we keep that bed for tonight,” he answered, moaning softly as John’s hand wrapped around his dick. His breathing paused for a moment as he started stroking, letting it out heavily. “Tomorrow morning too,” he continued, clutching at his skin.

* * * *

Dean’s eyes slowly opened as he awoke, only to squeeze them shut again when the rising sun came through the window onto his face. He rolled onto his stomach, pushing his hands under his pillow, stretching out. He groaned softly before lifting his head, looking around the room. “Dad?” he asked quietly, clearing his throat and making a face at the taste of morning breath.

John walked into the room, leaving the door open behind him as he reached down, grabbing Dean’s bag. “Car’s pretty much loaded,” he said, tugging playfully at the comforter covering Dean. “Get your ass out of bed.”

Dean smiled faintly, but then he only groaned as he stretched again, not wanting to move from his warm spot on the mattress. “Just gimme a sec, I guess,”

“Yep,” John nodded, heading back outside.

Dean yawned and rubbed at his eyes, before rolling over onto his back and letting his feet drop down onto the floor. A few seconds later, he stood up, taking a couple of steps before his head started to swim. He stumbled and reached out to the table, fingers gripping the back of a chair. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Whoa,” he said, grabbing onto the table his other hand.

“Dean?” John asked, walking into the room. “You okay?” He hurried over to him, resting his hand on his shoulder. “Geez kiddo, what happened?”

Dean opened his eyes and shook his head, slowly straightening up and letting his hands drop. “No freakin’ clue,” he admitted, looking up at John. “Guess I stood a little too quickly.”

“Well, try not to hurt yourself,” John said, taking a step back, glancing around the room. “You still got your clothes out, get dressed.”

Dean nodded and turned around, taking a couple small steps before pausing again. “Yeah, I gotta take a leak,” he said, grabbing his jeans off the floor, taking them into the bathroom with him.

John pulled a chair out and sat down, shifting and spreading his legs, getting comfortable as he waited for Dean.

Dean rubbed his stomach as he pushed the door closed behind him, starting to feel nauseous. “Oh, crap,” he muttered, knowing to go over to the toilet, sitting down in front of it.

John looked up at the sound of Dean vomiting, frowning. He pushed himself up and sighed, walking over to the bathroom, knocking on the door. “Son, are you okay?” he asked, leaning against the wood.

Dean pressed his forehead to the seat, wiping at his mouth and breathing heavily. He sniffled and groaned, lifting his head before his stomach lurched again.

John shifted and reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll run out and get you something for your stomach,” he said, knocking on the door once before walking away, patting his pockets for his keys, pulling the door closed behind him.

* * * *

“Bad shrimp,” Dean suggested, glancing over at his father.

“We afford to eat shrimp?” John asked, rolling his eyes. “It’s a damn good thing it wasn’t a hunt; I don’t want you out there, sick.”

“I feel fine now,” Dean assured him, “not like I’m about to blow chunks at all. Twenty-four minute flu? It’s all good.”

“Okay,” John nodded, slowly coming to a stop at a red light. “You wanna take a break, though? Couple days, get you to rest up?”

“Told you, don’t need it,” Dean shook his head. “You find a hunt, let’s take it. I’m game.”

“You get sick like that again,” he began, but he decided not to go on when Dean just flashed him a quick smile. “Okay, okay,” John smiled back, “I get it: you’re fine. Before the wolf, I thought I heard something about a–” He glanced over at Dean again. “What ya got?”

Dean grinned, holding up the newspaper. “Small town, few over, string of suspicious deaths, disappearances.”

John took the newspaper from him, keeping it on his lap, glancing down at it every few seconds, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Serial killer?” he suggested, shrugging. “Or...I’m just not seeing anything here, Dean.”

“One victim, an unidentified female,” Dean began, “vanished into thin air. Not a euphemism, actual vanishing. That sounds like us.”

John squinted, looking down at the paper again. “What the hell coulda...”

“Take this exit here,” Dean said suddenly, tapping against his window. “Just a few towns over.” He groaned and stretched out, settling against the door. “You wake me up when we get there,” he said, reaching out to quickly grasp onto John’s hand.

John lifted their hands up to his mouth, giving Dean’s a kiss. “Just let me know if you need to pull over,” he teased, dropping dean’s hand back down.

Dean flipped John off and started laughing, getting comfortable in his seat.

* * * *

Dean sipped thoughtfully on his soda, organizing the news clippings on the floor in front of him. He grabbed a couple of fries, shoving them into his mouth, leaning back against the end of the bed. “Okay, so we’ve got vanishing woman, a guy with...hundreds of snake bites, but no snakes found in his house. Ooh, ghost in a local diner! Got any ideas?”

John frowned and shook his head, flipping through a book. “Vengeful spirits...maybe. Ghost in diner was killed by snakes.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean agreed sarcastically, shaking his head. “The vanishing lady is–”

“It’s not a solid theory yet,” John smiled, reaching out to give Dean a gentle shove. He sighed, shaking his head and stood up from the bed. “There’s obviously a missing link. Talking to people, checking out the house might give it to us.”

Dean pushed himself up onto the bed and reached out, grasping John’s hand, pulling him back in. He looked up at him, tongue coming out. “That can wait till tomorrow,” he pointed out, moving his hands to John’s jeans, slowly pulling down his zipper. “You wanna come to bed?” he asked, popping the button and tugging down on the denim.

“You could be contagious,” John pointed out, pushing his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Let’s just take a break for a couple of days.” He pulled Dean up into a kiss, holding him close and reaching down to grip his ass before pulling back.

Dean whined softly, leaning against John’s chest. “I’m not sick,” he grumbled, looking up at him, “but okay.” He gave him a quick kiss, smiling against his lips. He glanced down at John’s watch and stepped away. “Wait till dark, go to the dude’s house. See if there’s any way cops could’ve missed hundreds of snakes.” He dropped down onto the mattress, pushing himself up towards the pillows. “Oh wait, pass me my food, will ya?” he asked, smiling up at John.

John rolled his eyes and walked to the television, taking the remote for himself. “I think that you can get it for yourself,” he smiled, sitting down at the foot of the bed, going through the channels. “Should we try and pick up some kind of anti-venom?” he asked, glancing back at Dean.

Dean groaned and stretched his legs out, nudging at John with his feet. “You can handle the snakes, maybe I’ll go to the diner. Divide and conquer?”

“We’ll hit the diner tomorrow for breakfast,” John directed, “then see if we can’t find the witnesses for the disappearing lady. Hm.” He stopped on a channel, setting the remote down. “You’re too old to be scared of snakes, Dean.”

Dean bit down on his lip to keep from speaking and just rolled his eyes instead.

* * * *

Dean held the flashlight still as John worked the lock, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Calm down, Dean,” John murmured, smiling when he heard the click. He opened the door slowly, looking around to get his bearings. “Where was the kid found?” he asked, glancing back at Dean.

“Kitchen,” he answered, shining the flashlight around. “Down here, I guess.” They began walking through the living room, before they heard a creak on the floorboards upstairs. Dean pressed himself up against the wall and turned off his flashlight, glancing over to John.

A man walked down the stairs, looking around the living room before reaching out to turn on the lights. “What in the hell?” he asked angrily, storming over to the Winchesters. “Who the hell are you two?”

Dean glanced over at John, who had stepped forward. “Uh...”

“Is this your home, sir?” John asked.

“My brother’s,” he answered, studying the two of them closely. “They moved out after what happened to their son. What the hell are you doing in here?”

“We’re with the police,” John explained. “Your uh, nephew died of snake bites, but no snakes were found. Me and the...junior detective over here were told we should come back, see if they returned.”

“I don’t know what the hell happened to him, but I doubt it was snakes,” the man snorted, shaking his head. “Where they hell’d they all come from?” he asked. “Get out of the house.”

“Why are you here?” Dean asked suddenly.

“Getting something for my sister-in-law,” he snapped, walking over to the door, opening it for them. “You can leave now.”

“Come on,” John said quietly, hand on Dean’s shoulder, guiding him to the door. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said.

The man slammed the door closed behind them, but kept watching them out the window. He smiled, then chuckled to himself.

“God,” Dean muttered, clutching at his stomach.

“Gonna be sick again?” John asked quickly.

Dean shook his head. “No, I don’t– I don’t know what it is. My stomach just feels really weird all of a sudden. No, not sick.”

“Let’s get back to the room anyway,” John commanded, leading Dean down to the car. He opened the door for him, waiting until he was comfortably inside to go around to the driver’s side. “I want you to rest. Again, if you’re gonna be sick...”

Dean nodded, rubbing his stomach gently, breathing deeply, trying to adjust to the awkward sensation.

* * * *

Dean’s legs fell open and John shifted between them, one of his hands digging into Dean’s thigh. Dean moaned softly, and his head went back, pressing down into the pillow. “Mm, Dad,” he groaned, trying to pull John down on top of him.

“Did you fake it so I’d bring you back here?” John wondered in amusement, licking his lips.

Dean shook his head. “No, but I figured since we’re here...in our motel room, all alone with a big bed that I’m apparently confined to, we should have some fun.” He reached down between them, cupping John through his jeans. “I’m never too sick for that.”

“Dean,” John said sternly, pushing himself up, “I said let’s give it a break. Alright? Quit your yapping and get some shut-eye.” He sat up, looking back at Dean who was simply glaring at him. “If you’re sick, we can take a break for a couple of days. And if you’re not–”

“If I’m not,” Dean interrupted, “you’re gonna wake up with me in your lap.”

John laughed and grinned, leaning down to give Dean another kiss, letting his fingers slip under his t-shirt for just a tease. He climbed over Dean and dropped down beside him, kissing him repeatedly on his cheek, and his temple, arm over Dean’s chest. “Get some sleep, son,” he whispered, “love you.”

Dean nodded, settling into the bed. “Mm, love you too,” he breathed, curling towards him. “Goodnight.”

* * * *

Dean grunted as a dull ache spread out from his stomach and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around, seeing John still in bed with him. He reached down, covering John’s hand with his own, settling back against him.

“Mm, morning,” John murmured, pressing his lips to the back of Dean’s neck.

“Yeah, morning,” Dean replied, trying to get his eyes to close again, not ready to get up. He yawned and shifted, his stomach feeling even worse than the night before. He slipped his hand under the sheets and pressed it to his stomach, eyes widening. He tried to sit, but couldn’t manoeuvre himself without using his hands to push himself up. He tried to take a deep breath but he felt like there was something pressing down on his lungs. Dean pushed the sheets off of his stomach and looked down at himself in disbelief. He rubbed his hand over his bloated belly, swearing that he felt something moving inside him. “Dad,” he whispered harshly, trembling with nerves.

“Hmm?” John asked, rolling under the sheets, reaching up to scratch at his chest.

“I’m still sick,” he said, glancing down at John. “Dad...” He shook his head and dropped his feet to the floor, trying to push himself up. “Dad, what the hell?” he asked, looking down at John.

John blinked a few times, before quickly sitting up. “Oh my god, Dean,” he said, disbelieving. “What the hell?” he asked, shifting on the bed, reaching out to touch his large stomach. “You look–”

Dean furiously shook his head. “I...I don’t feel well,” he said, hands resting on his stomach. “I...I think I feel like it too.”

John rubbed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. “There’s something going on in this town,” he said simply, looking up at Dean. “This is something. No way in hell that this doesn’t have to do with the snakes or the– the ghost.”

“Yeah, except we have no clue what the hell is going on!” Dean exclaimed. “If we don’t find out, what? I’m going to have a baby? Nuh-uh, no fuckin’ way, Dad!”

“You stay in the room,” John commanded, climbing out of bed. “Just– just don’t go outside. I’ll handle this.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor, tugging it on.

“What?” Dean asked. “You can’t leave me here alone! Who knows, maybe I’ll go into labor!” He shook his head, still looking down at his stomach.

“Where are my keys?” John murmured, looking around the room. He began walking around, checking in places that he may have set them down. “Dean? Have you seen them?”

“Uh, what?” Dean asked, finally looking up. “No, sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

“I had them last night,” John said, pulling at the bed sheets, opening the nightstand drawer.

“Really think that there’s bigger issues than the keys here, Dad,” Dean snapped.

“Can’t exactly do research if I can’t go anywhere, Dean,” John pointed out, scratching his head.

“Dad,” Dean said softly, stepping towards him, “I’m sick. I’m pregnant. This isn’t freakin’ you out?”

John pressed his lips to Dean’s, moaning softly against his mouth. “A little, yeah, but you’re not actually pregnant. It’s just– it’s a trick. A spell, or something.”

“Those snakes were real,” Dean pointed out. “They really killed that kid.”

John swallowed hard, looking at Dean as realization filled his face. “Dean, we’re going to figure this out, okay? As long as you stay like that, this is still just a case.”

Dean sighed and carefully sat down on the bed, shifting uncomfortably. “And uh, why me?” he asked, looking up.

John shrugged, taking a seat beside Dean. “Whatever it is, knows we’re here,” he said.

“If we leave, will this go away?” Dean asked, resting his head against John’s shoulder. “Because this is not freakin’ funny.”

John kissed Dean’s forehead, wetting his lips before tilting his head and kissing Dean again. His mouth opened and Dean’s tongue slipped in, turning on the bed to clutch at John’s shirt. He started to pull him back, but John broke away, shaking his head. “Not...when you’re like this, Dean,” he said. “When you’re better, and this is over.”

Dean stood up when he didn’t think he could push his way up to the head of the bed, and climbed back onto the mattress. “Nobody knows we’re even here,” he reminded John. “Clerk behind the desk, but I didn’t really get the ‘evil killer’ vibe from her.”

John glanced back at Dean, rubbing his chin, scratching at his beard. “Get an ‘evil killer’ vibe from the dead kid’s uncle?” he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. He lifted his head, trying to prop himself with his shoulders. “As if that wasn’t obvious,” he said. “Of course he wasn’t that kid’s uncle.”

John frowned. “Well, he might still be the kid’s uncle, Dean,” he pointed out.

“Oh, right,” Dean nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Well, of course he wasn’t just there when we were by coincidence.”

“Once I find my keys, I’m gonna head out,” John said, beginning the search around the small room again.

“You left them on the table,” Dean said, before dropping his head back, “that’s the last time I saw them.”

John sighed, pausing in the room as he began to get an idea. “Dean, I’m still gonna go out. And I need to call Bobby.” He pulled on his jacket, walking up to the head of the bed, leaning down to give Dean a kiss. “I have my phone,” he whispered, glancing down at Dean’s stomach, “call me if anything happens, okay?”

“Kay, Dad,” Dean nodded. “I am fine though. Pregnant, but fine.”

“Okay, John shrugged, straightening back up. “I don’t think I’ll be too long.” He groaned with one last glance for the keys and finally gave up, walking out of the room.

Dean let out a deep breath once he was alone, rubbing his hands over his belly. “Looks like it’s just you and me now, baby,” he said, wincing when he felt the baby kick. He frowned, looking down at himself in confusion. “I don’t really uh, know how far along whatever the hell did this to me made me, but if you start to come even a second before my dad figures this out and stops it, I’m gonna crawl in there and kick your ass.”

He grunted quietly when the baby kicked again, rubbing where he felt it hit. He sighed and shook his head. “Christ, if Sammy could see me now...” he murmured. After a few moments he awkwardly managed to push himself up, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “God no, don’t wanna think about this.” He stood up, starting to slowly pace around the room. “Because trust me kiddo: you aren’t gonna be around for too long.”

* * * *

John walked up the sidewalk, hands in his pockets as he studied the diner from the outside. He carefully slipped the EMF reader from his pocket as he stepped closer. He sighed, not getting any reaction and hid it away again, pulling open the door. He walked in and looked around, recognizing the interior from the picture that they had in the newspaper with the ghost report. He took a seat at the counter, looking up to the menu.

“Coffee?” a waiter asked, holding the pot up in front of John.

John smiled and nodded, pushing the mug towards him. He took a sip and looked around the diner again, trying to glance down at the EMF reader as discreetly as he could. Still no reaction; the theory he had in his head was seeming more likely as he went through the town. He waved the waiter over, looking up at him. “Say, isn’t this the place– I swear I just read about in a newspaper– isn’t this the place that’s supposedly haunted?” he asked.

The waiter looked around and shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, it is, but I don’t really believe it.” He sighed. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

“Yeah, what kind of desserts do you guys have?” John asked. “I’ll have a slice of pie.”

The waiter nodded, walking over to the glass display case for the desserts, glancing back at John. “What kind?” he asked.

John shrugged, trying to get a good look at all the people in the diner. “Whatever the best is.”

The waiter cut a slice of cherry pie onto a small plate and brought it back over to John. “I’ve worked here for the past while, and I’ve never seen a ghost. I don’t believe it.” He sighed and rested his elbows against the counter.

John took a drink of his coffee then dug his fork into the pie, chewing as he glanced back to the waiter, doing a double-take when he saw the expression of shock on his face. “What is it?” he asked, turning back to where the waiter was looking. He got a couple second glimpse of a transparent woman before she disappeared. He quickly glanced down at his EMF reader again, and still got nothing.

A man slid out of his seat in a booth, dropping a couple bills on the table before walking towards the door of the diner. He glanced over at John as he went, and John recognized him as the man from the previous night.

“Hey, can I uh, can I get another piece of pie to go?” John asked, digging out his wallet and putting a bill down on the table. “Quickly?”

The waiter hurried back over to the pie case and grabbed a small Styrofoam container, dropping the pie into it before handing closing it and handing it over to John.

“Thanks,” John said, climbing off his stool and hurrying out after the man. He glanced up and down the sidewalk, and saw a man walking away, but he wasn’t the same one. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, getting out his cell phone.

Bobby looked up, adjusting his hat before reaching out for his phone. “Yeah?” he asked gruffly, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ve got an idea,” John said quickly, “and I think I need your help.”

“John Winchester, you’re an idiot,” Bobby said, taking the phone away from his ear and hanging it up.

John groaned loudly, but dialed him back anyway. “Goddamn it Bobby, it’s Dean! Don’t be an ass for five minutes and look something up for me.”

Bobby almost dropped the phone away from his ear to hang up again, but he finally just shook his head and shoved his chair back from his desk, going over to a bookshelf. “Well, don’t just sit there, tell me what the hell you want.”

* * * *

Dean looked up when the door opened, sighing in relief when he saw that it was John. “I went to the bathroom,” he said, watching John kick off his boots, “and when I came back out, my bag was gone.”

John looked up at him, frowning. He began looking around the room, sighing in frustration. “Any changes with that?” he asked, nodding at Dean’s stomach.

Dean shook his head, hand resting on top of the bump. “Still here, so I’m guessing you didn’t figure anything out.”

“I saw the ghost in the diner,” John said, pulling out the chair at the table.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, shifting. “You uh, you went to the dinner?”

John smiled and handed the Styrofoam container over to him, settling back down. “Nothing on the EMF. It’s not a ghost.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, licking his lips at the sight of the pie.

“Trickster,” John offered, shifting in his seat.

“Trickster,” Dean echoed, studying his stomach. “So this is a real kid then,” he said, “and those were real snakes.”

“And it was a real vanishing woman and a real ghost,” John nodded. “But they were still just tricks. Bobby thinks there’s a summoning ritual. He’s gonna find it and get back to me.”

“You called Bobby?” Dean asked in surprise. “Hmm,” he shrugged. “Can’t we just try and catch the guy in the act? We ran into him last night; that was him, right?”

John nodded. “He was at the diner. I lost him when he went outside.”

“How long do you think Bobby’s gonna take?” Dean asked, pushing himself up, grunting quietly.

John stood up, walking over to Dean’s side and helping him up. “You shouldn’t be moving around so much,” he said.

“If I act normal,” Dean began, “I can pretend that I am. That I’m not pregnant.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes, leaning against John. “I can feel it moving,” he murmured. “It kicks.”

John sighed and moved his hand to Dean’s stomach, pushing it up underneath his t-shirt. He waited for a moment, then chuckled when he felt the kick. “Haven’t felt one of those in years,” he remarked quietly.

“I peed like, four times when you were gone,” Dean said.

John nodded understandingly and kept his hand on Dean as he leaned in, giving Dean a kiss. “I get this is weird. But it’ll be over soon. If Bobby can’t find anything, then I will.”

“Before this thing comes out?” Dean asked. “I’d like it to be before I have to actually give birth to anything. I say we set up camp in that kid’s house, or the diner, and wait for him to show up.”

John shook his head. “He knew we were coming to this town. To that house. That I was going to the diner. We’ll stay in this town for as long as we have to, because eventually, he’s going to show himself to us and actually stick around.”

“He’s not gonna let us kill him,” Dean pointed out. “These things don’t usually just let us kill them.”

John kissed Dean again, cupping his cheeks, their tongues sliding warmly against each other and Dean moaned softly. “It’s okay,” John whispered, and he started to follow Dean, who was pulling back to the bed.

“Mm-hmm,” Dean nodded in agreement, breathing heavily as he tried to sit on the bed, legs spread wide. “I want this,” he said, looking up at John, “but it’s awkward as hell.”

“Shh,” John said, dropping down to his knees in front of Dean, brushing his lips against his. “Can you get these down?” he asked, pulling on Dean’s boxers.

Dean nodded and awkwardly pushed himself up just enough to push at his waistband, dropping back down onto the mattress with a grunt. “It’s still down there, right?” he asked, only half-jokingly, trying to stick his neck further out than his stomach. “Oh god,” he groaned, head going back when John’s hand wrapped around his dick, “guess so.” He panted softly, fingers pushing through John’s hair, his other hand digging into the comforter.

John’s mouth opened wide around the head of his dick, sucking it in gently, hand deeply massaging Dean’s thigh as he moved his mouth down.

Dean closed his eyes and was trying to forget everything that was going on, just to let himself get caught up in the pleasure and with being so close to John once again, but one of his hands made its way to his stomach, rubbing furiously through his t-shirt. He cried out loudly, fingers tightening in John’s hair. He tugged, getting John to pull off him, pulling him up into a kiss. He managed to push himself back a few inches on the mattress and John climbed up onto the mattress with him, his hand back to working Dean’s dick. Dean’s hands tightly clutched at John, holding him close as he whimpered helplessly into his mouth. “Dad,” he moaned, John pulling back to lick at his lips.

John dropped his mouth to Dean’s neck, stroking him quickly and sucking on his skin. “I’m right here,” he whispered, his beard scratching Dean’s skin.

“Uh-huh,” Dean nodded, head tilting back, the two of them breathing heavily together. “God Dad, please...I wanna–”

“Later,” John assured him, watching Dean’s teeth digging into his lip, and John pushed himself up, pressing his lips to Dean’s. He licked his full bottom lip then bit down, Dean crying loudly as he came, wetting John’s fingers and hitting his arm. He panted heavily into his mouth, muscles trembling and he jerked against him.

“Dad,” Dean breathed, lifting his head, eyes blinking slowly as he looked at John. “God, Dad,” he said, reaching down to pull John’s hand off of him. He slumped against him, groaning softly.

“Now you should rest,” John said quietly, standing up, helping Dean off the bed. “Finish your pie.”

Dean laughed and nodded, walking slowly to the head of the bed, dropping back down heavily. “Dad, what if we can’t stop this?” he asked, looking up at him, hand on his stomach.

John sighed and shook his head, helping him under the sheets. “I don’t know,” he admitted, leaning down to give Dean a kiss. “I wasn’t really planning on trying to raise another kid.”

Dean nodded understandingly and picked the container back up, taking a small bite of the pie before setting it aside, pulling up the comforter.

* * * *

“I don’t feel well,” Dean groaned, hand clutching John’s. He was breathing heavily, moaning quietly in pain. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he murmured, feeling the contractions beneath his skin.

“Just keep breathing,” John directed, letting Dean squeeze his hand tightly. “It’ll be okay.”

“Ugh,” Dean groaned, head lolling to the side, “does this look like it’s okay?” he asked.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay,” John assured him, leaning down with his mouth by Dean’s ear. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you to today.” He gently kissed his cheek, smiling weakly against his skin when Dean nodded quickly.

“Okay,” Dean breathed, before sniffling and groaning loudly, spreading his legs and bearing down, feeling the need to push, despite the fact that he really did not want to. The groan escalated to a very loud cry, pain radiating throughout his body. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered.

“I don’t think that I have anything to give you right now,” John apologized. “And…I don’t know what to do here, Dean. We had doctors with--”

Dean’s hands clutched the bed sheets, breathing heavily; his head was spinning with pain and with nausea. “Come on!” he yelled. John dropped his eyes, sighing. “Come on, you fucking Trickster!” He pushed down, feeling the baby begin to come out. “Dad, please, I have to push,” he said helplessly, looking up at him. “Make it stop.”

John closed his eyes and shook his head, leaning down to kiss him and give his hand a squeeze. “We waited for as long as we could, Dean,” he pointed out, “we tried as much as we could.”

“Fuck that,” Dean snapped. “Bobby said he wasn’t done looking.” His head went back and eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears starting to well up. He groaned loudly, pushing again. When the contraction was over, he slumped back down against the mattress, letting out a heavy breath.

John slipped his hand from Dean’s and pushed himself off the bed, moving a few steps away. He brought his hand up to his mouth, shaking his head.

“Dad,” Dean breathed, weakly reaching his hand out to him. “Dad, it’s coming.”

John turned around and nodded. “Yeah, I know. Uh, we can’t take you to a hospital. I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know whether it’s going well or not. I--” He sighed and wiped at his eyes, clearing his throat gently. “But I think that you have to keep pushing. Just keep going, okay?”

Dean watched John for a few moments before slowly nodding. “Come back to the bed,” he pleaded gently.

“Of course,” John said, walking around the bed over to the bathroom, “just gimme a sec.” He flicked on the lights and grabbed a couple of the small towels, bringing them back out to Dean. He sat down, giving Dean a short kiss before putting one of the towels on the comforter, between Dean’s legs. “The Trickster will come,” he said.

“Huh?” Dean murmured, turning his head to John. “What do you mean?” He began breathing harder, another contraction beginning and he groaned quietly.

John took his hand, shifting on the bed. “He’ll come, to see us. He knows we’re still here and he knows what’s happening.”

“Not helping now,” Dean grunted as he pushed, knowing that if he reached down he’d be able to feel the head at that point. “Help me Dad, please.”

John took a deep breath and nodded, climbing onto the mattress between his legs, swallowing hard. “Just keep pushing,” he directed, picking up the towel. “I-- I can see it.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, lifting his head. “That’s good, right? It’s not-- it’s coming out the right way?”

John nodded, “I think so. I guess it looks good.”

Dean had to smile at that, sniffling and starting to hold his breath when he began to push. He spread his legs further, feet digging into the mattress. He gasped for breath, lifting his head, trying to see what was going on. “What-- what’s--”

“The head’s out,” John said, holding the towel underneath the baby’s head with one hand, trying to gingerly help pull the baby along. “God, Dean, I think it’s just one more push. You’re gonna be okay.”

Dean nodded eagerly, just closing his eyes and putting everything, all of the energy that he had left into another strong push, hoping that it would be the last. The push got the child out past its shoulders and John gently grasped onto it, pulling it out the rest of the way, holding it in the towel, looking down at it in wonder. “It’s okay?” Dean asked, still in pain but he could finally relax against the mattress.

“He looks great,” John nodded, using the corner of the towel to wipe away at his face, studying him carefully to make sure that he was breathing.

“He’s not crying,” Dean pointed out, feeling his eyes well with tears again, and he reached out nervously. “Is he even alive?”

John pushed himself up to show the child to Dean. “Hold onto him,” he said, carefully handing him over to Dean before climbing off the bed. “I’m gonna try and…cut the cord, I guess.”

Dean swallowed hard, shifting the baby against his chest, watching him closely. “Neat trick,” he murmured, thumbing the baby’s cheek, before moving to its tiny mouth. The baby began sucking gently on the end of his thumb before finally starting to cry, tiny arms flailing and legs kicking.

John turned around, still trying to find a pair of scissors, but watching Dean smile. “Until the Trickster shows up, we still have to take care of him.”

Dean nodded understandingly, relieved that the baby was alive, and seemed to be well. “What about me?” he asked.

“I’ll take care of you,” John assured him, finally producing a blade to cut the cord with. He sat back down on the bed, moving the towel out of the way. He smiled faintly down at the baby, watching him squirm. “Huh,” he said finally, not able to think of anything else to say.

* * * *

Dean stirred under the sheets, making a tiny noise of pain as he moved. It woke him up again and he blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the lack of light. “Dad?” he asked, opting to just lift his head instead of trying to sit up. He groaned, rubbing his hand over his stomach.

“He’s sleeping,” John said softly, shifting in his seat. “You should be too.”

“Hurts too much,” Dean muttered. “God, don’t we have anything?” he asked.

John nodded, but frowned. “We…did. I can’t really find it right now.”

