Jungle Julia's Twisted Radio Show

wynterhawk — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 14:27:45 GMT

Holy Moses, I haven't been on here in ages. I don't know why I'm making this post, but there you go. I hope you all are doing well :)

Burning Man

wynterhawk — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 18:49:29 GMT

What's up everybody? I know this is a way long shot, but I'm curious. Is anyone out there planning to attend Burning Man in 2011?

How to be Alone

wynterhawk — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 21:23:24 GMT

If you haven't already seen this, watch it NOW! It will change your life :)

Fic: A Knight's Tale

wynterhawk — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 18:42:17 GMT

Title: A Knight's Tale
Summary: AU, Eames is wounded in a skirmish, and needs an escort back to his Order's House of Healing. Arthur is up to the job and knows exactly how to make him feel better.
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: Inception (movie) Arthur/Eames

It was a cold dim morning. Silky grey clouds oozed across the sky, blocked out the rising sun and cast everything in an uninviting misty light. With their raspy voices sounding harsh and menacing in the frozen stillness, crows called joyously to each other as they flew overhead, making a game of early morning tag before going about the business only crows know about.

Bare branches of slumbering winter trees creaked and swayed stiffly as the wind slithered around them. In the distance, the echo of branches breaking off and crashing through the canopy, created a ruckus that would rattle even the heaviest of sleepers.

But, the knight was not a heavy sleeper. He had been awake and sitting up for nearly an hour; leaning into the curve of a broad tree trunk, wrapped in his thin blanket and listening to the dark woods come alive around him.

Eames stuck a hand out of his warm cocoon to touch the hilt of his sword which lay encased in its scabbard by his side. It had become a ritual to him in that he had to know where his weapon was at all times. Some men checked to see if they were still men with their hands in their groins. Eames only took comfort in the fact that he was still armed.

Nothing else much mattered.

He stroked a gloved fingertip over the leather bound grip and curled his fingers about it, relishing the familiar feel as each ridge and bump eased into place. He squeezed it briefly and then let go, tucking his hand back beneath the folds of the blanket. It was much too cold and he wasn’t exactly willing or ready to face the day. At least not just yet.

A small fire burned low in the hastily dug pit and Eames stretched his long legs out towards it, pulling his blanket tighter about his chest. When he moved his shoulder, he winced at the dull throb of pain creeping into his bones again.

He worked his shoulder in an awkward circular motion. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been when he was first wounded a few days ago, so he clenched his teeth and tried to work through it. If he thought about it, he could still feel the wicked snick of a thick blade piercing him just beyond the edge of his shoulder blade, right where the sleeve of his heavy cloth tunic was bound to the vest. It hadn’t taken him completely, but it had slow him down.
His knight party had gone ahead, hoping to reach their destination by nightfall, but because riding only worsened Eames’ wounds, and with the threat of infection looming in his future, he broke ranks to return to the Healing Houses of the Order. His squire had been killed in the skirmish, so one other brother of his Order accompanied him on his solo trip.

Eames let his head loll against the trunk and surveyed his surroundings.

His brother's sleeping pad was empty, and his things were neatly packed. And, there was a fire. Soon there would be breakfast. So he knew the man would still be in the area somewhere. Rubbing his itchy eyes, Eames spotted his brother standing some thirty yards away, standing motionless amongst the trees. He was holding his long bow at a very odd angle between the ground and the sky and Eames frowned, wondering what it was he hunted.

Airborne stag?

After a moment, the man tucked the bow under his arm.

So he hadn’t been hunting after all.

“I bet you can’t hit that tree from ten paces, Arthur!” he called out.

His voice echoed amongst the trees. Dressed in a thick jerkin, shirt, heavy trousers and boots, Arthur smiled a bit to himself. He did not turn around.

He laughed at Eames’ absurd challenge.

“Go back to sleep, my Lord Eames!” he yelled back. “Your mind is still fogged.”

Eames chuckled. He loved getting a rise out of his friend.

“And *you* are as blind as a man who’s stuck in a deep well…” echoed his teasing reply.

Arthur snorted.

“At night!” Eames finished. “With no moon by which to see!”

Without warning, Arthur whipped around, freed his bow and with a twist, he took aim and let loose.

Eames had barely finished breathing out the last syllable of his taunt when a shower of wet bark and snow fell upon him. Only then did he flinch, but the arrow had already found his mark several centimeters above his shaggy head. When he ventured to look up at the still quivering arrow, Arthur was already laughing and walking towards him.

Eames gingerly folded his arms over his chest and glowered as the man came closer.

Arthur saw the scowl on Eames’ face and it only made him laugh harder.

“As I said, your mind was fogged, Eames,” he said fondly. “You asked for it.”

Arthur reached down and jerked the arrow from the tree. He tapped the top of Eames’ head with one of the flat sides of the bodkin before inspecting its integrity and then dropping the arrow back into his quiver.

Eames grumbled and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, heaving him forward and off balance so that he fell into the side of the tree and then to his knees in front of him.

“I didn’t expect for you to use me as target practice!” he growled, still holding onto Arthur’s wrist.

Arthur rubbed his abraded forehead where he’d smacked into the rough bark. There was no blood, but the skin had been torn.

“Had I used you for target practice, Eames, my arrow would have struck much lower!” he barked with irritation and with his free hand, he immediately struck Eames’ wounded shoulder.

Eames howled in agony and the birds that had been resting in the branches above startled and flew off screaming their annoyance. He grabbed his shoulder and Arthur slipped away from him.

Arthur watched him for a moment and then went back to him to tend to whatever damage he might have done. Eames sat there and let him poke and prod his shoulder. Satisfied that Eames was not any more injured, Arthur sighed and sat back on his haunches.

“You are not hurt, Eames,” he said with a smile.

“Yet, you wound me, Arthur,” he murmured looking up at Arthur with dark eyes.

Warm hands came up to cup Eames’ cold cheeks.

“Do I wound you, Eames?” he purred, drawing closer and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Do I?”

Arthur gave him another kiss, followed by another until Eames had completely relaxed against the tree and feeling quite warm all of a sudden.

“I am wounded!” he protested, groaning as he lifted his shoulder to show just how wounded he was.

Arthur’s smile softened and he shook the bark from Eames’s hair.

“I have failed in my duties to protect you,” he murmured cheekily, gently touching Eames’ shoulder.

“You need to make it up to me, Arthur,” Eames said flippantly, giving Arthur a hard look.

Anticipation flared in whiskey coloured eyes as they widened minutely and a smile curled the corner of a soft pink mouth. They had played this particular game before.

“And what is it that you require of your fellow brother?” came his usual response, to which Eames merely cocked a single dark brow- his usual response.

Arthur’s smile broadened. Leaning in close, so that their noses were touching, Arthur whispered, “We are brothers in this war, Eames. We are.”

He brushed his lips across Eames’ cold mouth and lightly nipped at his bottom lip before sucking it between his own lips. Eames made a small noise of frustration in his throat and Arthur pushed his knee between his thighs.

“Impatient, aren’t we,” Arthur snickered against his lips, and then kissed him more intently, deeply, widening his knees to spread Eames’ legs even more.

Eames lifted his good hand and carded his fingers into Arthur's messy hair. He absolutely loved the soft feel of it between his fingers and always found an excuse to pet him like a beloved animal.

“Yes,” he whispered as Arthur took his mouth harder still, desperately seeking the heat of Eames' sweet mouth, plunging his tongue into his heat in an attempt to devour him completely.

Eames hissed in a breath when stars exploded behind his eyes as Arthur began a slow agonizing stroke along the healthy bulge in the front of his trousers.

Eames pushed his head back against the tree; for it had been so long since Arthur had touched him this way and it was more than he could take. He closed his eyes just concentrating on breathing and the wicked twisting of the hand on his erection. Arthur moved with him, keeping their mouths together, kissing him possessively stroking and sucking at Eames’ tongue every time it pushed into his own mouth.

Eames moaned softly at first and then louder when Arthur took his sighs of pleasure as encouragement to increase the speed of his hand.

“Oh, oh... yes!”

“Yes?” Arthur breathed against his mouth, arching his body over Eames just enough to get a better grip on his slippery cock.

“Yes…” Eames gasped.

Arthur lowered his mouth to suck and nip at Eames' ear.

“You are quite a whore to let me touch you this way, my Lord Eames,” Arthur growled, placing sucking wet kisses to his cheek and temple. “Such a dirty whore…”

Those words tore at his self control; so filthy yet so apt.

A hot spike of pleasure stabbed through Eames and he arched, thrusting his hips up into Arthur’s slick tight fist, over and over and over until he came spurting into Arthur's eager hand.

“Arthur…” he groaned as Arthur merely kissed his warm face and then used a soft cloth to wipe him clean.

He rested his forehead against Eames’ forehead and closed his eyes, hoping to regain his equilibrium enough to stand. Still feeling shaky, Arthur climbed to his feet and smiled down at Eames.

“Come, we’ll have breakfast and have you back at the Order to have your wounds examined.”

Still breathing hard and with his eyes still closed, Eames nodded.

"And then I will return the favor, my brother," he said peeking up at him with one eye.

Arthur watched him a moment longer and then brushed his hand fondly over Eames’ hair. He couldn’t ask for a better man to be attached to - no better man to love.

"I will wait with bated breath."

"Cheeky dog," Eames grumbled.

Arthur chuckled to himself and went about preparing breakfast for the two of them.

end

Happy Labor Day

wynterhawk — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 15:07:52 GMT

Happy Labor Day, yall. If you're celebrating it, I hope it's a good one. I'm having a blast. Had a family reunion of sorts on Saturday which was insanely fun and I won at horseshoes! Wow, I've never played it before. I guess I'm just a natural kick-ass ;) Really, good aim.

Because I'm locking a lot of older posts and fic because LJ's new policies stink, I'm in the process of moving my fic to Archive of our own. I'm wynterhawk over there too.

Wynterhawk Fic link

And if you're able check out this movie Pumzi. It has a Black female lead in a sci-fi flick. I was overly excited to see the trailer, which you can check out on youtube. My God, a non-stereotypical, non-Tyler Perry, non-"sassy", non-"neck-rolling", Black woman being fabulous on film? In Sci-fi? I think I'm in heaven. :D

Enjoy your day.

New Fic: Life For Rent 1/1

wynterhawk — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 14:30:48 GMT

Title: Life For Rent
Summary: A filler for a prompt at Inception_kink: "Arthur has an old hoodie he wears when he’s feeling down; Eames finds it adorable."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Inception film
Rating: fluff, humor PG

While fishing about in his jacket for his door key, Eames stood outside his flat, staring absently into space. He was tired and as the key slid easily into the lock and turned with a resoundingly familiar click-click, he sighed pushing his shoulder against the door to open it.

The door was heavy and only swung open only a little ways. He bent down to grab the plastic handles of the grocery bags and used the weight of his entire body to coax the door open more so that he could slip inside. Booting it closed, he paused to take stock of the room. It was quiet and dark save for the muted light filtering in around the edges of the closed curtains. Mingling with the smell of coffee in the air was the scent of toasted bread which to Eames meant that Arthur was in residence.

Without feeling along the wall to turn on the light, he trod quietly and carefully to the dark kitchen nook and put down his packages. The toaster was still warm as was the coffee pot. Eames smiled a little and quickly rinsed his hands in the sink. Taking off his blazer and draping it across the back of the couch as he walked by, he went in search of Arthur.

The narrow hallway leading to the back rooms was dark, as was the loo, the two bedrooms and the den. There was only one sliver of light coming from beneath the closed door that led to Arthur’s study and when the door was closed, it meant that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. But, that never stopped Eames from barging in to distract and agitate the point-man.

“He must have some grand scheme going on in that head of his,” Eames muttered to himself and leaned against the wall beside the door.

With a quick press of a button, he illuminated the face of his watch. It was late, nearly very early in some circles and Eames was curious as to what it was that was keeping Arthur so occupied. After a swift and firm knock on the door, Eames opened it without waiting for a reply. What he found inside not only astounded him, but softened him. Arthur had not been sitting at his desk, still wearing his immaculate three piece suit and properly styled hair, pouring over scattered bits of paper as Eames had so whole-heartedly expected. No, Arthur was merely sitting in the easy-chair in one corner of the room. He had changed his clothing and was wearing charcoal coloured cargo trousers, a black jumper and a pale grey cotton hoodie with lime green stripes around the arms. Eames stopped cold and he wished that he hadn’t just breezed in when he caught the hollowed-out look on Arthur’s face.

This was not the Arthur he had come to know. It was not the decidedly meticulous and punctilious young man Eames had grown fond of, but someone else wearing his face. He looked exhausted and very eloquently blue.

A teasing remark died on Eames’ tongue. Taking a few hesitant steps towards the man sitting slumped in the overstuffed chair; Eames noted the half empty wine glass on a low table nearby. Next to the wine glass was a mug of black coffee and a small saucer holding the remnants of the buttered croissant Arthur had eaten. Eames looked back at the man, and waited for the sharp retort admonishing him on the callous and unwelcomed entry into Arthur’s private space. When Arthur’s only reaction was an annoyed sigh, Eames moved closer.

“What’s the matter?” he asked and cringed as how awkward his voice sounded. “Something the matter?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Arthur answered, his voice low and calm as he stared into the middle distance.

Eames slid his hands into his pockets and glanced around the room. There was nothing out of sort there, no trashed furniture, no torn papers or any other rubbish. Obviously Arthur had not flown into a rage over anything, which to an extent was good, though Eames would have preferred an angry and quite possibly murderous Arthur to the one who was quietly grieving the loss of happiness.

“Why not?”

His voice was loud in the dull silence.

Arthur’s eyes came up to meet his and then drifted away as if that one singular look would drive Eames away so that he could have his peace. He should have known that it would only draw the other man closer. Eames shrugged a bit and settled himself on the arm of the chair. He folded his hands and looked down at Arthur who remained motionless. Eames touched the shoulder of the hoodie and fingered the thin material.

“I’ve never seen you in this,” he commented.

Arthur grunted noncommittally and folded his arms, pulling away from Eames.

“It’s… cute, Arthur,” Eames teased, hoping to draw the man into an argument of sorts.

Seeing no reaction, Eames continued.

“In fact, it’s adorable on you and… oh look, it’s got a hood.”

He tugged a little at the hood and irritably Arthur glared up at him. It was a face that Eames was so accustomed to receiving that he laughed softly. The combination of that furious scowling expression and the soft grey and green hoodie was something he couldn’t bear. It was too much, it was too… innocent and oddly attractive. It made Arthur appear even younger than he was.

“What do you want?” growled Arthur, angry that Eames found amusement in mocking him.

“Well…” Eames began scratching at his cheek. “I want a lot of things, Arthur. But, first I want you to tell me what’s troubling you. You’re sitting here sulking and drinking and that’s not a great combination. Trust me, I know.”

“I should have locked the door,” Arthur declared and attempted to get up from the chair.

If he couldn’t get Eames to leave, he would be the one to leave.

That’s when Eames knew that Arthur had had more than his share to drink. His arms were a shaky and he was very slow to rise, looking like a man who at best had only a tentative grasp on his equilibrium. Arthur didn’t get far when Eames, who still had a hold on the hood, gave it a tug and pulled him right back into the chair. He landed with a soft ‘oof’ and deflated once again.

“Come on Arthur, darling,” Eames tried to coax him. “Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

Eames slid off of the arm of the chair and into a crouch right between Arthur’s spread knees. He smoothed his hands up over Arthur’s thighs and up to his hips where he hooked his fingers in the side pockets. Looking down at him, and feeling himself slowly giving in to Eames’ charms, Arthur sighed.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.

“You’re like this over nothing?”

Eames was skeptical, but in all his years of being able to read people right down to the bone, he couldn’t find a trace of deceit in Arthur.

“Nothing, specifically. I just feel…”

Arthur piteously struggled to find an apt descriptor of his vague despondency before lapsing into silence.

Eames understood and he nodded.

“So you wear your melancholy hoodie, drink yourself into mild…” he waved a hand at Arthur, “tipsiness and sit here listening to sad songs?”

Arthur stared at him and tried his damndest to keep the laugh that was tickling at the back of his throat from rising any farther. He hadn’t been listening to anything, but the notion that he would was hysterical. He turned his head away, but not before Eames saw that he had succeeded in breaking through the fog.

“Right, then what were you listening to, eh? Hm, let me see. Ah, yes, probably something like…”

He was silent a moment and then cleared his throat theaterically, making small wounded noises as he found the right pitch before haltingly singing, (*) Dido – Life for Rent

“I haven’t really ever found a place that I call home
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologize that once again I’m not in love…
But it’s not as if I mind
that your heart ain’t exactly breaking

It’s just a thought, only a thought

But if my life is for rent and I don’t lean to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
Cos nothing I have is truly mine

I’ve always thought
that I would love to live by the sea…”

“Stop, God please stop,” Arthur laughed, pushing Eames back with his foot.

The song was a little too on the nose for his comfort and Eames’ attempt at high pitched singing just made it worse.

Eames tightened his fingers in Arthur’s pockets and pulled him closer as he rose up higher on his knees. Leaning in close, until their noses were touching, Eames whispered,

“Darling, it’s all right to feel sad. It’s all right… I promise.”

He kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth and then his cheek, still murmuring.

“It’s all right to have these feelings, yeah? I won’t tell Cobb though; you know how he gets… that maudlin bastard. Knowing him, he'd have us all weeping into our tea.”

Eames chuckled.

Arthur allowed the brief affectionate kisses and leaned his cheek into the palm cupping his face. He looked into Eames’ very pleased eyes.

“Let me make you feel better,” he suggested rising from his crouch and pulling Arthur with him.

Feigning being reluctant, Arthur dragged his feet.

“I just showered,” he complained and Eames tossed a careless glance over his shoulder.

“Then you’re saying that you don’t want cheering up?” Eames pondered and loosened his grip on Arthur’s hand.

Immediately those long fingers tightened around his and Eames suppressed a grin.

“No. N- no, that’s not’s what I’m saying. Let’s not be hasty,” Arthur said quickly.

Eames raised a brow and lowering his gaze, Arthur’s face flushed and he jerked his chin toward the door to indicate that he was indeed ready for the cheering up.

“Then don’t dally,” Eames whispered, drawing him close and kissing Arthur’s warm mouth. “I’ll make you forget your troubles, darling. And you can keep the hoodie on.”

–end

Inception

wynterhawk — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 00:30:03 GMT

Good Lord what a FANTASTIC movie. It's been a long, long time since I've really enjoyed a movie and walked away with that satisfied feeling. Well, that's probably not entirely true, because I saw (500) Days of Summer last week. That was so very, and surprisingly, cute without being sickening. But, INCEPTION was truly a magnificient work of art. I didn't go into the movie with hopes, so I guess I didn't have anything to be dashed. Heh.

Standout performances came from Tom Hardy, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and of course DiCaprio. I started fangirling JGL's Arthur and Hardy's Eames before I saw the movie and now I fangirl them even more. *shakes head* Those two boys were beautifully, low-key, flirty, GQMFs and you just wanted them to have this amazing adventure and then fuck each other's brains out after the mission. Ok, yeah, I'll go for that.

Not to mention, how much does Levitt look like Orlando Bloom? It's scary. Actually, if the truth be told, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is what Orlando wishes he could be. Not only is he attractive, but talented and can actually act and has wonderful physicality. Sorry, Orli luv, you were beautiful, but you couldn't act your way out of a bag. Hee hee.

Anyway, if you can see your way to the cinema, catch Inception before it's gone. I was going to stream it online, but decided against it. I caught a matinee, which was delightfully inexpensive, and parked my cute little bum in a seat and was blown away.

(I grabbed these photos from google-search)

wynterhawk — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 21:24:38 GMT

It is my pleasure to announce that our own Admiral Bob Vosseller has
been awarded STARFLEET's highest honor, the Lifetime Membership. I
believe Bob is the 24th lifetime membership that has been awarded. To
become eligible for the lifetime membership, you have to have held the
rank of Admiral for more than 5 years or served as Fleet Admiral.
Additionally, you must be recommended by the members of the Executive
Committee and confirmed by a full vote of the Admiralty Board. Only
one person may be awarded this honor per year and, according to
STARFLEET, will have shown achievement well beyond their last
promotion and in their work have made a lasting contribution to all of
STARFLEET. Bob certainly fit this criteria, and Fleet Admiral Sal
Lizard presented Bob this great honor during this evening's IC
Banquet.