“Are you serious?” Dean asked. “The Trickster?”

John nodded again. “Yeah, I’m guessing.”

“And he’s not rubbing it in my face yet,” Dean pointed out. “What if he never shows up? Are we taking care of this kid forever?” he asked.

“What do you want to call him?” John asked suddenly.

“What?” Dean asked in surprise. “I…don’t know. I wasn’t really planning on having him, let alone raising him.” He shook his head. “I don’t see the point.”

John stood up and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside Dean. “Trust me Dean, I understand that this is weird.”

Dean rolled his eyes and settled back into the mattress, reaching out and letting the baby grasp onto his finger, shaking it gently. “Jack,” he said finally. “We can call him Jack.” He groaned, trying to find a comfortable position. “How long he’s been asleep?” he asked, smoothing down the soft hair.

“Couple hours,” John nodded. “We don’t really have a place to put him, so I’m just holding on.”

“Well, let me take him,” Dean offered, sitting up enough to lift Jack out of John’s arms, settling him on his chest, laying back on the bed. “You probably need sleep too, Dad. I’ve got him.”

John smiled thankfully and stood up, turning around as he pulled off his shirt. Once John wasn’t looking, Dean gave Jack a quick kiss, smiling down at him.

* * * *

“Hi,” Dean said softly, tickling Jack’s belly, grinning as he kicked his feet furiously, trying to get away from Dean’s touch. “Don’t you like it, baby?” he teased, moving his fingers down to Jack’s feet. He looked up when John walked into the motel room, a heavy, full plastic bag in his hand, which he promptly dropped onto the table. “Hey,” he said, shifting on the floor, pushing himself up.

“Hey,” John said, shrugging off his jacket, smiling down at Jack. “Hey, baby boy. What’s Dean doing to ya down there?” he asked. He toed off his boots and carefully sat down next to the two. He reached out and lifted Jack up off the floor, holding him against his chest.

“What’s in the bag?” Dean asked, nodding towards the table.

“Clothes,” John replied, “for you. Since the Trickster took yours.”

“Thanks,” Dean smiled. “Anything for Jack?” he asked.

“Bobby called me,” John said suddenly, handing Jack back over to Dean. “He thinks he’s picked up the Trickster in Florida.”

“Oh,” Dean said quietly, having to smile when Jack looked up at him. “Are we going after him?” he asked, rubbing Jack’s back, shushing him quietly.

John shrugged. “I don’t know. Are we going after him?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “Nah. He only took my clothes. Your keys. That’s an issue, but it’s not the worst thing ever.”

John smiled and rubbed at his face, nodding slowly. “So we’re not going after him.”

Dean looked down at Jack, smiling and giving him a kiss. “Do you really want to?” he asked, shifting Jack in his arms.

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. We’ll let him go this time.”

“Good,” Dean nodded, smiling at Jack when he made a loud noise. “I think that’s for the best.”

“Yeah,” John nodded, pushing himself back up, going to the bag. “Here ya go, Jackie,” he said, taking out a tiny sleeper, tossing it down to Dean. “You should put him in that. It’s been awhile since you left the room.”

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, laying Jack down on the floor.

“Just out for lunch,” John replied, taking his seat at the table. “You need some warm food in ya.”

“I’m feeling better,” Dean assured him, pushing himself up and going over to the bag, pulling out the clothing for himself. “But I think I’m catching cabin fever,” he joked, leaning against John, tilting his head to press his lips over his neck.

John chuckled, running his hand up and down Dean’s back, holding him close. “Get dressed, Dean,” he directed lightly, giving him a quick kiss. “We’ll fix that fever later on.”

“Ooh,” Dean teased, sitting down on the edge of the bed, pulling off his t-shirt and tugging his new long-sleeved shirt over his head. He paused and smiled, watching John pick Jack up, bouncing him a couple of times, holding him against his chest.

* * * *

John held the door open and Dean walked in, Jack in his arms. Dean looked around and led John over to a booth beside the front window, sliding in. He yawned quietly and stretched his legs out under the table, shifting Jack.

“Anything to drink?” the waitress asked, walking over, handing the two their menus.

“I’ll have a coffee,” John said quickly, giving her an tired smile.

“Something cold and big,” Dean groaned, settling against the window. “Large soda.”

The waitress smiled and nodded, making a face down at Jack. “He looks like a pretty new one,” she said.

Dean nodded, rubbing his back. “Yeah, yeah he is. Just a couple weeks.”

“Darling,” she nodded, smiling before turning and walking back over to the counter.

“So we call him Jack,” John began, shifting in his seat, glancing around. “Are we naming him Jack?”

Dean looked up at John. “Yeah, why not? What’s wrong with Jack?” he asked, moving Jack to give him room to kick. “I like it. It makes me think of you. It’s okay, right?”

John nodded, reaching across the table to gently cover Dean’s hand with his own before the waitress walked back over. They both nodded their thanks. “If you like it, I like it.”

“You two ready to order?” she asked, flipping through the pages of her notebook.

“Uh, just another minute please,” John said, giving her a smile. He cleared his throat gently and leaned across the table. “You sure you don’t wanna try and find the Trickster?” he asked.

Dean quickly nodded, before looking down at Jack, whose eyes were wide as he took in as much of the diner as he could. “Yeah, I’m really sure,” he said, nodding again. “Screw the Trickster.” He reached out, picking up the menu, scanning it. Jack hiccupped gently and brought his fists up to his eyes before his face scrunched up and he began to cry. “Oh, Jackie,” he said, holding him and sliding out of the seat. “Just get me whatever,” he directed, pressing his lips all over Jack’s face, rubbing his back and bouncing him up.

“You good?” John asked, ready to follow Dean out of the diner.

Dean smiled but shook his head, nodding at the waitress before stepping out into the cool air. “It’s okay,” he assured Jack, leaning against the wall, comforting him as best he could. “It’s okay, ‘m right here,” he said. "Not going anywhere."

John shifted in the booth, watching Dean through the window. He smiled and nodded, before turning back to the waitress.

Law & Order: Cyrus Lupo/Michael Cutter NC-17 [Part 2]

2008-12-08T20:23:59Z

Part 2

Pairing: Det. Cyrus Lupo/ADA Michael Cutter
Disclaimer: I fully admit to owning nothing with regards to the Law & Order franchise, which includes the characters used in this story.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lupo and Bernard investigate a murder that Cutter prosecutes; Lupo attempts to keep up his law school studies; Cutter and Lupo have a relationship going on at the same time.
Word Count: 10,000-ish (It just got really long and plotty, that’s all)
Author’s Notes: For asemic, because you told me what you wanted. I hope/think that I got everything you wanted and I really hope that you like it. Because I’ll admit, I sure as heck do. It’s all for ~~you~~ me you! Or us. I just hope that you can actually sit through it all.

Continued from Part 1.

Cyrus opened the door, resting against the frame with one of his hands above his head. He yawned loudly and stepped aside for Michael to walk in. “I called more than an hour ago,” he pointed out, taking Michael’s jacket from him.

“It takes a lot of actual thinking when I decide to get something other than donuts,” Michael explained, sniffing the pizza box.

“Took an hour to think of pizza?” Cyrus asked in amusement, pushing the door closed.

Michael set the box down on the counter and walked into the living room, laughing softly. “Enough books?” he asked, glancing back.

“Uh yeah, well,” Cyrus shrugged, scratching his back. He tugged down on the hem of his t-shirt and went to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

Michael nodded, taking a seat on the couch, picking up one of the textbooks. “Whatever you’re having,” he nodded, leaning back and flipping through the pages.

Cyrus twisted the cap off the bottle and walked into the living room, handing it over to Michael. He dropped down on the couch beside him and sighed, scratching at his facial hair.

“Do you have a test coming up?” he asked, glancing at Cyrus, bringing the bottle up to his mouth.

Cyrus shook his head. “No, not for a little while,” he replied, “but gotta stay on top of it all anyway.”

“Wanna define ‘tort’ for me?” Michael asked, dropping the book back down on the table as he leaned back, settling into the couch.

Cyrus let out a breath, thinking for a quick second. “Divided into intentional and negligence, body a law concerned with civil wrongs that don’t involve contractual obligations.”

“Primarily used for what?” Michael asked, looking around the apartment, putting the television on mute.

“To compensate victims,” Cyrus replied. “I know torts, Mike, I’ve got pages of it all up in my head.”

“I’m just checking,” Michael said. “So, what don’t you have in your head? I’ll help you with that.” He pushed himself up and walked into the kitchen, bringing the pizza box with him. He sat down and opened the box, taking out a slice. “Mm,” he groaned, taking a bite. He chewed slowly, glancing over at Cyrus.

“Uh well, I was just gonna read my chapters over,” Cyrus explained, picking up one of his textbooks, setting it on his lap before reaching down for a slice of pizza. “Constitutional law, this time around.” He took a bite of his pizza, opening the book to take out a small chart. He started to read, but soon his eyes closed and his head fell back against the couch.

Michael settled back, resting against Cyrus before moving his arm over his shoulders. “I’ll make the coffee,” he offered, leaning in to gently move his lips over his face, starting at his temple and slowly moving the kisses down to his neck.

Cyrus groaned, leaning into Michael, mouth falling open. “Make it black,” he muttered, pulling away, sitting up with his eyes open.

Michael smiled and stood up, going back into the kitchen.

Cyrus groaned and took a bite of his pizza, chewing quickly as he flipped through the pages. He sighed and brought his legs up onto the couch, getting comfortable against the arm, listening to Michael in the kitchen. He balanced the book on his lap and folded the slice of pizza, taking a large bite.

* * * *

“What’s she saying?” Connie asked, watching Althea through the mirror for a few seconds before turning to Van Buren.

“Well, she’s not confessing yet,” Van Buren said flatly, watching Bernard and Cyrus with the young woman, “but I don’t think we’ll need it.”

“Did the lab get a DNA match to the skin under his fingernails?” Connie asked.

Van Buren shook her head. “No, not yet,” she replied. She glanced over at Connie, who had her bag open, going through it and pulling out a file. She took it from her, glancing down at the pages.

“Just run it into your detectives,” Connie said. “It’s a DNA match, just not hers. It will buy us time until the actual results come in.”

Van Buren nodded and opened the door to the interrogation room, getting the attention of Bernard, Cyrus and Althea. She handed the file over to Bernard, watching Althea. “Lab just came in. Miss Roubanis, your DNA matches the skin found under the victim’s fingernails. Care to explain?”

Althea sighed and rolled her eyes, tapping her foot against the floor. “I got off the helicopter, saw a very cute guy and we went into the bathroom to have sex. Simple as that.”

“Well, you’re quite the open one, aren’t you, Miss Roubanis?” Bernard asked, shifting on the table.

“That’s because I have nothing to hide,” Althea smirked up at him.

“Don’t say anything else, Althea,” a man interrupted, walking into the interrogation room. “Detectives, lieutenant. This goes no further today.”

“Meet my father’s lawyer, Jonathan MacIntyre,” Althea said, standing up. “Thank god, I was wondering how much longer you would take.”

Van Buren looked over to the doorway, where Connie was nodding slowly. “Althea Roubanis, you are under arrest for the murder of Berny Malabe,” she said, watching as Bernard moved behind her, cuffing her wrists.

“On what grounds?” MacIntyre asked, looking to Van Buren in surprise.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Bernard continued, “anything you do say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney–”

Althea sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Yeah, thank you Detective Obvious,” she snapped.

“You can talk to the ADA about your client now, Mister MacIntyre,” Van Buren said.

MacIntyre frowned and leaned down, picking up the file. “This doesn’t implicate my client in anything,” he said, looking to Van Buren.

Connie walked into the room, taking the file from him. “I actually need this back, thank you,” she said, slipping it back into her bag. “I’m Connie Rubirosa.”

“I know who you are, Miss Rubirosa, I have seen you in court,” MacIntyre said. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you there again.” He nodded curtly and walked out of the room, following after Bernard and Althea.

“What happens if the actual DNA comes back it doesn’t match her?” Cyrus asked, glancing between the two women.

* * * *

Michael tapped his pen against the table, looking across to Althea and Jonathan MacIntyre.

“So, if you don’t think that my client committed the murder, why was she then arrested for the murder?” MacIntyre asked, glancing over at Althea.

“Look, we know she was in the bathroom,” Michael said, “we’ve got her on the security tapes. And the DNA actually did come in, it’s a match. But the trouble is, somebody else’s DNA was found on his body and we don’t think that your client is strong enough to strangle Berny.”

“I assume that there’s a deal, if she tells you who actually killed him?” MacIntyre asked. “Something along the lines of the charges being dropped?”

“We’re pretty sure that your client lured Mister Malabe to his death,” Connie said, leaning forward, “she’s not innocent in this.”

“Well, I guess that’s for the jury to decide then, isn’t it?” MacIntyre smirked, standing up.

“Murder two,” Michael offered suddenly.

“Are you out of your mind?” MacIntyre asked in surprise. “And she does what, twenty-five to life?”

“I think it’s a fair deal,” Michael shrugged, “and that’s even without her rolling on the killer.”

Althea shook her head, standing up to follow MacIntyre. “I’m not confessing to anything,” she said, “sorry Mister Cutter.”

Michael shrugged, smiling over at Connie as the pair left the room. “You wanna take lead on her case?” he asked.

“What?” Connie asked. “Why?”

“I assume that Althea and Tommy won’t be tried together,” Michael explained, “I’ll take his case.”

“We don’t have anything on Tommy yet,” Connie pointed out. “Lupo and Bernard can’t ID him on the tapes and we don’t have a DNA sample yet.”

“There’s motive,” Michael shrugged.

“A motive that we can’t actually prove,” Connie said, “it’s only an idea and we don’t have any evidence to substantiate it.” She stood up, picking up her bag. “Althea’s not going to implicate her brother in anything.”

“Her brother might stand up for her,” Michael suggested, following after Connie as they walked into the office. “Forget the hair in Berny’s hand, all the evidence points to Althea.”

Connie shrugged, taking a seat at her desk. “Except we can’t forget the hair in Berny’s hand, because it was there. We don’t present it in court and the defense does. Reasonable doubt.”

Jack walked over to them, clearing his throat. “Charge her with murder one,” he said,

“Jack,” Connie protested, but he just shook his head.

“Tommy Roubanis is not going to sit by and watch as his sister’s life is threatened,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Except that without Tommy, we have no motive for Althea,” Connie reminded him. “Berny’s father worked on his computer, not Althea’s. There’s no reason that Althea, by herself, wants Berny dead.”

“This case doesn’t work with only one of them,” Michael said. “We need Tommy to prove Althea’s motive, but we need Althea in the bathroom to tie Tommy to the scene.”

“So get something on Tommy,” Jack directed, “simple as that. Get one of the detectives to go through his trash.”

“Uh, Lupo’s tried that a few times,” Michael said. “Anybody in the Roubanis family is too smart for that. He can’t come up with anything.”

“Why the hell aren’t we talking to the father then?” Jack demanded.

Connie shook her head. “He got off the cruise in Aruba, which is where Berny was supposed to be flying. We have no way of getting in contact with him.”

“He’s in hiding,” Michael said. “He knows how important whatever the hell he found on Tommy’s computer was, and he knows that Tommy knows. He hid the information with Berny as he went down to Aruba to hide. He didn’t figure that Tommy would figure it all out, go after his son.”

“He underestimated the Roubanis family,” Jack said. “He obviously knows by now that Berny isn’t coming. Why isn’t he trying to contact somebody here?”

“He’d be an idiot,” Michael said. “He knows that Berny is either dead or in trouble, he’s not going to put himself into it. Plus, we all know that Aruban police aren’t going to be a big help here.”

Jack dropped his head, thinking to himself. Finally he looked up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make the charge murder one. Make sure we find something on Tommy.” He walked back into his office, pulling the door closed behind him.

“I don’t know what he expects us to do,” Connie said quickly, spreading files out on her desk. She shook her head and groaned, pushing her hair back from her face.

* * * *

Cyrus wiped at his nose, trying to stop the blood as he walked into the 27th precinct. He stumbled slightly, feeling blood going down his neck from the cut in his head, spotting Van Buren, giving her a wave.

“Lupo, what in the hell happened to you?” she asked, hurrying over and guiding him to his desk chair, helping him sit down.

“Uh,” Cyrus blinked a few times, the room spinning just a little, “I got– I got jumped on the way home from class.”

“You need a doctor,” Van Buren said, waving over another detective. “Get Detective Lupo in the car, take him to the hospital.”

“Wait, wait,” Cyrus said, pushing himself up to shrug off his jacket, handing it to Van Buren. He wiped at his nose again, sniffling. “There should be uh, I think we finally got Tommy’s DNA.”

Van Buren’s eyes widened and she looked down at him, holding the jacket. “Our suspect did this to you?” she asked.

Cyrus nodded, letting the detective lead him away. “Yeah, trust me: I recognize him.” He reached back, wiping at the back of his neck. “Just, just put a rush on the jacket. We don’t need Althea anymore!” he called before they went out the door.

* * * *

Michael stared at the whiteboard in front of him, before nodding once and bringing the marker back up, jotting down a quick note. He stepped back to his desk, glancing down at a couple of files before making another note. He dropped the marker and reached over, picking up his bat. He wrapped his hands around it, putting it over his shoulder. His grip tightened and loosened and he began swinging it, muttering facts of the case to himself. The door opened and he turned, swinging the bat with him.

“Whoa,” Cyrus reached up, grabbing onto the end of the bat, giving Michael a quick smile. “Don’t really need another head wound,” he joked, letting go of the bat.

Michael sighed and set the bat down, looking at the bandage on Cyrus’s nose. “Shouldn’t be here, detective,” he said, turning back to the board.

Cyrus sighed, sitting on the edge of Michael’s desk. “Van Buren told me what was going on,” he said finally, looking up at him.

“Tommy’s lawyer is moving to exclude DNA evidence from your jacket,” Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on the board in front of him.

“I don’t get that,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “I gave my jacket to the police, I want it to be used.”

“You shouldn’t have been anywhere near him, detective,” Michael said, ignoring the question.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t near him, he attacked me.”

“Not what he’s alleging,” Michael said, finally glancing over at him. “Listen, we all wanted to get something on Tommy, I can’t say that you went about it the right way.”

Cyrus stood up quickly, crowding Michael. “I didn’t do anything!” he protested. “I was on my way back from class, and he jumped me!”

“How did he know where you were, Cyrus?” Michael demanded.

“How did he know where Berny was the day he died?” Cyrus snapped. “I didn’t go about it any way, I wouldn’t compromise the investigation that way!”

Michael shook his head. “Of course not, it’s not like you checked his Blackberry without permission or anything,” he remarked.

“Oh, come on, Mike!” Cyrus protested. “Everything aside, do you really think I’d risk my life for this case?”

Michael reached back, picking up his bat again. “If the DNA gets thrown out, we’ve got nothing.”

“Again,” Cyrus said. “We’ll just keep the investigation going. Find a way to get the evidence.”

“You really think you’re still going to be on the case?” Michael asked. “I’d be surprised if I’m still on the case. Tommy Roubanis is saying that a New York City police detective hunted him down and assaulted him for evidence. The department could get sued.”

Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t screw up your case, Mike. Figure out what the hell you’re doing with Althea.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Michael demanded.

“You gotta get over your ego and offer her a deal,” Cyrus explained. “She’s your job now and if she walks, it’s this office’s fault.”

“And if they both get off, then you and Bernard didn’t bring this office the evidence we need,” Michael countered, fingers tightening on the bat.

“Happy to hear what you really think of our work,” Cyrus said, turning and walking out of the office, glancing over at Connie, who was sitting at her desk.

* * * *

Van Buren pushed herself up, leaning against her desk as she watched Cyrus walk into the precinct. She walked out of her office, looking at him in disbelief when he saw her and just waved. “You can’t be here, detective,” she said, shaking her head.

“I know that, I know that Lieu,” Cyrus nodded, pulling open one of the drawers of his desk. “But I needed to get a book that I left here once.” He showed it to her and closed the drawer. “I know, suspension.”

“You’re lucky Tommy didn’t press charges,” Van Buren said, crossing her arms and sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Just a textbook, Lieu,” Cyrus said again. “I’ll see you in a–”

“Another week, I think is,” Van Buren finished, nodding slowly.

Cyrus waved and walked out the doors, flipping through the pages, relieved to see the chapters that he had been searching for in his apartment for the past couple of days.

* * * *

“My client isn’t interested in a deal,” the lawyer said flatly, looking at Michael and Connie.

Michael cocked his head, looking to Tommy. “Mister Roubanis, do you want to say anything today?” he asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Didn’t kill anybody. Shoulda killed that co–”

“And we are finished with that conversation,” his lawyer interrupted quickly. “You’re not offering anything we’re interested in, Mister Cutter.”

“We really don’t have to offer anything,” Michael pointed out. “We have motive, we have him at the scene. We have premeditation.”

Tommy cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly. “If I made a deal,” he began, but his lawyer quickly stood up.

“We are going, Thomas,” he said sharply.

“My dad will kill me if I let Althea go to prison,” Tommy continued.

“Your sister is going to prison,” Connie said, “she helped you kill him.”

Tommy groaned and stood up. “At least I get to go home and tell him that I tried, right?” He followed his lawyer out of the room, shaking his head.

“Easiest trial of my life,” Michael said, glancing over at Connie. “I wonder what he was going to offer.”

“We can’t promise him no jail time for Althea,” Connie argued.

Michael shrugged. “No, but it would’ve made things interesting. Just to see where his head was at.”

“I just want these trials to be over,” Connie said, rubbing at her temple. “The Roubanis family is getting on my nerves.”

Michael smiled and chuckled. “Now, was I just hearing things, or did Tommy begin to confess to attacking Detective Lupo?” he asked.

Connie shook her head and stood up. “I’m sure he’ll deny it if we go talk to him now,” she said. “Good thing his lawyer has attentive ears.”

“Good thing for us Judge Jenson isn’t an idiot,” Michael remarked. “We needed that evidence.”

Connie nodded, just studying Michael for a few moments after that. “Well, I’ve gotta go do an arraignment,” she said.

“Allen case?” Michael asked, and Connie nodded, walking out of the room. Michael sighed and rubbed at his face, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

* * * *

“Before you slam the door in my face,” Michael said quickly as soon as the door was opened, “keep in mind that I come bearing gifts.”

“I’m busy,” Cyrus muttered, keeping his hand on the doorknob.

“Doing what?” Michael asked.

Cyrus shrugged. “Stalking some hotshot. I plan on going to get my ass kicked later on.”

Michael sighed and nodded, holding the box out for him. “Well, I definitely see the importance,” he agreed, “but just take this anyway.”

Cyrus studied Michael closely before shaking his head, taking the box from him. “I have an exam tomorrow,” he explained, stepping out of the way, going into the kitchen, “I’m studying.”

“Oh, right,” Michael said, walking into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Yeah, I have a lot of free time recently,” Cyrus said, opening the box of donuts, smiling faintly even as he shook his head. “But I’m still cramming.”

“Well, I hope that you haven’t got too far into studying, because I have brought this for you,” Michael said, holding a book out to Cyrus.

Cyrus set his donut down, taking the book from Michael. “Getting to Maybe: How to Excel on Law School Exams,” he read from the cover, chuckling softly. “Well, thanks, it’s appreciated.”

“How are the battle wounds?” Michael asked, toeing off his shoes, loosening his tie and undoing the top couple buttons of his shirt.

Cyrus shrugged, leading Michael into the living room, where all of his textbooks were on the floor. “Better, thanks.”

Michael narrowed his eyes before grinning. “Is that– is that a fort?” he asked, examining the pile of textbooks closer.

“It’s for Otto,” Cyrus shrugged, sitting down on the couch. He looked over at Michael, who was watching him an amused smile on his face. “He’s a dog, Mike. It’s not like I was crawling in the thing myself.”

“Right,” Michael nodded. “Well, show me your notes, I’m ready to jump in.”

* * * *

Cyrus didn’t even look down as he paced around the living room, stepping over Michael’s outstretched legs.

“Direct,” Michael offered, taking another bite of his cooling pizza.

“Evidence given by a witness to prove an alleged act,” Cyrus recited, scratching at his beard as he continued pacing.

“Uh, character,” Michael said, reaching out to rub Otto’s head before he jumped up.

Cyrus blinked a couple of times, pausing for a moment. “Evidence used to establish the likelihood that the defendant is the type of person who would or would not commit a crime.” He stumbled slightly as Otto got between his feet, reaching out to couch.

Michael sat forward, trying to stretch his back before he leaned back against the wall. “Differences between actus reus and mens rea,” he said.

Cyrus glanced back at Michael, who was smiling. “One is the guilty act or deed; the voluntary action or omission. The other is the guilty mind, a deliberate intention to commit a wrongful act with reckless disregard for the consequences. Something hard, Mike.”

“Oh, alright,” Michael said, thinking for a moment. “What would a jury have to consider to allow Battered Woman Syndrome as an explanation?”

Cyrus stopped walking, reaching down to rub Otto’s belly. “Why she would stay in an abusive relationship. The uh, the nature and the extent of the violence. Her...their ability to perceive danger from the abuser.”

“Case law for automatism,” Michael said, raising an eyebrow.

Cyrus looked up, still playing with Otto, sitting down on the floor beside him. “Okay. Uh, Martin versus State, nineteen-forty...four. People cannot be held liable for events occurring involuntarily.”

“Nothing better than Martin versus State?” Michael asked.

“Okay, what about People v Decina?” Cyrus offered. “Defendant was epileptic, killed four people when he had a seizure while driving.”

“What was the outcome?” Michael asked, looking at Cyrus pointedly.

Cyrus sighed. “Crap. He was found guilty at the end of that one.”

“He knowingly undertook the risk of driving while suffering from a disorder characterised by frequent convulsions,” Michael nodded.

“People v Newton holds that unconsciousness is a complete defense even though the defendant’s actions may have been goal-orientated,” Cyrus argued.

Michael smiled and nodded. “Man, I really wanna kiss you right now,” he admitted.

Cyrus ducked his head, laughing softly. He stretched his arms above his head, looking up to the clock on the wall. “Well, it is getting pretty late,” he said, pushing himself up.

Michael glanced down at his watch and took Cyrus’s hand, pulling himself up. “I’m guessing that’s a hint,” he said.

“Uh, yeah,” Cyrus nodded, turning off the kitchen light then turning off the lamp in the living room, “a hint that we’re going to bed now. Are you coming?” he asked.

Michael nodded and followed after Cyrus, laughing as Otto hurried after them, trying to get into the bedroom.

“Oh, not tonight,” Cyrus said, leaning down to make a face at the dog, “it kind of creeps Mike out when you’re in here.”

Michael laughed. “When did I ever use the word ‘creep’?” he asked, undoing his pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them.

Cyrus smiled apologetically at the dog and closed the door behind him, looking over to Michael. “Hold on a sec,” he said, walking to him. He reached up and began undoing his tie, pressing his lips to Michael’s.

Michael reached up, grasping onto Cyrus’s wrists as his fingers worked on the knot, opening his mouth to Cyrus’s tongue.

Cyrus moaned, breaking away, his beard scratching against Michael’s skin as his mouth moved down to his neck, sucking gently. He pulled back and pulled the tie off, unbuttoning Michael’s shirt, his mouth following his fingers down his chest.

“You’ve got a thing,” Michael remarked, pushing his fingers through Cyrus’s curls.

“Mm?” Cyrus asked, lifting his head, pushing off the shirt.

“With my ties,” Michael explained flatly, and Cyrus chuckled softly, shrugging. “It’s a little weird,” he said, sighing as Cyrus led him over to his bed. He kicked the blankets further down the mattress and pulled Cyrus down on top of him, grunting softly as he shifted between his legs. He moved his hands to Cyrus’s shoulders, holding him close; Cyrus’s hands couldn’t stay still as they ran over his body. Down his sides and then up his chest, moving around to his back, slipping under the fabric of his boxer-briefs. “Ugh, god,” he moaned, leaning up to get his lips in a kiss, pulling him into it, starting to work his hips, cock getting full and heavy.

“Mike,” Cyrus breathed, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, stroking himself quickly. He grunted when Michael’s hands moved down to his ass, gripping and kneading tightly, panting into his mouth. He reached out blindly, knocking over his alarm clock and grabbing the small handle of the drawer, tugging it open so that it was it was teetering, close to falling out and he pushed himself up, pulling a condom out of the box. He shoved it into Michael’s hand, followed by the lube. He moved down his body, kissing him as he went, tugging off the boxer-briefs.

Michael set the condom and lube aside, reaching out to Cyrus, slipping his hand into his boxers, grasping onto his dick. Cyrus moved back on top of him, fingers curling into and clutching at him as Michael worked the strokes, watching his body flush. He pushed himself up and Cyrus rolled over to the side, their feet getting tangled together in the sheets.