As Bob was "exiled" from the room so we could talk about him behind
his back, er, I mean discuss and vote on this issue, I had the unique
honor of being able to motion for and vote for my friend of almost 20
years being given this great award. Having unanimously passed the AB,
Bob joins many of STARFLEET's most valuable officers in this
auspicious group. Many congrats to him.

Yay, Bob, you rock!

wynterhawk — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 23:02:07 GMT

Happy mid-summer everyone. Yay, can you believe this year is almost over? It's been fantastic over on my end. Job is going well, life is going very well and I'm going to be moving soon, buying my first townhome/house, whatever. It's exciting. :D

I've been doing some traveling as well, my next stop will either be Italy or Japan. I haven't decided which one will be first, but I know that I will visit both of those countries and will take ooodles of pictures as is my wont. The last time I was in England, I took so many pictures that I kept running out of battery. Silly.

Oh and I'm joining a women's roller derby team. It's so outrageous and if you don't know what roller derby is, look it up. I'm sure you'll get a chuckle out of it. Let's see if I can make it through a season without breaking something. Man those chicks are big and rough. Haha. It'll be a blast. I'll just be sure to wear my padding and mouthguard.

So, what's been up with you?

wynterhawk — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 20:02:28 GMT

Spockbot! Here's what you were looking for, I think, babe. You are right, it is easier to transfer what you need. Mr. Ice Blue is good for what ails you. :P

The sleeve of his once white dress shirt was now shredded and soaked with blood. Crystal blue eyes followed the efficient nurse as she pulled out wicked looking utensils and set them out on the tray next to the examining table.

“Detective McKeller?” said a voice behind him.

Clenching his teeth, against the groan of pain that threatened to escape him when he moved from his position to look over his shoulder, David glanced the doctor over and settled himself in his original position again, facing away from her.

“McKellen,” he bit out.

“McKellen. I’m sorry.”

She continued to study the chart as she moved around to his front. The nurse stood by her side and Joan looked up from the chart and into David’s pale face. He looked worn and tired, but still, he was alive which was what mattered most. Her eyes softened and recognizing the look, David relaxed and let out a long sigh. Her pretty brown face was exactly what he needed to see. He swallowed heavily.

“I think I can take it from here, Gina,” she said to the woman who left without another word for there were other patients that needed help that night.

“You need to take a break,” Joan chided him, brandishing the blunt tipped scissors at him before she unbuttoned his shirt and eased it over his darkly bruised shoulders.

“I’ll take a break when I’m dead,” David said flippantly and she froze, her brown eyes pinned to the scattered buckshot wounds in his arm and flank.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Joan did not raise her eyes and she pressed her lips into a tight line. She continued to work quickly cleaning him up and digging out the pellets from his swollen inflamed flesh.

“Joan. I can’t leave now. We’re on the verge of a breakthrough.”

Joan threw the tweezers into the steel tray and her eyes met his.

“David. Look at you. You’re exhausted and you’re barely eating and apparently you’re getting sloppy.”

She gestured to his wounds.

“You keep it up at this rate, they’ll need to call your brother to identify your body in the morgue.”

David wisely kept quiet. He knew that Joan was right and he reached up to still her bloody hands.

“Joan.”

“David,” she said and looked into his face.

“Tell you what. You fix me up, take me home and I promise to be good.”

Joan scowled, but that was one thing that had drawn her to the quicksilver detective in the first place; his charm and his boyish smile.

Have a safe and wonderful decade

wynterhawk — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 16:51:09 GMT

Glitterfy.com - Glitter Graphics

Seasons Greetings and all that

wynterhawk — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 16:26:42 GMT

Fic: Breaking the Mirror 1/1

wynterhawk — Tue, 12 May 2009 21:59:42 GMT

Title: Breaking the Mirror
Pairing: Uhura/Mirror!Spock (TOS)
Summary: A malfunction of the transporter beam during an ion storm brings the away team to a vastly different and barbaric Enterprise. Uhura does what does best and when she can't, she hides. The Vulcan seeks.
Rating: NC-17

Nyota Uhura’s first reaction to any strange situation was to let her emotions get the better of her; whether they be anger, disgust or fear. That was, until she got a hold on herself and then it was nothing but grit and determination to get her through to safety. It was the ion storm and the terrible mix-up with the transporter beams that landed Uhura, Kirk, McCoy and Scotty in a universe that was not their own, switching places with their alternate universe counterparts in a blink of an eye. As the days passed, they had taken to merely coping and blending in, beneath the mantel of the people they were impersonating.

Uhura found it the easiest to keep her icy exterior while on the bridge and striding purposefully through the corridors. But to avoid Sulu’s slimy hands, she took to hiding on her off hours, only coming out to meet with the men who had been transported to the dark Enterprise along with her.

Kirk had once again taken her by the shoulders, looked deeply into her eyes and asked her to perform the impossible. They all had to do the impossible, none of them were safe and they all had to be on their guard. Mr. Spock was one to contend with especially, for his watchful silent gaze fell upon them all equally and harshly. In this universe he was unpredictable and violent and could be the end of any one of them if they stepped across his boundaries. Uhura took to hiding from Spock as well, from all of them really. It was the best way that she could deal with the overwhelming situation.

**

The observation deck was small and intimate and gave a gorgeous view of the stars surrounding them. There were so many live potted plants flourishing in corners and lining the walls that it gave the illusion of being lost in a lush, verdant forest. Uhura had found solace and privacy in that large unused room and would frequent it whenever she needed to escape. Sulu shadowed her steps much too long and too often for her comfort and she knew that trying to stay in the company of Spock or Kirk, the only two for whom Sulu had any shred of respect, would only arouse suspicion.

So, Uhura took matters into her own hands and made herself scarce.

She knew that it was folly to believe that she could ever stay completely hidden on the Enterprise. All one had to do was to consult the computer and it would be easy to pinpoint someone’s location. If Sulu truly wanted to go through the trouble of finding her, he could, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for the him. But, safe for the moment, Uhura let herself relax and enjoy the beautiful scenery and the scent of wild plants surrounding her. Closing her hands about the narrow railing that ran along the inner wall, she smiled and absorbed the tremors from the ship

Lost in thought, Uhura didn’t hear the door across the room whoosh open and then close, admitting someone into the room. She didn’t notice a presence until his reflection appeared in the glass in front of her. Uhura let out a rather undignified shriek and clumsily spun around, reaching behind her to clutch at the railing to keep her balance. Her heart throbbed sickeningly hard against her ribs. Catching her breath, she looked up at the tall Vulcan who had successfully sneaked up behind her and was now regarding her with what looked like amusement in his brown eyes.

“You scared me!” she shouted unnecessarily loudly and quickly remembering the barbarian woman whom she was impersonating, she clenched her fist and punched him squarely in the chest.

Spock went back a step, and raising his brows, he pressed a hand to the spot where she’d assaulted him.

“In the future, lieutenant, I would suggest that you remain diligent and aware of your surroundings at all times. The next time, you might not be so lucky.”

She waved him away with a rude hand gesture and a noisy scoff.

“You consider it lucky that it was you who disturbed me, rather than someone else? I beg to differ, Mr. Spock.”

There was a slight tightening at the corners of Spock’s eyes and seeing that she’d gotten a reaction, albeit a tiny one, Uhura warmed to the game.

“In fact, I would give you to the count of ten to vacate my presence…sir, if I am not needed on the bridge.”

A sudden thought struck her and she shrank back against the low railing. Did Spock carry an agonizer for his own personal use? And if so, would he use it on her for her insubordination as he had used it so easily on Kyle in the transporter room?

A low purring noise interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmmm,” he murmured again and to her absolute surprise, the corner of his mouth turned up.

Spock advanced on her and Uhura backed up as much as she could without tipping over the railing and banging her head on the thick protective shield. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her none too gently away from the rail.

She stumbled forward and into his solid form.

Damn boots! Uncomfortable and impractical! I hope I don’t need to kick his ass and run!

“What the hell are you doing!” she cried, lifting her hands, and attempting to struggle out of his grasp.

Spock pulled her closer, and Uhura lifted her knee, jamming it into his groin as a warning that she would hurt him quite intimately, if he continued with this madness. His lips parted and he took in a slow breath, the both of them looking down where her knee had slipped between his thighs. There was that deep throated purring noise again and Uhura looked up into his shadowed face. She’d never once thought that Spock was a menacing creature. In spite of his slightly demonic appearance, his gentle calm and detached manner were always appealing to her and outside of the captain, Spock was the only other man to whom she’d turn, if she ever needed help. They were friends and she admired him. Her attraction to him was no small deal, but she kept it to herself in order to maintain their smoothly working relationship.

Her Spock, that is.

The one who was still on her Enterprise, in her universe. Not this Spock, not the one with the blade on his belt, with the penchant to use pain and violence as lessons in competence.

Was this one of his many lessons? To shame and humiliate her for her bold tongue?

Spock loosened his hold on her and snatching her hands away, she lunched forward, barreling into him. In one motion, she had her hand on her knife and with her other, she angled to bash him across the bridge of his nose. Spock shifted, deftly avoided the blow to the face and caught her upraised wrist. He stopped suddenly when she jabbed the blade into his belly.

Another warning.

Uhura twisted the knife, tearing a small rend in the glossy fabric of his uniform shirt, punching forward until she felt the give of the tight muscles tensed in his stomach.

“If you don’t want to clean your guts up off of the floor,” she panted. “Let go of me!”

He stared down at her and she boldly glared back. They both knew that she was outmatched in both speed and strength, but Spock had seen this woman fight and while she might not be able to beat him, she would certainly be able to do damage to his person. Tightening his fingers about her wrist, Spock turned her quickly, jerked her back against him, and wrenched her arm up behind her. He held her immobile and she tried not to gasp feeling a rush of sudden pleasure at the fact that she was beginning to enjoy grappling with him.

She could feel the warm press of the Vulcan’s body against her back and he ducked his head, rubbing his bearded chin across the rounded plane of her exposed shoulder.

Eyes wide, Uhura went hot and she stomped down hard with the heel of her boot. Anticipating the action, Spock quickly moved and the clang of her boot hitting the floor was loud in the silence. He held her tighter and closed his other arm about her bare midriff. Uhura became acutely aware of the stroke of his fingers along her side. Something inside her roused into wakefulness and perked with interest. A grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

She tossed her head and attempted to use her momentum to scramble either forward or backward to break his hold. Spock straightened and lifted her to her tip-toes. She lost her hold on the floor, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t kick the hell out of him. The stroke of warm lips across her skin stopped her, as did the sound of his soft laughter. He was saying something low and husky in her ear and Uhura couldn’t believe it.

“I will request that you should be permanently assigned to scouting leave,” he whispered and flicked the edge of her ear with his tongue. “So that I can be bereft of your presence. It makes our reunions that much more… mmm… gratifying. Would you not agree? This is much more pleasurable than the previous time. Your lascivious message to me before you beamed aboard was quite titillating. I thank you.”

Uhura’s world narrowed down to the growling voice in her ear, the scent and heat of the man wrapped around her and the fact that Spock was suggesting that, willingly, they had come together like this more than once. Seeing that he wasn’t going to molest her any further, Uhura relaxed and plotted her next move. This new bit of information was going to prove to be very interesting.

“Nyota,” he murmured sounding very contented, as he gently kissed the back of her neck and her shoulder again.

It was almost unbelievable and she certainly would have found it hard to believe the story, if she hadn’t experiencing it first hand. That Uhura and this Spock were… lovers? It was fantastic and unfathomable and, though she was loath to admit it, the thought of being intimate with Spock, and even with this Spock, turned her on.

Suddenly it all made sense. Spock and Uhura must have had some sort of ritual where he would advance and she would fight him off before eventually submitting and dragging him off for a night of fun. She had seen no malice in his face when he was busy grappling with her flailing limbs, just a great sense of satisfaction and amusement, as if he had been familiar with this particular dance.

It must have been like that with all of them… the mock struggles, which was why Sulu wasn’t surprised when she came onto him later on the bridge after soundly and violently rejecting him earlier that day.

“Wait. Put me down, Spock,” she said suddenly, in her most authoritative voice and the Vulcan immediately complied.

She turned around and sized him up quickly. There was truth in his eyes and his expression was soft and welcoming; so much unlike her Spock, yet so much like him. Would her Spock behave in a similar manner were they lovers behind closed doors?

“I have waited,” he said, lowering his head and reaching out for her again.

Nyota slipped to one side and out of his reach.

“You have?” she asked and his brown eyes brightened.

Hm, she liked this. She could get used to this more intense Spock.

She smiled gently and taking this as encouragement, Spock reached out for her again. This time she allowed him to sweep her closer and in one slow, heady moment, when everything in the world ground to a halt except for the heat and breath between them, Nyota lifted her face and tasted him. Their lips fit together perfectly and the neat goatee tickled her cheeks. Uhura twined her arms about his neck rocked up on her tiptoes.

Spock cupped her bottom with his large hands and gently kneaded her curves, igniting a fire inside her that threatened to consume her. She rotated her hips as the kiss deepened and then was sorely disappointed when Spock released her.

Was it a trick? Was he through with teasing her?

Wordlessly, he grasped her hand firmly in his and led her quickly toward the door to the observation deck.

Aha, she understood.

The Vulcan wanted to play elsewhere.

He disengaged the lock and upon seeing that he had taken the forethought to lock them into privacy, Uhura snorted. Spock cast a look down at her and asked the computer if the hallway outside the observation deck was empty.

To his irritation, the computer informed them, that there was a one H. Sulu waiting in the corridor. Spock clenched his teeth and turning to Nyota he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

“You did not report to me that Mr. Sulu had made it a habit of harassing you, Nyota. ”

“Spock,” she whispered and then in a louder voice said, “Spock!”

She shoved him back and thrust a finger into his face.

“I don’t need you to protect me. I am well capable of doing it myself! Sulu is nothing. A speck… a fly.”

“And yet, he dares not do anything to you in my presence, only when I am away.”

Still holding onto her arm, Spock pulled her behind him as he turned towards the doors.

“Stay,” he said and reached up to activate the door.

The doors swept open and Sulu, who had been leaning against the opposite wall, pushed himself into motion only to come face to face with the tall first officer.

Shocked to see Spock instead of Uhura, Sulu immediately back pedaled and tried to explain his presence there.

“Are you looking for someone?” Spock asked sounding calm and composed as he arched a slender brow and cocked his head to one side.

“I--,” Sulu began. “I guess not.”

He beat a hasty exit and poking her head around Spock, Uhura watched him go. Spock looked down at her and she back at him. He arched a brow and she laughed and then quickly followed him to his quarters.

In her universe, Uhura had never been in Spock’s quarters. Although all of the officers had been situated on the same floor and she hadn’t been located that far from him, there had never been a reason to pay a visit to him after hours. So, she was surprised to see the dark purples and reds in which the room was appointed. His bed was hidden behind a partial wall and was plainly covered. Next to the curtains that covered the opposite wall was a statue with a slowly burning firepot. Nyota was pretty well versed on Vulcan culture to recognize both the fire pot as well as the weapons displayed behind the statue. The other thing she noticed was that it was much warmer than it was on the rest of the ship. That Spock had changed his environment to be something more like his home planet, made her smile.

Spock stepped closer behind her and she could feel his fingers caressing her bare back, moving ever upwards and beneath the edge of her top. It felt good, having him touch her lightly like that and a shiver seized her. She let him turn her around and tightening his hands about her waist, Spock lifted her easily, as if she had been made of air and kissed her gently, slowly, tasting and nipping at her lips in a manner that was definitely born of familiarity and affection.

But, as good as it felt, Nyota wanted to play. With a grin of joy, she darted to his bed and leapt up on it, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet and giving him a coy look over her shoulder.

Spock hesitated and for a moment, Nyota wondered if she had strayed out of character and now Spock was suspicious of her. To keep him distracted, and thinking with his nether regions, she inched a finger at him and in her most seductive voice she said, “C’mere, boy. Let me remind you of what you’ve been missing.”

If Spock had smiled in that instant, it would have been completely out of character for him. But, his brown eyes were alight and that particular arch of his brow was all Nyota needed to see to know that he was ready to play her game. With slow strides, Spock entered the partially closed off area and stood beside the edge of the bed, watching her bounce up and down and up and down. He reached out to stop her, but she slapped his hands away.

“Look, but don’t touch. Do you understand?”

He nodded, letting his eyes trail meaningfully down her lush form. Nyota felt possessed by him in that instant. His gaze was intent and hot and sent a surge of heat and pleasure to pool between her legs.

This was going to be better than she’d ever imagined.

Feeling wild and loose in her skin, and basking in the approval she received from Spock, Nyota, spread her legs and planted her feet. There wasn’t much dancing she could go on the springy mattress, but it didn’t matter; her swaying, the careless stroke of her own fingers over her face and belly and thighs mesmerized the man standing before her quite effectively. Spock watched her with the intensity of a starving man and Nyota relished the power. She moved closer to the edge of the bed and reached out for him. He raised his hands and she guided his hands to her hips. Immediately his fingers dug into her arse and she grabbed his chin, tipping his head back so that their eyes could meet.

“You’re been a naughty, naughty boy,” she hissed. “Haven’t you. Lusting after me… hmph. You should be punished.”

Spock wet his bottom lip. Nyota rubbed the pad of her thumb across his slick lip and insistently tucked her thumb into his mouth, running her finger over his teeth and pushing against his flexible tongue.

“Mmmm,” she purred, her eyes ablaze, slipping that wet thumb into her own mouth. “You taste so good…”

Spock’s eyes briefly dropped to where her lips curled about her finger and made an impatient noise in the back of his throat.

Oh ho! So the unflappable Mr. Spock who fought so hard to control his emotions, could indeed be affected, especially when his body was being ruled by something other than his logical brain.

Nyota tried not to squeal at that knowledge, as it was something the other Uhura would have already known.

Nyota gave a quick shake of her head, telling him to be patient and then leaned forward. With exploring fingers, she eased his stiff collar open and undid the silk, navy blue scarf. She pulled it slowly out of his uniform shirt and looped it about her own neck. The soft material was warm and she took a moment to inhale his intoxicating scent. It was easy to unhook the small latches that held the shirt closed and push it off of his broad shoulders. Reaching down, she grasped the edge of the undershirt and moved to pull it over his head. Spock reluctantly let her go to raise his arms but resumed his hold on her once the shirt was discarded.

She rubbed her hands all over his shoulders, and through the soft hair on his chest. Keeping his attention where her fingers were stroking him, she lifted a foot and touched the toes of her boot against his obvious erection. Catching his eye, she grinned and pressed down.

Hard.

His brows drew together tightly and he hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. Nyota’s eyes widened and she was about to say something wicked, when Spock grabbed her about the waist and wrestled her down onto the narrow bed. A cry of surprise slipped from her lips and she almost made it upright again, but he was upon her in a flash, closing his long fingers about her wrists and pinning them above her head.

“Two can play at this, Nyota,” he growled, shoving a knee between her legs and dragging her closer to him, causing her to moan and bite her bottom lip when he nudged his knee against her moist heat. She writhed shamelessly, rubbing her soaked knickers against his upraised knee.

Nyota nearly gave in, but it was too much fun to resist him. She turned suddenly and pulling up her knee, she slid her left leg between them and twisted neatly out of his grip. Suddenly liberated from his strong grasp, Nyota grinned happily, but celebrated a bit too soon, for her new position allowed him to easily press her down onto her stomach, where he straddled the backs of her legs.

Pushing herself up on her hands, she let out a groan of frustration, much to Spock’s wordless delight.

“So do you think that I have a faulty memory, Nyota?” he whispered, bending low over her again and biting the sweat moist flesh at the small of her back.