Cyrus frantically pulled his t-shirt over his head as Michael helped him out of his boxers and he began jerking himself again, breathing heavily and watching Michael above him. He spread his legs, moaning when Michael’s fingers pushed into him, and his strokes just sped up.

Michael dropped his head to the crook of his neck as it met shoulder, sucking and biting then kissing the skin as he moved his fingers inside him, listening to his loud breathing and quiet moans, feeling Cyrus’s knuckles move against his stomach as he stroked. He used his other hand to cover Cyrus’s, whispering in his ear.

Cyrus cried out loudly, Michael focusing his digits on his prostate, his muscles tightening as surges of pleasure wracked his body. He reached down, fingers tightening around the condom, managing to get the foil torn open before forcing it into Michael’s hand, leaning up to kiss him.

Michael took the condom, pulling the latex out of the package and reaching down to slid it down his dick, moving his hand to brace himself against the bed before he guided himself in, pushing slowly for the first couple inches before thrusting in quickly the rest of the way.

Cyrus clutched at him, nudging at his face with his scratchy cheek, getting their mouths together. He dragged his fingers down Michael’s bare back, gripping at his hips, pulling him in harder. His head fell back, pressing down hard into the pillows, whimpering as Michael’s thrusts quickened, got harder, more consistently pressing against his prostate. He cried out when Michael’s hand wrapped around his dick and he opened his eyes, looking up at him. “Mike,” he grunted quietly, moaning low in his throat. The eye contact didn’t break as Cyrus’s back arched off the bed and he came, but when he fell back to the mattress, his eyes drifted closed.

Michael nipped at his neck, hand cupping his cheek, thumbing the facial hair. He grunted quietly, biting down as he came, hips pumping quickly as he shot into the condom, letting out a loud, harsh breath, trying to make his drop onto Cyrus’s chest as gentle as possible. “God,” he muttered, turning his head, pressing it into the pillow.

Cyrus chuckled softly, moving his arm over Michael’s shoulders, yawning. “You stay?” he asked tiredly.

Michael pushed himself up, reaching down to grasp onto himself, pulling out, making Cyrus grunt quietly. He pulled off the condom and reached far off the bed to drop it in the trash. He tugged up the bed sheets, trying to cover them. He fell back to the mattress, smiling at the alarm clock on the floor, settling against Cyrus’s side. “Yeah,” he nodded, looking up at him.

“Good,” Cyrus smiled. He closed his eyes and absentmindedly began running his fingers up and down Michael’s arm. He yawned, grasping onto the sheets. “Mind if I go let the dog in now?” he asked, chuckling.

* * * *

Michael’s phone vibrated and he pushed some of the papers on his desk out of the way to pick it up, checking the text. He chuckled and wrote a quick response back.

“So?” Jack asked, appearing in the doorway, crossing his arms.

Michael glanced, pushing his chair back to turn around. “Althea took the deal,” he said, leaning back, hands behind his head.

“What are you doing with Tommy?” Jack asked.

Michael sighed. “Who the hell knows,” he murmured, phone vibrating again. “He wants a deal, lawyer just won’t let him get it out.”

“Talk to him alone,” Jack suggested. “Take that detective with you. Lupo.”

Michael looked up at Jack in surprise, mouth open slightly. “Uh, why?” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “He got his ass-kicked for DNA evidence. Imagine what he’d risk to get a deal.” He pulled on his scarf and hat, giving Michael a wave before turning around.

Michael nodded and turned back to his desk, picking up his phone, seeing that it was another text from Cyrus. He leaned back in his seat, reading it to himself with a faint smile on his face.

Law & Order: Cyrus Lupo/Michael Cutter NC-17 [Part 1]

2008-12-08T20:23:00Z

Part 1

Pairing: Det. Cyrus Lupo/ADA Michael Cutter
Disclaimer: I fully admit to owning nothing with regards to the Law & Order franchise, which includes the characters used in this story.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lupo and Bernard investigate a murder that Cutter prosecutes; Lupo attempts to keep up his law school studies; Cutter and Lupo have a relationship going on at the same time.
Word Count: 10,000-ish (It just got really long and plotty, that’s all)
Author’s Notes: For asemic, because you told me what you wanted. I hope/think that I got everything you wanted and I really hope that you like it. Because I’ll admit, I sure as heck do. It’s all for ~~you~~ me you! Or us. I just hope that you can actually sit through it all.

Gloria sighed and shook her bangs out of her eyes as she pressed ‘send’ on her Blackberry, bringing it up to her ear. She glanced behind her at carry-on, hoping that what she was sure were cheap wheels didn’t snap as she hurried through her terminal. “Finally, god!” she said, hearing the other end pick up. “Is everybody running late today?” she asked.

“Gloria Gilbert’s office,” her secretary said flatly, “this is Jennifer speaking.”

“Jennifer!” Gloria snapped, pausing for a moment to double-check which gate her flight was leaving from. “This is Gloria. Whatever happened to my wake-up call, Jennifer? Huh?”

“Uh, Ms Gilbert, I’m in Columbus,” Jennifer reminded her, “I...don’t really have control over your wake-up call.”

“You should,” Gloria said, “because when I asked you to book the Four Seasons, I specifically asked you to tell them that I needed a seven-thirty wake-up call. I did not get that, Jennifer, and now I am going to miss my plane!”

Jennifer slumped down in her seat and rolled her eyes. “I never got that message,” she lied, taking the phone away from her ear for a moment.

Gloria groaned and took her Blackberry away from her ear, dropping it into her pocket. When she finally saw her gate number, she sighed in relief, her high heels clicking across the floor as she hurried over. “Hi, please tell me that it’s not too late.”

The man looked at her sympathetically. “Sorry, you’re actually about twenty minutes late. Your flight is actually–”

Gloria took a few steps back, looking out the large window. “Let me guess: it’s that one, there, actually getting ready to take off.”

He nodded and shrugged. “If you go back downstairs, to the counter, you can buy another ticket. It’s going to be in the air in a few seconds, we obviously can’t tell them to wait. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

Gloria nodded, pursing her lips. “Of course,” she muttered, pushing her hair behind her ears, slowly walking over towards the bathroom. She dug her Blackberry out of her pocket as she turned the corner, dialing her office again as she walked into the bathroom. “Hi Jennifer, I need you to–” She pushed open a stall door with her foot and her mouth fell open, the Blackberry slipping from her fingers.

“Gloria?” Jennifer asked, sitting up in her chair. “Ms Gilbert, are you there?”

She took a step back and brought her hand up to cover her mouth, leaning against the wall.

* * * *

Cyrus rubbed at his eyes and shook his head as he walked into the bathroom, quickly flashing his badge.

Bernard looked up from the stall, waving Cyrus over to him. “You look like crap,” he said, stepping out of the way to give him room.

“Yeah, late-night studying,” Cyrus explained, looking into the stall. “Guy in the ladies room,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m sure that somebody noticed him.”

“Lady over there came in,” Bernard said, gesturing towards Gloria Gilbert, who was speaking to an officer, “opened the door, saw him lying there.”

“She happen to see anybody who look like a killer running out here?” Cyrus asked, stepping back. He glanced around the bathroom, and walked over to the ME, who was taking a couple quick notes. “Got an ID?” he asked.

She looked up, handing him an evidence bag with a wallet inside. “Berny Malabe,” she answered. “Twenty-three, address is in Albany. I’d say he’s been dead for about an hour. Marks around the neck indicate strangulation.”

Cyrus glanced back as Bernard moved up beside him. “Was he killed here or just dumped?” Bernard asked, pushing his jacket back to put his hands on his hips.

“Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet, hard to say,” she replied. “But position of the body, and there are some signs of a struggle. My guess is that’s your crime scene, boys.” She gave them a half-smile and walked by them, going back over to the body.

“So somebody lured the vic into the bathroom and then strangled him,” Cyrus said, nodding. “It would take a helluva lot of strength, he wasn’t some kid.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t take a whole lot of luring,” Bernard remarked. “Probably somebody a little too scared to join the actual mile high club.”

Cyrus smiled faintly. “I’m sure there are lots of cameras around out there,” he suggested, “let’s just go find Waldo.” He and Bernard looked around the bathroom again and Cyrus caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” Bernard agreed. “You look worse than the vic.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus muttered, adjusting the knot of his tie. “We can get coffee before we do anything else, right?”

* * * *

“COD hold?” Bernard asked, walking into the coroner’s.

“Strangulation,” she nodded, looking up from the body. “The marks around his neck suggest a thin rope. Skin under his fingernails,” she continued, “sent that up for DNA. I don’t know what else to tell you. Lack of defensive wounds, lack of any wounds really, other than those on his neck.”

“You’re not making it easy on us, are ya?” Bernard smiled.

“Well, I’m not finished yet,” she smiled back. “Lack of defensive wounds, but he did fight back. Black hairs, couple inches long, found in his fist. Indicates Caucasian. Sent that up with the fingernail scrapings. Smudge of lipstick found on his inner thigh.” She sighed, glancing at the body. “I think I’m finished now,” she assured him.

* * * *

“What do we got?” Van Buren asked, moving behind her desk.

“Vic is Berny Malabe, twenty-three of Albany,” Cyrus told her. “No wife or kids, we’ve located his father, trying to get in contact with him.”

“ME found lipstick on his thigh,” Bernard said. “We’re thinking some lovely lady in the airport lures him into the bathroom, they get a little frisky, then either she or a friend pull out some rope and strangle him to death.”

“Checked the security tapes yet?” Van Buren asked. “By the bathroom?”

“Airport is sending them over,” Cyrus nodded, “I plan on watching them when they come in.”

“Anything on the DNA yet,” she asked, turning to Bernard, “or the lipstick?”

Bernard shook his head. “Right now, we’re just waiting for the evidence to come in. Once Lupo’s got the tapes, I’ll head over to the lab.”

Van Buren nodded, taking her seat. “And keep trying to get in contact with the father. If the DNA or tapes don’t give us anything, he might be the only one who can give us a motive. Keep me in the loop.”

Cyrus and Bernard nodded, Cyrus pushing himself up off a stack of boxes by the door, and the partners walked out of the room together. “She’s right, you know,” Bernard said. “If we get nothing off the tapes, no hits from DNA, this could be a dead-end case.”

Cyrus nodded, taking a seat at his desk. “Yeah, I know. But there’ll be something. Somewhere, I’m sure. As soon as those tapes get here,” he muttered, yawning into his fist.

* * * *

“DNA under the fingernails belongs to a woman,” the lab technician said to Bernard, examining his clipboard. “We put it into CODIS, see if we can get a profile match.”

“What about the hair?” Bernard asked.

“Black, Caucasian,” the technician read, “and male. So, obviously not a match to the skin. Same deal with CODIS, but it’ll take awhile, if there is anything out there to match it to.” He flipped to the next page on his clipboard. “Before you ask, nothing special about the lipstick. Popular brand sold in drug stores all over the continent. I’m afraid I don’t have too much for you yet. We’ll let you know if we get anything from CODIS.”

Bernard shook his head, turning away. “You better be watching those tapes, Lupo,” he grumbled.

* * * *

Van Buren shook her head towards Bernard. “Alright, so we’ve got a face–”

“Profile, actually,” Cyrus interrupted, shrugging.

“Face,” she repeated, “but no name to match it to yet. Have you talked to the father yet?” she asked.

“We’re still leaving messages,” Bernard said. “I Googled him, he’s a business owner. Maybe he’s just away on a business trip.”

“We’ve got nothing,” Van Buren said, shaking her head again. “No DNA, no murder weapon, no names. What about the tapes?” she asked Cyrus.

“I...already watched them,” Cyrus said, looking at her in confusion. “Petite brunette walked into the bathroom with Berny. The bathrooms are down the same hall, so it’s impossible to tell which one of the guys is in on it and which one is just taking a leak.”

“He gets her DNA under his fingernails during their little romp,” Bernard began, “which led to the lipstick. The Caucasian male with black hair goes into the bathroom and attacks Berny, but he tries to fight back.”

“We don’t even know if she was in on it,” Van Buren pointed out. “She could literally be from anywhere. We need to know whether she came into the airport via security or a flight, and if so, which one.” She sighed, folding her hands on her desk. “Bernard, if this kid was murdered, maybe that’s the reason his father isn’t picking up the phone. Drive up to Albany and talk to the man. Try and find something.”

The detectives both turned to walk out of her office, but Van Buren spoke up. “Lupo, get more tapes from security at the airport. Try and trace her steps through the airport; start with the bathroom and work backwards. The gate, the terminal. Find somebody who talks to her, maybe we can get some kind of name.”

“I’m gonna be here all night, aren’t I?” Cyrus asked, walking out of her office. “I’ll find something.”

“Take somebody else with you,” Van Buren said to Bernard. “Stay the night if you have to; do not leave until you talk to Mister Malabe or find out why you can’t.”

“Sure thing, Lieu,” Bernard nodded, following after Cyrus. “Hey, good luck with the tapes, man,” he smiled, clasping him on the shoulder, “but I guess I’ll be seeing you sometime tomorrow.”

“If his father confesses,” Cyrus said, dropping down into his chair, “you call me. Do not make me keep watching these tapes.”

Bernard grinned. “Of course not. You better put on a fresh pot.”

Cyrus groaned and nodded, reaching out to pick up the phone, dialing the airport’s security office.

* * * *

Cyrus wanted to let his eyes to close, but he knew that he was going to have to watch all the tapes eventually and he really didn’t want to put it off until the next day. He reached out for his coffee mug with the hand that wasn’t propping his head up, taking a sip before he realized that it had cooled enough to be disgusting. He grimaced and set the mug down, pausing the video for a moment so that he could blink furiously and rub his eyes. He started up the video again, but jumped slightly when a white box appeared on his desk beside his computer. He paused the video again and looked up, surprised to see Michael Cutter standing above him.

Michael smiled at Cyrus, briefly reaching out to grasp his shoulder. “If you weren’t here, I’d be dropping these off at your place.”

Cyrus smiled back and opened the box, practically groaning at the sight of the donuts. “It’s a stereotype, you know,” he said, reaching in to pick out the jelly-filled that looked the most delicious.

Michael pulled off his scarf, throwing it over his arm. “That may be so, but those are always based off something,” he pointed out, giving Cyrus another smile as he began walking towards Van Buren’s office, knocking on her door.

Van Buren stood up and opened the door for Michael, letting him in. “Mister Cutter,” she nodded, sitting on the edge of her desk. “What can I help you with?”

“Stacey Darling told us where she hid the gun,” Michael replied. “Apparently, she handed it off to her building super. Mind getting a detective out to speak to him about it?”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Van Buren asked. “Lupo’s one of the few left in here tonight and he’s busy.”

“Before she can tip him off to ditch it,” Cutter said, turning around and walking out of the office. “Thank you, lieutenant.” He walked by Cyrus’s desk, pulling his scarf on. “Goodnight, detective,” he smiled, taking a donut out of the box.

Cyrus smiled again, nodding. “Thanks for the, uh–”

“You can thank me later,” Michael suggested, taking a bite as he continued on his way out of the precinct.

Cyrus sighed and shifted in his seat, looking back to the screen. He paused it and pushed his chair back, going over to the coffee maker.

* * * *

Bernard shrugged off his jacket, opening his locker. He shifted, looking around the corner of lockers, seeing Cyrus on one of the benches. He smiled and shook his head, walking over to his partner. He nudged his foot, watching him wake up. “You finish with the tapes?” he asked.

Cyrus groaned, arm still thrown over his eyes. “Couple hours ago,” he muttered, shifting on the hard bench. “Just came in here for a nap before you showed back up,” he explained, arm finally falling away from his face.

“You find anything?” Bernard asked, reaching his hand out to Cyrus, helping him up.

Cyrus reached behind him, picking his jacket up from the bench, unfolding it and pulling it on. “Do you know how people fly in and out of JFK every day?” he asked, trying to crack his back as they walked out of the locker room.

“Hope the coffee maker didn’t break down on you, then,” Bernard smiled, looking down at Cyrus’s desk. “You made time for a donut run?” he asked, opening the box, finding the last jelly-filled, quickly glancing at Cyrus before picking it up.

“Uh, no,” Cyrus answered, shaking his head and reaching out to get Bernard’s attention, nodding towards Van Buren’s office, where she was waving them in. “Friend dropped them off.”

“Ooh,” Bernard teased, nodding at Van Buren.

“Tell me you found Berny’s father,” Van Buren said.

“Uh, I know where he is,” Bernard replied. “He’s on a cruise ship near Venezuela. He’s got about nine days left.”

“Did we ever find out where Berny was flying?” Van Buren asked.

Cyrus nodded, getting out his notepad. “Got the credit card records during my marathon last night,” he told her. “He had a ticket to Aruba.”

“Which is off the coast of Venezuela,” Van Buren pointed out. “He was probably on his way down to try and meet up with Dad. Bernard, did you find any of Berny’s friends floating around Albany yesterday? Somebody we can talk to about a motive?”

“Well, I asked Mister Malabe’s kindly neighbors,” Bernard smiled, “and they told me that Berny hasn’t lived at home for quite some time. He’s a student here, at Columbia. I say we go check that out; there’s gotta be somebody there he knows.”

Van Buren nodded. “Take a picture of mystery brunette with Berny with you. Did you manage to track her, Lupo?”

“She came in from terminal three, gate eleven,” Cyrus answered, “from the helipad. She should’ve made it a little harder than that. Helicopter landing closest to his time of death flew in from the downtown Manhattan heliport.”

“Did Berny happen to fly in with her?” Van Buren asked.

Cyrus shook his head. “I got him walking on the way to his terminal, and the petite brunette runs into him. They talk for a few seconds then he starts following her to the bathroom.”

Van Buren nodded, sipping from her coffee mug. “On the video, did he have a carry-on with him?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Cyrus nodded, “regular black bag. Which wasn’t with him in the bathroom. He must’ve had something on him.”

“Something that wouldn’t alert security, but something to kill over,” Bernard finished. “When we ask around at school, we’ll try and find out what kind of stuff he was into.”

“Or that his father was into,” Van Buren said. “If he was flying down to Aruba to meet his father, whatever was in his bag might have been for him. What did you find about his father, when you Googled him?”

“He owns a small computer-based business,” Bernard replied. “Repair, restoring lost files. Stuff like that.”

“Go see what you can find out at Columbus,” Van Buren commanded, “see how involved Berny was in his father’s business. I don’t like the fact that his father is that far out of the country when his son’s been murdered. Call the father’s business, see if somebody else there can fax you over a list of customers in the past couple of months.”

“You’re not gonna make me drive up there again?” Bernard asked, smiling.

“Just hope they don’t ask for a warrant,” Van Buren said, shaking her head slightly. “We don’t have a lot to go on.”

“You see me actually making it home tonight?” Cyrus asked, slipping his notebook into his pocket.

“Get me some kind of break,” Van Buren directed, “help move this along.”

“I think Lieu’s got her motive all picked out,” Bernard murmured to Lupo out of the office.

Cyrus shrugged. “Small-time computer repair business,” he said, “I don’t know what could be there. But I’ll admit, it does seem like the kid was going to see his dad, and with the missing carry-on...”

“When’s the last time you flew?” Bernard asked suddenly.

“Not that long ago,” Cyrus replied, walking out the door. “Why?”

“If you leave your bag unattended, security takes it,” Bernard reminded him. “Always a chance Berny left the bag out by the counter, or the door. Whoever killed him got spooked and forgot it.”

“Somebody goes through all the trouble,” Cyrus began, shaking his head as they walked down the steps to the car, “they’re not going to forget it. If that bag’s the motive, they’re not going to leave it behind.”

“You think the guy still lives on campus?” Bernard asked, climbing into the car.

“Permanent address is still in Albany,” Cyrus nodded, “so sounds like. Means he may a have a roommate. Perfect guy to interview.”

* * * *

Cyrus spun the spaghetti around his fork, leaning down to take a quick bite before it all unravelled back onto the plate. He sat back slightly to chew, tongue coming out to lick the tomato sauce off his lips. He swallowed hard and took a sip of beer. “Donuts and hot dog vendors don’t make the best balanced meals,” he said, looking over at Michael.

Michael nodded, cutting into his chicken. “Add pretzels,” he smiled.

“Doesn’t mean the donuts weren’t appreciated,” Cyrus continued. “It was a late night.” He took another bite of the pasta, sitting back in the booth, settling against the cushioned back. “The job’s gonna give me back problems,” he joked, picking up his glass.

“Better finish law school quickly, then,” Michael said, loosening the knot on his tie, sitting back as well. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

Cyrus looked up and set his glass down. “I’ve got...it’s a– it’s been a rough past couple of days,” he explained, “I need the sleep.”

Michael nodded. “I get that. Oddly enough, I think the beds may have originally been invented for just that purpose. That includes the one at my place.”

Cyrus smiled and took another drink, before finally nodding. “Yeah alright,” he agreed, “sounds good. But you gotta let me sleep.”

Michael nodded, clinking his glass against Cyrus’s. “Yeah, of course, Cy. I heard you.”

* * * *

Cyrus grunted and pulled Michael against him by his jacket, clutching at him as Michael’s hands worked at undoing his pants.

Michael tugged his shirt out of his pants and shrugged off his jacket, starting on the buttons of his shirt.

Cyrus cupped Michael’s face, tilting him up into a rough kiss. Their lips slipped against each other and Cyrus caught one of Michael’s between his teeth, tugging on it then slipping his tongue out move against his.

Michael got almost all his buttons undone before Cyrus pulled back, licking his lips as he reached up, slowly undoing Michael’s tie. He swallowed hard and looked down, watching Cyrus’s fingers move, tugging on the fabric, the knot coming undone.

Cyrus dropped his mouth to Michael’s neck, where the skin was starting to become damp with sweat. He licked and nipped as he tugged on the tie, slipping it out from under his collar. It fell from his fingers on top of Michael’s jacket and he pushed the white shirt off his shoulders, fingers spreading to cup the back of his head, pulling Michael back into the kiss. They started trying to walk to the bed together, feet getting caught against each other and Michael’s undone pants were starting to slip down his legs. He fell to the bed, pulling Cyrus down on top of him.

Cyrus pushed himself, shifting to straddling Michael’s hips and he quickly loosened his own tie enough to pull it over his head, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as he could. He leaned down and moved his arm behind Michael’s shoulders, pulling him up, moaning against his mouth.

Michael sat up and pushed at Cyrus’s chest, pushing him onto the mattress and rolling with him, finding himself on top. He pushed Cyrus’s shirt out of the way, leaning down to move his mouth over his chest.

Cyrus moaned and his head went back, one of his arms outstretched, playing with the fabric of the comforter. “God, the bed,” he groaned, remembering their conversation at the restaurant.

Michael pushed himself up, standing by the bed, finally stepping out of his pants. He reached down, undoing Cyrus’s pants, leaning to press his mouth above the waistband before Cyrus lifted his hips, helping them down, pushing at the elastic of his boxers. Michael pulled all the fabric off, and Cyrus lifted his head to watch his mouth wrap around the head of his dick.

“God,” Cyrus moaned, his fingers entwining in Michael’s hair, mussing it up from his usual style. “Mike,” he sighed, gripping the comforter tightly now, not wanting to thrust up into his warm, wet mouth. He whimpered as Michael took him further in, tongue sliding down. He bit down on his lip, grunting, hips starting to work down against the mattress.

Michael moaned softly, fingers digging into Cyrus’s thighs, knees pressing hard against his bedroom floor.

“Mike, pull off,” Cyrus commanded, pushing at his head instead of keeping him down.

“Already?” Michael asked, looking up at Cyrus, mouth hanging slightly open.

“No, not already,” Cyrus snapped, grasping onto Michael’s arm, pulling him back up onto the bed, rolling to his side. He pressed his lips to Michael’s, kissing him softly as he reached between them, grasping onto Michael’s dick, jerking him slowly.

Michael awkwardly took Cyrus in hand, stroking him in pace with his hand, curling into Cyrus. He pulled back, their foreheads pressed together. “You staying?” he asked before Cyrus chuckled softly, kissing him again.

“Mm-hmm,” Cyrus nodded, groaning into his mouth, starting to thrust into Michael’s fist. He grunted and his head went back, biting off a cry before it got too loud when he came, shooting on their stomachs and Michael’s hand. He panted heavily, staring up at the ceiling as the pleasure began to fade away from his body. He kept his fist working on Michael, turning his head and wetting his lips, watching him as he licked his lips and bit down and moaned softly, doing it all with his eyes closed, not knowing how intently Cyrus was watching him. He kissed him, tongue slowly slicking at Michael’s mouth.

Michael grasped onto Cyrus’s shirt, pulling him in and holding him close as his mouth fell open, a tiny grunt followed by all his breath rushing out as he came, hips pumping into Cyrus’s fist. He fell back onto the mattress, rolling onto his back, breathing quickly. He wet his lips and swallowed hard, climbing up onto the bed and moving towards the pillows.

Cyrus sat up and finally shrugged off his shirt, pushing it to the floor. Hunched over, he glanced up towards to Michael, who was getting under the sheets. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes and stood up, walking to the head of the bed. He climbed under alongside Michael, rolling over onto his stomach. “Goodnight,” he mumbled, pushing his arms under the pillows, stretching out and burying his face in the pillow.

Michael smiled and nodded, reaching over to his nightstand, turning the alarm clock on. He settled back into the mattress, getting himself comfortable. He turned his head, pressing his lips to Cyrus’s bare shoulder, kissing him gently a few times. When he pulled back, Cyrus’s eyes were open, watching him with an amused smile on his face. “Goodnight, Mike,” he said again, watching him for a few more seconds before closing his eyes and letting out a quiet breath.

“Night,” Michael smiled, shifting a little more before yawning and trying to let himself drift off.

* * * *

“The kid’s clean,” Bernard said, setting his notepad on Van Buren’s desk. “Roommate says he isn’t involved in the dad’s business and never really brought it up.”

“Did he mention where Berny’s mother may be?” Van Buren asked, glancing back at them as she sorted through a box behind her.

“She left when Berny was a kid,” Cyrus answered, “haven’t heard from her in years. I don’t think she’s involved.”

“Did you get a customer list from the business?” she asked, grabbing a couple files and dropping them on her desk.

“Yes, we did,” Bernard nodded, “and a name kind of stood out. There could be no connection, but–”

“Just tell me what it says,” Van Buren interrupted, “we need something in this case.”

“Tommy Roubanis,” Bernard answered. “As in the–”

“Roubanis crime family,” Van Buren finished, nodding. “You’re right, it could be nothing, but that name’s pretty well-known in town. Any chance Tommy would want to speak with you? Lupo, did the airport give you a passenger manifest of who was on that helicopter?”

Cyrus smiled, handing the list over to the lieutenant. “Would you believe it?” he asked. “Althea Roubanis got a flight into JFK, got off the same helicopter as our suspect.”

“Now that is not nothing,” Van Buren said, finally smiling faintly. “Talk to Tommy first, don’t mention the murder; just ask him about what Mister Malabe was doing for him. And has anybody gotten hold of Mister Malabe yet?”

“We contacted the cruise,” Cyrus said, “it’s not the best news. They stopped in Aruba and apparently, Mister Malabe told them that he would not be coming back on for the rest of the trip. He must know by now that Berny hasn’t shown up.”

“So we’ve got a kid, going down to Aruba to meet up with his father, who recently did work for the son of a mobster,” Van Buren began, glancing back and forth between her detectives, “and the daughter of the same mobster is most likely the woman who led the vic to where he was murdered. Anybody think to check if the DNA under his fingernails was any relation to the hair in his hand?”

Cyrus glanced over at Bernard, who was just shaking his head.

“Well, get on it,” Van Buren commanded. “If there is a relation, then we’ll talk to the ADA, see what they can do.”

Cyrus nodded, clearing his throat gently as he adjusted his tie. “So should we tell Tommy we’re checking Mister Malabe’s taxes?” he asked.

Van Buren just looked at him. “Figure something out,” she said, “and before they catch on that we suspect them.”

* * * *

Cyrus shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the chill from the cool New York day, listening to Connie speak.

“I think I could get a judge to sign off a warrant for Althea’s DNA,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee as they walked down the sidewalk. “Wait, how many other females were on the passenger manifest?”

“None,” Cyrus replied, shaking his head, “she was the only one. I watched the tapes, believe me, I watched the tapes: the one woman that came in on that helicopter to that terminal is the same one who led the body into the bathroom, where he was murdered.”

“Good,” Connie nodded, giving him a quick smile of relief, “that’s good. I don’t think it’s enough to do anything with Tommy yet, you haven’t even put him in the airport.”

“You got an opposition to letting us dig through his garbage for a tissue?” Cyrus asked.

“As long as the trash isn’t in his house,” Connie answered, raising her hand to wave.

Cyrus looked up, watching Michael walk down the steps of the building and over to them. “Well, no honor among thieves; maybe we can get Althea to roll on her brother.”

“I doubt it,” Connie said, taking another drink, looking up at Michael.

Cyrus nodded politely at Michael before looking back to Connie. “Okay well, just let us know as soon as we can move on Althea. Thanks for the help.” He nodded again and turned, walking away.

Connie smiled and nodded back, starting to walk up the steps.

“Uh, just a sec,” Michael said to Connie, before going after Cyrus. “Uh, detective?” he called.

Cyrus stopped and turned, having to smile. “Hey Mike,” he said softly, “what’s going on?”

“You looking busy tonight?” Michael asked, hands in his pockets, looking around.

Cyrus shrugged. “The case is looking better,” he said, “which means it looks like more studying.”

“Study with me,” Michael offered.

Cyrus grinned and shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Mike, but--”

“Okay, I know I didn’t let you get as much sleep as you wanted the other night,” Michael admitted, “but I’m a very good study partner. I’ll make your coffee for you.”

Cyrus laughed softly and sighed, looking around. “I’ll...have to call you,” he said. “Who knows when the day will end.”

“Just offering my services,” Michael smiled. He reached out, clasping Cyrus’s shoulder, gently squeezing it before rubbing his thumb over the bare skin of his neck. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand back down. “Good luck with your case, detective,” he said loudly, before walking away.

“Uh yeah, you too,” Cyrus nodded, smiling to himself.

Continued in Part 2.

Proposition 8 - The Musical.

2008-12-03T17:42:50Z

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Seriously, who isn't in this video? It's funny and it's pretty much all true. Why can't the people of California be as smart as Jack Black as Jesus?

supernatural 4x10

2008-11-21T16:12:01Z

I honestly don't buy the whole 'angels don't feel feelings/emotions' crap. I don't know what the exact feelings he has would be called, but Uriel is nowhere near as stoic as say, Castiel. And even Castiel has feelings! There is no way in heck that he is actually indifferent to Dean. Uriel said that he likes Dean; if he didn't have feelings or emotions, he wouldn't like Dean, now would he? Uriel wouldn't have to worry about bringing him around.

I think that it's much more likely that they have feelings and emotions, they just don't show them. Except Uriel. Somehow he manages to get away with showing everything. Disgust, annoyance, lack of remorse. But I guess that because his feelings and emotions are more negative, the issue isn't as big as Castiel's positive ones.

Like more than a couple of people on my flist, I think that they are probably setting Castiel up to fall. I don't want him to though, because once/if he does, I don't think that he'll survive that long past it. It would be interesting to see him as human, because I can just picture a scene where he looks at the world and sees it completely different than he did before, and he and Dean talk about what a magical place it really is, but he wouldn't live. Uriel would probably be one to take him out.

But irony of all ironies, after just having had a conversation about feelings and emotions and lackthereof, there was nothing in that sex scene at all! It was so awkward, and uncomfortable and there was no emotion there whatsoever. If that's the type of sex she fell for, I have no idea why she would ever leave Heaven. I don't think that the characters even liked each other, there was no chemistry at all. Some awesome display of human emotions there.

I wish that I was a celebrity, so that I could name my child something normal and break the freakin' mold. I don't know if they come up with these crazy names because they're celebrities, or they would like them anyway and being famous just gives them permission to be a little weirder, but Bronx Mowgli Wentz? In what world do two people agree that Bronx Wentz sounds like a nice name? Oh, who am I kidding? If I was a celebrity, I'd finally feel free to use the name Kiwi.

"we still gotta see the new Raiders movie." Sam/Dean, PG-13

2008-10-28T03:12:25Z

Title: Hell Bad
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam or Dean, I do not own anything that has to do with Indiana Jones. Also, to be honest, I don’t think that the new one was that bad.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: “We still gotta see the new Raiders movie.” “Saw it.” “Without me?”
Spoilers: No real spoilers for Indiana Jones, but if you don't know what happened at the end of Supernatural season three, I wouldn't suggest reading this.

“Gay,” Dean simply stated, pointing the remote to the television. He shook his head and sighed, looking down at Sam.

Sam made a face like he smelled something bad and he moved onto his side, head propped up on his hand. “Yeah, it was kind of–”

“Awful?” Dean suggested. “I mean, God Sam, what the hell did we just watch? That is not the new Raiders movie.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, it kind of was. Wow. I don’t know, it seemed so different the first time I saw it.”

“I can’t believe that you sat through that, alone, in a theatre,” Dean said in disbelief. “You were alone Sam, and you still didn’t walk out?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he bit down on his lip, trying to think. “I...” he trailed off and just shook his head. “Huh. It seemed better the first time, I think. No, no, it definitely seemed better. Maybe it was the big screen, the surround sound?”

“God,” Dean groaned, pushing himself up. “Well, I’m going to burn the DVD now.”

Sam laughed and reached out, grasping onto Dean’s hand. “Dean, you can’t, it’s not ours.”

“If I burn this,” Dean said, opening the DVD player, taking the disc out on one finger, “nobody will ever see this copy again.” He thought for a second, studying the design on the disc. “I’m calling in a favour with the big guy,” he said, nodding decisively.

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling in amusement. “Okay, so it kind of sucked. I don’t know, everybody involved in those movies is over the hill these days, anyway.”

“Except the kid!” Dean exclaimed, turning around. “What the hell was with that? I...is he the new Indy now or something? He’s not, right? No more of these movies ever need to be made.” He just shook his head, finally dropping the DVD back into its case and he walked back over to the bed, dropping down. “I never thought I’d say this,” he began, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Say what?” Sam asked, reaching down to adjust the hem of his t-shirt where it was riding up.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but first he reached down and pulled the hem back up, smiling at the bared skin. “I never thought I’d say this,” he repeated, “but I’m kind of glad I was dead for that.”

Sam rolled his eyes and smacked Dean in the arm, shaking his head. “Come on, Dean, it wasn’t Hell bad, was it?”

Dean looked forward and crossed his arms, biting down on his lip in thought. Finally, he nodded once. “You know, it might just be too close to call.”

Sam smiled and pushed himself up, the hair on one side of his head pushed up and plastered to his head and he fixed his shirt again. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, leaning in to press his lips against Dean’s.

“Mm?” Dean murmured, raising an eyebrow, opening his mouth under Sam’s. “Don’t know what?” he asked, pulling back, blinking as he looked up at Sam.

“I think that kid’s kind of cute,” he smiled, wetting his lips teasingly. “At least when he’s wearing his leather jacket.”

Dean grinned, head going back with his laugh. “Hey Sammy, you want leather, I can give you leather.”

Sam kissed Dean again and reached up, long fingers curling into the loose neck of his t-shirt. “I like the motorcycle,” he whispered, licking at Dean’s lips.

“I like my Impala,” Dean smiled, grasping at the small curls at the nape of Sam’s neck. “And I know for a damn fact that it’s hotter than any bike.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam asked, lifting his knee and moving it over Dean’s thighs, settling down on his lap. “Prove it,” he challenged, watching Dean closely.

Dean curled his lip and roughly pulled Sam into him, lips mashing together and they kissed in a frenzy, tongues moving against each other quickly and they moaned together, Sam starting to work down onto Dean’s lap. Dean moved his hands down to cup Sam’s biceps, fingers pressing into the skin before he jerked up, pushing Sam down onto the mattress, climbing on top of him.

Sam moved his hand down and gripped at Dean’s ass, pulling him down closer. “Well?” he asked, pulling back from the kiss, breath hitching as Dean moved his mouth over his neck.

Dean lifted his head, licking his lips, letting his fingers dance up underneath Sam’s thin t-shirt. “Can’t fuck on the back of a motorcycle,” he said, looking at him pointedly.

“Hmm,” Sam said, nodding once.

“Well?” Dean asked. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” he admitted.

Dean wet his lips again and kissed Sam, their mouths moving together slowly, groaning softly as the sweetness of Sam’s mouth melted into his. He broke back and reached down to pull at his t-shirt, tugging it over his head.

Sam dragged his fingers down Dean’s chest, smiling up at him. “I have been in the back of the Impala though,” he reminded him teasingly.

Dean grinned and shifted between Sam’s legs, nodding before kissing him again. “Play your cards right Sammy, you’ll end up back there tonight.”

Sam laughed and nodded eagerly, pushing his fingertips beneath the loose waistband of Dean’s jeans, realizing that he was going commando for the evening. "Ooh," he murmured, looking back up at Dean, licking his lips.

laminy @ 2008-10-24T12:54:00

2008-10-24T15:28:37Z

See, I thought that a certain scream of Dean was the bestest thing that I'd ever seen on TV. Until of course, the end, when I was laughing so hard that I had to cover my mouth because it was two-thirty in the morning, and I didn't want to wake my roommates.

And my dad agrees. I called him today to talk about it and he started laughing again. He loves that show. I still don't know how much I liked the actual episode, but those two parts were amazing.

John Winchester/Sam Winchester, pre-series. NC-17

2008-10-07T22:16:43Z

Title: I Sighed As A Lover, I Obeyed As A Son
Disclaimer: I really don’t own anything affiliated with Supernatural, including these characters, and imagining the world where I do is kind of scary.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John Winchester/Sam Winchester. Established relationship.
Warnings: Father/son incest. John/Sam, people! I am warning you, so don’t complain. No underagedness, though, if you have a bigger problem with that.
Summary: No spoilers, set pre-series. Sam is in his second year at Stanford, and is completely shocked that John’s even talking to him, let alone showing up at his dorm.

Sam sniffled softly, rubbing at his nose, flipping the page in his psychology textbook. “Fuck,” he muttered, not even taking in the information anymore, just staring at the words swimming on the page in front of him. “Freakin’ midt–” He looked up when he heard a creak on the floor outside his dorm room, hearing footsteps. He paused for a few moments, waiting to see if the person was there for him, and he just shrugged when he assumed that they had continued on down the hall.

He dropped the textbook and stretched his arms above his head, hearing his shoulders pop. Sam groaned and settled against his pillows shoved up against the wall, staring at the book. He drummed his fingers nervously against his leg before just shaking his head and closing the book, shoving it further down the mattress. Sam heard the familiar creak again and rolled his eyes, reaching up to turn off the light. The light from the hallway filtered in from under the crack in the door, and he could see the shadows of somebody standing there. Or pacing, since the shadows were moving.

Sam pushed himself up off the mattress, taking just the few small steps to the door, hand on the knob. He waited a few seconds, then he opened the door. He frowned; whoever it had been was gone already. He stuck his head out, seeing the retreating figure moving down the hallway. “Can I help you with something?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. The man stopped and Sam sighed. “Are you looking for somebody’s room?”

“Uh, yeah,” the man nodded, slowly turning around, looking at the floor. “Know a Sam Winchester?”

Sam frowned and pushed himself away from the doorframe, stepping out. “Yeah, that’s–” The man looked up and Sam stopped talking, mouth hanging open. “Da– Dad?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Dad, what are you–? What’s going on? I– is Dean okay? What do you need?”

John shook his head, smiling at Sam, eyes shining. “I don’t need anything,” he answered. “Dean’s fine, he’s at the motel in Vallejo.”

Sam let out a breath of relief. “Good, that’s good,” he nodded, always and still feeling the need to straighten his back and put his shoulders back in the presence of his father. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

John shrugged and took a few steps closer to Sam. “Just...wanted to see if I could get the balls to come talk to ya,” he explained, smiling again. “It’s been too long, Sam.”

“Whose fault is that?” Sam asked automatically, and he could see John’s eyes drop, his stance becoming uncomfortable. “How long are you in town for?”

“Vallejo?” John asked. “I don’t know, couple more days. Here? As long as I need.”

“For what?” Sam asked impatiently. “It’s been more than a year, Dad. And oddly enough, you didn’t actually have to come here. You know my number.”

“Not gonna be happy to see me, eh, Sammy?” John asked. “Well, I get it. I wouldn’t want to see me either. Got a roommate that it would bother if I came in?”

Sam shook his head. “Not this year,” he replied quietly.

“Would it bother you?” John continued.

Sam crossed his arms and looked down at his shifting feet. “No,” he said finally, stepping out of the way, giving John room.

John walked by Sam, taking a couple of small steps into the room before he looked around, nodding slowly. “This bed big enough for you?” he asked finally, glancing back at Sam.

Finally, Sam cracked a smile, and even if it was just a little one, John grinned back at him. Sam shook his head. “Not really...sir.”

“Let’s just say that ‘Dad’ is fine, Sammy,” John said, taking another look around before pulling out the chair at Sam’s desk, sitting down.

“Okay,” Sam agreed, turning to close the door, walking over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. “Where’d you tell Dean you were going?”

John shook his head. “I didn’t. Told him I’d be fine though. He knows not to worry about me.”

“Or question you, right?” Sam asked pointedly.

“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” John nodded, deciding not to fight that right now. He looked at Sam’s bed, seeing the textbook. “Did I interrupt your studying?” he asked.

“Not really,” Sam answered. “I was...I’ve been studying all day, I was taking a break when I heard you outside the door.” He swallowed, rolling his lips into his mouth. “You uh, you didn’t knock.” He looked up at John, a thought coming to him. “Have you been here before?” he asked curiously.

John folded his hands, looking down at his ring. “Town. Campus. Parking lot in front of this building.”

They sat in what was an awkward silence for the both of them until a girl screaming outside broke through, and they both looked towards the window. “Is she okay?” John asked quickly.

Sam smiled and nodded. “Just drunk, I’m guessing. It’s really not that bad here. Like that, I mean. I haven’t noticed anything.”

“You’re actually looking?” John asked in surprise. “Why? Isn’t that what we spent our last week together arguing about?”

“I’m not actually looking,” Sam said, “it’s just...I can’t not ever think about that stuff. Eighteen years, that stuff was my life. Kind of hard to forget.” He sighed. “Dad, why are you here? I mean, really, it’s a great surprise and all–”

“Really?” John asked. “It’s great? Because you seem about as excited as–”

“Fine, it’s just a surprise,” Sam corrected. “You obviously don’t hate me as much as I thought you did, but why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to see my son,” John answered.

“Right, and that’s it?” Sam asked. “You don’t need help with a hunt, you’re not here to try and convince me to change my mind about it all? Or– or maybe you’re here to tell me that my building’s haunted. One of my profs is possessed? The girl I went out with a couple weekends ago is in a coven?”

“I’m not here to try and ruin anything for you, Sam,” John assured him quietly. “I just wanted to see you. I knew that it was the right thing to come and see you. It’s been too long.”

“Whatever, Dad,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Fine, you decide to visit now. You’ve obviously seen the building; this is my room, and no, you don’t get to meet any of my friends. Are we finished?”

“You’re that angry?” John asked. “Fine, Sammy, I can’t make you want me here.” He stood up, looking down at Sam. “We’re staying at the Budget Inn, in Vallejo, like I said. If you wanna see your brother.” He reached out, pushing Sam’s hair away from his face and leaned down, pressing his lips to his forehead.

Sam closed his eyes, swallowed hard and he took a deep breath, inhaling every familiar scent that his father had brought with him. “Why did you come here?” he asked again, quietly. He lifted his head, taking another deep breath, and everything about being so close to John again was hitting him straight in the gut and below the belt.

“Are you okay, Sammy?” John asked softly.

“I miss you,” Sam said, ignoring the question. He wet his lips and reached out, pushing his fingers in with John’s. “Did you miss me too?”

“I missed you like I should,” John said curtly, tightening his grip on Sam’s hand, a familiar feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Sam slowly stood up, crowding against John, still not used to having to look down to him. “It’s why you left Dean in the motel room. If you wanted family bonding, you would’ve brought him.”

“I didn’t want you and him to argue,” John explained, hand starting to shake around Sam’s and he swallowed hard. “I didn’t think that the three of us together would be such a great idea. I’m not here for bonding, I’m here for–”

Sam tilted his head and gently pressed his lips to John’s, moving his hands up to cup his cheeks, holding him close, and still. His tongue came out quickly, and John’s mouth was open and ready for it. One of his hands slid down, cupping John’s neck and the other one dropped to his shirt, fisting the fabric between his fingers, pulling him in.

John broke the kiss, looking down. “I like when you do that,” he said, “when you pull on my shirt.”

Sam grinned and kissed John again, licking at his lips; he was in love with the sensation of John’s beard scratching against his skin. “Can you stay for the night?” he asked hopefully.

John nodded. “I don’t see why not,” he answered, gently touching Sam’s face.

Sam sat back down on the bed and pulled off his t-shirt, dropping it on the sheets near his psychology book. “Sit down,” he offered, shifting on the mattress, dropping his hand beside him.

John looked around nervously before shrugging off his jacket, setting it on the chair before moving beside Sam. “I really didn’t come here for this, Sam,” he said. “I came to visit. I came to apologize.”

Sam nodded jerkily and leaned in, moving his mouth over John’s neck, one of his hands resting on John’s thigh, kneading it softly. “It’s okay, right? I mean, I’m old enough now to make my own decisions.”

John couldn’t help the snort that came from trying to cover his laugh. “Old enough, Sam? I don’t think age has ever made a difference to you.” He stopped chuckling and just smiled, leaning in to kiss Sam.

Sam sighed into the kiss, making a quiet noise, moving his other arm behind John’s neck. He held him close and started to lie back, pulling his dad down with him.

John pushed himself up onto the bed, moving between Sam’s legs; Sam’s smooth lips rubbing against his own harsh, chapped ones. John tried to lick his own lips through the kiss to wet them for Sam.

“I love you,” Sam managed between kisses and heavy breathing. His grip was white-knuckled on John’s shirt and his weight between his legs was sending pleasure through his whole body; he began moving against John, their two bodies rocking together on Sam’s cramped mattress.

John grunted and struggled to push himself up, getting onto his knees, looking down at Sam. He began to unbutton his shirt from the bottom, Sam’s hand moving up over his skin and fingers dragging through his chest hair with every bit that was exposed. He shrugged off his shirt and dropped it to the floor.

Sam licked his lips and dragged his hand back down, moving further down to palm John through his worn jeans. He grunted, thrusting his hips up against John’s weight and quickly fumbled with the buttons on his fly, looking up at John when he slipped his hand into his jeans and the slit in his boxers.

“Christ, Sammy,” John choked out, head falling forward and eyes squeezing shut. He started riding Sam’s hips, thrusting into his fist and pushing down against him, feeling Sam hard beneath him.

“I wanna suck you off,” Sam whispered, eyes narrowing as he looked up at John, biting down on his lip. He pulled his hand out and began gently pushing at John’s hips.

John lifted one of his legs and dropped down beside Sam, thinking that he heard something break in the mattress. “Sammy...” he reached out, running his fingertips down Sam’s bare chest, “let Daddy do something for you,” he finished. “What do you need?” he asked.

Sam swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing and reached down, squeezing himself through his thin pyjama pants, before starting to push at the elastic waistband. He closed his eyes when his dick was bared and he lifted his hips, shoving the bottoms down. He kicked them off, breathing quick and shallow, and he could feel John’s eyes on him. He reached down and grasped his dick in hand, squeezing it once before John’s hand took over, stroking him gently. His eyes opened to slits and he watched John, gasping in pleasure.

John shifted, kicking the textbook to the floor, rubbing his thumb over the head of Sam’s dick, smearing precum. He pushed his lips against Sam’s, grunting as he stroked him quickly. He pulled back, gasping for breath, his own dick aching to be touched.

Sam’s breath hitched and he lifted his head, neck muscles straining to keep him watching John’s fist. His legs fell open and one of his hands started to curl into the mattress, the other one grabbing onto his father. “I wanna touch you,” he muttered, meeting John’s eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”

John bit down on his lip, looking down at Sam, fighting hard to ignore the request that his body so wanted to comply with. He kissed Sam again to silence him, his other hand moving over his broad chest, feeling the shifting of muscles underneath the gorgeous skin.

Sam’s head tilted back and John’s mouth moved to his neck, Sam’s fingers pushing through his hair. “Dad,” he panted, crying out. He swallowed hard, breathing quickly. His fingers tightened in John’s hair and he groaned, teeth nipping at Sam’s skin. His beard scratched against Sam’s neck as John moved his mouth up, breathing heavily in Sam’s ear.

“I love you,” John murmured, tracing the shell of Sam’s ear, letting his cock slip from his grip, hand moving down between Sam’s legs; fingertips tracing and teasing around the puckered skin.

“Please,” Sam plead, “Dad, please, I need–” his breath hitched again, chest quickly rising and he brought his hand up to his mouth, biting down on the skin as he came, dick jerking and shooting, hitting his shaking stomach. It was a few seconds before Sam started to breathe again, panting heavily. He was almost instantly tired and he pulled on John’s arm.

John moved back up beside Sam, resting on his side, studying him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Sam nodded slowly, reaching down to John’s jeans. “Do you want me to use my mouth?” he asked, grasping John’s dick. He shifted on the bed, pushing himself up on all fours, and he dragged his thumb through the come on his stomach, bringing it up to John’s mouth. He smeared it there and leaned down, kissing John and licking at his lips. “I wanna use my mouth,” he breathed, meeting John’s eyes. He hovered over John, before wetting his lips and moving down his body. “Is it okay?” he asked, looking up at John, his bangs back in his eyes. He pulled John’s dick out of his boxers and his jeans, leaning down to take the head into his mouth.

John’s hips jerked up, and he watched as the head of his dick hit the inside of Sam’s cheek. He groaned, the low noise mixing in with Sam’s moan, and soon with the sound of spit-slicked lips and skin on skin when Sam pulled back to press open mouth kisses over the leaking head, stroking the shaft.

Sam blew his hair out of his eyes so that he could look up at John then smiled, teasingly blowing a stream of cool air over John’s dick, before taking it back into his mouth. He reached up, locking fingers with him. He felt John’s fingers tightening in his and he slowly pulled off, teasing him with his tongue along the way. He jerked his dick quickly, licking his lips and kissing John’s skin along the waistband of his jeans.

John’s breath hitched several times before he grunted quietly, coming onto his stomach and onto Sam. His body shook as Sam continued gently stroking him, before he finally jerked away.

Sam curled up on himself, bringing his long legs in and he rested there in silence.

John waited until his breathing was calm again and he reached down, tucking himself back in, adjusting his boxers and doing up his jeans. He stared up at the ceiling and he just shook his head, not really believing that he and Sam had fallen back into it, especially not at that point in their lives. He was starting to wish that he hadn’t told him that he could stay the night, until he felt Sam shifting and pushing himself up, to curl up practically on John.

“I know it’s a small bed,” Sam said, reaching down to pull at the bed sheets. “I can take the floor, or–”

John wrapped his arm around Sam, pulling him down, kissing the top of his head. “Get some sleep, Sammy,” he whispered, giving him a small smile. “I’m okay. Stay here.”

Sam settled in, half on John, their legs twined together, the rough denim John was wearing scratching at his bare skin. Sam’s head turned so that he was breathing onto John’s neck and he closed his eyes, moving his arm over John’s chest.

John smiled weakly, reaching up to grasp onto Sam’s arm, resting against him. “Are you comfy?” he asked quietly, turning to look at Sam.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam murmured, giving him a small nod, “I’m good.” He stretched his arm out and shifted just a bit more before finally stilling, ready to sleep.

John smiled again, pressing his lips to Sam, before pulling back to yawn softly. “Good,” he said, closing his eyes.

* * * *

Sam’s eyes slowly opened, the early sunlight shining in through his window, and he laid still, so comfortable and warm in his bed before his mind jumped and he quickly lifted his head, finally realizing that John was gone. He pushed himself up and sighed, looking around his room. Sam rubbed at his eyes and pushed the sheets off his lap, climbing out of bed. He reached over to his desk and grabbed his cell phone, sitting back down when he checked his voice mail.

John’s voice crackled across the line and Sam sighed, reaching down to grab his boxers, setting them on his lap. “Hey Sammy. Dean called me, the hunt picked back up again. I didn’t wanna wake ya. I didn’t need to wake ya. I love you, kiddo. And...sorry.”

Sam rolled his eyes and went to the next message, quickly grinning when he heard Dean’s voice. “Hey, Sammy! Me and Dad are on a hunt right now, but don’t worry, we’re not asking you to come with. You and me should meet up sometime, I’m nearby. I’ll give you a call once we got it all handled. And don’t worry, I won’t let Dad know I called. Don’t need another excuse to piss him off. Don’t be a bitch, little brother.”

Sam laughed softly and stilled smiled as he closed his phone. He stood up and pulled on his boxers, picking his textbook up off the floor.

original fiction, say what? mini spin-off time!

2008-10-07T01:04:40Z

Title: Not The One In New York
Disclaimer: I don’t really own all these characters, but they are mine, I did create them. They’re original, to me. This is like, an original story. Wow.
Rating: PG, PG-13ish. Some swearing, and violence.
Characters: Albany, Michael, Lorelai, Cillian, mentions of Paula. Which means that this story is, in fact, a spin-off from Look What Love Has Done! Mpreg epic, making its way back. Hopefully, anyway. I would like to write more than just this with these characters, or Dylan and Danny again, but this took enough time on its own. Maybe!
Summary: Just a kind of depressing day in the life of Albany, the forgotten middle son.

Written For: exitosus. Words cannot describe how embarrassed I am about not writing this/putting it off for so long, but you told me not to feel bad, so I’ll try not to. I always had it around, I just didn’t know what to do with it. Then I opened it after reading the comments where you originally asked for this and I started writing again. This is what I came up with, I hope that it’s something you like. I kinda do.

Also, a Note: I was in my Intro to Psych class the other day, and there was generic stock photographs of children on a powerpoint. And one of them was a generic stock photograph that I used for Dylan Winchester once. Oh, my god :D

Albany groaned loudly and reached out, trying blindly to shut off his alarm clock. He cringed when it fell off the night stand to the floor and he just rolled onto his stomach, blowing his hair out of his eyes. He tried to reach down to the clock, the alarm still beeping, but it was just out of reach of his fingers. He sighed and slumped down, grunting softly.

“Alby!” Michael called as he walked past his bedroom, banging on the door.

Albany whined softly and shook his head, burying it in his mattress. “Don’t wanna,” he murmured, shifting to get comfortable.

Michael backtracked down the hallway, standing in front of Albany’s room. “Albany!” he yelled, hitting the door again.

“Ugh,” Albany groaned, starting to roll off the bed. He cried out when he hit the floor, laughing pitifully. He reached out and hit the snooze button, and he yawned loudly, staring up at the ceiling.

Michael opened the door and stepped into the room, looking over at Albany. “Are you getting up?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Albany nodded, sighing, but he didn’t move to push himself up. “Eventually.”

“Well, I gotta go soon,” Michael said, “I gotta take Lorelai to school.”

Albany nodded again. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured, and rolled onto his side. “Got it.”

“That means that I have to leave,” Michael said, “as in not here to make sure that you actually make it to school. Get up.”

Albany yawned again and let his eyes drift closed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He settled into the floor and shoved his alarm clock away from himself.

Michael smiled and rolled his eyes, walking into Albany’s room, reaching down to gently grasp onto Albany’s arm, helping him up. “Did the clock break?” he asked, leading Albany out of his room.

Albany yawned and shook his head, glancing back. “Nope.” He rubbed his arms, looking down at Lorelai as she walked past them. “Why do you have to go to school so early today?” he asked.

Lorelai just ignored him as she ducked into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

Albany rolled his eyes and mouthed the word ‘bitch’ at the bathroom door, earning a swat on the back of his head from his dad. “What?” he asked, reaching up to rub at his head. “Dude, it’s not like I said it. And it’s not like she wasn’t being one.”

“Sit down, Alby,” Michael commanded, going over to the refrigerator. He grabbed the carton of orange juice and a glass, pouring it full for Albany. “What do you want to eat?” he asked, handing the glass over the counter.

Albany fidgeted in his seat as he examined the glass of orange juice, frowning. “Dad, get Lorelai out of the bathroom. Please.”

“She’s just going to be a sec,” Michael assured him, grabbing the box of Eggos out of the freezer. “I’m making these for you. You’re going to drink that. And you’re not going back to bed, got it?”

“Dad, I know,” Albany said, finally taking a small sip. “School, homework, blah blah and all that. I couldn’t go back to sleep right now if I tried.”

“And when I get a call tonight from a teacher, informing me that you fell asleep in class?” Michael asked, grabbing a plate and the maple syrup.

Albany rolled his eyes and quickly shoved his chair back when he saw Lorelai coming out of the bathroom. “Thank G--” he cut himself off when Lorelai smirked over at him and slipped back in. He just slowly shook his head. “Dad!” he yelled. “This is fucking ridiculous!”

“Please watch your mouth,” Michael said flatly, pushing his hair back off his forehead.

“Fix the basement bathroom, Dad!” Albany exclaimed, storming down the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom. “I hate you, you little brat!” he yelled, pounding on the door. “Go fuckin’ live with Mom!”