She jumped and Spock lapped at the small injury.

“You have executed that maneuver more than once, several times in fact and on each occasion you find yourself in this position. I am beginning to think that I should start with you… exposed in this manner.”

Spock pushed up the edge of her skirt and slid a finger beneath the elastic lining the leg hole of her uniform briefs. He then fisted the seat of the knickers and jerked them down over the curve of her ass. Nyota hissed with pain as the material sawed into her flesh and then tore slightly beneath his force.

“You think you’re so…smar---ohhhhh…” she started to say but her words dissolved into a long sighing moan as he sucked wet two slender fingers and eased them between her cheeks and over her tight little dark hole.

Her head shot up and she attempted to get up, but Spock pushed down on her shoulders, holding her still.

“Spock,” she groaned, her voice thick and hoarse.

She was beginning to burn inside and would soon go mad from it.

“Yes,” he murmured, not answering her obvious question, but affirming that he was going to do what she thought he was going to do.

He ran his hand down from her shoulders, along the arch of her spine and then over her hip, feeling her trembling beneath his touch. Spock moved his hand lower between her thighs.

It was surprisingly pleasurable when he pressed the tip of his finger against her anus, testing her boundaries and finally easily breaching it much to her surprise.

“Oh!” she cried, eyes snapping wide and he stopped his forward movement. “Ohhh….”

She shuddered. Spock twisted his finger this time and she bit down on a yell. Rising up on her knees, with her legs still trapped tightly together by her half-lowered knickers, Nyota gave in to pleasure. She gave in to him and let him touch her in places she never knew could be stimulated. Spock bent low and keeping his finger in place, he laved the flat of his tongue up between her swollen lips and sucked playfully at her clit. Nyota hissed in a breath and the finger went deeper.

“Spock!” she ground out and he bit her soft cheek, moving in once more to lick her sweetness.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if his Uhura begged to be fucked. She wondered if she let go of her mindfulness and started pleading to be filled, would he suddenly stop and eye her warily. She would not want him to stop, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep herself silent much longer. Her knees quivered dangerously as his tongue swept back and forth over her hot sensitive flesh.

She could take no more. Reaching back and cuffing one pointed ear she demanded,

“Stop mucking about and get on with it!”

Spock obeyed immediately and flipping her over onto her back, Spock rose up on his knees, unzipped his trousers and with his eyes burning into hers, he inched them down over his narrow hips. She could just see the top line of dark hair. He stopped and leaned forwards, reaching to unzip and pull off her shirt first and then her scrap of a skirt. It was obvious that he’d done this before for he didn’t fumble at the buttons or the zippers or the clasps that kept her clothed. Nyota lay there, mesmerized and impressed that he was able to divest her of her clothing quite so efficiently.

Lastly remained her knickers and her thigh high boots. He slid the briefs all the way down her legs and tossing them aside he sat back on his heels to admire her dark form. Arching a brow, he narrowed his eyes. Nyota bit her bottom lip and nearly lifted her hands to cover herself.

Did Spock see something out of the ordinary?

“Magnificent,” he murmured finally, much to her absolutely relief and pleasure.

She sat up and draped her arms about his shoulders. Uhura took a moment to look into his cinnamon brown eyes, just to look, to gaze unabashedly at him. He did not shy away from her and calmly returned her gaze, as she knew that he would. She smiled and his eyes warmed in response. He lifted both hands and gently cupped her full breasts.

“Well, Mr. Spock, what are you waiting for?”

Sliding her hands down his bare shoulders, over his flanks and then around his waist, she tugged insistently at his trousers.

Spock stood then, and quickly shed the remainder of his clothing and boots. Nyota reached down to unzip her own boots, but he stayed her hands.

“Leave them,” he instructed and without meaning to, Nyota threw her head back and laughed with surprise.

“Mmmmm…” she moaned, welcoming him in between her moist thighs again and wrapping her legs about his waist. “Daddy’s gonna be a very bad boy.”

“Indeed,” he purred and claimed her with a kiss.

**

They once again reconvened in McCoy office to compare notes and to see if any progress had been made towards returning to their own universe. Scotty paced the small area between the desk and the wall, while McCoy continued to sort through his scattered data wafers. Kirk stood silently staring at McCoy and then at nothing in particular as he thought of what he should do next. The men turned when the door opened and Uhura arrogantly swept in. She stood there stiff shouldered with her head held tight and high for just a moment before relaxing just as the door closed. She gave her friends a small smile and blew out a long breath.

“Rough night, lass?” Scotty asked.

Uhura smiled and waved him away.

He didn’t know the half of it.

“These people,” she said with wonder. “They are such barbarians! They fight over nothing and try to cause each other pain at the least bit of provocation. I just don’t understand it. I don’t know how long I can stand being here.”

She flailed her hands in the air and then grasped her wrist with the other hand to stop herself from getting carried away. She winced slightly when her fingers graced a particularly sore bruise on the underside of her forearm.

The memory of what had caused the injury came blazing back and a deep seated throbbing began between her legs which prompted another more pleasant sensation to ripple through her body. Spock hadn’t been gentle when he’d bound her wrists and forearms with his scarf. The feeling of being helpless and at his mercy as he plowed her, was indescribable; fiery and violent and delicious.

But if she were going to continue the charade that her night was restful and without incident, Uhura knew that she would have to get a hold of herself.

Kirk’s brow furrowed with concern and reaching out to gently tip her chin to one side, he inspected the bruises on her neck and the top of her shoulder. His lips moved to form soundless words and he tossed a glance to Bones.

The doctor lifted an eyebrow at what he saw and looking up at Kirk, he said, “these look like bite marks.”

Damn these revealing uniforms! Uhura groused to herself and pulled her chin away.

Self consciously, she rubbed her fingertips across the tender area and turned her eyes downward to avoid giving the game away with her guilty expression. Kirk took her response as a precursor to admitting that something terrible had happened to her. The captain took her gently by the shoulders and drawing her close, he looked purposefully down into her eyes.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his gaze softening, his fingers lightly clutching her arms. “What happened. Did someone here hurt you?”

Uhura’s mind stumbled back to the events of the night before and she felt a hot flush wash over her.

What Spock did to her… ohhh no, it definitely didn’t hurt, she thought and fought back a pleased grin.

Misreading the tightening at the corner of her mouth, Kirk gave her a firm shake.

“Uhura!”

She brought her eyes up to meet his finally and she bit her lip. Both Bones and Scotty moved to flank them and she felt nervous and exposed. How could she admit that she and the violent Mr. Spock (in this universe at least) had spent the entire night together fucking like beasts. She couldn’t admit that, for not only would it ruin her reputation, but her three good friends would *always* know and remember how she had behaved and would never let her live it down. It would also shame her in the eyes of her captain, which was something she didn’t want.

“Who did this? I can punish them for this. You know I can punish them.”

Kirk was insistent and Uhura couldn’t think of anything else to use as an explanation. The marks on her neck and the bruises circling her wrists and forearms were all too plain for them to see. She could name another faceless plebian on the ship and resign him to a fate in the booth, or she could come clean.

Grudgingly, Uhura chose the latter.

“I—I was with… It was… Mr. Spock.”

Kirk blinked several times as comprehension dawned on him and then his eyes opened wide. Uhura could feel his fingertips dig into her flesh. The surprise was palpable on his face as it was on the faces of the other two men.

Scotty found his tongue first.

“Wot? Who did you say, lass?”

She opened her mouth again to speak, but Kirk interrupted.

“Spock!” he breathed as if saying the very name let all the air out of his body. “Spock?!”

“Why that green-blooded sonovabitch!” McCoy cried.

“Oh Mr. Spock,” Scotty said rather sadly and shook his head as if he’d just been told that there was no Santa Claus.

Kirk’s eyes burned into hers and through clenched teeth he growled.

“Spock did this to you? He forced himself upon you! Is this right?!”

Uhura looked up at the captain and could see the wheels working in his head. He was going to have Spock’s head on a pike if she didn’t diffuse the situation and do it quickly.

“Captain,” she sighed. “It would seem that Spock and I… oh… Spock and *that* Uhura have been lovers for… quite some time.”

The sudden silence was deafening. Glancing around at the dumbstruck men, she extracted herself from Kirk’s grip and rubbed her arms looking down to study the handiwork on Kirk’s golden sash before continuing.

“He came to me on the observation deck where I was hiding out from Sulu…”

“Sulu!” McCoy cried incredulously.

By God this story was getting better and better, he thought.

Uhura ignored him.

“He said… Spock said that he had been waiting for me to return from shore leave, that he’d missed me.”

She dragged out the word “missed” and nearly laughed to herself at the growing disbelief showing on her shipmates’ faces.

“And then what?” asked Scotty with his eyes wide with curious surprise.

McCoy, who had already figured out what was next, shot Scotty a disapproving look that Uhura didn’t miss, but she wanted to talk about her experiences with Spock and well, the engineer did ask.

“And then, he took me to his quarters and we ma--…”

Kirk cut her off with a wave of his hand. He did not want to think about what horizontal acrobatics she and the menacing Mr. Spock got up to last night. Deliberately misunderstanding Kirk’s reaction, Uhura plowed on, growing more and more interested in detailing Spock’s enviable sexual prowess.

“I mean, I couldn’t break character then, could I? I risked a chance of Spock becoming distrustful of me if I didn’t um…. play along! But, really, he was quite gentle and the biting… I suppose he was just marking his territory and… well, I’m sure he meant every bruise.”

It was hard to keep the laughter at bay when faced with three sets of wide eyes, but she managed admirably.

“As did I,” she added with a nod.

She wondered how he was faring, considering the marks she’d enthusiastically left on him in return.

“Nyota,” said Kirk with a defeated sigh and she smirked.

“You asked.”

Kirk nodded and shook his head as a smile tugged at his mouth.

“So, I did… well, then, I take it that you’re on Mr. Spock’s good side and I can count on your cooperation in persuading Spock when the time arises?”

Uhura’s brows lifted. Whatever she’d thought about her temporary relationship with the science officer, she hadn’t considered using it against him. But she nodded, nevertheless. It wasn’t just her safety at stake there, it was all of theirs and they needed to return to their own universe as quickly as possible.

Kirk seemed to take that slight assent as gold and he started pacing again, trying to come up with a plan to get them all back to their own time.

She stood back from the men, formulating her own plans and wondering what she would do the next time the Vulcan sought her out.

**

“I am to kill the captain,” Spock said blandly, his face betraying none of his feelings towards the matter and Uhura sat up in his bed.

Clutching the sheet to her naked breasts her eyes widened and she gasped.

“What!? Kill Kirk?”

Still fully clothed, Spock leaned a hip against the corner edge of his desk and folded his arms. He took in a long breath and let it out slowly. His dark eyes watched her suspiciously and his quirked a brow.

“You seem surprised,” he rumbled. “Certainly you should have surmised that the duty would fall upon me next.”

Uhura shook her head and still hiding beneath the sheet, she crossed her legs beneath her. The look on Spock’s face was unreadable and for the first time she felt uncomfortable in his presence.

“I—should have known,” she said quietly and he hummed in response.

“As should have I,” Spock answered cryptically.

She lifted her eyes. Suddenly it didn’t seem like they were having the same conversation. He pushed himself away from the table and approached the bed. Looking down at her, he frowned and used his index finger and thumb to smooth down the edges of his goatee.

“I should have known.”

“About what?” she asked.

“About you. About all of you. I have been blind.”

A chill raced up her spine.

“Spock. Heavens what are you talking about? Come back to bed. Isn’t your shift finished?”

He said nothing and she lowered the hand she’d held out to him.

“You are not my Nyota.”

The woman in his bed flushed hotly and her shoulders sagged. What had she done to make him realize it?

“How long did you intend to perpetuate this charade?” he asked, but not unkindly.

He was much to filled with curiosity to think of harming her.

“You don’t understand,” she said finally, making the decision to come clean to him.

“Explain.”

Uhura took in a breath and she looked up into his face. She explained and when she was finished, he merely nodded and walked back to his desk. Keeping his back to her, he said over his shoulder.

“I suggest that you get dressed. I will seek out your captain and endeavor to plan your method of escape.”

He didn’t watch as she struggled into her uniform, but he turned round when she touched his shoulder.

“Spock,” she said quietly.

“If you will allow me,” he said suddenly. “You are a most intriguing and exciting woman in any universe.”

Uhura grinned and swept her arms about his waist.

“I would not dare to take you away from your own Spock,” he whispered against her temple.

She drew back and avoided his eyes. In her universe, there was no intimacy between she and the Vulcan.

“He’s not mine,” she said.

“Yet,” he answered without missing a beat.

She peered up at him and narrowed her eyes. His face remained still.

“It’s only logical?” she asked.

His eyes warmed considerably and he nodded.

“Indeed.”

And with that he led her from the room in search of Kirk.

-end

Fic: The Heist 2/2

wynterhawk — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 12:46:47 GMT

Part 2

Sean’s detached house was quiet and cool with the vague scent of tobacco mingling with another not unpleasant smell that Peter couldn’t quite place. Once they passed through the front door, Sean directed Peter into the living while he continued down the corridor to the kitchen at the end.

Left alone in the dimly lighted and close room furnished with the usual items; couch, television, occasional table, bookshelves and several large cardboard boxes stacked one atop the other; Peter took the opportunity to snoop.

From what he could see, it was obvious that Sean had some sort of hobby, but for the life of him, Peter couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. So he continued to nose about in the dusty bookshelves reading the cracked and broken spines aloud to himself and poking a tentative finger at the little mangled blobs of silver that he supposed were studies of the human form gone horribly, horribly wrong. All the while, he listened to Sean banging about in the kitchen, willfully and quite happily bashing chunks of ice to craggy bits with his hammer and then scooping the slushy remains into a large plastic zip locked bag.

Sean dried the outside of the bag and then wrapped it in several sheets of plain blue and white paper toweling. Setting the mound on the table, he filled the electric kettle with water enough for several cups of tea and depressed the switch.

Grabbing the ice bag from the table he walked into the front room where he spied the lanky boy bent over at the waist while he inspected the items on the bookshelf. Sean took a moment to study him and then decided to ignore the way the position pulled Peter’s trousers nice and snug over his pert bottom.

“Hey,” he called and Peter shot upright, but didn’t turn around, he merely snatched his hands away from the bookshelf and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Curious, thought Sean and he approached Peter cautiously just in case the boy decided to take violent evasive maneuvers. Finally Peter turned round and Sean was nearly blinded by the high intensity of the smile that greeted him. Sean found himself smiling in return as he offered the ice bag to Peter who took it with a soft word of thanks. Wincing a little, Peter held Sean’s gaze and gently applied the bag to his rapidly swelling face.

He held it cupped with his right hand and then folded his other arm about his midsection. Sean had to admit that he was definitely charmed by the actions of this strange young man.

“C’mon,” he said and turned to walk back into the kitchen.

Peter followed wordlessly and sat down at the warm yellow wood table. He watched Sean pull down two plain white cups from the cupboard and place them on the table, drop two pyramid shaped tea bags into them and then pour in a generous amount of boiling water from the kettle. Peter set aside the ice bag.

“How do you take it?” Sean asked, returning the kettle to its seat and reaching towards the refrigerator anticipating a call for milk and sugar.

“Ah… milk, two sugars,” said Peter.

Sean shoved the sugar pot towards the boy and set out the plastic liter of milk. Peter helped himself and sighed heartily once he'd swallowed the first hot mouthful.

“’s good,” he smiled boyishly when Sean sat down across from him and nodded in response.

“I don’t suppose that you have any biscuits,” Peter asked raising his brows and picking up the bag of ice again to press to his face.

“I probably have something,” Sean said and he got up to rummage through the over-counter cabinets, in search of what could pass for sweets.

“Ah!” came his triumphant cry and Sean dropped a thick packet of HOBBITS on the table.

“What are these?” Peter asked with a frown, picking up the roll of chocolate topped biscuits and turning it over and over in his hands.

“They look like biscuits to me,” Sean said and resumed his place at the table.

“I’ve never seen these before.”

“Try them. Vig gets them from Germany when he goes. They’re pretty good, not like digestives though, but a bit similar to HobNobs.”

Peter unwrapped one pumpkin-orange coloured edge and slid a flaky biscuit out of the sleeve. Sean watched him and barely managed to suppress his amusement as Peter tentatively folded his lips over the edge and nibbled off a bite. He raked it across his tongue, back and forth, tasting the crumbly bits, and finally made a pleased face of appreciation.

“I’m glad you approve,” laughed Sean and Peter devoured the biscuit in one eager bite.

Peter finished off two more biscuits and slurped down the still hot tea.

“Where’s your toilet?” Peter asked after a comfortable moment of silence.

Sean lifted his head from his quiet contemplation of the broken tea leaves that floated atop the dark ruby brown liquid in his cup.

“Go through the living room, turn right and it’s the first door that you come to.”

Peter nodded and got up from the table.

Standing in the modest bath, Peter, like any normal person rooted through Sean’s medicine cabinet. There was nothing out of the ordinary there; just some prescription pills, plasters, antibiotic gel, and toothpaste. He read the label on one of the brown bottles. It was some unpronounceable thing that Sean needed to take once a day with meals and the bottle was almost empty. Peter closed the mirrored cabinet door and reached down to flush the toilet. After washing and drying his hands, he slid his fingers into his jacket pocket. The beautifully carved silver bracelet he’d nicked from Sean’s bookshelf was heavy and warm and he fingered it thoughtfully for a moment. He was torn between doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing, knowing in his heart of hearts that it was much more pleasurable doing the wrong thing.

He then thought of the ice still waiting for him and Sean’s inviting green-eyed smile. Peter shut off the light and left the loo.

Peter hadn’t meant to allow Sean to get the jump on him earlier and he knew that it was stupid to try and cover up his nasty little habit by stuffing his hands into his pockets in plain view of the other man. Surely Sean had seen it and wondered what the hell he was up to. But, to his credit, if he’d suspected anything, Sean didn’t say.

Habit.

It was a dirty habit of his, but one that paid the bills and kept him out of trouble, at least for a little while. But standing in the bathroom with his hand in his pocket feeling the bracelet of silver, Peter began to rethink the one thing that brought him joy, the one thing that he was good at. Stealing.

Maybe it just wasn’t the right thing to do to a man who had been so kind to him.

He pulled the bracelet from his pocket and held it in his palm. It was a really good looking piece of silverwork and Peter knew that he would fetch a decent price for it. He rolled it between his fingers while he walked from the loo to the living room. He rolled it more and more in his hand and with a sigh, he laid it back on the bookshelf where he’d first spied it.

Dirty little habits were very hard to break.

Peter mentally dusted himself off and shrugged out of his jacket upon his return to the kitchen. He draped the garment across the back of his chair and went to the kettle, where he refilled his cup and reused his earlier tea bag. He could feel Sean’s eyes on him as he moved about the small area, and he felt pleased and a little nervous. All the feelings that had rushed like a tidal wave upon him when he’d first met Sean outside of the dingy pub, resurfaced and the rational part of his mind wondered what exactly he was doing in a strange man’s house, having tea and eating biscuits as if he were the civilized man that he pretended to be. But there he was and Peter took his cup back to the table, sat and helped himself to another biscuit. Before he put it into his mouth, Sean spoke.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, lad,” he said and Peter’s heart stuttered to a stop in his chest.

With wide brown eyes, he looked up at Sean and took his momentary pause to try and come up with something believable and coherent.

“What… what do you mean?” asked Peter.

Casually, he dunked the biscuit into his tea and held it there a bit too long for when he brought it up to his mouth, the sweet had already broken off and dissolved in his drink.

“Shite,” he muttered using his finger in an attempt to fish out some of the larger chunks that were still floating.

No luck.

So he slurped up a crumbly mouthful and chewed the soggy bits before swallowing.

God it was good, he thought. Tea was the end all be all when things got rough and frankly, he knew the direction of their conversation, things were going to get rough.

“What do I mean?” Sean continued sounding surprised.

Peter looked back at him.

“I mean, I don’t know you. But here you are, using my ice for your face and looking like you’re wanting to spend the night.”