Michael sighed and rubbed at his eyes, hearing Albany slam his bedroom door. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the cordless phone. He quickly dialled and held it up, waiting for the other end to be answered. “Hi, Miss Griffin? Yeah, Lorelai is going to be late for her ballet today.” He leaned against the counter, looking up when Lorelai walked down the hall into the kitchen.

“Dad!” Lorelai whined. “You can’t do that!”

“I’m just not going to be able to drive her there,” Michael explained. “I’m having a bit of an issue with her brother today, and I’m just not going to leave yet.” he nodded once. “Yep, of course. Thank you.” He gave Lorelai a quick smile and set the phone down. “You will be going to school on the bus today, Miss Lorelai.”

“Dad, this is so stupid,” Lorelai pouted, crossing her arms. “Just because he’s being cranky, I have to miss ballet. It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you hogging the bathroom,” Michael said, walking by Lorelai. “Make sure you’re ready, I’m not going to be here when you leave.”

“You’re gonna drive him?” Lorelai asked.

“Yes Lorelai, I am going to drive my son to school,” Michael said, glancing back. “You talk about him like he’s not your brother. Smarten up.” He knocked on Albany’s bedroom door and pushed it open. “Come on, get up, I’m giving Lori your breakfast, I’m taking you out.”

“I don’t wanna,” Albany mumbled, his face buried in the pillow he had his arms wrapped around. “Let her eat my freakin’ breakfast and hog the bathroom and be a brat, I don’t care. I’m not going to school.”

Michael sighed and dropped down onto the bed beside Albany, reaching out to push his hair away from his forehead. “Oh, Alby. Come on, get dressed. You have school.”

“I don’t like her, Dad,” Albany said softly. “I don’t……you like her more.”

“I don’t,” Michael said, leaning down to kiss the back of Albany’s head. “But that’s…not for today, okay? School. Okay? Get up, get dressed.”

Albany sighed and pushed himself up, looking over at Michael. “Well, I’m not getting changed in front of you, so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael smiled, standing up. “Try not to take too long, ‘kay?” He walked over to the bedroom door and nodded at Albany as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

“Yeah yeah,” Albany muttered, pulling off his t-shirt.

* * * *

Albany sipped his orange juice through the straw, watching the buildings on the way to his school go by quickly. He grimaced, the juice a little too tart for his tastes.

“So what’s going on today?” Michael asked, glancing over at Albany.

Albany’s head lolled over, and his wide eyes blinked slowly. “What do you mean?” he mumbled, straw still hanging out of his mouth.

“Tests?” Michael offered. “Uh…you know, stuff like that. Regular classes?”

Albany shook his head. “No,” he said. “No tests, no stuff. Just school and lunch.”

“What are you guys doing in art these days?” Michael questioned. “You bringing home any masterpieces for the living room?”

Albany shook his head and slouched down in his seat, chewing on the end of the straw. “I’m not really in the mood for this, Dad,” he said quietly. “Let me stew.”

Michael nodded understandingly, reaching over to turn the radio up a little. “You know, I uh…I do wanna talk about what you said earlier. Sometime.”

“About Lorelai?” Albany asked flatly. He shook his head, curling up towards the door. “No thank you.”

“Alby, do not make me call your mo--” Michael began, but stopped talking when Albany visibly flinched. “She may deserve to know what’s going on with you.”

“You can just pull over here,” Albany said suddenly, sitting back up. “You don’t need to take me to the parking lot.”

“Whatever you say,” Michael nodded, slowing down to pull up alongside the curb. “I will pick you up at three-thirty.”

Albany rolled his eyes and reached into the backseat, grabbing his backpack. “Great,” he said quietly, climbing out of the car.

Michael smiled weakly and waved, leaning over towards the window. “Bye,” he said.

Albany nodded and began down the sidewalk, waving his hand behind him. “Yeah,” he muttered, reaching back to pull up his hood. He grabbed his iPod out of his pocket and stuck a bud in his ear, turning up the music almost all the way. He looked down, watching his feet move over the dirty concrete; a huge lump in his throat if he thought about anything in his family too much. Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of him after he smacked into another guy on the sidewalk and he turned, pushing his hood off. “Uh, what the hell, man?” he asked, breathing heavily.

The guy, who stood out in the dreary day with his bright letterman jacket on, cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head towards Albany. “Excuse me?” he asked. “Learn to watch where you’re going, you idiot.”

“I didn’t see you,” Albany pointed out, taking a step towards him. “You saw me; why the hell didn’t you move?”

“I don’t have to do shit for you art freaks,” the jock smiled.

“That’s really original,” Albany said, “wow. Did you and your boyfriends come up with that one after the group shower?”

“Listen, you little shit,” he said, walking towards Albany, “you’re lucky that I don’t coldcock you right now. Walk away, and we forget about this, alright?”

Albany let out a deep breath, before shrugging off his backpack and dropping his iPod onto it. “What sport do you play anyway?” he asked, nodding towards the jacket.

The guy rolled his eyes, but answered anyway. “Basketball,” he said.

“Thank God,” Albany muttered, before quickly bringing his fist back and punching the guy in the head. He jumped back, waving his hand as pain radiated through his knuckles, getting his fists back up.

“Christ!” the guy screamed, clutching at his head. He waited a few seconds, breathing quickly, before looking back up. “You better be fuckin’ ready to die, kid.”

Albany yelped and ducked his head out of the way, but the other boy was aiming for his stomach anyway, knocking his breath out of him again. He cried out in pain when his knee hit him between the legs and he dropped down onto his knees, tears springing to his eyes as pain shot up his legs.

He grabbed onto Albany’s shoulder, holding him still as he brought his knee up against his face, blood instantly coming out of his nose, and splitting his lip.

Albany panted and wiped at his face, before dropping onto his side on the sidewalk, closing his eyes.

“Jesus, kid,” the guy muttered, walking by him. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?” He shook his head, a migraine starting and he wiped at his jeans.

Albany curled up on himself and started to cry, tears running down his cheeks to mix in with the blood. He sniffled and raised his hand, pressing the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose. “God, I’m fucking stupid,” he muttered, shoving his hand into his pocket, grabbing his cell phone. He went to his contacts, not quite sure who to call. Finally, he pressed send and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Cillian?” he muttered. He slowly pushed himself up, looking at the mess around him. “Can you come pick me up?” he asked quietly.

“Where are you?” Cillian asked impatiently. “I’m at work, you know.”

Albany nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m near my school. Can you just come please?” he asked, sniffling.

“Yeah, okay,” Cillian agreed. “Give me...I don’t know, ten minutes. I’ll be there. Do you need me to call Dad?”

“No, that’s fine,” Albany answered, ending the call. He took a few deep breaths and wiped at his face again, slowly standing up. He walked over to his backpack, carefully picking it, and his iPod, up.

* * * *

“I don’t get it, Alby,” Cillian said, handing him a fistful of napkins. “I’ve never seen you get mad at anybody, let alone–” he started laughing, shaking his head. “God, you punched somebody. In a letterman jacket.”

“I made it sure it wasn’t football first,” Albany muttered, scratching at the dried blood under his mouth. “I’m just not having a good day, is all. I’m fine now.”

“You want me to take you home?” Cillian offered. “Let Dad laugh at you too? Our family doesn’t fight, Alby.”

“Maybe that’s our problem,” Albany said, slouching down in the seat.

Cillian glanced over at his brother, watching him for a few quick seconds. “Okay, I am definitely taking you to–”

“Can we go to the library?” Albany interrupted. “I don’t wanna go home until I have to. Just drop me off, and call Dad in a couple of hours. Please?”

“The library?” Cillian repeated. “Uh, ye– yeah, I guess. The library’s fine. But if I get in any crap with Dad...I’m not helping you again.”

“That’s fine,” Albany nodded. He glanced out the window to look at himself in the mirror. “Thanks for helping me out today. I really...I don’t know what got into me,” he said, knowing that it was a lie. “I can calm down in the library.”

Cillian turned the wheel, gently pressing down on the gas. “You’re lucky that I don’t call Dad,” he said. He sighed. “Or Mom.”

Albany snorted, before groaning in pain from his nose. “You sound exactly like Dad,” he remarked. He perked up when he saw the street sign for the library.

“Alby, I don’t want her to be the reason you turn into...a depressed person,” Cillian said. “Move on, okay?”

Albany shook his head and rolled his eyes. “When the hell did you get so mature?” he mocked, pulling his backpack onto his lap. “Thanks for the drive, Cill. You want me to call you later?” he asked, hand on the door.

Cillian put the car in park, sighing before he started nodding. “Yeah, okay. After Dad yells at you. After he yells at me. Couple of hours, right?” he asked.

Albany nodded and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. He swallowed, knowing that he looked like hell as he climbed the stairs to the library’s front door. He pulled open the door and walked in, looking down as he walked by the front desk.

“Mister Pollack,” the librarian said, smiling at her nickname for him. “In on a school day?”

Albany sniffled and waved his hand, still not looking up at her. He only lifted his head when he was into the shelves, automatically going to the art history section, to the place on the shelf that he left off. He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, finding the book he had been reading the last time that he was there. He pulled it off the shelf and just sat down where he was, too tired to go to the table towards the back that he usually did. He did manage to smile when he saw that his bookmark was still where he left it and he flipped to that page, resting against the shelf, finding where he left off.

He ran his fingers over the pictures of paintings from Ancient Egypt, settling back into the reading the explanation of frontalism. He was never quite sure before whether to be happy that he was the only one he knew who found all this interesting or not, but today, he was glad to be different from everybody else. The ache all over his body was a reminder of that. He flipped the page, it only taking a few sentences before he was immersed into the reading.

* * * *

Albany’s head lolled over to the side and his eyes slowly opened, except one didn’t open all the way and he reached up to press at the swollen skin. He gently cleared his throat and he yawned, eyes finally focusing on his father in front of him. “Dad?” he asked. “What happened?”

“You apparently didn’t get enough sleep this morning,” Michael said, “which I probably could’ve guessed when you didn’t wanna get up.”

“That was this morning?” Albany asked, slowly pushed himself up, closing the book. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Probably the head injuries,” Michael said, studying Albany closely before pulling him into a tight hug. “I had no idea what was going on when Cillian called about you,” he whispered, kissing the side of Albany’s head. “What happened? Did somebody–”

“I hit him first,” Albany said flatly, resting against Michael, arms hanging limply as his sides. “Like, a minute after you dropped me off.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Michael asked, pulling back to look at Albany. “Do you need to see a doctor? Did you stop bleeding?”

“Kind of,” Albany answered, “no, and yes. Uh, what time is it?”

“A little after one,” Michael answered, taking Albany’s book from him, putting it back on the shelf.

Albany glanced back, weakly reaching out. “Dad, that’s not– that’s not where it goes.”

“She’ll fix it,” Michael said, leading Albany through the aisles. “I’m taking you home.”

“You’re not making me go back to school?” Albany asked in surprise. “You’re not getting ready to kill me?”

“Oh,” Michael laughed, “you’re going to be grounded for the rest of the month, don’t worry. And now you’re definitely going to your sister’s ballet recital Friday night. That’ll be a nice family outing, won’t it?”

“Yeah,” Albany replied sarcastically, “it’ll be great.” He dropped his head and closed his eyes, the pain in his face growing, so he just let Michael lead him out of the building. “Do you have anything I can have in the car?” he asked hopefully.

“Well, lunch,” Michael offered. “But no, nothing for the pain. We’ve got lots at home though, don’t worry.” He reached out, opening the car door for Albany, waiting until he climbed in.

Albany groaned and leaned back, glancing in the backseat. He groaned even louder when he saw Lorelai sitting there, with a smug look on her face. “Oh, what the hell, Dad?” he asked.

“Not fair that you get out of school,” Lorelai said.

“Not fair that I have to live my life around my little sister,” Albany snapped. “Dad, I hate her.”

“I’ve heard,” Michael said, turning the key in the ignition, “I’m sure she’s extremely fond of you too, but Lorelai, please do not lie to your brother. She had a half-day at school today, Alby, I had to pick her up anyway.”

Albany rolled his eyes and leaned against the door. “Where’s lunch?” he asked.

Lorelai picked up the bag and handed it to Albany.

Albany unrolled the top of the brown paper bag and reached in, taking out the sandwich that his father had made for him. “Are you going to write me a note for tomorrow?” he asked quietly, trying to open his mouth wide enough to take a bite, but his jaw ached too much. He sniffled softly and reached up, wiping at his eyes.

“What happened to you?” Lorelai asked. “Some girl beat you up?”

Michael groaned loudly, glancing back. “Lorelai, you are not helping. Please be quiet.” He reached over to Albany, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Wait till we get home if you can’t finish that now.”

Albany nodded and shoved the sandwich back in the bag, reaching in to grab the juice box at the bottom.

“Are we going to see Mom now?” Lorelai asked quietly.

Albany looked over at Michael in surprise and he reached out for the door handle. “Dad, if you tell me that we’re going to see Mom, I am jumping out of this car.”

“Don’t worry, we’re going to stop at home first so that you can clean up,” Michael said, shifting in his seat. “I need to go see her. Lorelai wants to go see her.”

Albany dropped his head, face in his hands. “This isn’t fair,” he whined, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t wanna go see her.” He sniffled and got his iPod out again. “I’m not going. I don’t want to see her, I don’t need to see her. You can deal with her yourself.” He shook his head, sticking the straw into the juice box. “She’s not my issue.”

“She’s your mom,” Lorelai pointed out, leaning forward in her seat.

Albany shook his head. “No,” he said, “she’s definitely not that either.”

* * * *

Albany cupped the warm water in his hands, splashing it onto his face. It stung slightly as it hit his split lip, but that disappeared quickly and he reached out for the washcloth. He examined his swollen eye and his swollen lip and stepped back from the sink to look at the bruise on his stomach. He pressed his fingers against the purple skin, inhaling sharply. He straightened up in the mirror, swallowing hard and pulled his shirt back on. He pulled the plug in the sink and watched the red-tinged water go down the drain.

Michael knocked gently on the bathroom door, before turning the knob. “You okay in here?” he asked, sitting his head in.

Albany nodded and turned around, flicking off the lights.

Michael stepped out of the way, giving room for Albany to leave. “Can we talk?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Albany nodded, leading the way down the hall to his bedroom. He pushed open the door and walked in, dropping down onto his bed. “Did you guys just get back?” he asked, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

Michael nodded, sitting at Albany’s desk. “Albany, I don’t love Lorelai more than you,” he said. “I don’t like her more than you. You’re both my kids.”

Albany nodded. “She still always gets her way. It’s not fair.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” Michael agreed, “that’s probably true. She’s the youngest, she’s the only girl.”

“I’m in the middle,” Albany said, “I’m the second boy. I’m easy to forget, right?”

Michael shook his head quickly. “No, Albany, you’re not. I don’t forget you; I never have. I’d be the worst parent on the face of planet if I actually forgot my son.”

Albany lifted his eyes, looking pointedly at Michael. “Is that like anybody else we know?” he asked. “Mom doesn’t care. She never has. She goes to see Cillian, she goes to see Lori. She’s never done shit for me. You should be doing more.”

“Albany,” Michael said, pushing himself up, “just...fuck Paula. Alright? You need to forget her, because she’s not going to start caring tomorrow.” He let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “I am trying my best here, though. I really am. I– I – I don’t know, Alby. You’re in a shitty situation here, I know that. Lorelai’s not helping; Cillian moving out probably isn’t either.”

“Dad, please don’t be so upset,” Albany said quietly. “It’s not...it’s not all your fault. None of it is. I know how much you’re trying with me. I’m sorry I threw the first punch.”

Michael shrugged. “I never hit anybody. Cillian never hit anybody. It’s almost kind of cool. It’s not the worst thing to ever happen to anybody, seeing as how you seem pretty okay.”

“Am I really grounded for the rest of the month?” Albany asked, looking up at Michael.

Michael sighed and thought for a few moments, before shaking his head. “This weekend, and you still go to the recital. That’s all I ask.”

Albany nodded in agreement. “Okay, that sounds okay.”

“Then I’m going to get some help in this weekend, so we can get the basement bathroom fixed up,” Michael continued. “Lorelai is staying with Paula this weekend, so she’ll be out of your way. That’s what I can do for you. Is that okay?”

Albany nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that all sounds really great, Dad.”

“Okay, good,” Michael said, leaning down to press his lips to Albany’s head, taking a deep breath. “I love you, kiddo, okay?”

“I know, I love you too, Dad,” Albany smiled weakly. “I’m– I think I’m gonna go to bed. I’m still kind of tired, and I have to get up tomorrow, so...goodnight.”

“Alright, Alby,” Michael said, walking over to the bedroom door, reaching out to turn off the light. “Goodnight. Sweet dreams.” He pulled the door closed behind him, walking down the hallway.

Albany pulled the sheets up over his body and snuggled into his mattress, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his head on the pillow. He reached up and rubbed at his lip, feeling like an idiot with it sticking so far out, but he just yawned and turned onto his right side, curling up close to the wall.

Michael walked into his bedroom, flicking on the light and going over to his bed. He sat down and then laid back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears started to fill his eyes and he just sniffled, reaching up to wipe at them. It wasn’t the first time that thinking too much about Paula and Albany made him depressed, so he wiped his mind of that, and tried to picture Albany, the last person he would’ve expected to do it, punching the jock in the face.

Albany opened his eyes when he heard his father’s loud laughter coming down the hall.

covenantslash challenge: Pogue/Reid, Lockjaw.

2008-10-03T19:41:13Z

I know that I had to post this in covenantslash first, but I don't see any real reason that I can't post it in my own journal now. I think that there are some Covenant fans on my flist.

Title: Lockjaw
Disclaimer: I really don’t own any of these characters, and even the idea for it didn’t come from me.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Reid/Pogue, Caleb, Tyler.
Written For: ice_whisper
Prompt Used: Illness
Summary: Reid starts to get sick with what he thinks is the flu, but what he actually has is more than enough to scare Pogue.

Reid laughed around the bottle and let Pogue push him up against the wall. He dropped his hand away from his mouth to give Pogue access. He cupped the nape of his neck and pulled him in hard, mouth opening under Pogue’s, his tongue slipping out.

Pogue licked at Reid’s lips and looked up when he heard a car alarm go off. "You think they notice we’re gone?” he murmured, dropping his mouth to Reid’s neck, sucking on the skin.

The empty bottle fell from Reid’s fingers and he clutched at Pogue’s back with his now empty hand, moaning softly as Pogue’s mouth continued on. “I’m sure they have,” he replied, shifting on his feet, pulling Pogue back up into a kiss. He tugged gently on the ends of Pogue’s hair and he accidentally kicked over a trash can when his leg jerked, a reaction from Pogue palming him through his jeans. His hands moved up to cup Pogue’s cheeks, holding him close as they continued kissing.

Pogue kept kissing Reid as his hands fumbled with his belt buckle, tugging down Reid’s zipper. He pulled back long enough to finally get the buckle undone and he smirked at Reid. "If Nicky finds us out here...” he murmured, looking around the dark alley, "you’re gonna have to be quiet this time,” he teased.

Reid leaned in and nipped at Pogue’s bottom lip, glaring at him. When he did nothing, Reid nipped again, before pulling him back into the kiss, moaning loudly.

Pogue slipped his hand into Reid’s boxers, finding his dick through the line layer of worn boxers.

“Yeah,” Reid groaned, clutching at Pogue, working his hips up against his hand. “More,” he commanded, meeting Pogue’s eyes.

Pogue found the slit in Reid’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around his dick, jerking him quickly. “I do this for you now,” he panted, hair falling into his face, arm muscles flexing as he twisted his hand with his strokes, “what are you going to do for me later?” he asked.

"I won’t kick your ass,” Reid grunted, grip on Pogue tightening, head falling back, scraping against the wall.

Pogue stopped his hand and smirked, slowly withdrawing hand. “Really?” he asked, reaching out to lean against the wall. “Actually, I seem to remember you getting off first last time.” He nudged Reid away from the wall and leaned against it, undoing his jeans.

Reid rolled his eyes defiantly but he carefully moved down to his knees, tugging down on the belt loops. He could feel gravel and God knows what else digging into his knees and he sighed, reaching down to swipe some of it away from him. “Shit,” he gasped, pulling his hand away from the ground, looking at the blood. He pressed his thumb around the cut, swallowing when more blood rushed out. He slowly straightened back up, pulling down the sleeve on his hoodie, pressing it against the wound.

“You okay?” Pogue asked, pushing his hair away from his face, taking Reid’s hand in is.

Reid nodded and looked down at the ground, trying to figure out which piece of crap on the ground he managed to hit. “Think Nicky’d loan me some vodka to clean this with?” he joked, hissing when he pressed down harder. “That’s it; I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“Obviously,” Pogue smiled, tilting his head to press his lips to Reid’s. Their lips parted and their tongues just touched before they pulled back. “Alright, we’re going back inside now.” He zipped up his jeans and helped Reid with his, before slinging an arm around his waist. “Poor little baby Reid,” he teased finally, laughing. He looked down at his hand and his eyes flashed back. He looked up at him expectantly. “Anything?” he asked.

Reid gently peeled his sleeve back, shrugging. “I think it might’ve stopped bleeding.” He pressed his thumb against it again, swallowing. “It’s fine, whatever.” He reached out for the door and pulled it open, slipping back into the building, Pogue close behind him.

“Aren’t you guys tired of sneaking around?” Tyler teased, looking up when Reid took a seat beside him.

Reid rolled his eyes and slouched down in his chair, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweater.

“Well, obviously we’re not doing a very good job of it, are we?” Pogue asked, leaning across the table. “Don’t be so damn nosy, baby boy.”

Caleb laughed before he took a drink, looking over at Reid. “We don’t care,” he said, licking his lips of the rest of the Cola, “you don’t have to go out in back alleys.”

Reid’s eyes jumped over to Caleb, and he just stared at him for a few moments, before opening his mouth to speak. “Maybe that’s just where we like to do it,” he said finally, smirking.

Caleb sat back in his seat, grinning. “Hey, whatever floats your boat,” he said, nudging Pogue. “He doesn’t seem too happy; maybe you’re doing it wrong.”

Tyler laughed this time, not really stopping when Reid’s stare moved to him.

*****
Reid swung his feet back and forth, gnawing on the skin around his thumbnail, flipping through his psychology book with his other hand. He looked up when a loud group of girls walked behind him, and scratched at his head when he tried to get back to reading. He looked up, staring ahead of him, too many thoughts running through his head. The only thing that got him back to attention was a chill running through his body.

“How can you be cold?”

The voice in Reid’s ear made him jump, thankfully not enough to make him fall off the edge of the tall staircase. His head whipped around quickly, making him grimace because it certainly didn’t help his stiff neck. “I’m not cold,” he said, looking up at Pogue.

“Studying or just some light reading?” Pogue asked, reaching out to Reid’s book, looking at the cover.

“Yeah, test,” Reid nodded gently, “last period.”

Pogue sat down beside Reid, adjusting his tie. He just sat, didn’t feel the need to say anything else and eventually, Reid looked back up at him.

“This really fun for you?” Reid asked.

Pogue shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do. I’m not bothering you. Just study, I’ll be fine.” He swung his leg out and back in, tapping the back of his shoe against the side of the steps.

“Are you okay?” Reid asked suddenly, closing his book. “Because I happen to know that you’re supposed to be in math right now.”

“Haven’t seen you around much since Friday,” Pogue explained, “just wanted to sit.” He pushed his hair behind his ears, turning to Reid. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Nope,” Reid replied simply, bringing his thumb back up to his mouth.

“Okay, cool,” Pogue said, turning and dropping back off onto the steps. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Reid turned around and frowned, reaching out for him. “Where are you going?” he asked. “You don’t wanna...sit?” he asked.

“I really do gotta get to math,” Pogue reminded him with a smile. “Find me after classes. Or no, I’ll see you in English, don’t worry about it.”

Reid managed to grasp onto Pogue’s hand and pull him in before Pogue slipped through the doors. He met his eyes and quickly pressed his lips to his, smiling against Pogue’s mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

Pogue smiled back and nodded. “Don’t be so PMS-y next time I see you!” he teased before he went into the building.

*****
Reid rubbed at his face, eyes quickly moving around the lecture hall.

“Stop fidgeting,” Tyler muttered under his breath, tapping his pencil against his book.

Reid nodded once but kept his hands up by his mouth, nervously rubbing his fingers against his jaw. He closed his eyes and made a noise of frustration, biting down hard. He cried out in pain and his eyes started to well up with tears, which he quickly blinked away.

Tyler leaned forward in his seat, moving closer to Reid. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Reid was about to snatch Tyler’s pencil away from him before his tightened jaw muscles relaxed enough for him to open his mouth. He let out a loud breath of relief and he glanced at Tyler, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, opening his mouth wider with each word, trying to stretch it out. “Sorry.” He wet his lips and swallowed hard. “Migraine.”

Tyler sat back in his seat and nodded. “Okay,” he said finally, looking back to the teacher.

Reid wiped at his forehead, feeling himself sweat. He shifted in his seat, eyes moving over to Pogue and Caleb, giving Pogue a small smile when he looked up. He closed his eyes again when he recognized his shallow breathing and he tried to force it back to normal. He tried swallowing a few times and when his eyes drifted back open, Pogue was watching him, a worried look on his face. “I’m fine,” he said softly.

Pogue settled back in his chair, but kept glancing, as discreetly as he could, back over to Reid.

Reid managed to sit still for a few more moments, before moving his hand up to his neck, massaging it softly.

*****
Tyler grabbed his keys off his desk, looking over at Reid, who was curled up on his bed. “Are you coming out tonight or not?” he asked, pulling on his sneakers.

Reid gritted his teeth through the pain and shook his head. “I think I got the flu somewhere,” he explained, reaching out for his bottle of water on the floor, hand shaking as he did.

“Well, wait till somebody’s around to die,” Tyler said, finally reaching down and grabbing the bottle for Reid, setting it next to him on the mattress. “Christ Reid, what the fuck happened to your hand?” he asked.

Reid slowly looked at his hand, pressing around it gently. “I cut it last week, or...sometime. It’s fine. When you come back, will you bring me something?”

“Like a doctor?” Tyler asked. “Go to the nurse’s office, idiot. Last thing I need is to get the flu. You’re contagious.”

“Probably got it from you,” Reid muttered, trying to roll onto his back.

“Or your boyfriend,” Tyler suggested. “But sure, I’ll bring you...lots of water and aspirin or something. Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Is it gonna make you sound like my mother?” Reid snapped, back arching slightly off the mattress, hands clenching.

“Fine, whatever,” Tyler said, walking to the door. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ll let Pogue know where you are.”

Reid grunted and his muscles finally relaxed, back falling back down to the mattress. He opened his water bottle and took a large gulp, trying hard to swallow it.

Tyler just rolled his eyes and walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Reid slowly moved his arms down, trying to push himself up. Once he was up, it was a struggle to get his feet to drop down onto the floor. Reid groaned and looked over at his desk, finally just deciding that if he actually needed his cell phone later on that night, he’d manage to get it then. He dropped back onto the mattress, taking another drink of water.

*****
“Pogue, I’m telling you, he probably went to the nurse’s office and passed out on Tylenol,” Tyler said. “He looks like shit. That I know.”

“Pogue, hang up the phone, man,” Caleb said, reaching out to his friend. “When exactly have you ever known Reid to want to be coddled? It’s Reid. He’ll just tell you to man up or shut up and get over it.” He pushed his chair back, setting down his drink. “So, pool or foosball?”

Pogue laughed and slipped his phone into his pocket as he stood up. “Pool, and I will kick your ass, Danvers. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

Caleb laughed and clapped Pogue on the shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Alright, Parry, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Best two out of three and you’ll get it on repeat,” Pogue said. “Loser...well, we can figure it out later.”

“Sure thing,” Caleb nodded, walking with Pogue to a pool table, followed by Tyler. “Stick boy, wanna go get us more drinks?”

Tyler rolled his eyes and leaned against the table, looking around the bar. “Yeah, whatever,” he said softly.

Pogue and Caleb both laughed, Caleb chalking the end of his pool cue and Pogue racking up the balls. “Well, do something other than just sit there and look pretty,” Pogue said, grabbing his pool cue.

Tyler glanced back at him and pushed himself away from the table, nodding at a couple of guys from their school as they walked by. “I’ll play whoever after the two out of three,” he said, wandering away from the table.

“I break?” Caleb asked, moving to the end of the table.

Pogue shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.” He leaned against the long cue, frowning when Caleb got a couple of balls in the pockets. “Alright, alright, calm down celebrity,” he joked, moving out of the way for his friend. “You haven’t won yet.”

Caleb looked up and kept his eyes on Pogue as he drew the cue back. “Pretty much emphasis on the ‘yet’,” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pogue said, rolling his eyes. “I told you two out of three.”

“That you did,” Caleb said, watching a couple balls ricochet around the table, but none going in.