Peter choked and his heart twisted even more.

Had Sean noticed that he’d nicked the bracelet? Was that the reason behind his change in demeanor? Peter kicked himself and if he had the will he would have gotten up and done it literally. Something he’d done so unnecessarily had caused a rift in a relationship that hadn’t even begun.

“I’m… not um… I... Sean…”

“What?” he asked. “You haven’t said anything.”

The dark jade eyes held him pinned and Peter felt ashamed of his motivations. He clasped his hands about the mug and stared at the tea. The tea was good and warm in his hands and it distracted him just enough to allow him to collect his thoughts. What could he say? He hadn’t lied yet, so it was probably better to go with the truth.

“I’m not trying to do you in,” Peter said after a moment.

“I can see that,” Sean answered calmly and meeting his eyes again, Peter could swear that he saw a twinkle in those green eyes.

Encouraged, Peter shrugged one shoulder and spun a fingertip in the hot tea.

“Besides, you invited me. I made no propositions.”

Sean chuckled and it was a pleasant husky sound borne of too many years spent smoking.

“You should be thanking me,” he said. “If I’d left you there, Big George would have finished you off. Beat seven shades of shit outta ya. I know him and he doesn’t take too kindly to little bugger like you ruining his reputation.”

Something flippant akin to “you should have let me take my chances” leapt to his lips, but Peter had the good sense to bite it back. Instead he said nothing and Sean relented. Somewhat.

“Look. I’m too knackered to try and drive you home, so you’ll stay on the couch. Unless you wanna walk home, then it’s up to you. The bus stop is up the road but service is dodgy this late. Take your chances.”

With that, Sean got up and dumping the rest of his tea in the sink, he unplugged the kettle and stopped when he heard Peter speak.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Peter really didn’t want to go home… at least not just yet. The heat in his bed-sit hadn’t come back yet and he was in no mood to spend his night stroking himself to orgasm in order to work up some body heat, only to end up waking in the middle of the night shivering and sweaty. Sean smiled behind Peter’s back and resisted the urge to ruffle his fingers through the boy’s endearingly wild mane. But Sean knew that tangling his fingers in Peter’s hair would result in pulling the boy’s head back and leaning down to take a kiss from those exquisite lips.

“Yeah, 'sawright,” he drawled and Peter got up to follow Sean back into the living room.

Sean found fresh linens in the hall closet and brought them to the living room. His couch was essentially a fold out bed and to Peter’s surprise, there were already clean sheets in place. Sean pulled it out effortlessly while Peter watched and clutched the spare pillows Sean had given to him to hold.

Sean picked up the duvet and was in the process of unfolding and shaking it out when his mobile phone rang. Glancing at Peter, he gestured to the couch with his head, indicating that Peter resume the bed making duties while he answered the phone.

Peter could hear Sean in the kitchen, pacing back and forth, back and forth randomly pushing the chair noisily across the floor in annoyance, if Peter had to guess, judging from the tone of Sean’s voice. Oh, but it was a lovely voice; smooth and rough at the same time, liquid and velvet. He had a working man’s accent and cadence that promised danger and pleasure with every syllable. Peter felt a shiver lick through him and laughing at the purring noise he’d made, Peter pointedly ignored what Sean had been saying in that hushed tone and just listened to his voice until Sean decided that he didn’t want his conversation overheard and he went out into the back garden.

Hearing the back door close, Peter wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or relieved. Had Sean’s conversation been so personal that he didn’t want to be overheard? Peter opted for an emotional middle ground, somewhere in between relief and insult, because being left alone gave him more opportunity to look around.

Look around, mate. Look. Not take!

“Can you talk now?” asked Vig switching the phone to the other ear.

Sean shook out a cigarette, lit it and after taking a deep breath, he let out a long string of expletive laden smoke.

“I can’t fucking believe that he would do that, Viggo! Why did you let him do that?!”

“Sean, man. Listen. All is not lost. OK? Take a deep breath, relax your face. Eric knows what he’s doing. He’s just casing the museum and I guess figured it was better to get a job there since security’s tight as fuck.”

Sean sighed. Of course he trusted Eric, although most times he thought the Aussie was a crazy, reckless fucker, but at least he got the job done without getting anyone killed.

“All right,” Sean sighed. “All right. So he’s in, is he?”

“He is. It was a bit dodgy for a moment there when they did the background check. Simon sent over the wrong files for Eric’s passport but he was lucky that the retrieval program in the curator’s computer system was slow. He was able to get the file back and send out the right one. Now, the next part is up to you. You get us in. Eric got us there, it’s your turn.”

Sean ran a hand through his hair and calmly smoked his fag. It had been six years in the making, this heist. They’d followed the infamous blue Tolkeen diamond from its trek through Dubai to London and soon it would find the bright shores of New York City.

Or not. If Sean had his way.

“Right. Gather the boys, Vigs. We need to have a meeting. I’ve got some of the gear stashed here, I know you have the rest and we’ll see what Eric’s found out.”

“David’s flying in tomorrow night and he’s bringing Ian.”

“Fantastic,” Sean smiled to himself.

And then he thought of the boy who was sleeping in his living room. The boy with the sticky fingers who was smarter than he looked.

“Listen,” Sean continued. “You remember that lad we bumped into outside the pub? The one that offered us round?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I think we have our sixth member.”

“What? Why?”

Viggo was puzzled and he most definitely did not like surprises. There was no way that he was going to bring in someone new at this late stage in the game, especially a kid that he did not know. The five of them had been tight for years and knew and trusted each other inside and out. That kind of trust could not be developed in a month and that was all the time they had before the diamond moved on.

“Why? Mate, this kid is rail thin! He’s practically all bones and brown eyes. Eric said that he was concerned about getting through that duct, the one leading to the exhibition room…”

Viggo didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t want to know what you’re thinking, Sean. The answer is no! Fuck no. Fuck no am I going to work with some kid you picked up off the street. Skinny or no skinny, you.. Sean… are you insane!?”

“He’ll be a perfect fit,” Sean tried to reason.

But he knew that there was no getting through to Viggo once the man, who seemed to be permanently set on “mumble”, raised his voice.

“He’ll get stuck and then he’ll get poached from the steam. You want to put him through that? We already agreed to axe that route.”

“It’s the quickest way in there. You know that. Eric knows that. But you two are too big to get through it all the way.”

“I’ve seen that kid and so is he.”

“He’ll fit. I’m sure of it. We can shave off nearly thirty minutes if we use him.”

“We have an access route, Sean. We’re sticking to it.”

Sean smoked his cigarette down to his fingertips and shredded what was left, letting the wind carry it off. He was quiet for a long time, meditating on his grand idea and on the other line he could hear Viggo mumble something to someone else.

“Sean.”

Viggo’s voice was sharp in his ear and jerked him back to the present.

“Right. Tomorrow. David’s in with Ian and we’ll meet at the regular place.”

Viggo grumbled something.

“Don’t fucking tell that kid anything until we all meet, do you understand, Bean?”

“Yeah,” said Sean and flipped closed the phone.

He had some thinking to do.

Peter was never all sunshine and flowers in the morning before he had his first cup of coffee. In fact he was downright surly and he lay there on the lumpy couch, with the covers pulled up to his next listening to Sean bang about in the kitchen. It was too damn early and Peter really cursed the fact that he wasn’t at home in his albeit crappy bedsit, freezing his bits off but at least he would be able to sleep in. Camping out on Sean’s couch meant that he had to be on Sean’s schedule and considering the man was already up and the sun hadn’t even risen yet, Sean’s schedule definitely didn’t coincide with Peter’s well being.

Peter stretched and wiggled his toes feeling warm and comfortable and a yawn stretched his mouth wide open. With a soft sigh, he turned onto his side and burrowed deeper beneath the heavy duvet. If Sean wasn’t trying to pry him out of the bed, Peter wasn’t going to volunteer.

It was quiet in the kitchen for a moment and then Peter heard the back door open and Sean greet whoever had knocked. Interested in the newcomer, Peter perked up and pulled the covers down to his chest, straining to hear what the second man was saying. It didn’t sound like the American who had accompanied Sean to the pub a few nights ago. No, it was definitely someone different and Peter sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. Scratching a hand through his unruly hair, Peter searched about for his trousers, then stood up and pulled them on. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes Peter made to move towards the kitchen. Then thinking the better of it, as he didn’t want to present such an unkempt face to the two men in the kitchen, Peter opted to wash up in the bathroom.

The man leaning against the edge of the sink, one hand folded across his waist, the other holding out a mug to Sean obviously for a refill, looked up when Peter finally slouched through the kitchen doorway. The man was tall and fit and beautifully rugged with his brown hair standing out in wild fluffy curls. Beneath neat brows, dark brown eyes widened briefly and then narrowed while a knowing smile lurked across his full lips.

Peter raised his own brows and looked towards Sean for help. The man’s gaze was all too familiar and Peter felt strangely nervous.

“So, this is the one,” said the man and nodded towards Peter.

Sean swiveled suddenly and after spying Peter, he shrugged and with a fingertip pushed the thin silver rimmed spectacles up higher onto the bridge of his nose. Peter was quite charmed by the gesture and noticed that Sean looked so much more attractive with the glasses than without. It gave him the appearance of a naughty professor type, from which Peter would definitely appreciate a paddling leaning over the edge of a school desk.

He smiled to himself, losing himself in the fantasy of dressing up in a school boy’s uniform and having to draw down his trousers and submit to the cruel ruler wielded by Professor Bean.

The brown eyed man cleared his throat and Peter shook himself from his muse.

“I’m the one what?” he asked finally, letting his eyes linger on Bean who poured more hot water into his mate’s mug.

Sean didn’t bother to answer Peter’s question. He merely gestured to the tall man leaning against the sink.

“This is my mate, Eric. Eric, this is Peter.”

Eric nodded to Peter and took a drink from his cup.

Peter lifted a hand in a wave.

“Hi.”

Sean met Eric’s eyes for a moment and then turned around to face Peter.

“So, you’re off then?” he asked and a knot clenched in Peter’s chest.

So that was it, then. No more courtesy, no breakfast, no nothing?

Uncomfortable, Peter rubbed at the back of his neck and scuffed his bare foot against the cold tiled floor.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he said and turned to go back to the living for his shoes and his jacket.

“Not gonna even cook up a fry-up for the boy?” Eric asked. “Like you said, he’s all bones.”

Eric barked a laugh and plunked the cup onto the counter.

“I thought we were meeting Vigs,” Sean growled.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? He’s coming here in ohh…” Eric checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“While he’s still here?” Sean hissed pointing towards the doorway that Peter had recently vacated. “Are you really wanting to give this whole fucking mess away?”

Eric shrugged innocently, well as innocently as a cheeky Aussie who could charm his way into anyone knickers while stealing their valuables right from under them without batting an eyelash, could.

“I thought you were the one that wanted to bring him in on it. What better time to see how he feels about it than now.”

“And if he decided to go to the police after we’ve told him?”

Eric let his eyes slide towards the empty doorway and without looking back at Sean, he answered, “There are ways to get rid of him, then.”

Sean stared at him, not really knowing how serious Eric really was and he knew the man well enough not to question him.

Sean sighed and shook his head.

“Peter,” he called, finding the boy still trying up his laces in the living room.

“Yeah?”

God, he sounded so hopeful that Sean winced at the sweetness in his voice.

“We were… I was going to cook breakfast, if you’re interested.”

Peter stood up from the couch and nodded, smiling that 1000 watt smile of his. Sean frowned and looked away. The sudden rise of pleasure and heat in his chest was unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome. Peter was, in fact, a very, very pretty boy.

“Come on then,” he said jerking his head, indicating that Peter should follow. “Besides, we’ve got something to talk about.”

Eric was like a dog with a bone in Sean's opinion. Once he got hold of something or developed a dislike for someone, no matter how irrational, it practically became an obsession. Nothing could break him from it. In fact he'd turned glaring into an art form. His normally, placid, gentle face turned to steel and his brown eyes bore out of dark holes in his face; hard and menacing. Sean had been on the receiving end of one of Eric's particular brand of glares and frankly it disturbed him. Eric was a man of very few words who relied on his actions to speak for him. The most expressive part of his face were his eyes and the man knew how to use them to charm or to threaten. Either way way, he was good at what he did. Sean almost felt sorry for Peter. The boy looked absolutely godbsmacked at being the recipient of such a look from Eric. Eric cleared his throat and folded his arms. Sean scowled. This was gong to be harder that he suspected.

Taking a step toward Peter, Sean took in a breath and it was enough to cause him to pause. He could smell him. He could smell the scent of fresh sweat, excitement and arousal rising from him. Sean raised an interested brow and stared at him. What an odd boy this was, he mused as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Odd indeed. He snickered to himself. If only Eric knew that his attention was having the queerest effects on him. Sean wasn't sure if anyone had got off on one of Eric's looks. This was certainly a new thing. He itched to tell Eric about it, to let to the cat out of the bag, but he kept stum. Sean took in a second breath, one that was more audible this time and with a guilty look, Peter raised his head. Their eyes met and quickly he looked away.

Poor bugger, thought Bean.

He was definitely not going to work well with all of them.

Sean glanced back at Eric who was still looking at Peter.

"Right," he said suddenly.

Both men looked in his direction.

"Eggs and bacon."

Eric raised his brows and shrugged.

"Sound about right," Eric said and sat down at the table.

Peter joined him, sitting across the small square table and folded his hands about the mug that Sean sat in front of him. Sean put a glass jar on the table full of tea bags and another of brown cane sugar. He refilled both their cups and the two men helped themselves to their drinks while Sean cooked. Over breakfast both Sean and Eric casually grilled Peter; each of them asking more and more intimate questions about his personal life, his mates and his family. Sometimes they even re-asked each other's questions, rephrasing them craftily as if thinking their little interview was going to go unnoticed by Peter. Finally he said to them as he leaned back against the back of the chair,

"Look. I'm not daft, right?"

Peter looked from Eric to Sean and carded his fingers through his hair.

"I mean, you two are asking me all these questions like I'm sitting for a job interview. Now as far as I'm able to guess... the two of you are involved with something pretty major. I can't figure out what, but it's something. The other thing I can't figure out is what you want with me."

Eric drew himself upright in the chair and snarled, "Oh, fuck off!"

He clenched his fingers and his knuckles cracked noisily in the quiet room. Eric fisted his hands on the table again. Things threatened to get out of hand and Sean lay a hand on Eric's forearm. He'd seen Eric's finger's at work; he'd seen him nearly crush the life out of someone with those massive hands and once he got started it was very difficult to stop him. Sensing that he might have a madman on his hands, Peter bit his bottom lip and sat straighter. Sean decided to clear the air.

"You're right. In a sense, lad. We want you."

Eric jerked a thumb at Sean.

"Fuck that, mate. *YOU* want him, I don't."

"Want me for what?" Peter asked curiously and a fresh wave of sweat broke out across his back. His fingers tingled with anticipation. Hearing Bean say that he wanted him for something was positively thrilling. He couldn't believe his ears. But, before he could answer, the door chimes sounded sweetly and Sean got up, leaving Peter in a face-off with Eric.

Snorting with undisguised disgust, Eric heaved himself up from the chair and went into the living room. Peter remained where he was and listened to the two additional voices that filled the air.

David and Ian didn't look worse for wear, considering their long flight from the States. Eric greeted both men enthusiastically, grabbing David by the shoulder and dragging him into a tight hug. He and David, who was fondly referred to as "Daisy", had been close mates for a very long time and were glad to work together on this complicated heist. A complicated one, yes, and David's professed last job. He just didn't want to be in the business any more.

Eric tried not to take it personally, for it was because of him that Daisy had got into it the first time and he had been concerned that it was because of him that Daisy was getting out. Their last job together hadn't gone smoothly at all. In fact, everything had gone pear-shaped and they were lucky to get away with their lives.

*The Close Shave*

What Eric hadn't realized was that the new security system at the bank had a peculiar programming in which the systems completely changed every two months. That meant that any security codes, access cards they might have lifted from employees and service pathways they might have secured were all gone, all different. It came to a head while they were dangling precariously in the empty lift shaft, working their way down to the bank's basement vault when the grinding sounds of the lift starting its descent filled the echoing shaft.

Eric, who was below David on the repelling rope noticed the smoke rising from the bottom of the shaft. The scent of it was acrid and chemical, not the wood or electrical smell he had expected which might have stemmed from an accidental fire.

"Shit!" David screamed and bent his body backwards, turning to catch Eric's eye in the dim light.

Only then did he notice the smoke billowing up towards them. As it wafted around them, he began to feel dizzy. The rope slipped a bit in his hand.

"Eric!" he cried tightening his grip and clinging to the swaying rope. Eric looked up and he swallowed hard. Nausea tightened his gut and pushed insistently at the back of his throat.

Whatever it was that they were inhaling was definitely going to do them in before they were crushed by the lift. Eric's carefully laid plan was falling apart before his eyes. According to the motion sensors they'd installed at all of the entrances gave no indication that anyone had entered the building, much less accessed the lift to get to the ground floor. What Eric didn't k now was that the new security systems programmed the lift to run, unmanned up and down the shaft on an hourly basis in the event that someone was trying to access the vault that way.

Eric closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He couldn't think and as the strange chemical smoke closed around them, he couldn't see. The hand clasped tightly about the rope brake slipped and he skidded several meters down the length of the rope. Catching himself, Eric jerked to a stop just in time to feel David's limp body colliding with his. He as unconscious and his weight was frightfully heavy against him. Eric tried to cradle him and hold him, but David twisted boneless in his harness. The lift continued to slowly loom and Eric knew that if he didn't act fast, it would be over for the both of them. He unclipped David's harness and then clipped him into his own so that he could have his hands free.

Eric looked down and saw the floor lights at the bottom of the shaft and to the left of them were two green lights that, he hoped, illuminated the service passageway. Eric coughed fitfully when he cautiously took in a breath and it caused his stomach to heave uneasily. Biting back the urge to vomit, Eric let go of the brake and with he and David combined weight they zipped towards to tend of the rope. Misjudging his speed and the level of the floor, Eric hit it hard and David flopped over, turning him as well shifting the both of them awkwardly and belatedly Eric realized that he was facing the wrong way. He could not reach out to feel for where their prose ended so that he could release the stay and free them. He there, stunned and dizzy and so wholly tempted to lie there and close his eyes to wait for death that the situation became unbearably hilarious. He started to chuckle at first which then developed into a full blown hysterical laughter. The lift creaked closer and closer running slowly nearer and nearer. David moaned softly and moved slightly, but it was enough to jar Eric back into reality and then squeeze a hand under him. His numb fingers fumbled with David's harness and after a long tense, fruitless moment, he was able to free him and push him toward the pleasant green lights.

It was the service alley, which was only a few meters deep and the grating covering it was unlocked. David rolled toward it and Eric, giving him a hard shove, squeezed him into the tight little shaft. It was almost too tight and Eric had no idea what lay beyond its glossy wet grate. For all he knew, he could be sending David to his death. But, at least he would not be squashed into jelly by the lift.

Now that just left him, wreathed in smoke, choking on the poisoned air and staring up at his darkly shrouded doom. Eric flattened himself as much as possible and held his breath. A flash memory of all the loose ends in his life crossed his mind when quite abruptly he heard the clang of metal on metal and he let out a cry of alarm.

The lift creaked to a stop on the raised foot rests and Eric could hear the muffled "ding" signaling that the doors were open and then closing before he completely lost consciousness. One of the next things Eric became aware of was the pain in his chest and throat as he vomited up the contents of his queasy stomach and the rush of cool air on his sweaty face. The high pitched whine and low growl of the helicopter blades thundered through the air above him. The small bird tilted suddenly, banking right and two strong hands kept him from sliding across the grating.

"Didn't think you'd make it," David shouted to him over the noise of the propellers.

Almost, Eric thought and closed his eyes.

**

Eric gazed fondly at David for a long moment as his memory of their last job faded and Daisy gave him a cheeky grin in return.

"Right, okay lads," began Sean who then folded his arms. "Viggo's on his way..."