*****
Tyler quietly walked into the room, making sure the door didn’t close heavily behind him. He kicked off his sneakers and squinted in the dark. “Are you awake?” he asked quietly, not bothering to flick on the lamp by his bed. Reid didn’t reply, so Tyler pulled off his t-shirt, dropping it down onto the floor. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of whatever flu medication he had grabbed off the shelf and tossed it over onto Reid’s desk.

Reid groaned, breathing quickly and heart pounding. “Tyler,” he managed to rasp out before his facial muscles tightened again, leaving him with a painful wide smile.

Tyler turned on a light and walked over to Reid’s bed. “Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?” he asked. “Christ, Reid, are you okay?” He grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialled Pogue’s number. “Hey, Pogue, it’s Ty. It’s Reid, there’s something wrong with him. No, more than the flu, I don’t know what the hell it is. Just get over here and bring Caleb. We gotta take him to the hospital or something.”

Reid’s muscles spasmed again and he looked up at Tyler, eyes wide.

“I don’t know!” Tyler exclaimed. “But it’s bad. Just hurry.” He closed his phone and grasped onto the edge of Reid’s sheet, pulling it up to his face, trying to wipe some of the sweat from him. “Can you talk, or...are you in pain?” He frowned and bit down on his lip, grabbing the bottle of water for him.

*****
“Can somebody tell us what’s wrong with him?” Pogue demanded, leaning over the desk.

“Are you his parents?” the nurse asked, looking up at him.

“What?” Pogue asked. “Do I look like his parents? No, we’re his friends. We wanna see him.”

“The doctors are still with him,” the nurse began, “and we’re still trying to contact his parents. Wait just a little while longer please.”

“We can get his parents,” Pogue said, “we’re all close family friends. Can we see him when the doctor’s done? He’s eighteen, you can’t keep him locked up in there.” He let his breath out. “Please,” he said softly, “I have to see him. I’m his boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that the doctors aren’t finished with him. I’ll let you know though, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Pogue said, stepping back from the desk, going back over to Tyler and Caleb, taking his seat beside them. “Doctors are still with him,” he said flatly. His head fell forward, hair falling around his face. “He looked so sick.”

“That is not the flu,” Tyler said, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Well, he’s gonna be fine,” Caleb said. “We got him here. He didn’t seem like he was...dying, just in a lot of pain.”

“How much longer do you think the doctors will be with him?” Tyler asked, glancing at Pogue.

Pogue sniffled and closed his eyes, too scared his voice would break if he tried to answer him. He simply shrugged, a huge lump growing in his throat.

“Is that them?” Caleb asked, nudging Pogue. “Can we see Reid?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tyler asked.

Pogue wiped at his eyes and slowly looked up, waiting for the doctor’s response.

“Mr Garwin has a tetanus infection,” the doctor replied.

“Like...tetanus?” Caleb repeated. “Like rusty nail tetanus?”

“He has an infected wound on his hand,” the doctor said, “most likely where it developed from.”

Pogue swallowed a few times, sniffling quickly. “We were in an alley. It was something on the ground. How bad is it?”

“He’s in intensive care,” the doctor answered. “He’s not breathing like we’d like him to, and he doesn’t seem to be swallowing well, so we’ve had to give him a feeding tube. Right now, he’s on a muscle relaxant.” He looked up from his clipboard. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“I wanna see him,” Pogue said loudly.

“He’s not exactly responsive,” the doctor pointed out.

Pogue shrugged and stood up. “I don’t care. I wanna see him. Just to see him. His parents aren’t going to care.”

“I don’t think that I can let you all in,” the doctor said, eyeing Caleb and Tyler.

Pogue glanced back at them, biting down on his lip.

“We’ll wait out here,” Caleb assured him, nodding. “It’s okay.”

“Is it okay?” Pogue asked, finally smiling when the doctor nodded. “Thank you.” He hurried past the doctor, going down the hall. He saw Reid through the window on the door and he walked in, quickly going over to the bed. He watched him for a few moments, before pulling the chair closer to the bed, sitting down. He was surprised at how loud his breathing machine was, and he eyed it cautiously, leaning down. He reached out, feeling where the feeding tube disappeared into his stomach.

Reid groaned weakly, eyelids flickering but they never really opened.

Pogue kissed Reid’s cheek and closed his eyes, tears starting to leak down his cheeks. “I love you,” he whispered, pressing his lips by Reid’s ear. “Kay?” He sat back in his seat, slouching down to try and get comfortable. “Now wake up and say it back.” He yawned softly and wiped at his cheeks, watching Reid’s chest rise and fall with the machine until his eyelids grew heavy.

*****
Pogue jolted awake, hand dropping away from his mouth and he blinked tiredly up at the nurse. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, straightening up in his seat. “Something happen?”

“He just needs more diazepam,” he answered, adjusting the drip on Reid’s IV. “For the muscle spasms, I’m sure that you’ve noticed them.”

Pogue nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “He’s in pain,” he said quietly.

The nurse sighed and nodded. “That’s what a lot of this is for. It’s not severe enough that he needs to be completely paralysed, but even with the drugs, it’s hard on him.”

“When should he be able to wake up and talk?” Pogue asked, leaning forward, taking Reid’s hand in his.

The nurse brought his hand up, rubbing his mouth, trying to figure out a way to answer that question. “Spasms can continue for a month,” he said finally, looking at Pogue. “We can’t be sure that those spasms won’t be in his chest, impairing his breathing, or his throat and impair his eating. It’s safer with him on the machines and on the drugs.”

Pogue didn’t say anything to that, just stared down at Reid, biting on his lip.

The nurse stepped around Pogue’s chair and quietly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Pogue finally let out a loud breath, sniffling loudly as his eyes started to fill with tears, and he squeezed Reid’s hand tightly in his. He ran his thumb over the bandage covering Reid’s cut and he just slumped over in the chair, shoulders shaking as he tried not to sob. There was a knock at the door and he quickly sat up, wiping at his eyes and dropping Reid’s hand from his. He cleared his throat and looked back, seeing Caleb and Tyler waiting anxiously outside the door.

Caleb pushed it open and held it open for Tyler, walking into the room, standing at the end of Reid’s bed. “Christ,” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is actually Reid?” he asked. “Our Reid Garwin? Jesus, he looks like a ghost.”

Tyler walked closer, going to the head of the bed, looking down at his best friend. “What’d they say?”he asked finally, looking over at Pogue. “How is he?”

“Well, it’s bad,” Pogue said flatly. “They were just in here, doping him up some more. He’s gonna be like for a month.”

Caleb slowly turned to Pogue, looking at him in disbelief. “You’re joking,” he said in disbelief.

Pogue just kept staring straight ahead. “Yeah, Caleb, ‘cause this is a fuckin’ riot.”

“A month?” Caleb repeated. “In here, for a month? Holy hell, what’s he going to do for school, or for– a month? Christ.”

“I don’t know, maybe they’ll send him home with the muscle relaxants after awhile,” Pogue shrugged.

“Drugs like that won’t be good for a month,” Tyler said. “They have a lot of side effects. Really bad side effects.”

“Great,” Pogue muttered. “How long are guys staying today?” he asked.

“Pogue, we’re staying as long as we have to,” Caleb said.

“Reid doesn’t know we’re here,” Pogue said.

Caleb shrugged. “So? You do, and you’re obviously not leaving.” He looked over at Tyler, who was nodding. “We’re here with you, as long as you need us to.”

Pogue finally looked up, and tried to break a smile, managing about half of one. “Thanks,” he nodded. “His parents were in earlier. Kinda stupid that we’re all going to be here more than them.”

Tyler shook his head. “Not really. His parents could be in hours everyday, we’d still be here more. Reid can be a douche, but he’s our best friend.” He looked around for another chair before shrugging off his hoodie, haphazardly folding it on the floor before sitting down. “I just wish there was something that we could do. Like...I guess it probably doesn’t work.”

“I tried to fix his hand the night it happened,” Pogue said. “Guess powers don’t do shit for tetanus.”

Softly, Reid groaned around the tube in his throat, and his fingers twitched on the bed sheet, barely curling. Pogue reached out and took his hand in his again, bringing it up to his mouth, gently kissing the skin. “S’okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Caleb took his cue from Tyler and sat down on the floor. He sighed, leaning back on his hands, perfectly happy for it just to be the three of them there with Reid. “We don’t need his parents,” he said, glancing from Tyler to Pogue.

Tyler tilted his head back, leaning against the wall, and Pogue’s hand slowly dropped onto his lap, nodding his head in agreement.

*****
Pogue held the bottle of water up to Reid’s mouth, helping him slowly sip it down. “Just don’t look down while they’re doing this.”

Reid pulled away from the straw. “What are they doing?” he mouthed, throat and mouth still too dry to actually talk.

Pogue smiled and shook his head, pressing his finger to Reid’s mouth. “You’ll be fine in a sec,” he assured him quietly.

“Feeding tube is out,” the nurse said.

“See, feeding tube is out,” Pogue said. “What about the IV?” he asked, glancing to the nurse.

“IV stays in for now,” the nurse replied. “He still needs the drugs.”

Reid coughed loudly, head turning to rest on Pogue’s arm and he tried to reach up to wipe at his mouth.

“I’ll get it later,” Pogue assured him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Reid nodded, taking another sip of water, eyes narrowing as he looked over at Caleb and Tyler, who were standing by the door. “Losers,” he whispered roughly, closing his eyes and resting more against Pogue.

Caleb grinned and just shook his head. “Good to know all this time in here didn’t change ya too much, Reid,” he teased. “At least we know how to control you now. Piss us off and we’ll come at you with scrap metal.”

Reid gave Caleb the finger and opened his eyes, looking down at himself. “I’m good?” he asked, voice barely audible.

“Your friends here have volunteered to take you home,” the doctor said, looking at his clipboard. “IV comes out when that bag is empty then you’re on pills. Get it?”

Reid nodded and sat up a little more, fingers curling into Pogue as he tried to move his feet down to the floor.

“Let me get you, okay?” Pogue asked, standing up, wrapping his arms around Reid’s waist. “Just sit down in the chair, I’ll wheel ya out.” He handed Reid the bottle of water, walking behind the chair. “We taking yours, Tyler?” he asked.

Tyler nodded and walked out of the room, followed closely by Caleb, Reid and Pogue a few feet behind.

“I’ve missed you,” Pogue whispered, leaning down.

“Shut up,” Reid said quietly, even though he was smiling up at him.

“Keep drinking,” Pogue directed, pushing Reid into the elevator. “I can’t wait for your voice to come back, all the hilarious wit you’ve been storing up.”

Caleb grinned and reached out, pressing the down button on the panel.

*****
Reid groaned in frustration, his back arching and hips lifting off the bed. He whimpered and bit down on his lip, fingers tightening in Pogue’s hand.

“You okay?” Pogue asked softly, looking up from the book he’d been trying to read.

Reid nodded quickly, breathing harsh. After a few more tense moments, his muscles relaxed and he settled back down onto the mattress, moving closer to Pogue.

“Need me to go get you something?” Pogue asked.

Reid shook his head. “Already took a pill,” he said, “I should be okay. It wasn’t that bad.” He reached up to start playing with his necklace, sitting up a bit more, looking at the textbook on his lap. “I got out of my test on Tuesday,” he said, looking to Pogue.

Pogue rolled his eyes. “Oh really, how’d you do that?”

“I told him that holding the pencil too tightly makes my hand spasm,” he grinned, laughing softly when Pogue looked at him in disbelief. “It’s going to be a pretty bad-ass scar,” he said, looking at the heel of his palm. “Chicks dig scars.”

“They sure do,” Pogue murmured, flipping the page.

“Course, I know some pretty hot guys who probably dig ‘em too,” Reid said.

“Tyler gets a little too freaked out by blood to like scars,” Pogue said flatly, reaching down to grab onto Reid’s textbook, flipping the page for him. “Read.”

“What?” Reid asked, looking up.

“No, read,” Pogue insisted. “Christ Reid, you missed four weeks of school. You gonna at least try and catch up?”

“Whatever,” Reid muttered, his face scrunching up when he finally looked past his hand to his textbook. He shifted and brought the book closer, starting to skim. His cheek muscles started to twitch and he blinked a few times before it passed and he went back to the book.

Pogue yawned and his legs stretched out, trying to get more comfortable on his bed. He flipped ahead a few pages to see how much he left in that chapter, and groaned softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headboard.

“So uh, thanks,” Reid said after minutes of silence between the two, keeping his eyes on his book. “I know that I wasn’t really with it, but I know that you were at the hospital a lot.”

“Yeah,” Pogue nodded, “it’s fine. Caleb and Tyler were there too.”

“I’m trying to make a point here, Pogue,” Reid said, annoyed already.

“Okay, sorry,” Pogue apologized. “What’s the point then?”

Reid sighed and settled against Pogue, curling up against him, practically trying to lay on him. “I really like you for it.”

Pogue smiled and wrapped his arm around Reid’s shoulder, knowing that soon, Reid would be back to his old self, so he’d milk all of this when he could. “I kind of love you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Reid said, lifting his head. “Don’t be so stupid.”

Pogue smiled faintly and rolled his eyes, going back to his book. “Okay, sorry. I almost thought that you were in a sharing mood for once.”

“Fine,” he said quietly. “I more than like you. That good enough for you?”

“It’s fine,” Pogue said simply.

Reid groaned and pushed himself up until he was sitting, and he looked down at Pogue. “Okay, fine. But don’t tell anybody about it, they think we’re gay enough as it is al-freakin’-ready.” He watched Pogue for a few moments before shaking his head. “This book fuckin’ sucks, you know. I’m goddamn diseased, I still gotta read this shit.” He rolled off the bed, quickly standing up. “The prof can kiss my ass, I’m finding something else to do. You coming?”

“Sure, why the hell not?” Pogue asked, climbing off the bed, grabbing his jacket. “Know where we’re going?”

Reid shrugged and grabbed Pogue’s keys, tossing them to him. He wet his lips and moved closer to Pogue, wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him in. “I’d suggest a certain dark alley,” he murmured, licking at Pogue’s bottom lip before actually kissing him. He moaned softly, Pogue’s hand working its way down his back, gripping at his ass through his jeans, and he pulled back. “But it’s really so unsanitary. But I’m hungry. Let’s just go to Nicky’s anyway, see if we can meet up with boys.”

Pogue groaned loudly, head tilting back. “Are you serious?” he asked, staying in his spot as Reid started walking away. “But...Jesus Reid, I’ve got a bed right there!” He heard Reid laugh from the hallway, and he just shook his head before finally running to catch up with him.

Supernatural 4x02

2008-09-26T12:54:56Z

Seeing as how I am actually currently taking a course on the Apocalpyse (literally called Apocalypse: The End Times in Thought, Action and Imagination), I can so tell that there is going to be a lot of nitpicking on this end from me this season. 'Cause it already started last night. So this is going to be fun. Hopefully, not everything that they do will be completely wrong (or not wrong, just changed for Hollywood) and it won't drive me insane. But god, it's already annoying me!

I actually liked Meg a lot more than I ever liked her when she was actually on the show. Of course, I never liked her when she was on the show, so. She looks a lot prettier with the longer hair. And she's got a little bit of a point there, Sam. I'm guessing that Ruby has taken more than one body and you obviously know that there's a person in there. I really hope that Ruby keeps her word and doesn't come back on my screen. Sigh, I hate you new!Ruby. I hate you!

I really liked the episode though. I think it's in my Freakin' Love category, and I wasn't really sure when the episode started. It was really good. Two for two in awesomeness, season four! Bobby is the man, basically. His panic room, so much better than Jodie Foster's. Almost everything about this episode was great, I loved it. And I kind of couldn't help adding dirty things to Castiel's dialogue, haha. Something along the lines of wanting to do it in the kitchen, with Sam just a few feet away. I don't know. But Sam and Dean held hands, so. MOAR WINCEST.

And, I just got back from registering to vote. I find it pretty humorous that we can call an election and have it within a month, while the US presidential candidates have been campaigning forever. I'm voting for where I live now, not where my permanent address is, so I've gotta do a little research on the candidates here.

Supernatural 4x01 "Lazarus Rising"

2008-09-19T12:59:08Z

The more that I freakin' think of this freakin' episode and look at my list, I think that it's pretty darn close to my Freakin' Love category. Squeeee!
In order of my random chicken scratch on the back of a recepit.

First: Shook Me All Night Long did not fit, at all. Like, seriously. I didn't like it at all. It was so mismatched, it was weird. But minor! New opening, I likey. I really likey. Bobby randomly throwing water onto Dean's face made me crack up and laugh out loud. That was hilarious, it was hilarious. I am laughing so hard now as I think about it, just the looks on their faces.

Best hug. Best hug by far. They were both so needy with this one. Just holding each other. It was awesome. And is it just me, or do the boys seem so much more...gorgeous this time around? Which I would've thought would be pretty hard, but they are looking so damn good. I don't know what it is. But they should keep it up.

Sam has an iPod and that is just no good. That is douche-y, Sam, how dare you? I will just toss it into the backseat now, despite how much it probably cost. And I don't even know what the music was, but I think that I'd have the same problems with it as Dean.

Perky nipples :D

Okay, Sam's power? Holy.Crap. What a power to have. Really handy I'm sure, but I don't think that he's going to be getting away with it as much now that Dean's back. But holy crap! I could do without the fact that his hand was like, actually out, but he can get rid of demons without an exorcism. That is so huge. I really like where they're taking this.

Now, I didn't realize this at all until I read another post (this is a time where watching it with my dad would've come in really handy -- he would've noticed), so, okay, Ruby (which I originally typed as 'Katie) and Sam, at least living together. Hmm. If it was Katie Cassidy!Ruby, I would be like, yay! Sam/Ruby, 'cause I actually liked you last season! This season, no go. Nuh-uh. I don't like this new Ruby at all. As soon as she stepped out of the shadows and I was like, "who the hell is that bitch?" and then she started talking, I missed you Katie! I miss blonde!Ruby. I did totally know that that Ruby would be back. I knew she had to be, sometime. I don't care if they're actually sleeping together or if they're just living together while she teaches Sam about his powers, I don't like her either way. :( Old Ruby, I love you.

CASTIEL/DEAN IS LIKE FREAKIN' AWESOME. Totally my new ship. That man is sexy. Dude who prayed for that was hot. Castiel/Sam came into my head too. Wow. But anyway, God has a plan for Dean? Dear god, haha. Probably gonna end up having to do with Sam though. "We have to bring you back because your brother has too much FREAKIN' AWESOME POWERS NOW. STOP HIM FROM HAVING SUCH AWESOME POWERS WITH THE LACK OF EXORCISM AND THE SUCH." Sam will probably end up hating Castiel, just like Dean hates Ruby. And all will be well.

Except, I did think that Dean would be gone longer. Not gone longer like, hey! four months wasn't enough (how cool was it that it started on September 18th, though?) but longer like, I didn't really expect him to be in the whole episode, if at all. And he was the only person that we saw for like, fifteen minutes. He's probably going to have a lot of nightmares, hallucinations, post-traumatic stress, stuff like that. But ~~Castiel~~ Sam will be there to comfort him.

Anyway, I loved it. I don't know about anybody else, but I thought that it was awesome. Probably the best premiere of this show. I loved it! I am so excited that it is back, and where this season is going to go, and for next week's preview! Gosh. This is so awesome. I am so happy that it is back and it is good and yay. I can't say how happy I am right now. I think that I'll watch it again today, so that I can find a really good place for it on my list.

I do, however, have some bad news. I can no longer watch it on Thursdays. Sad. It is just on too late here; and I have an early class Friday mornings. Needless to say, I found out that I can cut my trip from my room to my class down from six minutes to three, and still be late. Then when I got there, I had to write an essay. I think that watching it on Fridays is going to have to do, because I actually woke up this morning, with my alarm, an hour before class, but I didn't get out of bed within two seconds so I just fell back asleep. Last night was totally worth it though. It was awesome.

Smallville premiered last night too! Not really sure how I felt about that exact episode, but I wasn't completely turned off as I have been before. I'm still excited for this season, and I hope that it'll be good. A certain lack of a certain character is really making me happy now. Plus, the end was awesome. It was good, which is pretty good. That, I won't be watching on Thursdays either.

Now I Know What Love Is; John/Derek, NC-17

2008-09-14T19:12:32Z

Title: Nunc Scio Quid Sit Amor
Pairing: John Connor/Derek Reese
Disclaimer: I am so far from owning anything here.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spoilers for the second season premiere, Samson and Delilah. Takes place almost directly after the events of that episode. John goes to visit Derek in the night. Established relationship.

Derek held his breath as he heard the door creak open, trying to freeze. He waited a few moments, seeing a shadowy figure walk into the room and he began sliding his hand under the pillow, trying to find the handle of his gun. He got his finger on the trigger before light filtering in from outside hit the figure, illuminating its face. “John?” he asked, quickly sitting up.

John nodded and dropped down onto the tiny mattress, practically a cot, that had been shoved in a small room in the back of the church. “Yeah,” he said flatly, reaching out to gently finger the thin sheet that Derek had pulled up just past his hips.

Derek squinted in the dark, but slowly reached out to John, running his fingertips through his newly shorn hair. “What...did your mom cut it or something?” he asked.

John shook his head slowly, letting out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. He watched Derek’s arm, and his long fingers when his hand withdrew. “I did it,” he replied.

Derek bit down on his lip in confusion, but decided not to press the issue. He stifled a quiet yawn and shifted closer to John, pushing the sheet off his lap. “What are you doing here, John?” he asked, resting on an elbow. “You should be in your own bed.” John looked down at his lap and nodded, and Derek simply watched him, so used to seeing bangs fall down over his face. He reached out to John, grasping onto his wrist.

John looked up and leaned in, hands folded on his lap, and pressed his lips to Derek’s. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth a little, tongue quickly darting out.

Derek moved his hand up from John’s wrist to his cheek, resting it there, and his mouth opened to respond to John’s. He pulled back from the kiss and looked down when he felt John’s hand on his chest, trying to push him back down onto the bed. “John, stop it,” he commanded softly, shaking his head. “Not tonight.”

John pushed the sheet out of the way and climbed onto Derek’s lap, straddling his hips. He grasped onto the hairs at the nape of his neck and curled his fingers into his chest, roughly pulling him back into the kiss. He pulled away and Derek’s mouth went to his throat and chest, sucking and nipping at his skin. John moaned, holding Derek close, and his dick was starting to get full and heavy in his boxers.

Derek looked at John, breathing quickly. “I know what it said to you,” he said, licking his hips. “It’s not real.”

John shook his head. “It’s not real,” he echoed.

“The machines don’t know love, John,” he continued, running his arms up and down John’s back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin. “They don’t know anything, except how people, real people, respond to words like that.” He pressed his lips back to John’s chest, looking up at him. “Of course it–”

“Stop calling her ‘it’,” John interrupted, pulling on Derek’s hair, making him look back up at him.

Derek looked at John defiantly, as if he wasn’t the adult in the situation. “She doesn’t love you,” he said.

John swallowed hard and his eyes drifted closed, resting against Derek’s solid body. Finally, he nodded jerkily. “I know she doesn’t love me,” he said, finally, and opened his eyes again to meet Derek’s.

“I know that you want–”

“You don’t know what I want,” John snapped angrily, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”

“Then tell me, John,” Derek said. “Tell me what you want. Because you fucking gave a machine, machines programmed to kill you, a gun. Do you want to die?”

“If I died, machines would stop coming after my mom,” John said quietly, his grip loosening on Derek’s head. “You. Cromartie would go away.” He rested his head on Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “But no,” he whispered, “I don’t want to die. I want to stop Judgement Day from ever happening and if I can’t, I want to fight.”

“What else do you want?” Derek asked, sliding one of his hands down John’s back, gently kneading his ass.

John lifted his head and swallowed hard, nodding gently. “Ye– yeah.”

“You want her?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow. “She loves you, John. I bet she’d do this for you.”

John shook his head. “She’s not real,” he whispered, pulling on the hem of Derek’s dark t-shirt, tugging it over his head.

Derek grasped onto John’s hips and laid back on the back, shifting under his weight. “Keep your eyes open,” he directed, wetting his lips as John began to work his hips. He bit down and grunted, feeling John’s dick, half-hard, between the thin layers of cloth.

John reached down and grasped onto one of Derek’s hands, bringing it up to his mouth. “I know that it’s you,” he assured him quietly, before sucking a couple of Derek’s digits between his lips. He swirled his tongue around, reaching down to squeeze himself, trying to relieve some pressure.

Derek looked up at John, eyes barely open and his back arched off the mattress. “God, John,” he breathed, “you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I want you to fuck me,” John whispered, pulling his dick out of his boxers, starting to jerk himself off quickly. “I wish that you could.”

Derek nodded eagerly, shifting his hips, needing more friction, more contact. “When we get out of this church. When we get somewhere safer.”

John hunched over, moving his mouth over Derek’s chest, nuzzling and sucking on his skin. “It’s still my birthday,” he pointed out, tugging on Derek’s nipple, looking up at him when he moaned loudly.

“I know,” Derek panted, “I know.”

John straightened back up. “I was going to go to your room tonight,” he began, working down harder onto Derek’s lap, feeling him hard beneath him. His breath hitched and he let out a frustrated whine, letting go of his dick, and Derek watched it bob against his stomach. “It was going to be–”

“This isn’t that bad,” Derek pointed out, taking John in hand. He thumbed the head and stroked him slowly, watching John grind above him. “Later. When everything–” he stopped and groaned, John working harder.

John’s head fell forward and his thighs tightened around Derek’s hips and he cried out as he came. “Ugh!” he groaned, thrusting his hips into Derek’s fist, who had gripped him harder and kept stroking him through it. “You’re real,” he panted quietly, so softly he wasn’t sure that Derek could hear it, “you’re real.” His entire body slumped and he slid off of Derek’s hips, falling to the tiny, cramped mattress. “I don’t love her.”

“That’s great, John,” Derek said, dismissing him quickly, slipping his hand into his boxers. He stroked himself quickly, not completely mindful of how closely John was watching him. He was already so close, it was only a few more strokes before his hips lifted on the mattress and he gritted out John’s name. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily. He slipped his hand out and casually wiped it off on the thin sheet.

John laid still for a few more moments before pushing himself up, tucking himself away as he stood up. “Goodnight, Derek,” he said, taking a few steps.

“You sure?” Derek asked, lifting his head off the pillow.

John glanced back and nodded slowly. He reached up, running his hand over his head, trying to get used to his new haircut. “Mom’s extra-worried about me today. She’s probably looking for me already.” He turned back and hurried over to Derek, leaning down to give him a kiss.

Derek froze in surprise before he pulled John in closer, their tongues moving together gently before John pulled away. “Goodnight,” he whispered softly, licking at his licks.

John smiled faintly and walked away. “Night,” he said, carefully opening the door, slipping out of the room. He made it a few steps before turning a corner, seeing Cameron sitting at a table, staring blankly ahead. He froze and swallowed hard, crossing his arms. He began jittering and closed his eyes, Cameron’s earlier words echoing through his head.

By the time that Cameron mechanically turned her head and looked, John had slipped away back into his room.

When In Rome; Luke/Noah NC-17

2008-09-08T18:11:02Z

Title: When In Rome
Pairing: Luke Snyder/Noah Mayer
Disclaimer: I am so far from owning anything here.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spoilers for the 09/04/08 episode. Luke and Noah’s first time together when Luke’s worried Noah will come back with a new boyfriend.

Luke pulled Noah in closer; their chests pressed tightly together, his back pressed hard against his bedroom wall. His tongue came out to lick at his lips before he tightened his grip on Noah’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

Noah cupped the sides of Luke’s face, holding him close; his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he felt Luke’s fingers move quickly to unbutton his shirt. He pulled back and tried to meet Luke’s eyes, but Luke just looked down, finishing off the buttons then reaching up to shove Noah’s shirt off his shoulders.

Luke pressed his lips to Noah’s bare shoulders, moving his hands around to his back, fingers pressing into the skin. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing kisses over Noah’s chest, dropping his mouth to gently tug at a dusty nipple with his teeth.

Noah reached out, bracing himself against the wall, fingers curling on the surface. “Luke, I want—” he gasped and panted, breathing heavy in Luke’s ear, “I want to be with you,” he finished, moving his hand to Luke’s cheek, making him look up at him. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.

“Why are you leaving me?” Luke asked, suddenly completely serious.

Noah smiled and chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m not, Luke,” he whispered, his turn to start on the few buttons at the top of Luke’s polo shirt. “It’s just for school, and I’ll be back.”

Luke swallowed, shifting on his feet. “But there’s going to be guys there,” he pointed out. “And— and I just don’t know...I won’t be there with you.”