"And we have a flippin' problem," Eric interrupted.

Ian raised a brow and waited for an explanation.

"Shut it!" Sean growled and Eric's smartly complied.

"What is the problem?" Ian asked curtly.

If here was one thing he didn't like was when a plan had snags.

"There's no fucking problem," Sean answered. "Now look. Everything's going according to plan, but..."

Sean noticed the look on Ian's face and e held up a hand to stop any comment.

"But, I have an idea that will shave off nearly one half hour from the performance time."

"How?" asked Daisy, shooting an apprehensive glance at Eric, who scowled in response.

"I've got someone who can wriggle through the access pipe."

"The steam pipe?" Ian asked in surprise.

Not only had they ruled that out, but they'd modified their plans, cutting estimated times down to the bare minimum and their partial dry run had been successful.

"Who is this someone?" Ian asked and shifted a glance to the kitchen.

Sean turned toward the kitchen as well and raising his voice, he called, "We won't pretend that you weren't listening, Peter. Come on out."

The men heard the squeak of chair feet scraping across the kitchen floor and Sean felt a surge of heat pool in his gut when he was met by Peter's one thousand watt smile.

"Sean's got Daddy issues," Eric groused and stared hard at Peter. "That's the only explanation."

Eric narrowed his eyes feeling petulant and childish. It was his nerves getting to him, this close to the operation and new things popping up made him nervous and downright scared that the changes were going to fuck things up. But he couldn't stop himself and there was something about Peter that got under his skin. Eric didn't like the smell of it and he wasn't shy about expressing his feelings.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Eric whirled on him. Grabbing him by the collar he jerked him close and lifted his clenched fist.

"Say something," he murmured tersely. "I dare you to say something."

Peter's mouth came open, but nothing but a long shuddering breath came out. He stared at the thin white scar that cut jaggedly across Eric's cheek and disappeared into his hairline. It must have been nasty to get slashed across the face like that, he thought dimly. Very nasty indeed.

"Eric," Daisy said disapprovingly and Eric let him go.

"I need to go," Eric said suddenly and he disappeared into the kitchen.

He grabbed his jacket and without a word to his mates, he left the small house.

Peter was stunned and he stared after him with wide eyes. His heart throbbed painfully hard against his ribs to the point where he thought they would burst out of his chest and leave nothing but his glistening guts spilling all over the floor.

"I... I think I should..."

"Maybe you should," Ian said, but his face was soft and unreadable.

"Wait," said Sean, holding up his hands.

His control was slipping out of his hands and he clenched his fingers in an attempt to get a hold of himself. He didn't want to lose Eric in favour of Peter, because Eric was one of the best men he knew while Peter was some kid he probably just wanted to fuck.

"Just wait," Sean said.

Ian cleared his throat, but it was Daisy who broke the tension.

"I am exhausted," he said quietly. "And we haven't checked into the hotel yet, so..."

Daisy looked expectantly at Ian who nodded in consent.

"Why don't we have another go at this tonight. I'll have a word with Bana and maybe he'll see too coming around, OK?" Daisy asked.

"Sure," answered Sean with a sigh.

"Fantastic. C'mon Ian. I need to get used to driving on the other side of the road again."

Sean saw the two of them to the door and Daisy turned.

"Tonight, ok? Our place."

Sean nodded and watched his two friends walk down the front steps and get into the small car parked out front.

When they'd gone, and without a glance to Peter, Sean went back into the kitchen.

Peter didn't follow. Instead he walked around the cozy lounge and inspected the items in the bright mid morning light.

Sean was a collector of sorts it seemed, or an artist, Peter couldn't be sure. He had boxes full of what looked like junk and on the walls were crossed rifles and steel swords with ornate hilts. He stood beneath the displays and reached up to run his finger along the edge of the lower blade. Hissing in a breath as the metal split his skin he jerked his finger back and stuck it in his mouth.

Still sharp... he mused unhappily and sucked the wound.

He turned away from the wall display and to the boxes below it. It was filled with football kits and reaching in he studied the emblem but didn't recognize the team.

Blades.

It rang no bells for him, but it was certain that Sean was a huge fan. There were black and white photos of Sean posing with his mates, beer steins raised high, gleeful shiny looks on their faces. So it must have been very important to Sean. From the looks of him, he was a fanatic. Not only did he have the home kits, but the away kits as well as international kits and special holiday kits. Peter just didn't understand. He liked the game, but not like this. He could watch a match or two, but nothing beyond that, nothing like following and belonging to a club.

Peter shifted through the box and found a photo of Sean displaying a tattoo of his club on his shoulder.

He snickered.

Nothing like footie-sheep, he thought amused.

And Sean definitely was sheep. What other reason could there be? Following a club around like that, loving them enough to be marked for like. Peter just didn't understand.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he looked towards the kitchen. He had probably waited long enough and slowly he made his way towards the open room. He spied Sean standing by the door, with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the back door and into the garden. He was absently touching his back pocket, looking for something and Peter grabbed the pack of smokes from the table. Walking to him, Peter held it out. Sean took it with a smile and opened the back door. He and Peter went out into the sunshine and Sean indulged in a cigarette, but didn't offer one to Peter.

It didn't matter though, Peter didn't smoke.

He merely stood there on the steps and studied the neatly manicured back garden. He was surprised that it looked the way it did with the greenery and the flowers and the neatly cut grass. He didn't know that Sean was the kind of man that liked to garden and part of him liked that. He knew that there was something that drew him to the man and now he was sure. He had a gentleness to him that Peter was sure he was going to enjoy.

That was, if he ever got the approval from Sean's mates.

"Why me?" Peter asked after a moment of watching Sean smoke.

Sean's gold stud earring glinted brightly in the sun, gleaming as it caught the light. It was such a pretty little thing, he thought, and it just seemed to fit Sean's persona. He was quite the lad with added benefits of course. Sean then reached up to toy with the earring, tugging at it, stretching his earlobe downward.

Sean's answer was delayed and then he turned and searched Peter's face as if he'd just realized that he was still standing there. He sighed and scratched at the stud earring. Noticing that Peter was eying his ear, Sean shrugged self-consciously.

"Just got the blasted thing repunched," he said. "Still kinda hurts. But... in a good way, you know, when you can't help prodding a bruise or picking at a scab."

Peter raised his brows in surprise and then started to laugh. All the tension that had threaded through his body following the confrontation with Bana slowly slipped away. Once he'd calmed Peter smiled. Sean shifted his gaze.

"So, are you going to ask me to join the team? Or are you going to wait until your Aussie mate kills me."

"He won't," Sean lied. "He's all bark."

"Kinda didn't seem that way to me, man," Peter confided.

Sean shook his head.

"Yesee, there's an access pipe that's too narrow for us blokes to get through."

He looked at Peter expectantly and the boy nodded.

He understood.

"By the looks of you, you're about the right size."

"Sounds like a plan," said Peter, who was then regarded with a half smile.

Sean felt a twinge of guilt, for he failed to divulge to Peter that he could possible take a wrong turn in the system and end up getting trapped and then poached alive.

"Right," Sean said and again Peter nodded as if here were an old pro at squeezing through narrow pipes and not a petty thief breaking into houses to nick cutlery.

"What about the rest of your mates?" he asked and Sean waved away his concern.

"Daisy's good at bringing Eric around. We'll all talk tonight and well... make the final decision whether you're in or out."

"Aren't you the leader or something?"

Sean laughed sharply and shook his head.

"No one is the big boss, mate. It's a round table sort of thing, no man's at its head, no man at the end."

That was a surprise to Peter. Considering all the different personalities in their group, there would have to be some sort of top dog to keep them all in check.

"Maybe Bana thinks that he is, ever consider that? Throwing his weight around... at least where I'm concerned."

Sean paused, stared at Peter and then frowned.

"No."

He was firm.

"He's not like that. I've know him for years. I... He... just gets wound up right before a job and doesn't like surprises."

Peter shrugged, unconvinced.

"Still" continued Sean. "Try not to get into his face. I won't be able to look after you if he decides to eat you alive."

"That's a pleasant thought," Peter chuckled. "Don't worry. I can handle myself."

"We'll see," Sean offered and finished off his cigarette.

**

They had a meeting place, just like a proper hooligans, Peter thought as he bounded out of Sean's car. It was a long squat building and the narrow windows were covered with a thin faux stained glass film. But he could see a golden light coming from the inside indicating that there was someone already inside. Sean lead him round back. The picked through the debris and junk piled high and made their way to the back door. Stepping up onto the small landing right in front of the black door, Sean reached up and tugged on the heavy chain that criss crossed the door frame.

Odd, thought Peter. Why would the back door be chained up like that.

The chain looked new and gleamed in the bright moonlight. Not something that would indicate that the building had been abandoned for some time and the chain had rusted with weather and age. Then another thought stuck him and Peter's steps faltered. Maybe Sean was going to bind him to that chain and the boys were going to beat him to death and leave him to rot in the alley behind the building.

Sean was saying something. Peter roused himself.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I said, come on."

Sean pointed to a side door, ducked down and disappeared into the doorway. Peter followed suit and the door clanged shut behind him. They walked along in a dark moist stone corridor and the bitter smell of rotting fruit filled the air. Peter put a hand up to his nose and refrained from making a sound. He didn't know how Sean would react if he expressed his disgust at the smell. It was such a familiar scent at that and Peter tried to discern from where he knew it. He could taste it on his lips and it coated the back of his throat and tongue. The odor was getting stronger and Peter gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat it away into the darkness. Sean kept moving, seemingly unaware of the boy trialing behind him. They came to another door and Sean knocked twice. The door opened and Viggo stood there squinting out at him.

"Bean," he smiled and raised his eyebrows when he saw Peter behind him. "And you've brought a friend, I see."

"Yeah," Sean pushed passed him and Viggo closed the door behind the new arrivals.

"Eric here?" Sean asked after he'd taken off his coat and threw it over the bar.

Peter was impressed with the long room. It was appointed with leathers and wood and silvery metal. Very masculine and hard and fitting. There was a baby grand piano against the far wall and seated at it was the tall grey haired man he'd met earlier, though his name escaped Peter. He was playing with gusto, a piece with which he was unfamiliar, banging the keys, hands bounding high up into the air, head held at a odd angles as if keeping time with his inner beat. Peter watched him, fascinated only to be interrupted by Eric's voice.

"I see you've brought along the whelp."

Rage rose unbidden in Peter. He'd had enough and the first blow caught Eric off guard, smacking hard across his face and knocking him back a step. His brown eyes widened and clasping his chin where Peter had struck him, Eric stared at him for a tense moment.

Peter knew that he would either turn tail and run, embarrassed that the whelp had gotten the better of him, or he would rearrange Peter's face. Unfortunately, Eric had been itching for a fight ever since they'd met and it was the latter for Peter.

At least the carpeting was soft, Peter thought as he lay there, staring up at Eric. Damn his arse hurt. He sniffed hard and could taste the spatter of blood on his tongue. There was a loud horn blaring in his ears and he wondered if someone left their car alarm on. He only belatedly realized that the noise was in his aching head. Peter tried to sit up, but his head hurt and his eyes throbbed. The hand that Eric held out to him swam in the dark liquid ocean of pain before his blurry eyes. Peter reached up and managed to clasp one of the several hands that reached down to him. Eric hauled him to his feet and caught him by the shoulder to steady him.

"Sorry, mate," Eric said through clenched teeth. "I shouldn't have done that."

Peter swayed and put a hand to his head.

"Sean... told me not to get in your face," Peter chuckled.

Eric let him go and left him standing there.

It took much explaining for Sean's mates to finally see his reasoning behind wanting to use Peter in the job. Eric, who still didn't think it was such a good idea, opted to remain silent and to allow the general democracy of their operation to take over. Peter didn't understand his change of heart. Maybe Daisy really *did* have a way with him and he wondered if there wasn't something going on between the two Aussies.

Ian was speaking then, detailing the layout of the museum as well as both the decoy and the actual getaway cars. One car would go one way and the other would go the other in the even that they were being followed. They would meet up in the abandoned theatre where the university kids would be performing choice bits and pieces of MacBeth for a local televised variety program. The Witches would provide a grand distraction.

Eric was next to speak. He presented a fifty point plan and presented the layout of the piping system.

"Since we're modifying this so late in the game," he said casting a glance at Peter. "It would be better to just go with the original plan that included this access point."

Eric unrolled a schematic and stabbed a finger at the point where the pipe came to an end right above the square marked "exhibit".

Then looking straight at Peter he addressed him directly.

"You'll be cramped and uncomfortable and wet. You'll be showered with hot water and possibly burned from it. It's dirty and unpleasant, but, the pipe is unused for the most part. Just a bit of leakage and drainage from the main pipes. I don't know what else is in there, so you're taking a big chance and you'll put us all at risk if you fuck up. I haven't taken the time to fully investigate it, being that we weren't using this plan."

He sighed and his eyes softened. Eric looked down at the map and frowned feeling concern. He ran a finger across the blueprint. The material was rough and hard against his fingertip and he remembered how hard it was to get the information.

"You all know my feeling about using Peter. I don't like it. Clearing a half hour or no. He's inexperienced and then plan is untested. I don't understand why you want to screw around with what we already have going, Sean."

Eric wanted to say more, but he bit his tongue.

"That's my two cents," he said defeated, and rolled up the map.

David stood up then.

"Vigs and I have the roof and the three back entrances covered. Two of them will be sealed off, so you'll have to be careful which one you try to get out of, Sean. Peter, you'll stay in the pipe until we come for you. It would be too risky to have the both of you in the room at the same time. "

Peter was nervous.

"What do you mean, I'll stay in the pipe. What will I be doing?"

"There is a switch up near the ceiling, you will be able to reach from your position. This will shut off the motion sensors and unlock the side door for Sean. We can't access it from the floor because it will detect movement. You'll need to stay there to turn everything back on and you won't be able to exit the way you came. You'll need to be talked through it and you'll be supplied with a radio and headset. So you'll stay up there, pretend it's your birthday, have a wank and wait for Eric to contact you. We haven't done a dry run which is why I too vote for ax-ing this plan. No offense, Peter."

Daisy was a charm, wasn't he.

Viggo folded his arms and sat back against the back of his chair. He watched their faces, Eric especially. He wasn't an unreasonable man and if there was something he was antsy about, then there was a reason.

"I veto as well," he said finally. "I'm sorry, Bean, but no. We can't afford it."

Sean bit his bottom lip and looked to Peter. Peter was staring wide eyed back at him. Before he could speak, Peter interrupted him.

"I... it's probably now that I should be making my exit," said Peter as he pushed himself to his feet. "I mean, like you all keep saying, the plan's untested and I'm not trying to make a nuance of myself. And the more you talk about it, the more I'm not keen to go into his pipe. So... I'll just show myself out."

Eric bounded up from the chair.

"You can't just walk out of here, mate," he growled. "You know too much."

He then addressed his mates.

"How do we know that he won't just go to the police and spill his guts?"

The men turned to look at Peter who held up his hands in surrender.

"I won't," he tried to assure him. "I won't. You have my word."

Sean got up then and taking Peter by the shoulder, he led him from the room. They stood in the alcove in the next room and Peter stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Sean smiled.

"Don't worry about it, lad. It was probably a crazy idea. I don't know why I came up with it."

Peter lifted his head and grinned.

"Well, if you wanted to get me alone for a shag and a kiss, then you didn't have to go through all of that."

Sean made a strangled noise and Peter chuckled. He then leaned up and kissed Sean's cheek.

"Tell you what, Sean. Come out with me for a chicken pie when you finish playing with your boys and we'll see what'll happen."

Sean let him out of the building and Peter rewarded him with a wink and a smile.

"You know your way back?" Sean asked.

"Yep. No worries, mate."

Sean closed the door and with a long sigh, he collected himself and returned to his friends. They had a heist to pull off and it was what he needed to focus upon. No room for errors, there.

--end

Fic: The Heist 1/2

wynterhawk — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 12:34:51 GMT

Two posts in a row, aren't you thrilled. Ha! I just wanted to use my bit of internet time this morning to tidy up that seans50 fic that was posted pretty much backwards. I want to thank everyone who commented and supported me. You know that I really appreciated it. I haven't commented back yet, to the latest ones, but I will!

Anywho, here is the fic in its entirety if you'd like to give it another go, or if this is new to you, knock yourself out and enjoy!

“Will you put it in your mouth?” he asked, rubbing a sweaty hand across the back of Peter’s tee shirt.

“No,” Peter answered quietly and for the third time.

What did it take to make a few quid around here, when thievery wasn’t enough? he thought miserably.

“C’mon, love,” cooed the man, as he shifted ever closer in the booth overpowering Peter with the acrid scent of his aging cologne and the remnants of his pork pie supper. “It’ll be quick, and I’ll warm you when I’m about to…”

“I already told you,” interrupted Peter scooting away a little, but not too far.

He didn’t want to lose this money pit just yet.

“I don’t do that. If you want a quick flick of me wrist, you wanna bugger me up the arse, you wanna fucking suck me off… whatever. But make up your mind.”

It was getting hot in that dark little hovel, but it was good, comfortable and Peter sometimes visited it when his higher paying ladies were out of town. The men were of a decent class, doughy and with low self esteem. The dark of the pub gave them the courage to approach and close the deal and Peter had no problem with that.

The man leaned away from him for a moment, rummaged about in the pocket of his coat and Peter wet his lips.

“Two hundred quid. I get to keep you the entire night.”

The man’s breath was hot on his face and his fingers finally managed to work their way up beneath the back of Peter’s shirt to touch his warm skin. Peter shuddered.

“The whole night?” Peter asked, making a quick mental inventory to see if he’d had enough supplies for an entire night.

But considering the out of shape state the man was obviously in, a “whole night” might only consist of some quick and dirty rutting and then collapse, never to move until the next morning. Peter liked his odds with that situation and he upped the price.

“Five hundred for the whole night.”

“That’s too fucking much,” the man sputtered and immediately Peter backed down.

Two hundred quid was good, and he admitted that five hundred might have been asking too much.

“Four hundred,” he suggested.

The man grumbled and moving faster than Peter would have imagined that he could, he grabbed the back of his neck in a painfully crushing grip, and wrenched Peter’s head backwards.

“Four hundred, you little git. And it better be worth my while, or you’re gonna be missing a few things before the morning. Get me?”

Never one to be cowed by a few idle threats, Peter twisted and gasped in the man’s fist. He then turned and deftly delivered a sharp, well placed blow to the man’s pudgy throat. Recoiling swiftly, the man grasped at his chest and wheezed noisily, staring up at Peter with his bulging piggy eyes. He hadn’t expected the thin boy to react like that and his erection shrank in his trousers.

Peter heaved himself out of the booth.

“Fuck you,” he growled and made for the door.

Once out on the street, Peter rubbed at the back of his neck and only when the heavy padded door clunked shut behind him, did he feel safe. And then he cursed himself. Four hundred quid would have had him set for at least a couple of weeks! But he had dealt with men like that before, those that wanted to hurt him for their own pleasure and he had the scars to prove it. He didn’t want to deal with that again. Peter raked a hand through his unruly hair, stuffed his hands into the shallow pockets of his jacket and muttering to himself, he stomped away from the dank pub.

He hadn’t seen the two men coming towards him and as a consequence, he was nearly knocked onto his arse when he banged into one of them.

“Hey, now, lad,” laughed the man, who immediately reached out to steady him, and to keep him from tripping off the kerb. “Watch yerself.”

Peter pulled out of the man’s hands and sniffling disdainfully, he looked up into the blond’s face.

Green.

His green eyes were bright in the streetlamp light and tempered with amusement, as if he were laughing at his own private joke. Peter felt stunned and his manners came back to him in a rush.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered and then swooped down to pick up the item that the man had dropped.

Giving the set of keys back to him, Peter stumbled on, “I’m really… look, I wasn’t paying attention and I’m sorry.”

“”salright,” said the blond with a crooked smile.

A moment passed slowly between them and Peter ventured to smile. Casting a glance at the blond’s companion, Peter ducked his head and turned on the charm.

“Say um, I was just about to head over to Rawson Spring for a pint. How about if I buy a round? You and your mate there?”

The blond man seemed taken aback, but not offended by the offer and he and his friend exchanged looks.

“That’s right decent of you, ah…”

Responding to the obvious prompt for his name, Peter smiled and gave it.

“Right, Peter. Ahm Sean, and that’s decent, but Vig and I are going some place else.”

And the man then named a place that Peter hadn’t known, but vowed to become a regular patron to.

“O.kay,” said Peter and with a nod to Vig, he moved around the two men and walked off home.

He might have lost 400 quid, but his prospects were certainly looking up.

**

Old Horns Inn, the pub that Sean had mentioned the night they met, was uncomfortably crowded when Peter pushed his way through the door.

This is such a bad idea, thought Peter, scanning the tousled heads for someone that looked familiar.

Looking for a man you only met briefly on the street... bad, bad idea.

Peter rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and contemplated turning round and inching his way out of the alcohol scented building. What would he say to Sean, had he found him in the crowd? Would he feign surprise if their paths accidentally on purpose crossed and then invite himself into Sean’s circle? Would Sean respond positively at seeing him again? Would he even remember him?

Entering the pub behind him, three young women pressed up against his back as they moved passed him and Peter involuntarily took several steps forward. He was then immediately engulfed by the crowd.

There was a football match showing on the television bolted securely to the far wall and the people who were standing about were all enthralled by the game. Peter glanced with disinterest at the men running about on the neatly groomed pitch. His squad had long been knocked out of the FA Cup and he hadn’t been interested in rooting for any of the other clubs. A cheer went up suddenly and Peter took the loosening of the throng of bodies to press closer to the bar.

“Half-pint lager,” he said to the woman standing behind the bar as he fished out a few coins from his pocket.

He didn’t want to drink too much and stay too long in case Sean wasn’t in residence. Chatting with her co-worker, the woman pulled down on the tap, rolled a small glass beneath the golden flood and then placed it in front of Peter who handed her the money, telling her to keep the change. Grabbing up the moist glass, Peter leaned forward to take a sip, only to be jostled violently from behind. To his dismay he watched his lager go sloshing out of his squat glass, roll in a foamy airborne arc and splash all over the bar. Furious at losing his drink, he banged the empty glass down on the bar, slung his hands dry and turned round to give the offender his what-for.

“Oi! You fucker. Look what you’ve done!”

He gestured angrily at the mess that the barmaid was quickly sopping up with a towel.

The stocky man and his mates wheeled to face Peter and the glow of beer and happiness started to fade from their faces. A ridiculous hush fell over the crowd and jutting out his chin, Peter stared up at the man who seemed the most interested in a confrontation. Even the men who were tucked away in the small alcove round the back side of the bar, playing darts, leaned back to see what the ruckus was about.

A rational person would have bought a drink in apology and diffused the situation. But, Big George wasn’t famous for being rational and Peter became rather quickly and painfully acquainted with George’s fists that he’d named: “misery” and “destruction”.

The brawl did not last long and by the time Peter stumbled out onto the street, tossed out on his ear by the manager, the slender boy positively thrummed with sharp and bitter agony. His hands hurt as well because punching Big George was like punching a frozen slab of meat.

“Dear God,” he moaned, spitting out blood slick saliva into the road.

Coming here was really a bad idea.

Slowly regaining his balance, Peter clutched at his bruised face and lurched round at the sound of the door swinging open and then slamming shut behind him. Wholly expecting Big George to be standing there, clenched fists raised and ready to dispense another thrashing, Peter found himself already cringing, lifting a hand to protect the other side of his face.

To his surprise, standing there, instead of his tormentor, was the green-eyed blond that he’d run into the week before. Peter straightened quickly and grimaced when bruised muscles raked across his ribs. Oh, he was going to be useless in the morning.

“Hmm,” Sean murmured with interest and arched a brow.

Peter managed a partial smile and his heart thudded hard in his chest. There was something devastatingly sexy about the man standing before him and beneath Sean’s gaze, he felt a bit like a vulnerable doe being stalked by a ravenous lion.

Had Sean come out to look after him, or was he just out to have a smoke?

“Blimey. This is awkward,” Peter admitted. “I didn’t see you in there.”

A husky chuckle rumbled out of the man and he patted his pockets for whatever he was looking for before drawing out his cigarettes. Pushing one in between his lips unwittingly drawing Peter’s lecherous gaze to his mouth, Sean snapped up a flame from a match and lit the fag.

He smoked it for a moment, keeping his eyes pinned to Peter who shifted a bit uncomfortably underneath the inspection.

“Looking for me?” Sean asked sounding more curious than angry that some strange boy, who couldn’t seem to keep out of trouble, was stalking him.

Sean moved closer to Peter and got a good look at his bruises in the street light. Big George wasn’t someone to be reckoned with, especially by someone of Peter’s size. Peter was lucky to have survived it.

“Um… kinda,” Peter answered lamely and ducked his head.

Sean was going to murder him and toss his body in the woods, he was certain of it.

“ ‘Kinda’?” Sean asked, his gravelly voice low and kind.

He was close enough now that Peter could smell the aroma of the burning tobacco and the compelling scent of Sean’s cologne. Peter smiled a little bit more and trying to buy some time to think of something to say, he scrubbed a hand through his messy hair,

“You should ice that,” Sean suggested nodding to the blue and purple smudge starting to spread out beneath Peter’s right eye.

“Um, I… don’t…” Peter started.

“C’mon,” said Sean and with a jerk of his head, Sean promptly walked off down the pavement, leaving Peter staring dumbfounded after him. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

Confused, but heartened by the turn of events, Peter wordlessly followed Sean’s aromatic trail of smoke.

tbc

Belated Birthday!

wynterhawk — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 13:50:24 GMT

Gah, who's birthday did I miss being away from LJ??? afra_schatz! The very one who gives me such yummy Banabloom that I'm squeeing about it for days after!

Happy Birthday Graphic Comments

Happy Birthday (late) to you darling!

Fic: Chocolate 1/1

wynterhawk — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 01:19:26 GMT

This is for the bean_in_bloom Valentine Challenge :)

Title: Chocolate
Prompt: chocolate
Summary: Orlando makes it to their date just in time!
Rating: R

The sticky heat of Tortuga was overwhelming and hung over the land like a woolen blanket.

Orlando stood on the ragged bottom edge of the gangplank, one foot hovering briefly between actually stepping on land and high-tailing it back up onto the ship. It had been quite a long time ago that he had chosen a life drifting on Mother Earth’s watery bounty, and would continue to do so until his mates weighted him and dumped his corpse to sink to the Locker below. But until then, Orlando was free with no one to answer to; free to fight and loot and love whom he wished. What more could a man ask for?

But with a sigh of resignation, Orlando all but staggered out onto the pier and swayed there like a drunken man until he was able to regain some of the land related equilibrium he had tried so hard to forget. The second mindful step was the next hardest, but soon developing a smooth rolling gait, Orlando managed to make it to the edge of the small port. Pulling his hat low and making sure that his money and personal items were carefully stored on his person, Orlando kept his head down and tried to look as nondescript as possible. While he wasn’t a wanted man, Orlando had gained popularity being naughty enough that an opportunistic copper might want to snag him to make an arrest. Orlando didn’t have time for that.

The Cheeky Pear was not hard to find and like every other saloon in the bustling port city, there were heavily made-up prostitutes, both male and female, boisterous drunkards and other shifty-eyed and savoury folk who were out doing their dark business. Having long ago lost his naivety in the face of a scene like that, Orlando quietly eased along, unruffled by the open displays of sex and crime as he made for the open doors of the two story pub.

Orlando loitered on the raised wooden front porch when a man, peeking round the edge of the building waved him over. Smiling a bit, Orlando took the bait, wondering what it was that the man carried and how much he himself could get for fencing it, once he’d lifted it off the man.

“Scallywag,” the man spat once they were alone in the foul smelling alleyway between the buildings.

Orlando raised a brow.

“Pardon me?” he said sliding his hand down to rest against the heavy stained leather of his belt.

“I know who you are,” the man continued, giving Orlando a harsh dressing down with his bleary grey eyes. “I know who sent you.”

An easy smile slipped around Orlando’s wide mouth and he looked down at the bundle the man had clenched in his dirty fist.

“You know who I am, then?” he asked, amusement thick in his voice. “Then you know that I’m not a man with whom you should toy.”

The man chuckled, and phlegm rattled unpleasantly about in his throat and chest. Coughing, he gathered up a mouthful and spat it off into the darkness.

“Aye, you’re not fooling me, boy.”

Orlando sighed. Having already grown tired of the game, Orlando moved much faster than the man could react. Clamping one hand about his throat Orlando propelled him backwards, banged him against the opposite building wall and with his other hand, he slipped his knife from his belt and jabbed the wickedly sharp point into the man’s ribs. Orlando could feel the blade slice neatly through the coat and the blouse beneath and knew that he hit flesh when he saw the man’s face contort with pain.

Suddenly the man lifted the sack he carried and Orlando looked down at it.

“You… you were supposed to meet me, remember? I’m Smithe… Barnard told me to come with this!” the man choked out.

The names sounded familiar and after a moment, Orlando released Smithe with a shove.

“Why did you not say that in the first place, rather than opting to play games and waste my time!” Orlando cried, angrily snatching the sack from Smithe’s hand.

Smithe rubbed his throat and shrugged sheepishly while Orlando loosened the twine that held the gathered cloth closed. Holding the item delicately in his palm, Orlando let the cloth open up all the way. He lifted the dark item to his nose and was about to take a sniff, when Smithe grabbed his hand and jerked it away from his face. Smithe let out a cry of alarm and Orlando barely caught the sack and the item from falling

“Don’t let it touch your skin and for God’s sake, don’t inhale the fumes!”

Quickly Smithe rewrapped the item and tied the string.

“Trust me. This will get the job done.”

Smithe returned the sack to Orlando and frowning; Orlando unclipped his money bag and handed it to him in exchange.

“Remember! Don’t let it get on your hands.”

Nodding, Orlando made sure that the sack was securely tied before he looked off toward the mouth of the alley.

“Can you tell me how to get to the jailers?” he asked and then grimaced when a sort of comprehension dawned on the man’s face.

“Follow the road up the back side of the court house. It’s up on the hill overlooking the ocean. A nice view for condemned men. Except for the gallows on the beach below,” said Smithe through a rapidly widening smile.

Orlando lifted a finger and pointed it directly into the man’s face.

“Not. One. Word,” he growled. “If a story gets out, I will find you and gut you like the rotting beast that you are. Believe me.”

Smithe nodded and had the common sense to look suitably frightened as Orlando left him in the alley.

Orlando followed Smithe’s directions, noting that a recent rain must have washed away most of the stone lined trail. He scrambled up the embankment, using his hands to claw into the wet dirt and sand. Cresting the hill, Orlando paused a moment to catch his breath and to take in the view of the dark ocean lapping at the sand down on the beach. The sun was just setting and the colours cast upon the Earth were soft and bright in fire and gold. Sighing with longing, watching his beautiful and harsh mistress carrying on without him, Orlando shook himself and strode carefully up the sandy path that led him straight to the stone building overlooking the sea. He had work to do.

Surprisingly, inside was larger than it looked on the outside. Immediately to his right was a stone stair leading down into the warm sandy mountain and it was blocked with a tall heavy wooden door. Orlando quickly concluded that he would not be able to breech the door by force. He would have to use another tactic.

Straight ahead was another doorway, which was not as heavily secured and Orlando guessed that it led out to the gallows.

To his left there was an old rotting table where six men sat hunched over their evening meal. They were eyeing him suspiciously now perked up like cats awaiting incoming fishermen to lose the catch of the day.

“Food fer the prisoner,” Orlando said after a moment.

“No food for the prisoners tonight,” said one man while the other men, perceiving no threat from Orlando, slowly went back to their suppers.

“It’s me pa,” Orlando continued, softening his voice and his eyes. “’ave mercy. He don’t ‘ave long fer dis werld. An’ I got somfink fer y’all as well. From me ma.”

“What is it,” asked the jailer and waved for Orlando to approach.

Orlando smiled a bit and scurried to where the man indicated, ducking his head and setting the sack he’d gotten from Smithe on the table in front of him.

“Chocolate!” Orlando crooned, releasing the tie and carefully spreading out the treat with the cloth. “Me ma makes it and sells a bit in the market. It’s good. Try it.”

Chocolate was something that very few could afford. It was a lovely treat for those who could get it and the men unthinkingly jumped at the chance. All but one took a chunk and pressed the sweet into their mouths. Orlando watched this carefully, keeping his eyes on the man who had declined to eat.

“Surely, yeh wanna taste, eh?” Orlando asked the man who ignored him and sloppily finished his meal.

Damn it, thought Orlando. As he’d feared, things would get messy.

Well… messier.

He feigned innocent horror when the five men began to feel the effects of the poisoned treat and he stumbled back, his mouth a perfect ‘O’, one hand raised in mock fear as not only did the chocolate come back up, but also their barely digested suppers. Moans of pain and anguish rose like music to Orlando’s ears and the men staggered from their chairs, threw over the table and lurched sickly toward Orlando.

“You! You did something….”

Orlando sidestepped the outstretched hand of the man closest to him and then ran at the last man who had not eaten the chocolate. Knife in hand, he kicked the jailer’s legs out from under him and promptly took him down with his weight. Orlando made short work of the man and was off of him like a shot, knife in one hand, keys in the other. Orlando unlocked the door to the stairs, and glancing over his shoulder he made sure that the men, who had already fallen to the stone floor, still writhing in misery, were not following.

The stench rising from the jail cells below hit Orlando like a punch to the gut and he covered his nose with his hand.

“Dear God,” he mumbled and eased down the dark winding stairs.

There were torches lit and in the golden flickering light, Orlando could see that some of the iron barred cells were empty, some of them held sleeping men and the last one on the left held what he was looking for.

The blond man rose from the pile of hay he was using for a sleeping pallet and he approached the bars. Closing his hand about the bars, he peered out at Orlando, and blinked hard in the torch light as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

An incredulous smile curled the corner of his mouth as the blond man spoke.

“You’re late.”

Orlando laughed delightedly and covered the man’s hands with his own.

“You don’t know what I had to go through to get to you,” he said, squeezing the man’s large hands. “Sean, you’re lucky that I came at all.”

“It’s good to see you,” said Sean, gratefully. “Now, c’mon with ya, get me out of here.”

Nodding quickly, Orlando sorted through the keys and unlocked the cell door. Tossing the keys aside, Orlando took the appropriate steps to get out of the way of the outward swinging door. Lowering his head bullishly, the grin spreading wide across his lips, he let his hands go loose at his sides, inviting and in an instant found his arms full of a warm, salty sweet blond sea captain. The weight and heat of Sean scooping him up and devouring him, knocked Orlando off balance and the clash of their teeth, and skin and hands and lips tore him from his senses. Orlando begged himself not to give in and spread himself out in the muck and grime of the prison floor for Sean’s taking. There would be time for that later. Now, they needed to run.

Shaking Sean loose, Orlando barked a happy laugh, grabbed his upper arm and pulled him along. Breathless and giddy from the escape and from the sight and smell of his younger lover, Sean allowed himself to be dragged along. It took a moment for his brain to catch up and to puzzle over the events of the evening.

“Wot happen to the guards?!” he asked as Orlando set his shoulder hard against the outer door which then gave way with a rusty yawn.

Once out in the fresh night air, Orlando took in a huge cleansing breath, tightened his grip on Sean and ran down to the beach.

“Does it matter?” Orlando cried, listening to the familiar thud of his boots on the hard packed wet sand.

Sean gave a glance over his shoulder at his horrible prison and happy to be rid of that life, he increased his pace.

“Doesn’t matter,” he agreed. “Who’s on board?”

“Who do you think?” Orlando laughed, feeling freer than he had in the weeks after hearing that Sean had been wrongly imprisoned in Tortuga and was facing a hanging for piracy.

They slowed to a quick trot when the broad, proud stern came into view as they rounded the bend in the beach. With her sails swelling with the evening western wind, the ship was already about a mile out now and beginning to pick up speed. Orlando fished out his small mirror and using the light of the moon, he signaled to the ship. A lot closer to land, came the return signal and only then did Orlando notice the small dinghy bobbing like a cork out on the ocean. Ever the strong swimmers, Orlando and Sean splashed into the warm surf and swam towards the small boat. Hauling themselves aboard, the man who had been sitting there waiting at the oars began hauling strongly, effortlessly, pulling closer and closer to the ship.

Once on the ship, the men joyously greeted their captain and his liberator with drink and food and massive rounds of congratulatory cheering. And after all was said and done and the men retired to their beds, Sean took Orlando into his chambers, and thanked him in his own unique way.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Help?

wynterhawk — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 20:25:28 GMT

Right,

I was just changing my theme sheet, adding a new header, when I did... something! I don't know what that something was, but in essence, I've gone and buggered up my rotating header. Now I have no header and I can't quite figure out my CSS to fix what it is that I've done. It looks ok to me :(. I've tried starting the theme/style sheet from scratch, but no luck. Are there any savvy folks out there that can lend a hand? Or at least point me towards some copy/paste code for a rotating header? I could probably figure it out from there. THANK YOU!

And hey, how's your Sunday going? It's brrrrrrrrrrr here, but the snow is melting. I wanted to take a really steaming hot bath this morning, but apparently the hot water heater had other plans. I hate lukewarm soaks, so I bundled up in a towel, ran downstairs and put on a huge pot to boil water! I had a bit of lunch and then when the water was ready, I put on my mitts and took the pot back upstairs and poured all that gloriously hot boiling water into the tub. Mmmmm.... delicious.

Ficlet: Close the curtains 1/1

wynterhawk — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 01:13:03 GMT

Me again :)

And another ficlet thingy for the comment porn at comment_fic. This time for afra_schatz's prompt Lotrips, Sean B. / Orlando, closed curtains.

Title: Close the Curtains
Rating: G
Summary: Sean tries to drown his sorrows
AN: I could only find a loose translation of the song snippet, so I hope it's ok :)

Sean had been drinking. He had been drinking quite a lot and in one smooth moment it seemed he was in the hotel pub drowning his sorrows and in the next he was splayed comfortably on a soft downy bed with the scent of jasmine and wisteria twining around him. Sean narrowed his eyes and took stock of himself. His shoes were gone and he rubbed his stockinged toes against one another. His tie had been loosened but still lay round his unbuttoned collar and out of the corner of his eye he could see that his jacket had been hung neatly in the open closet.

The light was on in the bathroom and hearing water still running in the sink, he wondered if he hadn't done it all himself and just didn't remember. Deciding that he had indeed managed to haul himself up to his room, Sean was painfully alarmed when the light went out in the loo and the partially open door swung open all the way. The shadowed figure standing there was as familiar as his own and Sean breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Orlando," he murmured and Orlando hummed something in response.

Where had Orlando come from? He hadn’t seen the man in weeks.

Sean felt him draw close to the bed and the soft press of warm lips against his forehead made him smile. Sean reached for Orlando, but couldn't quite catch the boy's arm. Defeated, his hand fell back to the mattress. A soft laugh came from the boy as he walked round the foot of the bed and towards the windows. Milky evening light filtered through the thin gauzy curtains and turning his head, Sean could see Orlando silhouetted against the window; broad shouldered, narrow waist, long legs and the sight of him pulled at his memories. Sean began to sing; low and velvety and Orlando turned.

Bûm yn dy garu lawer gwaith
Do lawer awr mewn mwynder maith
Bum yn dy gusanu Orlando gêl
Yr oedd dy gwmni'n well na'r mêl.

Fy nghangen lân, fy nghowlad glyd
Tydi yw'r lanaf yn y byd
Tydi sy'n peri poen a chri
A thi sy'n dwyn fy mywyd i.
** From Welsh trad.: Lisa Lan

It was one of the few Welsh songs that he knew and why he decided that it was the time to sing it, in his drunken hour of need, replacing the titular girl with the boy that stood in his hotel room, Sean couldn’t explain. But Orlando seemed to understand. He drew the heavier outer curtains closed over the windows and now in the dark, Orlando returned to the bed. Crawling to Sean, Orlando dropped down by his side, rested his head on his chest and curled an arm about his waist.