Noah gently moved his lips up Luke’s neck, nibbling at his ear lobe, hands moving down his sides to slip under the hem of his shirt. “I won’t be here with you,” he pointed out, kissing Luke. They both moaned softly and Luke’s hands came up to push Noah’s shirt the rest of the way off. “What if I come back and Reg has taken my place?” he joked.

Luke solemnly shook his head, tugging his shirt over his head, dropping it down by Noah’s. “I would never, and you know that.”

Noah stepped back and looked at Luke pointedly. “And you think that I’m going to come back with some Italian guy on a Vespa? How is that fair?” he asked. He looked at Luke, eyes wandering down Luke’s bare chest and he smiled. “Besides, I’ve already got my...Luciano.” He leaned in and kissed Luke, wrapping his arms around him, taking another step back. “Come to bed with me,” he begged gently, holding Luke close.

“It’s my bed,” Luke pointed out, smiling up at Noah. He stopped walking and gave Noah a gentle push towards the mattress. “Get on it,” he commanded, unbuttoning his jeans, pushing down his zipper.

Noah sat down on the bed and pushed himself up, watching Luke finish undressing. He swallowed hard when Luke kicked off his jeans and his heart pretty much stopped when Luke started to push down his boxers. “Luke,” he breathed, his hand making its way down to his lap when Luke was naked. He squeezed himself through his jeans and his breath hitched when Luke crawled towards him on the bed. “Are you sure?” he asked, Luke moving over him, arms resting on either side of him.

Luke leaned down, his mouth by Noah’s ear and he could feel himself hardening against Noah’s leg. “I want to see you,” he said, reaching down to start undoing Noah’s pants. “Okay?” he asked, looking up at him.

Noah nodded eagerly, giving himself another squeeze before letting his hands drop away, just watching Luke start to pull his jeans off his hips. “Luke, I-- I love you, so much,” he reached out, fingertips grazing Luke’s face. “Are we really going to do this?” he asked.

Luke nodded, biting down on the inside of his lip before he slipped his fingers inside the slit of Noah’s boxers, wrapping around his dick.

Noah’s mouth fell open and he gasped loudly, breath stuttering and his hips twitching. “God, Luke,” he panted, head falling back against the pillows. “Feels-- don’t stop,” he said, “don’t stop.” He cried out, fingers digging into the bed sheets.

Luke stroked Noah slowly, hand still inside his boxers, his own hips working against Noah, his dick dragging across the rough denim still bunched around his thighs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Noah’s, his tongue moving in, tracing and running around his mouth. “Can you reach the table for me?” he asked, pulling back and glancing over to his night stand.

Noah nodded and pushed himself up enough to grasp onto the handle, pulling it open and slipping his hand inside, swallowing when his hand found several small packets. He pulled out a condom and small packet of lube, dropping them on the mattress. “You know how to put it on?” he asked, eyes flicking up to Luke’s.

Luke nodded, and he slowly reached out to grab a condom, tearing into the package. “Noah, I thought that you...that I would be the one—”

Noah sat up, kissing Luke quiet, awkwardly trying to push his jeans and boxers off with one hand. With his other hand, he took the condom from Luke and pulled back from the kiss, reaching out to Luke’s dick. “Do you want to?” he asked, already rolling the condom down. He watched Luke carefully and jerked him quickly, reaching out for the lube.

“Mm-hmm,” Luke nodded dumbly, taking the lube from Noah, watching him stand up to finish getting his jeans and boxers off.

Noah kicked off his clothes and climbed back on the bed, lying back. He reached out to Luke and pulled him on top of him, grunting softly as their bodies came together. He let out a shaky breath and refused to close his eyes, wanting so badly to watch everything that Luke did.

Luke grasped onto Noah’s dick again, stroking him slowly, fumbling with the lube with his other hand. “Just um...” he popped the top and squirted it onto his fingers, frowning when too much came out, “let me know, okay?” He spread the lube down his digits and shifted on his knees, reaching between Noah’s legs. “Christ Noah, I really don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted, suddenly looking up at him. “And I—”

“It’s okay,” Noah assured him quietly. “Luke, it’s okay. I promise, just...” He shifted, spreading his legs wider. “Please.”

Luke began pressing his fingers into Noah, his own breathing pausing so that he could hear Noah perfectly. An unpleasant feeling was starting in the pit of his stomach and Luke stopped his fingers, letting out his breath. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

Noah shook his head quickly. “It’s kind of weird, though,” he admitted. “Doesn’t hurt. Just keep going.”

Luke leaned down and gave Noah a kiss, smiling against his lips. “I love you,” he murmured, kissing him again. He pushed his fingers in the rest of the way, instinctively curling them and watching Noah’s body jerk. He bent down and moved his mouth over Noah’s stomach, nuzzling at the trail of hair, feeling his muscles quiver beneath the skin.

One of Noah’s hands dug into the bed sheets and the other one wound into Luke’s hair, holding his head down, even though he knew that it had to hurt. “Luke, please,” he begged gently, mouth hanging open.

Luke slipped a third finger inside him and wiggled down on the mattress, nervously wetting his lips before his tongue darted out further to lick under the head of Noah’s dick. The tip of his tongue moved up to tease the slit and he opened his mouth further, sucking the head gently.

Noah cried out loudly and his grip tightened even more in Luke’s hair. He whimpered and bit down hard on his lip, groaning softly when Luke’s fingers slipped out. “Now, please, Luke, fuck me.”

Luke looked up at Noah through the hair in his eyes and pulled off after a final lick, pushing himself up. He sat back on his heels, breathing quickly. “Are you gonna...” He just trailed off and shook his head, moving between Noah’s legs, looking down at him. “I love you more than anything,” he whispered against his lips, grasping onto the base of his dick, starting to push into him.

Noah made a noise and his features scrunched together, showing how uncomfortable he was, but he tried to stay as calm as possible, except for the fact that he wasn’t allowing himself to breathe. He could feel himself stretching further around Luke with every time he pushed further in and he turned his head to the side, breathing heavily.

Luke looked down at Noah sympathetically, dropping his head down to whisper in Noah’s ear. “It’s okay,” he assured him, kissing his cheek.

Noah turned his head back, looking at Luke. Finally he nodded, kissing Luke back. “You’re the only one I ever want,” he said, “I never wanna do this with anybody else.”

Luke smiled and closed his eyes, gasping when he finally pushed in all the way. He relaxed, resting more on top of Noah, kissing his chest. “You should wait till we finish to make declarations like that.”

Noah kissed the top of Luke’s head, taking a deep breath. His legs fell open, a stretch in his thighs, and he shifted underneath him.

Luke pushed himself back up, starting to thrust gently, rocking his hips back and forth. He pressed his mouth to Noah’s, smiling even as he nipped at his lips.

Noah moaned and wrapped his arms around Luke, bracing his feet on the mattress so that he could move with Luke, their hips going together, his dick rubbing between their stomachs. He reluctantly let go of Luke with one arm to move his hand between them, finding his dick, crying out loudly when he began to jerk himself quickly.

“Tell me it feels good,” Luke grunted, speeding up his thrusts, bracing himself above Noah.

Noah nodded eagerly, back arching, other hand digging into Luke’s back. “Feels good,” he echoed. “You feel good.” His muscles tightened and the urge to come was so great, but he knew that he wasn’t there yet. Instead, there was just that feeling beneath the pit of his stomach and it wasn’t enough. “I just...ugh God, I just can’t be–” He groaned in frustration. “I wanna come,” he whined, head going down by his shoulder.

Luke nodded excitedly, because he knew that he was close and he pulled out of Noah, stripping off his condom. He took Noah’s hand away from his dick and enclosed both of them together in his fist, almost collapsing onto of him with the pleasure of not only being jerked off, but Noah’s dick pressed together with his.

Noah sat up, pushed up on his elbows, watching them slide through Luke’s fist together, watching it and feeling it just too much. But first, he watched as Luke’s mouth fell open and his hips jerked frantically. “I love you,” he said.

He met Noah’s eyes just before he came, gasping loudly, doubling over, his dick jerked his fist and he shot over Noah’s taut stomach.

Noah’s head fell back and he grunted as he hips thrust up into Luke’s loosened grip. “Yeah, yes,” he panted, “almost.”

Luke shifted and kept stroking him as he moved down, taking Noah into his mouth again. He swirled his tongue around and lapped as Noah jerked and his mouth was filled with the strong fluid. He swallowed quickly, over and over, until he slowly pulled off, licking his lips. He looked up at Noah awkwardly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his throat.

Noah looked at Luke, still breathing quickly. “You didn’t have to,” he said finally, voice rough. He cleared his own throat and sighed, moving in closer to Luke. He kissed him, slipping his tongue into his mouth. He smiled when he broke away, lying back on the bed. He yawned and pulled at the bed sheets, wiggling on the mattress. “Lay down,” he said, grasping onto Luke’s hand.

Luke curled into Noah’s side, resting his arm over his chest. He yawned softly and snuggled into the bed, closing his eyes. “You’re going to have a really good time in Rome, Noah.”

“Yeah?” Noah asked, wrapping his arm around Luke’s shoulder.

Luke nodded. “Yeah, you will. I bet it’s gorgeous there.”

Noah smiled and kissed the top of Luke’s head, nuzzling his hair. “Thank you,” he said. “And I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll take so many pictures and shoot so many videos, you’ll feel like you were there.”

Luke nodded and turned his head, kissing Noah’s chest. He let out a deep breath, curling in closer to his boyfriend. “Promise no hot Italian flings?” he asked finally.

Noah laughed and nodded, kissing Luke again. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about , Luke. Especially after that.” He stretched out his long legs, sighing dreamily. “You’re officially stuck with me forever.”

Luke smiled, happily and a little bit smugly. “I’m okay with that,” he replied.

“Good,” Noah nodded once, clearing his throat. “‘Cause the second that I get off my flight, I’m probably going to have to fuck you against the wall or something.”

Luke raised an eyebrow and slowly lifted his head. “Is that so?” he asked, pushing himself up. When Noah nodded, he reached over to the night stand, pulling open the drawer and grabbing another condom. He dropped it onto Noah’s lap and climbed off the bed, walking over to the wall. He smirked and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Why wait till you get home?” he asked, glancing down at his nude body.

Noah’s mouth fell open and he simply stared for a few seconds, before he grabbed the condom and hurried off the bed, pressing Luke back up against the wall.

Terminator: SCC slash; John Connor/Derek Reese, NC-17

2008-08-25T18:16:35Z

Title: Remember the Future
Pairing: John Connor/Derek Reese
Disclaimer: None of these awesome characters belong to me.
Rating: NC-17
Summary/Spoilers: Takes place during episode 1.07, The Demon Hand. John and Derek had a conversation in the living room about t-shirts, Sarah, and John’s former foster parents, and it inspired me to write this continuation of that scene.

“I got them killed,” John finished flatly, eyes narrowing as he looked over at Derek on the couch.

Derek drew a sharp breath and kept nervously fingering the t-shirt he had in his hands. His eyes quickly flicked down to blankly stare at the cloth, before he looked back up, giving John a half-smile. “You didn’t get them killed, John,” he said finally.

John rolled his eyes and dropped his head forward, looking down at the ground. “Then who did, Derek? The other leader of the human resistance? The Terminator was there for me.” He lifted his head and looked over at Derek, who was pulling off his shirt. “You’re-- you’re bleeding through your bandage.”

“Hmm,” Derek murmured, glancing down at his bare chest, running his fingers over the top of his bandage. He shrugged and started to pull the black shirt over his head before John pushed himself off the wall, stepping towards him.

“The house is stocked with first-aid kits,” John began, “I can...just let me, Derek. Okay?” He didn’t wait for Derek’s answer before he ducked into his bedroom, pulling a first-aid kit out from under his bed.

Derek set the shirt down on the table and sat back in his seat, watching John hurry back into the room. He bounced slightly when John dropped down onto the couch next to him. He looked down, watching John’s fingers peel back the tape, quick pressing gauze to his wound.

“Does it still hurt?” John asked, getting out the roll of tape.

“I’ll survive,” Derek replied, breathing carefully, almost gritting his teeth.

John looked up, smiling. “Yeah, I guess you will. How does a teenager survive Judgment Day, anyway?” He tore the tape with his mouth, taping down one side of the new bandage.

“Right place, right time, I guess,” Derek said, shifting on the couch. He closed his eyes, hissing softly. “It wasn’t easy. I just needed to protect my brother.”

John’s hands stilled and he studied Derek closely now that his eyes were closed. He bit down on his lip, swallowing hard. When Derek’s eyes flew open, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been watching him and he jerked back, his other hand curling into Derek’s thigh, where he hadn’t even noticed it was resting. “Sorry,” he said quickly, pressing the rest of the tape down. He shook his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t—”

Derek looked down, examining his bandage. “Looks good, Conn— uh...John.” He flashed him a quick smile, which John nervously returned. “John, right.” He pushed down the tape a little harder, and reached out for his new shirt. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at John’s hand, the one he still hadn’t moved from his thigh. “Uh, John?”

“Yeah, sorry,” John said quietly, withdrawing his hand. “If those shirts don’t work, I can find more.”

Derek studied John’s hand, rolling his lips into his mouth as more memories from the future flooded his mind; in particular, memories of how he and John had spent their last few minutes together. He felt his dick give a twitch and he bit down on his lip. “John, you mind giving a guy some space?” he snapped finally. “I just-- I just feel like I can’t breathe.” He pushed himself off the couch, walking away from him. “God.”

John frowned and watched Derek pace around the room, wringing the shirt between his hands. “Derek, I didn’t mean to—” He stopped talking when he realized that Derek probably didn’t want to hear it and he pushed himself up. “I’m going outside.”

“So?” Derek asked, glancing up.

John shrugged. “My mom would care.” He walked out of the living room and out the door, the old porch leaving paint chips on his feet. He walked heavily down the stairs and onto the grass, reaching out to run his fingers down the old swing set. He reached out, grasping onto a link of the rusted chain and sighed, leaning against the metal.

Derek moved towards the living room window, looking out at John. He pulled his shirt on over his head and stepped outside, leaning against the door frame. He crossed his arms and watched John, trying so hard not to actually study his body and to just watch him be a teenager. He smiled when John gingerly sat down on the swing, looking up when he heard the chains creak.

John’s feet dug into the dirt beneath his seat and he looked down, watching himself rock back and forth gently. His head resting against the chain, his mind went back to the images of Derek in the kitchen, blood everywhere, and he couldn’t help but start to feel sick. He brought his feet up onto the small seat, effectively curling up on himself, closing his eyes.

Derek knew exactly how John felt, he could sense how tired he was. It was hard to have time for sympathy in the world that he came from and he hoped that John didn’t freak out in a teenage-way about overstepping boundaries as he made his way down the steps. He walked up behind John and grasped onto the chains, leaning down. “I get that it’s hard, John, and people like me and your mom probably aren’t making it any easier on you.” He swallowed hard, trying not to take a deep breath.

John looked up and dropped his feet onto the ground. “I just wish it wasn’t me,” he said finally, looking back at Derek. “I wish that I had no idea what was going on and I could be normal for once.” He blinked rapidly, starting to swing gently. “Guess I can dream, huh?”

Derek smiled and nodded. “It’s always nice to have a dream. Once we stop this thing from ever happening, you can be normal. But it’d be kind of boring after all this, huh?”

John smiled and looked forward again. “I’d take it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Derek muttered in agreement, stepping back when John pushed himself off his swing, turning towards him. “You coming in?” he asked, glancing towards the house.

John stood still, arms resting at his sides. He looked down in surprise when Derek reached out, taking his hand in his, gently tugging. “Derek?” he asked in confusion.

“Come in,” Derek said softly, tongue coming out to wet his lips.

“Derek, there’s something you have to know,” John began suddenly, but he was cut off when Derek’s mouth pressed to his, tongue pushing its way in. John moaned softly and his other hand moved up to grasp at Derek’s neck, briefly pulling him in hard before pulling back, eyes wide.

“Get your mom to kill me if I’m wrong about this,” Derek murmured, “but I had to know what it’d be like here too.”

John looked up at Derek, breathing quickly. “Here?” he repeated. “We’re...we do this there? In the future? Are you sure?”

“You said it yourself: if there were two John Connors leading the resistance, I’m sure somebody would’ve heard about it,” Derek pointed out. “I’m sorry, and if you never want me to bring it up again—”

“Shut up,” John snapped, pulling Derek back down for another kiss. His tongue gently lapped at Derek’s lips until they parted and he let Derek push him up against the swing set, hearing the old metal groan. “There’s still something that you need to know,” he panted, meeting Derek’s eyes. There was a feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t think that it was because of being so close to Derek; he knew what guilt felt like. “It’s important.”

“I really think it can wait, John,” Derek said, trying to pull him in again, but John turned his head away. “John, since I fuckin’ saw you, I’ve been waiting for this. We have a long time, you can tell me later.” He tugged on John’s hand again. “John, if you don’t want this—”

“I want this,” John interrupted, slipping his hand out of Derek’s. “It’s just not something I’ve done before, okay? And definitely never with a guy. You didn’t seem gay to me.”

“Whoa whoa, back up,” Derek said. “I’m not gay, John. I mean, I was pretty young when half the population died, but I like women.”

“This isn’t an argument I want to have,” John said flatly, tapping his foot impatiently. “I don’t really care. We’re going inside.” He brushed past Derek and jumped the steps onto the porch, going back into the house. He quickly pulled off his black t-shirt; he had no clue what he was doing but he knew that the long-sleeved shirt he still had on would keep him from embarrassment if he was really off the mark with where they were going.

Derek hurried into the house after John, slamming the door behind him. “If your mom comes home right now--”

John pulled Derek to him, pressing up against the wall. “Shut up,” he snapped, running his hands up Derek’s sides, looking up at him before grasping onto the hem of the shirt Derek had just put on.

“Is that an order?” Derek asked, lifting his arms above his head.

John pulled off Derek’s shirt and dropped it to the floor, grabbing onto his own shirt. “You’re used to taking them, right?” He tugged his shirt over his head and finally paused, looking down at both their bare chests. “Especially from me.” He swallowed hard and walked by Derek, going into his bedroom.

Derek reached down and adjusted himself in his sweats, reaching down to pick up their shirts before slowly following after him. He closed the bedroom door behind him, leaning against it as he watched John fumble with his jeans. He dropped the shirts and walked over to the bed, crawling on the mattress between John’s legs. “What did you have to tell me again?” he teased.

The guilt and the disgust that he was sure he was supposed to be feeling hit John in the gut, but his mind and everything below the belt said fuck it and he pulled Derek in roughly, mouth already open when they came together.

Derek caught John’s bottom lip between his teeth and pushed one of his hands through his hair, holding him close. His tongue slipped in and licked at the roof of his mouth before just twisting around John’s tongue. John moaned into Derek’s mouth and his hand slipped down his body, palming Derek through his pants. Derek’s eyes closed tightly and he pushed himself up on his knees, moving his hands to John’s jeans. “Tell me no, okay?”

“What?” John asked quickly, lifting his head. “You— you want to stop?” He grasped onto Derek’s arm, meeting his eyes. “No, no, Derek.” He pushed his mouth back against Derek’s, moaning loudly.

Derek pulled back, moving down John’s body, pressing kisses down his chest, nuzzling at the trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Tell me ‘no’ if you want to stop,” he explained, looking up at John, pulling down his boxers. “Tell me ‘no’ if I go too far,” he murmured, wetting his lips as John’s blood-flushed dick was bared.

“Are you serious?” John asked in disbelief, watching with eyes wide as Derek took the head of his dick into his mouth, lapping at the slit and swallowing hard. “Oh my god,” he breathed, head dropping back down onto his pillow. He grunted and bit down on his lip, not being able to help his hands going to Derek’s head. “Derek. Derek, stop.” He groaned and moved his hands, starting to try to push him off. “Stop.”

Derek lifted his head and licked his lips, grasping onto John, jerking him quickly. “Already?” he asked, smiling up at John in amusement.

“Mm-hmm,” John nodded eagerly, biting down on his hand to muffle his cries as he came, dick jerking and shooting onto his stomach, the last bit going onto Derek’s hand. His hips jerked up into Derek’s fist through the aftershocks, but once he felt he was coming down, he slowly withdrew his hand, breathing quietly. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Derek moving up the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, feeling his cheeks start to heat up.

Derek pressed his lips to John’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling back. “I’m just guessing: first time or close to it.”

John nodded, slowly opening his eyes. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, pushing himself up.

“Nothing you don’t want to do,” Derek replied, lying back.

John reached down and tucked himself back in his boxers, swallowing hard. “I...” he gingerly reached out, palming Derek again. “Does this feel good?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, looking down to watch John’s hand. “Yeah, fuck, it feels good.” His hips thrust up underneath his timid strokes and his fingers pressed down hard into the mattress.

John rolled his lips into his mouth and moved his hand up, slipping it under the waistband, finding Derek’s hard dick underneath the thin fabric. He wrapped his fingers around the thick length and started his strokes again.

“Harder,” Derek pleaded, eyes flashing up to watch John’s face. “Please, it’s just—”

“Been awhile?” John finished, looking down at Derek.

Derek nodded quickly, chest rising and falling quickly. His back arched slightly and the ache in his cock was just unbelievable.

“Is it enough?” John asked, shifting on the bed, trying to get more comfortable and trying to make it easier on his wrist. “Tell me what to do.”

Derek reached up and cupped the back of John’s head, guiding him down towards his chest. He cried out suddenly when John’s mouth covered one his nipples, it tightening and pebbling quickly. “God, your mouth,” he breathed, turning his head to watch John. He moaned when John opened his eyes and looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “John,” he panted before his breath hitched and he came. He moved his hand from the back of John’s head and his grip let up on the sheets and his body just relaxed, before a wet spot started to take shape on the front of his sweatpants.

John slipped his hand out of Derek’s sweats and he rolled to the side, feeling a shiver once they were both still. He closed his eyes, trying to get every thought of Kyle Reese out of his head. It felt like minutes later, but it was probably only seconds, when he opened his eyes again and saw Derek watching him. “Yeah?” he asked flatly.

Derek shrugged and pushed himself up, his feet dropping down heavily onto the floor.

John curled up and watched Derek stand up, reaching down to grab his shirt. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Your mom or the machine could come back anytime, John,” Derek explained, looking down at his bandage before pulling his shirt on. “I’m still recuperating, right? Fuck knows your mom doesn’t want me in her room; you think she’d be impressed to see me in yours?”

John shook his head. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. He sighed and pushed himself up, following Derek over to his bedroom door. He leaned down and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it on. He smiled slightly and leaned against his door, pulling Derek in. “It can wait,” he said, giving Derek a kiss.

Derek moaned softly, wrapping an arm around John’s waist. Their lips moved together slowly and he smiled when he pulled back. “What’s that?” he asked.

“What I had to tell you,” John explained. “It can wait. It’s not important.”

Derek nodded. “Alright then,” he said, grasping onto the door knob.

John stepped away from the door and crossed his arms, watching Derek walk out of his room.

Derek rubbed at his mouth and started on his way to the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he turned and saw Cameron standing in front of him. He stared, hand still up by his mouth before Cameron stepped by him and walked into the living room. He muttered under his breath and shook his head, walking to the kitchen.

John quickly straightened up his bed and dropped down in front of his computer, tapping a couple of keys. He sighed and his shoulders slouched, staring at the screen.

The Covenant slash, NC-17; Pogue/Tyler

2008-08-12T20:21:49Z

Pairing: Pogue Parry/Tyler Simms
Disclaimer: None of these lovely characters are mine.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Takes place after the events of the film. Once Pogue has recovered and talked to Kate, he assumes that Tyler won’t be able to wait to start their relationship again.

Tyler tapped his foot impatiently against the floor, staring at the laptop screen. He needed to write this paper. It was Reid’s annoying antics in class, but they weren’t shining that great of a light on him either. Tyler needed to prove that he wasn’t an idiot just because he had idiotic friends. He turned in his seat and glared at Reid, who was snoring softly, already asleep on his stomach.

Tyler rubbed at his eyes, feeling how dry they were, knowing that he needed to start typing soon or he may as well just go to bed and pick it up again in the morning before classes. He shook his head at Reid and turned back to the screen, groaning softly. He stared at the screen, so long and so hard that he jumped when there was a quiet knock at the door. “Christ,” he muttered, pushing his chair back, getting a slight chill from the open window. He unlocked the door and slowly opened it, tired eyes falling on the long hair first.

“What’s going on?” Pogue asked quietly, glancing over Tyler’s shoulder to see Reid.

Tyler just stared at Pogue in disbelief, mouth hanging slightly open. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Aren’t you--”

“The doctors released me,” Pogue explained, smiling.

Tyler smiled back faintly, but glanced over at the clock between his and Reid’s bed. “They released you at one-thirty in the morning?” he asked, amused.

Pogue kept smiling as he tilted his head, leaning in to gently brush his lips against Tyler’s. “I do have parents, Tyler. They kept me busy. I went over to Caleb’s. Talked to Kate.”

Tyler dropped his eyes and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Well, you could’ve just called me, Pogue. My— whatever the hell you are, my friend at least, gets out the hospital and I don’t know?”

Pogue cupped Tyler’s cheek and kissed him again, harder this time. Tyler’s mouth opened under his and his tongue slipped in, getting them both to moan softly. “You’re kind of like my boyfriend, Tyler,” he teased. His hand moved to the back of Tyler’s neck, pulling him in again.

“Don’t say that,” Tyler murmured, reaching up to grasp onto the collar of Pogue’s jacket, gasping softly when Pogue pushed him up against the wall right by the door frame.

Pogue grinned and began pressing kisses all around Tyler’s mouth, reaching down to start sliding his hand up underneath his thin t-shirt.

“Pogue, we’re in the hallway,” Tyler protested, looking around wildly. His breath hitched and he groaned when Pogue’s hand moved down from under his shirt to slip under the waistband of his boxers. “Pogue,” he breathed, “c’mon man.”

Pogue laughed softly, pulling back to meet Tyler’s eyes. “I’m fine, just in case you were wondering. I am recovered.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “That’s great, Pogue.” The door beside him opened and they both jerked and jumped and jumped back; Tyler hitting the wall, and Pogue pulling his hand out of Tyler’s boxers.

“I’m not deaf, you know,” Reid said, leaning against the door frame. “And you’re in the hallway.”

Tyler dropped his head forward and closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Reid reached out and ruffled Tyler’s hair, grinning. “Hey Pogue, how you doing, man?”

Pogue grinned back and reached out, grabbing Reid’s hand and quickly pulling him in. “I’m good,” he nodded, glancing at Tyler. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Reid shrugged and went back to the door frame, nudging Tyler. “Might wanna come back in here and get on that paper. I looked at your laptop.” He looked back to Pogue. “Seeing you in class tomorrow, Parry?”

“And then Nicky’s afterward,” Pogue nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

“Cool,” Reid said, going back into the room, closing the door behind him.

Tyler looked up and bit the inside of his lip, reaching out for the door handle. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he said, opening the door. He took a step back before finally smiling again and he gave Pogue a quick kiss.

“Alright, baby boy,” Pogue whispered, kissing Tyler back. “Tomorrow.” He stepped back and gave him a wave as he walked down the hallway.

Tyler slipped back into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. He looked over at Reid, who was back in bed, hands behind his head. “I’m never going to finish this paper,” he muttered, dropping back down at his desk.

“Why are you here?” Reid asked, watching Tyler.

“What do you mean?” Tyler asked, lifting one of his feet onto his chair.

Reid grinned and shook his head in amusement. “Listen, I’m not interested in him, but I know that if some chick came knocking on my door this time of night—”

“That never happens,” Tyler interrupted, tapping a couple of keys on the keyboard. “So you have no idea what you’d be doing.” He shook his head, back to staring at the screen.

Reid’s eyes went black before he rolled over, pulling the sheets back up.

Tyler’s eyes widened in short surprise as words began appearing in the word document without his typing. He sighed and glanced back at Reid, before finally sitting back in his chair, letting Reid and the computer write the paper for him.

* * * *

Tyler tried not to meet the professor’s eyes as he passed his paper over to him, looking up when Reid’s hand clasped onto his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, following Reid up to their seats. “Did you at least write your own?”

“I did,” Reid nodded, dropping down heavily, “because I didn’t wait until the last second.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Proud of me?”

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, but playfully nudged Reid anyway.

Reid cleared his throat softly and nodded towards the door, where Pogue and Caleb were making their way in. “So, he’s like your boyfriend, huh?” he teased.

“God Reid, how much did you hear?” Tyler said, giving Pogue a quick wave when he met his eyes. He shifted in his seat as he watched Caleb speak quietly to Pogue, getting him to break out in a grin.

Reid pushed his chair back a bit, resting his chin on his folded arms on the desk. He closed his eyes, shifting to get a bit more comfortable. “Wake me up when this is finished, huh?” he asked.

Tyler tapped his pencil against his book, following Pogue with his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he said flatly, jumping when the professor slammed the door shut.