“I won’t leave you,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you. We can be happy still.”

Sean closed his eyes and pulled Orlando tight to him. Orlando made him happy.

(**very, very loose translation)
Full many a time I came to woo,
Oft, Orlando came a courting you;
I kissed your lips when we did meet,
No honey every was so sweet.

My dainty branch, my only dear,
No woman comes your beauty near;
'Tis you who with my passion play,
'Tis you who steals my life away.

Saturday is for Sharing ;D

wynterhawk — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 15:28:10 GMT

Happy Saturday everyone! *bounces and hugs* I hope everyone is or has enjoyed it. It's cold here and the snow is still on the ground. Bleh. I'm ok with it, being a January baby, but still when your toes are frozen, it's not fun. I just got a new pair of glasses today and they're a metallic purple with clip on sunnies. I like them very muchly. :) And once again, if I'm spamming you this weekend, it's only because I save all of my reading and commenting until the weekend. You know the drill :D

I love tea dresses. Especially the floral ones and I only woefully have umm... 2 left in my wardrobe. Maybe three if I can unearth it. I think they're pretty much all purpose and can either be dressed up or dressed down depending on the situation and I wear them below the knee so there's nothing scandalous going on there... unless a certain Aussie strolls by unaccompanied and then woah mama.

And what the fuck is with this Rock Star Orlando? I mean, I think I'm happy about it. Should I be happy?

I'm so pleased to see that so many on my flist are being nominated and winning these little fic contests going around. It's so great and wonderful *squee* Of course I'm voting and rooting for you! YAY.

Hm, I guess I can add this too below the cut. I just whipped up Banabloom for a prompt in a comment porn community. The name slips my mind right now. (it's comment_fic thank you galor5 for whom the drabble was written for! :) ) Eh, well, enjoy and HAPPY SATURDAY!

Am I the ONLY ONE who wants to be some rogue cop stopping Mr. Bana on a lonely road in the outback and having him up against the car in this position? " Hm, yes, Mr. Bana, I do think you are hiding a dangerous weapon in there. I'll have to investigate MUCH farther. Spread 'em!" (photo stolen shamelessly from bloominbabylon)

The Falcon hummed contentedly and Eric lay stretched out on the sun-warmed pavement next to her listening to the purr of the new engine. He closed his eyes, crossed his ankles and folded his hands behind his head. What a perfect start to his Saturday morning.

"ERIC!"

The shout from inside the bungalow startled him out of his muse and Eric pushed himself up on his elbows. He waited for a moment. It might have been Orlando calling him in to take a phone call, or to tell him that brekkie was ready. Either way, he could wait another moment longer.

"ERIC!!"

This time Orlando's voice was tinged with a familiar note of panic and Eric scrambled to his feet.

It sounded like an emergency!

Breaking into a run, he made it from the garage up the three steps that led to the back door and was in the kitchen just in time to see Orlando jump back from the coffee maker, ducking a thick splash of wet black grounds.

"What ar--?"

Orlando whipped around at the sound of Eric's puzzled voice, and nearly bashed the glass decanter he was holding against the counter.

"Eric! Thank god, you have to help me!"

"Orlando, for heaven's sake, didn’t we go through this yesterday?"

The boy looked sheepish and he stretched out his hand, giving the coffee decanter to Eric. Taking it, Eric reached out, grabbed Orlando's arm and dragged him over to the still spluttering coffee maker. Unplugging it, Eric cautiously flipped open the top and peered into the sludgy mess Orlando had created.

Chuckling softly and shaking his head, Eric directed Orlando to fill the decanter again while he cleaned up the mess.

"Once again, your lesson in how to make coffee, Bloom," Eric began mock sternly.

Orlando nodded solemnly and clutched the decanter to his chest.

"I prefer tea, though," Orlando said.

Slashy Oscars

wynterhawk — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 23:12:19 GMT

Well, I wasn't going to do this, but then I figured, oh why not, you did it before! :D

Two fics of mine were nominated for the Slashy Oscars. Well, that's a first so imagine my surprise.

Short Fics Best Fluff-PWP Broken China
Summary: Bean comes back after a long trip. There's dinner, there's wine, there's Orlando. All for the taking.

Short Fics Best Crossover Occupational Hazard
Rating: R, humor, slight crackfic
Summary: Orlando meets Eric at a local sports club and they have a lovely dinner on their first date. Orlando's got an unusual job and Eric's got the worst case of thinking with his nether regions.

I would really appreciate your support for those two categories and congratulations to all that were nominated and for those who win. :) These two are actually quite humorous and I had a good time writing them. I hope that you enjoyed them as well.

VOTE HERE

Fic: Dining in 1/1

wynterhawk — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 21:56:19 GMT

I don't like to see honeyandvinegar feeling low. So in an effort to cheer her up, I whipped together a little bit of Zeke, Casey and a devilish surprise. Mwahaha. Ok, not that much of a surprise if you're looking at the banner.... haha made you look :D Anyway, enjoy luvie, and I hope that you're able to get to a better place than you are right now. It's ok to have ups and downs, as long as you don't dwell in the downs :) *BIG HUGS*

Title: Dining In
Pairing: Zeke/OMC, Casey
Fandom: The Faculty
Rating: Hard R woo!
Summary: Zeke falls victim to a case of mistaken identity.

Zeke grimaced while feeling a trickle of sweat slide down between his shoulder blades to stain the back of his tee shirt. Going back to school when September was still such a gloriously beautiful month had to be against some archaic law, Zeke was sure of it. He shifted a little more comfortably on the hood of his car, glad that the concert tee he was wearing was black and wouldn’t show off the massive amount of sweat oozing from his pores while he sat there baking in the sun. His Ray bans slid a little lower on his nose and with the back of his hand he pushed them up.

Fucking summer vacation had come to a screeching halt that bright sunny SeptemberMonday and he was spending the first day of his senior year sun bathing in the parking lot, right in full view of the principal’s office. He didn’t give a fuck and was pretty sure that the principal didn’t care one bit either. No one was coherent their first day back and nothing really much mattered.

When the lunch bell rang, Zeke watched the students come rushing out of the building and into the sunshine. Some of them wasted no time hopping into their cars and tearing out of the parking lot. Others, high tailed it to the nearest bit of grass where they could flop down with their friends and home made lunches and gab about all the uninteresting things they did over the last three months.

Zeke smiled a bit. He had actually done something with his time off. He’d taken surf lessons and by August had gotten pretty good at keeping his balance and developing a wicked cutback. But no one had asked him how he’d spent his summer vacation and it didn’t bother him… much.

He caught the eye of Stokley and lifting a hand in a wave, she snagged Stan’s backpack and the two of them started their way over to where Zeke was parked.

“Hey,” Stokes said squinting in the sun.

Her freckles seemed darker against her suntanned face and her smile was happy.

“Hey,” Zeke answered, greeting both of them.

Stan merely gave him a sharp nod of his head before he turned his eyes to survey their surroundings.

Stokley reached up and twisted both hands about the strap of her pack and looked everywhere except at Zeke. And then Zeke realized that the two of them were probably thinking the same thing.

Where was Casey Connor?

“Well?” Zeke said after a moment of awkward silence.

“Well what?”

This from Stan who was peering closely at Zeke as if he’d suspected that Zeke had done something egregiously wrong.

“Where the fuck is Connor? I mean, he never skips school.”

The words were out of his mouth hard and fast, like an accusation and Zeke felt himself flush red. Stan scowled and the expression made Zeke feel better, but the pleased smile directed at him from Stokes made him feel worse.

“I didn’t think you’d noticed,” she said, a teasing air toying about the edges of her words.

“Of course I noticed,” Zeke snapped. “He wasn’t sniveling in the bathroom trying to sop up a bloody nose!”

Stokes and Stan exchanged a look and Zeke snorted. He sat up and leaned back on his outstretched hands and fuck the hood of his car was hot, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of leaping up and shaking his hands to cool them. He merely eased back into a sitting position and discretely rubbed his hands across his thighs.

“Fuck you two and your secret handshakes.”

“C’mon, man,” said Stan, laughing a little. “Look. He was supposed to be in third period science, but no one knew where he was. The teach was going nuts, because apparently he was supposed to bring something in for the presentation.”

Stan shrugged.

“We ended up watching a video of the mating dance of owls or something.”

Stokely chewed her bottom lip.

“You think he transferred? I mean I know that he said that he was looking to get out of here.”

Zeke looked up at her and his face felt hot and uncomfortable.

Would Casey leave without telling him? Just like that?

Zeke scoffed to himself. He and Casey weren’t what he considered friends, but in all honesty, Casey was much more interesting than the assholes to which he’d sold drugs and porn. And part of him missed the little Hobbit.

“Maybe,” Stan supplied, sounding distracted and then he looked over his shoulder as if someone had called his name. “Look. I don’t have lunch and I want to get something before the cafe closes.”

Stan made to leave.

“You coming, Stokes?”

Stokes fluttered her shoulders and did that little appeasing thing she did with the twist of her head. She smiled at Zeke.

“I’m sure he’s just still with his parents or something and they’re driving across country to get back right as we speak.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Zeke asked, twisting his face into a puzzled scowl.

Was it showing on my face? he wondered.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “You seem kinda bummed.”

She didn’t give him an opportunity to react and turning she walked back towards the school with Stan in tow.

Zeke watched them leave and knew that he had to get out. A local deli would be good to grab a sandwich and a Coke. He slid into his car and made it a point to swerve erratically out of the parking lot, leaving some students to have to dive out of his way in order not to be squashed into jelly.

**

By the time Zeke returned to the school grounds, the last of the second lunch period students were packing it in to return to their classes. He parked where the tall trees cast a shadow across the macadam and taking his ipod with him; he perched on the hood of his car again, insolent as ever and appeased himself with some Nickleback. It was then that he saw a familiar figure walking across the street towards the school’s parking lot away from where Zeke was parked.

Something bright and excited burst inside Zeke and he sat up, pulling the earbuds out of his ears.

“Hey!” he called out. “Hey! Casey!”

It was good to see him and it looked as if he was just running late to school and hadn’t transferred after all.

The boy kept walking, with nary a glance over his shoulder at Zeke.

“Yo, Connor! What the fuck man!”

Zeke slid off the car and saw the boy pause, turn around and then walk directly towards him.

There was something very confident and fluid in Casey’s step. Something must have changed in him over the break and Zeke found himself smiling a little. He was glad that Casey had lost that frightened mouse quality about him and was taking a little more pride in himself. It looked as if Casey had also filled out quite nicely and the closer he got, the more Zeke realized that he was staring. Staring right at Casey’s newly developed thighs.

Casey stopped within a few feet of Zeke and he stared up at the brown eyed boy. There was no recognition in the bright blue eyes behind wire framed glasses and Zeke frowned, feeling slightly uncomfortable beneath the cool frank inspection. He opened his mouth just as the boy sighed. Zeke couldn’t tell whether it was a sigh of annoyance or of something more intimate. He saw the boy’s nostrils flare and watched him take in another deep breath. He was scenting him, Zeke was sure, smelling him on the air and he was surprised to find himself aroused by the action. A coy smile tugged at the corner of Casey’s mouth and he cocked his head to one side, turning it just so that he could look up at Zeke out of the corner of his eye.

“You weren’t in school today,” Zeke said lamely.

Casey smiled just a bit wider and his eyes trailed down the length of Zeke’s lean sun warmed body.

“You… ehm… what… are you doing?”

Casey’s brows tensed briefly and then he glanced over his shoulder just as the end of the day bell rang. Zeke looked over his head and once the students started to stream out of the building. Zeke pushed himself off of the car and he walked around it.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home. Or are you going to check in first.”

Casey shook his head and lightly walked to the passenger side of the car. He tested the door handle, opened it and hesitated. Zeke slid into the driver’s seat and ducked down to look up at the boy still standing in the open door.

“C’mon, man. Get the lead out.”

Casey dropped gracefully into the seat and pulled the door shut. Zeke watched him out of the corner of his eye as Casey seemed as if he had never been in the car before in his life. He ran his small hands all over the warm leather of the dashboard and then over the seat he was sitting with a queer sense of delight. That coy little smirk never left his lips and Zeke began to worry whether the boy had survived some sort of trauma that was making him behave so peculiarly.

“So um…” Zeke began as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. “I just got the new Resident Evil Extinction on Xbox, do you wanna come over and play?”

Casey looked up at him and his eyes brightened. He nodded.

**
Zeke’s parents weren’t home, which was nothing new. Zeke pulled the car all the way around to the back of the house, cut the engine and then stretched his back. All day doing nothing really put a strain on him. He smiled.

“Ok, c’mon,” said Zeke.

Turning towards Zeke, Casey smiled wolfishly and without a word he eased his hand into Zeke’s lap. Zeke went stock still as that small hand gripped his balls.

“God,” he moaned. His breath left him and he melted contentedly in his seat. “Fuuuuckk! Casey.”

Zeke arched his hips up and Casey now used both hands to unzip his fly. This wasn’t the first time he and Casey had taken the time to explore each other, but it always came as a surprise when Casey took the initiative. And boy, was he taking it with gusto! Casey bent down and pulling out Zeke’s stiffening cock, he wasted no time swallowing it down. Zeke tangled his hands in Casey’s soft hair marveling at how much of a natural cocksucker he was. With that cherry red mouth and those luscious lips, how could he not be?

And those lips enveloped him and sucked so hard his eyes rolled back and he thought he’d lose fillings. Zeke moaned softly, pressed his head against the seat and enjoyed the royal treatment. The royal treatment, that was until he felt the scrape of TEETH!

Zeke angrily fisted Casey’s hair and jerked his head back. The look of delirious pleasure on Casey’s face was palpable and he gave a soft cry of what sounded like anguish.

“Case!” Zeke gasped, “fuck, man, watch the teeth!”

Casey looked up at Zeke, that little smirk still in place and he licked his lips, reaching up to grab Zeke’s wrist and to pull his own head free. He dove into Zeke’s lap again, sucking with such sweet abandon, that Zeke allowed himself to be dragged down into the dark abyss. He only belatedly noticed the long, sharp fingernails digging into his flesh. But it all dissolved in a mélange of pleasure and heat and jizz when the suction of Casey’s mouth and the tease of his wicked tongue became too much. Zeke’s cry was loud in the close confines of the car and he bit his lip to muffle himself. No use alerting the neighbors!

Floating on a haze of contentment, Zeke pet Casey’s hair and the boy lay his head in his lap, purring like some little sweet puppy that had been given a much awaited treat. Zeke looked fondly down at him, watched him slide his hand beneath Zeke’s concert tee and stroke his heaving belly. Casey pushed the shirt up and began wetly mouthing the warm flesh of Zeke’s stomach, lightly biting him at first kissing him in between nips until each bite became more and more vicious.

Zeke grabbed Casey’s face between his hands and lifted him from his lap.

“What are you trying to do? Take a bite out of me? You’re really acting weird, Casey.”

Zeke pushed him back, tucked himself back into his trousers and then got out of the car. Not waiting for Casey to follow, Zeke marched up to the house and unlocked the back door. Walking into the kitchen, he made a beeline for the refrigerator for a snack, and over his shoulder he asked, “You want something to drink?”

Zeke continued to rummage through the leftovers and when he got no answer from Casey, he turned around to question him. To his surprise there was no one there with him in the kitchen.

“Casey?” he called and shutting the refrigerator, he walked back out through the door and into the driveway.

Casey was no where to be found. It was as if he’d vanished. Puzzled, Zeke scratched his head and reluctantly, he returned inside, wondering if he had hurt Casey’s feelings, causing him to run off. Zeke promised himself that he would call him later just to check in.

Zeke spent most of the night listening to the recording of Mr. Connor’s voice telling him to leave a message after the tone. Casey wasn’t picking up an din fact no one was picking up and Zeke fell asleep wondering what the hell was going on.

Casey was back to school that next day and cornering the small boy in the loo, Zeke menaced him.

“What the fuck was that yesterday, Connor!?” he demanded, caging Casey between his outstretched arms and the tiled wall.

Wide blue eyes gazed up at him full of panic and confusion. No glasses this time round, Zeke noted.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you talking about? I wasn’t even here yesterday!”

“Oh don’t give me that shit,” said Zeke. “I saw you. You had on these little wire framed glasses, I took you home… you…”

Zeke glanced over his shoulder, although he already knew that they were alone.

“You fucking blew me in the car.”

Casey bit his bottom lip.

“I swear to you, Zeke. I was still in Canada yesterday. I swear! We didn’t get in until midnight. And, I don’t even wear glasses!”

Zeke stared down at him for a moment longer and disgusted, he pushed himself away. Casey would have no reason to lie to him, so there had to be another explanation. He ran a hand through his hair and paced the floor.

“You don’t happen to have a twin brother that you haven’t told me about, have you?”

Casey shook his head.

“No. I wish you’d tell me what you’re talking about. You sound a little crazy.”

“Someone I thought was you, yesterday. Fuck! He looked just like you… just a little bigger. I thought you had just filled out over the summer. I didn’t think anything was weird about it.”

Zeke soundly smacked his own forehead feeling utterly gutted and devastated. He whirled on Casey who immediately held his hands up and shook his head. He was at a loss to help Zeke and Zeke, empty of what else to say, promptly left the bathroom.

With his day already shot, Zeke sought out the refuge of his car. He only made it halfway across the parking lot before he saw a painfully familiar, stocky figure leaning against a tree across the street. Zeke skidded to a halt and quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone else around. But when he looked back, the figure was gone.

Vanished.

Zeke turned back to the school and saw Casey standing on the front steps watching him, that look of confusion still on his face.

“Did you see him!?” Zeke yelled and pointed to the empty grove of trees across the street.

Casey merely listed his hands and his shoulders in a shrug and shook his head.

“Fuck,” Zeke growled and trotted to his car.

He was going to find that Casey imposter, if it was the last thing he would do.

-end

Fic: The Boy in the Cafe 11/11

wynterhawk — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 16:11:29 GMT

Title: The Boy in the Cafe pt 11. The End
Pairing: Orlijah
Rating: PG - NC-17 overall for the series
Summary: Orlando meets and falls for a most interesting boy in a cafe.
Author's note: It's alll over. Please forgive any mistakes or weirdness, as with everything I write, it's not beta-ed and done all in fun. Thank you for following the fic over the years and if you are new to it, check out the links to read the story in its entirety! :)

Previous Parts:

The Boy in the Cafe pt 1
The Boy in the Cafe pt 2
The Boy in the Cafe pt 3
The Boy in the Cafe pt 4
The Boy in the Cafe pt 5
The Boy in the Cafe pt 6
The Boy in the Cafe pt 7
The Boy in the Cafe pt 8
The Boy in the Cafe pt 9
The Boy in the Cafe pt 10

It was at least a week before Orlando saw Elijah again. Apparently Elijah had been begging all over the city for more funding in order to keep his job at the magazine, but he had been having no luck. When he turned up on Orlando’s doorstep late one night, Orlando knew that he was distracted and disheartened; a very unusual trait for Elijah to display. Orlando merely took him to bed and tried to soothe away his fears.

Orlando and Elijah quietly enjoyed each other over a sleepy breakfast of oven baked toast and coffee the next morning while Orlando’s two dogs snored happily under the small table. Elijah slid his bare feet beneath Sidi’s warm furry belly and watched Orlando spread butter nearly an inch thick on the heavy bread and then top it with that ultra sweet lemon shred marm. He smiled because the boy obviously enjoyed this morning ritual and who was Elijah to say anything to it. He drank some of the coffee and bit into his lightly buttered toast. It was good and he was hungry so he had no problem devouring the first slice before reaching for the second.

“You’re all set for the airport?” Orlando asked, wiping the butter from his hands.

“Not really,” Elijah replied around a mouthful of toast.

It wasn’t the kind of thing they wanted to talk about, but it had to be discussed.

“Do you have a ride and all?”

Elijah nodded his head briskly, keeping his eyes firmly pinned to the plate in front of him.

Orlando cleared his throat and looked around the small kitchen. Changing the subject sounded like a grand idea.

“ManU is playing today, if you want to stay and watch it with me.”

Elijah looked up with grateful heat in his blue eyes and he smiled. Orlando had a knack for making him feel much better.

“All right.”

**

“What did I miss?!” Orlando cried rushing out from the kitchen and into the sitting room where the tele blared the latest massacre of ManU.

“Oh, please, this shit is so boring!” Elijah cried glowering angrily at the tele and tossed a few more kernels of popcorn to Sidi. “They’re getting murdered!”

The dog snapped them neatly out of the air much to Elijah’s delight and he threw more into the dog’s direction just as two arms snaked around his neck and pulled him up and back across the top of the couch. Elijah was sorry that anyone had taught the Brit that half-nelson wrestling move. He struggled briefly, his stocking feet pawing at the cushions of the couch as he tried to maintain his balance. Sidi jumped up and barked in amazement, wanting in on their playtime.

“Lan!” he choked out in absolute surprise. “Fucking… hell! Get off me!”

The bowl of popcorn tipped out of Elijah’s lap and scattered the buttery kernels all over the couch and floor. Doubly delighted, Sidi made short work of the clean-up.

The muscular arms tightened and Orlando giggled in spite of himself. He loved getting the jump on Elijah for a quick tussle. He could use the wrestling thing as an excuse to get closer to the boy, to press against his body; to feel Elijah squirming deliciously beneath his weight.

“I told you about putting down my team, man,” he growled. “I told you not to do it.”

“I—wasn’t!” Elijah claimed, pushing at the arms that held him.

He had to admit that even in his nearly bent over backwards state, Elijah noticed that Orlando smelled good.

“You were! I heard you.”

Sidi barked to corroborate Orlando’s statement.

Elijah pushed hard off the couch, sending them both sprawling on the hard floor behind it. Orlando hit the legs of the chair, scooting it out of the way and scaring the dog that slept beneath the table. She scrambled to get clear as the chair scraped across the floor towards her. Sidi scrabbled around the couch and barked with pleasure as Elijah finally got his bearings and turned the tables on his attacker. When Elijah reached to flip Orlando over (using the only wrestling move he knew and was relatively adept at executing), Sidi unceremoniously jumped onto his back, digging into him with his nails.

“Ow! Sidi!” he yelled, his momentary lapse in concentration giving Orlando a way in.

Orlando curled his arms about Elijah’s midsection and shoving a knee between Elijah’s thighs, he easily got a leg over. Not that Elijah would have given him much trouble, being a head shorter than the Englishman. He grabbed Elijah’s slender wrists and pinned him to the floor.

“Do you give?” Orlando gasped, pressing down upon the boy, using his full weight to hold him immobile.

Elijah continued to struggle, trying to get a leg between them to shove Orlando to the side.

No such luck.

“Do you?” Orlando asked again, grinning like a maniac at his mate’s predicament.

A red flush started to creep over Elijah’s cheeks as he strained against the larger boy’s weight, thrusting up in a desperate attempt not to lose this battle.

“Help me, Sidi!” he cried much to Orlando’s amusement.

“He’s not going to help you,” Orlando said smugly. “Sidi’s on my side. I'm the one that gives him his dinner.”

At the mention of his name, the dog walked over to Elijah and stuck his cold wet nose into his eye before licking him across the forehead, leaving a yellowy half moon shaped piece of popcorn kernel that had been stuck on his tongue on Elijah’s skin.

“Traitor!” Elijah yelled to which the dog responded with another sloppy lick.

Elijah writhed beneath Orlando and finally with a sigh of remorse, he gave up and went limp. Brown eyes shone down at him with dark brows raised above them.

“Say it,” he said, not satisfied with the physical evidence of defeat. “Say you give.”

Still red faced, Elijah refused to look at Orlando.

He was… distracted.

Not only did Orlando smell good, but he felt absolutely wonderful atop him. Elijah twisted a bit, trying to hide his interest in the boy. But they were pressed so fully together, that he knew there was no way Orlando wouldn’t find out what his traitorous body was trying to express.

Fortunately, Orlando slid off of him, but not without a significant pause in just the right place to make Elijah gasp. When Orlando set him free, Elijah immediate got to his knees and dusted off the back of his jeans. Orlando, on the other hand, stood languidly and leaned against the back of the couch and tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers while looking too smug for his own good.

Elijah had had enough of the teasing and getting up, he walked purposefully towards him; he stopped and reached out to hook his index finger into the waistband of Orlando’s trousers. He could hear Orlando’s breath catch and Elijah lifted his face to watch the expression of surprise and longing cross his face.

Elijah moved closer and rose up on tiptoe to bring his mouth within a breath’s of Orlando’s. His lips parted into a smile and Orlando could no longer resist. Lowering his head he gently sucked Elijah’s rosy bottom lip between his lips, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss. Elijah slid his hands up and around Orlando’s waist, hugging him closer as Orlando tentatively sucked and licked lightly at his lips.

Elijah pulled his head back just a bit so that he could look up at the brown eyed boy.

“You’re gonna tease me?” he asked indicating to the butterfly kisses.

Orlando went crimson and he looked away.

“I didn’t want to go all cave man and eat your face,” he said seriously and then looked back at Elijah who was barely holding in a laugh.

Behind them, Sidi belched rudely and Elijah burst out laughing. He put his head against Orlando’s shoulder and hugged him tightly, laughing into the curve of his throat.

Elijah snuggled into Orlando’s warmth and sighed as his laughter subsided. Immediately noticing the change in the boy in his arms, Orlando tightened his grip and stroked a hand up and down Elijah’s back.

“I couldn’t get the funding,” Elijah murmured against Orlando’s neck. “I’m gonna have to…”

“It’s ok,” Orlando interrupted. “How much do you need? Maybe I could… ehm…help.”

Elijah squeezed him. He knew how much Orlando made in a year and there was no way he would be able to swing the payments. He didn’t want to ask it of him anyway.

“That’s decent of you, Orli,” said Elijah as he lifted his face. “But…”

A heartbroken beat passed.

“O.kay,” Orlando whispered and pressed a kiss to Elijah’s waiting lips.

“Come on,” Orlando said finally, releasing Elijah from his grip. “I wanna play.”

Play was Orlando’s code word for bouncing the springs and there was no way that Elijah was going to deny him.

**

"So, you've got everything?" Liv was asking him, staring down at the two bags that sat on the seat next to him.

The hard orange molded plastic airport chairs creaked when she leaned over him and pulled out the tickets from the mouth of his backpack. Elijah wasn't really listening and Liv had been talking up a storm since they found their way to the waiting area.

He was thinking about the look on Orlando's face when he finally said goodbye. Orlando's forced smile hurt him more than any scowl could have and part of him wished that Orlando had gotten angry. Wished that he had said something mean and hurtful; then perhaps leaving wouldn't have been so traumatic. They had only embraced very briefly, both not wanting to drag out the goodbyes longer than necessary. But they didn't kiss.

Elijah knew if he felt Orlando's lips upon his one last time, that he wouldn't have left him. Unfortunately, he knew that leaving had to be for the best. He had too much unfinished business back in the states. There was too much to do, too much to throw away on a one night stand.

Elijah clenched his fist, hearing the cellophane of the sweets Liv had bought for his flight crinkling noisily in his grip.

"Elijah?"

He came back to the present.

"What?"

"I was talking to you, but you seemed miles away. What were you thinking about?"

It was easy to lie, because he didn't know how she would take the truth.

"Thinking about… going home. That’s all," he answered softly and looked towards the huge bright windows that gave a view of the enormous jets awaiting maintenance and passengers.

Liv patted his hand gently and put the tickets back into his bag. But, to his surprise, she didn't say anything about it.

Elijah turned and smiled at her.

"Thanks for everything," he said and she twittered a bit behind her hand.

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. For the job, the opportunity that I probably would never have gotten on my own. I’m really grateful.”

“I could have done more,” she said sounding a bit sad. “With the funding.”

Elijah’s mouth twisted.

“I’m sure you did all you could.”

“Well, if I can get things to work, I’ll have you back. I want you to know that.”

“I know,” he said and tried to smile, but it came out all wrong and misshapen.

He didn’t much care about the job, as he cared about leaving the one true bright spot in his life. Elijah frowned and pushed the thought out of his mind.

Liv smiled.

”Yeah.”

"Yeah..." he muttered and looked out of the windows again.

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time and when his flight was finally announced, they both got up. Elijah collected his things, feeling a sting of tears in his eyes. Blinking them away, he reached up and pulled his friend down into a warm hug. She kissed his forehead and then his lips before pulling back and cupping his face between her hands.

"You take care, ok?" she told him. "Be careful and call me when you get home."

Elijah was nodding against her palms and he felt his own resolve begin to break when he saw the tears in her eyes.

"C'mon, Liv, don't get all weepy on me," he said trying to lighten the situation.

She just barely managed a smile and kissing him again, she released him.

"Just let me know that you're safe."

The lump in his throat grew bigger and he stepped away from her. With a nod he settled his backpack more comfortably on his shoulder and turned to go. Before he disappeared into the corridor leading to the plane, Elijah turned one last time and waved to Liv. She was already crying when she waved back.

**

"Our flight will be delayed while the Prime Minister's plane lands," said the captain over the intercom.

Elijah sank despondently in his seat. All he wanted to do was go home. Couldn't he even manage that?

Fishing his ipod from his jacket pocket, he slipped on his headphones and allowed himself to drift in a haze of rock.

The minutes ticked and the crowd was growing restless. It was then that the monitors above his head flickered on and an animated movie began to play. Elijah rolled his eyes, unable to be placated by the soft Disney affair. He had been zoning and thinking about Orlando. He had been wondering if he was making a mistake. It certainly felt like a mistake, sitting there on the plane instead of in Orlando's flat. Elijah groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. His heart began to race as his hands put the ipod away. A tingling in his fingers alerted his brain that his heart was acting without waiting for further confirmation. Elijah reached up and rang for the flight attendant.

"I have to get off," he said to her when she came by, all smiles, and leaned over him.

Her smile waned a bit and she frowned.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we cannot let anyone off at this time. The Prime Minister..."

"I know about the Prime Minister, but, I have to get off the plane, now. Please, now. I have to get off."

Elijah rose from his seat, still in an awkward position, because she hadn't moved and was blocking him in that narrow aisle.

"Please," he begged. "I-- left my medication, and I need it or my... my heart will give out. I don't want to die on the plane!"

Several people had turned around and were looking in his direction.

Yes, make some noise. They're bound to let you off.

He grabbed at his chest and the flight attendant took a step back with a gasp. Elijah stepped it up a notch.

“My heart, my heart is weak!! I need my meeeeeeds! I don’t want to DIE ON THIS PLANE!”

"A-all right sir, I'll call for security. We can have you escorted off."

"Thank you," Elijah gasped for effect and dragged his bag from beneath the seat.

**

By the time he got outside, it was pouring rain. Security had already frisked him, looking for weapons or bombs and finding none, they left him to his own devices. But, now he was turned around and confused with the layout of the parking lot. He hailed a cab and sliding onto the seat he gave instructions to go back to his old flat. He could then direct the cabbie to find Orlando’s place from there.

Elijah peered out of the fogged window as the taxi finally came across a row of buildings that looked familiar. He remembered the white trellis out front with the drooping ivy and the gate! He remembered the gate. Bounding out of the car after paying his fare and dragging his bag with him, Elijah ran up to the gate. He rattled it a bit and then reached through the bars to unhook the latch on the other side. Letting it bang closed behind him, Elijah went up the stone walk.

"Please, Orli... be home," he whispered, shivering and looking up at the dark windows as he knocked on the door. "Be home."

Elijah hadn't taken much notice of the dark figure that darted up the nearby walk and into the next flat. He was just concerned with why the windows of the stoop upon which he stood were still dark.

Cold rain ran down his face and with trembling hands he tried to dry his face, but there was nothing dry about him now and the motion was useless. His clothes were soaked and the white shirt he was wearing was transparent, much to his embarrassment.

"C'mon, Orli... where the hell are you?" he said aloud. "Please..."

He pounded on the quiet door again and looked towards the invitingly warm yellow light coming from the windows next door. Elijah wrung his hands and rubbed them together to get feeling back into his fingers. Maybe he could ask the neighbor if he was even in the right place. He was sure that someone should know something.

Grabbing onto the wrought iron railing, he went down the stairs and to the next door's stoop. Slinging excess water from his hand, he lifted it to ring the bell.

"God, you look insane," he muttered trying to push his hair into some semblance of shape. "What if some little old lady answers the door and thinks you're trying to rob her? She'll beat you with her--"

He cut off his verbal self-assault when the door opened.

Orlando stood there, blinking owlishly out at him. There was an odd silence passing between them and in the next breath, Orlando reached out and grabbed Elijah, yanking him inside and into his arms.

“What the fuck are you doing here man!?!” he crowed squeezing the wet boy against him. “What the fuck!”

Elijah embraced him in turn, unable to say anything, as he was too choked, figuratively as well as literally.

“I thought you were at least on your way home now! Why are you here?”

Orlando loosened his hold on Elijah and only then was Elijah able to get a word out. Orlando’s bright brown eyes were full of emotion and happiness and Elijah smiled gently at him. He had never seen a more beautiful sight as Orlando was before him. He knew that he had made the right choice in getting off the plane.

“I… couldn’t leave you behind,” Elijah admitted, feeling sheepish. “I couldn’t just leave and not know when I could come back.”

“But, your job, and your… I thought…” Orlando stammered cluelessly and Elijah shook his head.

“Listen. Everything’ll work out. I promise. I’ll make it work. I want to make it work with you.”

That megawatt grin crossed Orlando’s face and he nodded, understanding Elijah’s behavior. He would have done the same thing frankly and taking Elijah’s hand in one and his bag in the other, Orlando brought him up to his flat. Things were going to work out just fine. They would make certain of it.

-end

Drabble: Meticulous Deflowering

wynterhawk — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 02:40:07 GMT

Title: Meticulous Deflowering
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Fandom: Merlin (thank you Auntie Beeb)
Word Count: 100
Rating: R... title kind of says it all :)
Prompt: Leather from merlin100

The scent of fresh candle wax was sharp in the warm confines of the hidden chamber. A long velvet pillow upon which Arthur had allowed him to kneel, in order to save his knees from the cold flagstones was Merlin’s only protection during his meticulous deflowering. Unfortunately, Arthur’s generosity had ended there and anxiously tossing his head, Merlin twisted beneath the leather binds that held him rigidly captive on his splayed knees. A low husky chuckle broke the silence and as the prince circled him, deliberately trailing a finger across the backs of his bare shoulders, Merlin closed his eyes.

Ficlets for Seans 50 Challenge

wynterhawk — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 01:31:05 GMT

Title: The Team Forms
Summary: Sean takes Peter back to his place
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sean Bean/Peter Drinkwater (Orlibean)
AN: Written for the seans_50 challenge. Prompts: Grumpy, Spectacles, Uniform

Prompt table can be found HERE

Ficlets should be read in order, though it isn't expressly necessary.

GREEN, PUB, ICE and HABIT, TEA, VOICE, COUCH, Grumpy, Spectacles, Uniform

Peter was never all sunshine and flowers in the morning before he had his first cup of coffee. In fact he was downright surly and he lay there on the lumpy couch, with the covers pulled up to his next listening to Sean bang about in the kitchen. It was too damn early and Peter really cursed the fact that he wasn’t at home in his albeit crappy bedsit, freezing his bits off but at least he would be able to sleep in. Camping out on Sean’s couch meant that he had to be on Sean’s schedule and considering the man was already up and the sun hadn’t even risen yet, Sean’s schedule definitely didn’t coincide with Peter’s well being.

Peter stretched and wiggled his toes feeling warm and comfortable and a yawn stretched his mouth wide open. With a soft sigh, he turned onto his side and burrowed deeper beneath the heavy duvet. If Sean wasn’t trying to pry him out of the bed, Peter wasn’t going to volunteer.

It was quiet in the kitchen for a moment and then Peter heard the back door open and Sean greet whoever had knocked. Interested in the newcomer, Peter perked up and pulled the covers down to his chest, straining to hear what the second man was saying. It didn’t sound like the American who had accompanied Sean to the pub a few nights ago. No, it was definitely someone different and Peter sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. Scratching a hand through his unruly hair, Peter searched about for his trousers, then stood up and pulled them on. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes Peter made to move towards the kitchen. Then thinking the better of it, as he didn’t want to present such an unkempt face to the two men in the kitchen, Peter opted to wash up in the bathroom.

The man leaning against the edge of the sink, one hand folded across his waist, the other holding out a mug to Sean obviously for a refill, looked up when Peter finally slouched through the kitchen doorway. The man was tall and fit and beautifully rugged with his brown hair standing out in wild fluffy curls. Beneath neat brows, dark brown eyes widened briefly and then narrowed while a knowing smile lurked across his full lips.

Peter raised his own brows and looked towards Sean for help. The man’s gaze was all too familiar and Peter felt strangely nervous.

“So, this is the one,” said the man and nodded towards Peter.

Sean swiveled suddenly and after spying Peter, he shrugged and with a fingertip pushed the thin silver rimmed spectacles up higher onto the bridge of his nose. Peter was quite charmed by the gesture and noticed that Sean looked so much more attractive with the glasses than without. It gave him the appearance of a naughty professor type, from which Peter would definitely appreciate a paddling leaning over the edge of a school desk.

He smiled to himself, losing himself in the fantasy of dressing up in a school boy’s uniform and having to draw down his trousers and submit to the cruel ruler wielded by Professor Bean.

The brown eyed man cleared his throat and Peter shook himself from his muse.

“I’m the one what?” he asked finally, letting his eyes linger on Bean who poured more hot water into his mate’s mug.

Sean didn’t bother to answer Peter’s question. He merely gestured to the tall man leaning against the sink.

“This is my mate, Eric. Eric, this is Peter.”

Eric nodded to Peter and took a drink from his cup.

Peter lifted a hand in a wave.

“Hi.”

Sean met Eric’s eyes for a moment and then turned around to face Peter.

“So, you’re off then?” he asked and a knot clenched in Peter’s chest.

So that was it, then. No more courtesy, no breakfast, no nothing?

Uncomfortable, Peter rubbed at the back of his neck and scuffed his bare foot against the cold tiled floor.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he said and turned to go back to the living for his shoes and his jacket.

“Not gonna even cook up a fry-up for the boy?” Eric asked. “Like you said, he’s all bones.”

Eric barked a laugh and plunked the cup onto the counter.

“I thought we were meeting Vigs,” Sean growled.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? He’s coming here in ohh…” Eric checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“While he’s still here?” Sean hissed pointing towards the doorway that Peter had recently vacated. “Are you really wanting to give this whole fucking mess away?”

Eric shrugged innocently, well as innocently as a cheeky Aussie who could charm his way into anyone knickers while stealing their valuables right from under them without batting an eyelash, could.

“I thought you were the one that wanted to bring him in on it. What better time to see how he feels about it than now.”

“And if he decided to go to the police after we’ve told him?”

Eric let his eyes slide towards the empty doorway and without looking back at Sean, he answered, “There are ways to get rid of him, then.”

Sean stared at him, not really knowing how serious Eric really was and he knew the man well enough not to question him.

Sean sighed and shook his head.

“Peter,” he called, finding the boy still trying up his laces in the living room.

“Yeah?”

God, he sounded so hopeful that Sean winced at the sweetness in his voice.

“We were… I was going to cook breakfast, if you’re interested.”

Peter stood up from the couch and nodded, smiling that 1000 watt smile of his. Sean frowned and looked away. The sudden rise of pleasure and heat in his chest was unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome. Peter was, in fact, a very, very pretty boy.

“Come on then,” he said jerking his head, indicating that Peter should follow. “Besides, we’ve got something to talk about.”

**~~** Jungle Julia's Twisted Radio Show**~~**