* * * *

Tyler stretched his arms above his head, yawning softly before dropping his hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. He looked up when he heard Reid’s laughing, looking around the corner for him.

“You need any help with that?” Pogue asked, leaning against the lockers, letting his eyes scan over Tyler.

“Are you swimming?” Tyler asked, ignoring Pogue’s question, continuing on with his buttons.

“I told you, I’m recovered,” Pogue said again, reaching down to grasp onto Tyler’s hand. He tilted his head, mouth by Tyler’s ear. “Come on, let’s wait till everybody gets out of here. I missed you in the hospital.” He kissed Tyler’s neck, gently sucking on his skin.

Tyler swallowed hard and his eyes drifted closed before he remembered where they were and he jerked back. “I think that there’s something wrong with your head,” he remarked, pulling off his tie.

Pogue stepped back, looking at Tyler, puzzled. “Why?” he asked.

“You keep forgetting when people can see us,” Tyler whispered harshly, opening his locker, grabbing his Aquashorts. He undid his pants, pushing them down.

“Tonight then, please,” Pogue pleaded softly, eyes flicking around the locker room. “Come on, you must’ve missed me a little.”

“I wasn’t worried about sex, Pogue,” Tyler snapped, shoving his clothes into his locker, pulling on his swim shorts. “I was scared you were gonna die. Jesus.”

“Are you guys coming out or not?” Caleb asked, stopping by his friends; arms crossed and smiling in amusement.

“Just a sec,” Pogue said, glancing back at Caleb. “Tyler, come on. Tonight—”

“You already told Reid you’d be at Nicky’s,” Tyler pointed out.

Pogue grinned. “Well, yeah, I’m gonna be there. I meant after Nicky’s. We hang out, have some fun with the boys, and we—”

“I’ll be out by the pool,” Caleb interrupted, turning and walking towards the door.

Tyler smiled as Caleb walked out of the locker room, shaking his head as he pushed the door on his locker closed.

“See, you’re smiling,” Pogue said, tilting his head. “And you don’t hate me. Let me buy you burger and fries tonight. Kay?”

“Okay,” Tyler agreed finally, nodding, walking towards the door. The stench of chlorine filled his nostrils even more and he nodded over to Caleb and Reid.

“Geez, took you two long enough, didn’t it?” Reid asked, leaning against the wall. “I thought I’d have to go in there and pull you off each other. Christ.” He shook his head and pushed himself off, walking away.

Caleb laughed and looked down, slipping his goggles over his head. “I think he’s just jealous,” he smiled, nudging Tyler.

* * * *

Pogue nodded over at Nicky, holding up two fingers and mouthing ‘regular’. He leaned against the bar and waited, eyes scanning the crowd. He smiled faintly when he found Tyler, sitting next to Reid at a small table, laughing loudly.

Tyler rolled his eyes and practically shoved Reid out of his chair.

“What?” Reid asked innocently. “Oh come on, like you weren’t thinking it.” He shook his head and picked up his glass, finishing off his drink with a large gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a loud burp.

“Jesus, Reid,” Tyler said, moving his chair a couple of inches away.

Pogue turned back around and dropped a bill on the bar, taking the tray that had their food and drinks practically piled on it. He carefully made his way through the crowd, dropping the tray down in front of Tyler and Reid.

“Oh wow, thanks so much Pogue,” Reid said, grabbing a couple of fries.

“Hey,” Pogue said, sitting down, giving Tyler a quick kiss. “And help yourself, Reid,” he said sarcastically.

Reid smirked and nodded quickly, taking Pogue’s drink to replace his own. “I think that I hear the pool table calling my name,” he said, standing up. “Have fun, ladies.”

Tyler reached out for his drink, slouching down in his chair. “I don’t think that he’s really that used to us yet,” he said, meeting Pogue’s eyes apologetically.

Pogue swallowed and looked around, finding Kate in the crowd. “Yeah, he’s not the only one though.” He picked up his burger and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Kate bit the inside of her lip and shook her head, watching Pogue and Tyler out of the corner of her eye.

“Uh, if looks could kill,” Sarah remarked, looking over to where Kate was watching. “Kate, at least he told you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Right?”

“Whatever,” Kate muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’m over it.” She smiled.

“So, uh,” Pogue shifted in his seat, “you wanna get out of here?” he asked softly.

Tyler looked up at Pogue and finally nodded gently. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Alright, is your Hummer outside?” Pogue asked, pushing his chair back from the table.

“How did you get here?” Tyler asked, following Pogue towards the door.

“Caleb gave me a ride,” Pogue said, walking out into the parking lot, heading towards Tyler’s Hummer. He climbed into the passenger side, settling into the comfortable seat. “I did miss ya, you know.”

Tyler looked over as he started the ignition, nodding. “Where are we going?” he asked, pulling out of his parking space.

“Let’s go to the dorms,” Pogue suggested, shrugging off his jacket when Tyler got on the road. “It’s closest, right?” He glanced out the window.

“I think you convinced me,” Tyler said, coming to a stop at a red light. He looked over at Pogue, who was watching him back. “What now?”

Pogue grabbed onto the back of Tyler’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Tyler groaned in surprise, before kissing Pogue back, their lips and tongues moving together. He only pulled back when a car honked behind them and he began driving again, licking his lips. “Not close enough,” he muttered, his mind exaggerating the drive back to the school.

* * * *

Tyler pulled Pogue into the room by his shirt, laughing when Pogue kicked his foot back, closing the door. “God,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around Pogue’s neck.

Pogue tossed his jacket, hearing it land on the floor before Tyler pulled him down onto the bed. “You should’ve let me do this last night,” he said, pushing himself up, pulling off his shirt. “You wouldn’t be so horny right now.” He reached down, grasping the hem of Tyler’s shirt, helping him pull it off.

“Reid was right inside,” Tyler pointed out, fumbling with his jeans, so he decided to kick off his shoes first. “We were in the hallway!”

Pogue chuckled, moving his mouth over Tyler’s chest, hands moving up and down his sides. He looked up at Tyler through the hair that had fallen in his face, smiling. “You should’ve visited me more.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and pushed Pogue off of him, climbing off the bed. He picked up his sneakers and dropped them onto the floor, pushing down his jeans, getting back on the bed. He laid back, chest heaving, watching Pogue.

Pogue dropped his feet to the floor and kicked off his boots. He undid his jeans, lifted his hips off the mattress and pushed them down, along with his black boxer-briefs. He climbed back onto the bed, moving over Tyler. “You want me to take those off of you?” he murmured, nipping at Tyler’s bottom lip. He looked down between them, moving his hands to the waistband of his boxers.

“Mm-hmm,” Tyler nodded, pushing his fingers through Pogue’s hair and watched as he dragged his boxers down his thighs. He bent his legs and laughed when Pogue got them off, tossing them to the floor. He opened his legs further and moaned when Pogue settled down between them, kissing him. Tyler opened his mouth and grasped the sides of Pogue’s head, holding him close.

Pogue panted into Tyler’s mouth when they broke apart for a moment, and he pulled back just enough to meet Tyler’s eyes without his crossing. “God, you better be fuckin’ stocked up on condoms, Ty, because I am not leaving.”

Tyler moved his hands to Pogue’s shoulders, pushing him off and then rolling with him, so that Tyler was on him, looking down at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled, kissing Pogue, brushing his hair away from his eyes. He moved down Pogue’s body, his hands in his as he settled on his knees between Pogue’s legs, opening his mouth around Pogue’s dick. Tyler’s tongue twirled slickly around the head, sucking and licking, Pogue’s fingers tightening in his.

Pogue sucked in his breath so quickly that he couldn’t help but start coughing, shoulders shaking. “Christ,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath, panting heavily. “Tyler,” he said, voice rough, trying to lift his head but his hips jerked when Tyler’s mouth widened and he took Pogue in further.

Tyler released Pogue’s hands and moved his to Pogue’s hips, bobbing his head up and down, but keeping his hips still. He sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed and he moaned loudly, licking a strip up the underside of Pogue’s cock as he pulled off, panting, warm breath hitting the head. “Stay right here,” he said, carefully moving off the bed, going over to his desk. He yanked open one of the drawers and shoved his hand in, pulling out a condom and his lube. He hurried back over to the bed and climbed back onto Pogue, settling down on his thighs, tearing open the condom package. “You are going to fuck me so hard, okay?” he asked, looking up at Pogue as he rolled the condom down onto his dick.

Pogue nodded eagerly, back arching slightly when Tyler began stroking him with a lube-covered hand. “I just hope that I can, uh,” he lost his train of thought when he moaned, “uh, meet your high expectations.”

Tyler reached behind himself and his mouth fell open when he pushed two slicked fingers inside, twisting them and pushing them in and out.

“You’ll hurt your wrist,” Pogue said, but he didn’t make any other move to stop him from doing it.

“You can kiss it better later,” Tyler said, pushing a third finger in, moaning loudly with need. “Okay, fuck it.” He slipped his fingers out and pushed himself up.

Pogue reached down and grasped onto his dick, holding himself upright for Tyler to start pushing himself down on. “God!” he gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes open wide.

Tyler gasped softly, hands curling up on Pogue’s stomach, carefully and gently working his hips; opening up around him. He hunched over, breathing heavily, shoulders and chest heaving. He lifted his head and looked at Pogue, meeting his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t get anything to come out.

“You okay?” Pogue whispered harshly, pushing back a few pieces of hair that had fallen onto Tyler’s forehead.

Tyler whined when Pogue was fully in him and nodded eagerly, letting out a deep breath. “I...” he swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he started to push himself up, slowly sinking back down.

“Yeah,” Pogue breathed, watching Tyler’s face, watching everything he felt play out on it. “C’mon Ty, you— you know how you want it.” He bit down on his lip, groaning and thrusting his hips up. “You are so hot like this.”

Tyler’s head lolled back and he began moaning softly continuously, gently working his hips against Pogue’s, so full with Pogue pressing hard against his prostate. He grunted as he lifted himself up, finally stretched enough to move up and down on Pogue with more ease. He straightened his back and linked fingers with Pogue with one hand and reached down with the other to start jerking himself.

Pogue moved his hand up Tyler’s thigh, feeling the tight muscles beneath the gorgeous skin. He thrust his hips up, as focused on just watching Tyler as the feeling of him wrapped so tightly around him. He slipped his hand up and covered Tyler’s, thumbing the slick head of his dick every time Tyler stroked. He felt his toes curl and he bent his legs, digging his feet into the mattress. He lifted their interlocked hands and pressed kisses across Tyler’s knuckles, biting back down on his lip to try and stop the steady stream of noises coming out of his mouth.

“God, Pogue,” Tyler moaned, head falling forward, eyes finally opening. “God, you—” he swallowed hard, mouth drying from his panting, “you just make me feel...ugh, Pogue.” The mattress had started to squeak quietly as he bounced up and down on it, slipping up and down Pogue’s dick, the stretching causing a gentle burn that he knew he’d feel so much more later on. “Pogue,” he breathed, eyes focused on Pogue’s. “Pogue, I—”

The door creaked loudly as it opened and it was only a split second before Reid started screaming. “Holy Jesus fuckin’ shit! I can’t believe you guys are—”

“Get out, Reid!” Tyler yelled, throwing his head back.

“Jesus!” Reid yelled back, slamming the door behind him.

Tyler and Pogue both laughed softly, and Pogue moved both his hands to Tyler’s hips, starting to thrust in a slow rhythm. “Yeah, Tyler,” he breathed, hands moving with Tyler’s hips, helping him rock back and forth.

Tyler fell forward and reached out, grabbing onto the top of his headboard. He carefully took one hand wrapped it back around his dick, jerking himself off quickly. He moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, the only thing filling his ears were the sounds that he and Pogue were making.

“Christ, Ty,” Pogue grunted, thrusting up harder, hands pressing hard into his pale skin, hips stuttering as he shot into the condom, dick jerking inside of Tyler.

Tyler cried out loudly and his hand slipped from the headboard, hitting the pillow beside Pogue’s head. “God!” he cried, lean muscles tightening underneath Pogue’s hands that were now skimming his skin as he came down from his own orgasm. With a loud moan that broke, Tyler came, shooting onto Pogue’s stomach. He kept jerking his fist and rocking back and forth until he finally just collapsed onto Pogue, breathing hard and heavy and loud in both their ears, muscles lax.

Pogue wrapped an arm around Tyler, kissing the top of his head, holding him close until Tyler was calm again. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Tyler nodded and carefully pushed himself up, feeling dizzy, and he pulled himself off Pogue, wincing gently. He dropped back down onto the mattress and curled up beside Pogue.

Pogue sat up and pulled the condom off, dropping it into the small trash beside Tyler’s bed. “You think Reid’s okay?” he murmured, pulling at the bed sheets.

Tyler yawned and nodded, standing up to fold the sheets back, crawling into the bed. He thought for a second before his face broke out into a huge grin, and he began laughing. “I can’t believe he walked in,” he said, looking up at Pogue. “I can’t believe that he saw us.” He finished laughing, a smile still on his face.

“Saw you,” Pogue remarked, sliding in beside Tyler. “You were on top of me; he definitely didn’t see me.”

Tyler laughed again and rolled his eyes, moving onto his stomach. “I think that he’ll survive,” he murmured, eyes already drifting shut. He groaned as he shifted, sliding his hands under his pillows. “You staying?” he asked tiredly.

Pogue grunted as he stretched his arms above his head, nodding. “Yeah, I think that I just might.” He pulled at the sheets, turning his head on the pillow to watch Tyler.

ATWT - Luke and Noah; Twisted Pleasure; NC-17

2008-07-09T00:48:57Z

Title: Twisted Pleasure
Pairing: Luke Snyder/Noah Mayer
Disclaimer: I am so far from owning anything here.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Luke and Noah’s first time, during any time that they’re alone at the farm. And I’m just going to say that that time is after the 07/07/08 episode.

“That is,” Noah swallowed hard, taking deep breaths, “your ass.”

Luke groaned and rolled his eyes, reaching back to press Noah’s hand down harder. “Yes, it is. Have you never touched an ass before, Noah?” he smirked.

Noah narrowed his eyes and started slowly rubbing Luke, fingers moving in circles over his boxer-briefs. “I have,” he defended, “but-- you’re a guy. I’ve never touched a guy like this before.”

Luke sighed and pushed himself up, hands curled up around Noah’s bellybutton. “So, pretend I’m a girl,” he suggested. He leaned back down to give Noah a kiss, but stopped when Noah scrunched his face up and pulled away. “What now?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t wanna pretend you’re a girl,” Noah replied, looking at Luke. “I-- I like that it’s you.” He swallowed. “Straddling me.” He smiled faintly. “I really like that you’re straddling me.”

Luke smiled and finally did kiss Noah, tongue gently licking at his lips. “Then why are you so scared to touch me?” he asked quietly, moving his mouth to Noah’s cheek. “Are we moving too fast?” He sat up again, fingers dancing over Noah’s quivering stomach. Luke looked down at him expectantly, shifting on his lap.

“No, no,” Noah quickly shook his head, “definitely not.” He moved one of his hands to Luke’s hip, and used the other one to push himself up, wrapping his arms around Luke’s body. “If taking eight months to get here is ‘moving too fast’…” He smiled and kissed Luke, moaning softly into his mouth, fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of Luke’s boxers. “I’m not stopping this time.”

“Good,” Luke sighed, gently rocking down against Noah, who was hard, pressing up against him. “Don’t.”

“Are you nervous?” Noah asked, breathing heavily in Luke’s ear, carefully moving his hand down Luke’s hip, fingertips grazing the start of his pubic hair.

Luke shook his head, watching Noah in earnest. “Not with you,” he said quietly.

Noah swallowed hard and met Luke’s eyes before he gently wrapped his fingers around his dick, stroking it quickly, watching Luke for a reaction.

Luke’s eyes fluttered and he bit down on his bottom lip before looking down between them, watching Noah pull him from his boxers. “Noah,” he said softly, wondering if he was really becoming light-headed or just thought that he was. He met Noah’s eyes, starting to softly thrust up into his fist.

“Yeah?” Noah asked, twisting his wrist, kissing Luke again. “Does it feel good?” he whispered.

Luke nodded and dragged his fingers down Noah’s bare chest, ducking his head to press kisses to the red marks his nails left. “Are you gonna fuck me?” he asked quietly, trying to hide the question in Noah’s chest.

“Do you want me to?” Noah asked, cupping the back of Luke’s neck, playing with his hair, his other hand still stroking him.

Luke laughed softly, head lolling backwards, blinking up at the ceiling. “Noah, I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Noah asked, almost in disbelief, hand stalling on Luke’s dick.

Luke nodded, laughing again. “And I want to fuck you,” he continued. “Let’s see. I want to suck you off until you pretty much die.”

“Oh,” Noah said in surprise, nodding slowly. “I-- I see. Anything else?” he asked.

Luke leaned forward, mouth by Noah’s ear. “Noah, I want to do anything and everything with you and to you.” He licked, then nipped at the earlobe. He pulled back and shrugged. “You just pick the order.”

Noah stared at Luke, blinking slowly, swallowing hard. “Re-- really?”

Luke moved his hands behind Noah, pulling him in for a kiss. He licked at Noah’s lips, groaning. “And do you know what the best part is?” he asked teasingly, shifting on Noah’s lap.

Noah shook his head, glancing down between them, finally remembering that his hand was still on Luke. “No,” he said softly, voice almost cracking on just that short word.

Luke shrugged. “Twenty minutes later, we’ll just do it again another way.” He looked at Noah expectantly, gently biting down on his bottom lip. “Noah?” he asked. “What do you want to do?”

Noah smiled faintly and pulled Luke in for a kiss, starting to stroke him again, working his hips up against Luke’s in the same rhythm. “Lay back,” he whispered, shifting on the mattress to give Luke room.

Luke swallowed as he settled into the sheets, looking down at Noah, who had begun pulling his boxers down his thighs. Luke lifted his legs up a little to try and help Noah along. When Noah was busy pulling off his own boxers, Luke sat up and quickly pulled off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. “Wow,” he said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What?” Noah asked sharply, looking down at himself. “Uh…me?” he asked, glancing back up at Luke.

Luke smiled and reached out, pulling Noah back onto him. “Well, yeah,” he said. “You, me…I’m naked with my boyfriend. Being a former freaked out, closeted gay teen, I never really thought that I was going to get here.” He smiled again, kissing Noah. “If somebody knocks on that door, we keep going.”

Noah nodded and moved his hands up and Luke’s chest, slipping his tongue in his mouth, Luke’s legs falling open around him. “Your room,” he said, breathing heavily, “where is everything?”

Luke looked over to his dresser, missing Noah the instant that he was away from him. “I uh, I’ve never…” he closed his eyes, letting out his breath. “I didn’t know what you would want,” he said finally, eyes opening at the dip in the mattress. “I didn’t know what you used.”

Noah kissed Luke again, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me you’re sure about this, Luke,” he said, looking down at him.

“I’m sure,” Luke smiled, reaching up to push his fingers through Noah’s hair. “Just…” he nodded nervously, “can we just do it?”

“Yeah,” Noah said, sitting up on his knees. He opened the lube and carefully poured some on the ends of his fingers, butterflies starting in his stomach. “Oh, uh, maybe you wanna do this yours--”

Luke reached out and took Noah’s hand, guiding it down between his legs.

“Maybe not,” Noah murmured, letting out a deep breath. He couldn’t believe that he and Luke were finally there, and he tried to clear his mind of all thoughts of his father, or Luke’s family before he trailed his fingers around the clenched muscle.

Luke groaned softly, trying to lift his hips, trying to get Noah closer. “I’m ready,” he panted, reaching out to take Noah’s wrist again.

“I got it,” Noah snapped gently, jerking his arm, finally pressing a fingertip in. “Is it okay?” he asked, looking up.

“Uh, right now?” Luke asked, lifting his head. “I can hardly feel it.” He let out his breath, feeling it when Noah pressed a little further in. “You should put another finger in,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“Already?” Noah asked in surprise, sitting up and pulling his finger out completely.

Luke started to blush and he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. “I’ve…I may have done stuff like this before.” He opened his eyes and saw Noah gaping at him, so he quickly sat up. “Not like that, Noah!” he protested. “Just…by myself.” He swallowed and looked down at his fingers, picking at the bed sheet. “It’s you.”

Noah looked at Luke, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, cupping Luke’s face, getting him to look up at him.

“Well,” Luke sighed, but he kept his eyes on Noah, “jerking off used to be enough.” He smiled weakly. “When we first met. When we first kissed.”

Noah smiled and leaned in, giving him a gentle kiss. “I know what you mean,” he said.

“Then I just needed more,” Luke explained. “Thinking about you, thinking about us…I only ever used my fingers.” He rolled his lips into his mouth, waiting for some reaction from Noah. “It’s embarrassing.”

Noah smiled, chuckling. “No, it’s uh-- it’s kind of hot,” he admitted.

Luke’s eyes widened and he grinned, lying back down on the bed. “So, the point is, I won’t break.”

Noah grabbed the lube and again coated his fingers with the slick liquid. “So two’s okay?” he asked. At Luke’s glare of annoyance, he laughed. “I’m just checking. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He pressed his fingers together, gently pushing into Luke, further than he did previously.

“Yeah,” Luke breathed, his entire body on fire. He nodded eagerly, “That’s good,” he said softly. “Really, really good.”

Noah smiled and pushed another finger in alongside them, shifting up so that he could lean down and give Luke a kiss. “Grab me a condom?” he asked, gently pumping his fingers.

Luke reached over and grabbed the green box, groaned softly in embarrassment when he remembered exactly what he had bought. He fumbled with tearing the box open, but managed to grab a couple of the packages, closing them in his hand. “I should’ve just bought regular,” he muttered.

“Oh, come on, Luke,” Noah said, reaching out to unfold Luke’s fingers, taking a condom from him. He looked down, reading the package. “Twisted…” he trailed off, smiling faintly. “I like green,” he said, looking up. He slipped his fingers out and tore open the foil package, lubed fingers slipping slightly. “It’s okay.” He took out the latex and carefully rolled it down onto his dick, taking the lube again. “I’ve never loved anybody like you before, Luke,” he said, nudging Luke’s legs open, settling between them, hand gripping the base of his dick.

Luke smiled and nodded, leaning up to kiss Noah as he began pushing into him, stretching him wide. He gasped, head falling back and he clutched at Noah, fingers digging in. “It hurts,” he whispered. Noah moved in further and Luke made a pained noise in the back of this throat, and his mind was torn between letting Noah finish pushing in or shoving him away and running to the bathroom to cry.

Above him, Noah’s mouth was hanging wide, panting heavily, Luke unbelievably tight around him. “Sorry?” he offered, muscles shaking with the strain of not just shoving in. “God, Luke, I’m sorry. I never wanted--” He squeezed his eyes shut and explained it to himself in his mind before he finally let himself slip the rest of the way in, his entire dick being squeezed by Luke. He breathed heavily once he was all the way in, shifting to cup Luke’s face, gently thumbing the thin skin beside his eye. “Are you okay?” he asked, knowing that he had never seen Luke so naked before, everything playing out across his face. He looked down at him, eyes full of concern.

Luke turned his head to the side and kissed the inside of Noah’s wrist. His face scrunched up, he nodded tightly. “Yep,” he managed to get out before finally letting out a loud breath, even with the pain still radiating.

“Don’t lie to me, Luke,” Noah commanded. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s really weird with you just…there,” Luke replied, face finally loosening. “But I’m scared,” he admitted, voice tiny. “What if it hurts even more?”

Noah kissed Luke’s temple, bending his arm, letting Luke rest his head on his forearm. “Just let me know,” he said, running his fingers up and down Luke’s side, finding his scar from his kidney. He began pulling back, watching Luke carefully, then rocked back in. Luke’s fingers kept digging into Noah’s back, but that was overpowered times ten by all the pleasure he was feeling, Luke surrounding him.

Luke turned his head, mouth pressing to Noah’s bicep, teeth coming out to gently bite down at an awkward thrust.

“Ow!” Noah cried, hips stopping, almost falling off balance. “Hey, that’s not fair.”

“Oh, shut up,” Luke muttered, but he was smiling faintly. “It’s my payback.”

“I feel bad,” Noah said, “I…I feel good and you don’t and I’m sorry.” He kissed Luke, sighing against his mouth. “Should I be scared of when you do this to me?” he asked.

Luke shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I’ll be gentle.”

“Thank you,” Noah smiled, kissing Luke again. “Are you feeling good yet? Or, better?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, breath hitching. “There’s uh, there’s something down there.” He stopped just digging his fingers into Noah and let them slid up and down his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin. “You’re amazing.”

Noah closed his eyes and smiled, opening his mouth around Luke’s, moaning softly. He let Luke take control of this part, wondering if he was actually getting harder when Luke’s tongue pushed into his mouth. He mentally smacked himself and reached between them, finding Luke’s dick hard, and he started to stroke him. “Sorry,” he apologized, glancing down, “I kind of…forgot.”

He grinned and rolled his eyes, pulling Noah back into the kiss, arm slung over the back of his neck. Luke thrust his hips up into Noah’s grip but then quickly shoved them back down onto Noah’s dick and everything that had anything to do with the earlier pain was either gone or just completely forgotten. Luke broke the kiss, but still held Noah close, their noses bumping against each other with Noah’s thrusts. “I love you.”

Noah turned his head, closing his eyes when Luke’s lips pressed to his temple. “I love you,” he echoed, his hand pressed flat against Luke’s hip.

Luke carefully lifted his legs, making a mental note to thank God that he even could, dragging the heels of his feet up and down Noah’s thighs. “It’s really, really good now,” he whispered shakily, mouth by Noah’s ear.

Noah smiled and turned his head back, looking down at Luke. “Are you close?” he asked.

Luke nodded. “I think so,” he replied, breathing so hard.

“I wanna watch,” Noah said, “I wanna see your face.” He leaned down and gently sucked on Luke’s earlobe, squeezing him a little harder. “I want you to watch me when I come too.”

Luke cried out loudly, head tilting back and his body jerked upwards when his dick jerked in Noah’s hand, and he started coming harder than he ever had in his life. It was nowhere near what his own fist and fingers could do to him, and he knew he’d have to be an idiot to stop having sex with Noah now.

Noah’s eyes closed and his open mouth let out an increasing moan, head going back as his hips stuttered quickly and he finally came in Luke, months and months after he had first wanted to, filling the condom. Short, tiny breaths and he opened his eyes, looking down at Luke in disbelief, stilling above him.

Luke watched Noah and his tongue came out to wet his lips, the entire room seeming so quiet now; their breathing calmed and the mattress still. “Wow,” he said finally, nodding once. “Right?”

Noah nodded in agreement and looked down as he carefully pulled out, grasping onto the condom. “Yeah, wow is right.” He pulled the condom off and quickly looked around before dropping it into the trash. He let out a breath and lied down on his side beside Luke, their legs still tangled together. “That was amazing.”

It was Luke’s turn to nod. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured, turning towards Noah. “I think…” he frowned slightly, lips sticking out as he thought, “I think we should get our own apartment.”

Noah shook his head. “No, no. You’re too loud for us to have neighbors.” He smiled teasingly and leaned in, kissing Luke. “I never thought that it would be like that,” he murmured, resting his head on Luke’s chest, settling against him.

“I did,” Luke said, pressing his lips to the top of Noah’s hair, inhaling the scent of everything that was his boyfriend. “I knew it, second I laid eyes on you.”

Noah smiled, kissing Luke’s chest. “I think I like the idea of you, in bed, thinking about me like that.”

Luke smiled and closed his eyes, shaking his head when he felt his dick give a futile jerk. “I think I do too,” he said.

Noah moved off of Luke’s chest, dropping down to the mattress. He scratched absentmindedly at his chest, thinking before he began laughing softly to himself, body shaking as he looked up at the ceiling.

“What?” Luke asked, pushing himself up, leaning on one elbow. “Why are you laughing?” he asked, reaching down to dance his fingers over Noah’s chest, stopping at his nipple.

Noah calmed down and shook his head, leaning up to give Luke a kiss. “Twenty minutes and we do it again, huh?” he reminded Luke.

Luke’s face broke into a grin and he nodded eagerly. “Yup,” he replied, dropping down onto his back. “That sound okay with you, Mister Mayer?”

Noah pushed himself up and his feet dropped down to the floor. “I’m gonna go eat some Wheaties,” he joked, reaching down to pull on his boxers. “You took a lot out of me.”

Luke laughed loudly, reaching his hand out to just barely lock fingers with him for a second before Noah made his way over to the door. “I love you,” he said softly, before Noah disappeared out into the hallway.

Noah glanced back and smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “I love you too,” he said, nodding once. “Twenty minutes. I’ll be back.”

Luke grinned and he chuckled, lying back to watch the ceiling again.