Hawk's Nest

FIC: Fearless (Supernatural - Sam/Dean - FRT - 1/1)

2009-04-08T15:32:37Z

Title: Fearless
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: FRT - slash if you squint, angst
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Dean Winchester is fearless...until he isn't.
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A/N: Comment Fic - SPN, Sam/Dean, fearless.
--

Fearless

When Sam is by his side, Dean Winchester is fearless.

When they’re together, the two brothers are seamless. Unstoppable. Unshakable when they’re on top of their game. Together, there’s nothing the two of them can’t do - no supernatural baddies they can’t kill, no matter how nasty or powerful or otherwise determined they are to be the one to take the brothers down.

Together with his brother, Dean can almost believe they can stop this war - even come out on top…

But that had been before Ruby. Before Castiel. Before Lillith and Alistair and Uriel had all stepped in to come between them.

That had been before Hell and Perdition and before Sam had been shot down again and again until he had grimly decided the only way to rescue Dean from the Pit was to strengthen the power in his demon blood.

It had been before Dean had found out that he had been destined to be the first Seal to break and the last to be broken…

Before he had realized - and after everyone else had already known - that the only one able to break him, truly break him, was Sam.

And it had been before he found himself facing off against his brother, Sam’s normally green eyes glowing the sickly yellow of Dean’s nightmares with a whole host of demons gathered behind him…and another host of angels behind Dean.

There had been a time - *before* - when Dean Winchester had been fearless, but that time was now long gone, though standing before his brother with the fate of the world on his shoulders, Dean still felt no fear.

The weary despair that filled him as he looked into his little brother’s eyes and finally acknowledged the demon within simply left no room for anything else but a grim determination.

Fearless or not, he still had a mission; he still had a brother to save. And if he failed in saving Sam, well then the world didn’t really matter, did it?

End

FIC: Retrieval (Leverage/Taken (movie verse) - Eliot/Bryan, Eliot/team - FRM - 1/1)

2009-04-08T15:27:45Z

Anyone else see the movie Taken with Liam Neeson and think - yeah Eliot definitely knows Bryan Mills? <g>
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Title: Retrieval
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage/Taken
Pairing: Eliot/Bryan, Eliot/team
Rating: FRM - slash, violence, poker
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: You do for family.
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A/N: Comment Fic Lonely Prompt - Leverage/Taken, Eliot/Bryan, what you do for family.
--

Retrieval

Back in his crappy house in one of the more questionable neighborhoods outside of L.A., Bryan Mills picked up the framed photo of his daughter and finally allowed the tears to fall. The rush of sick fear when Kimmy’s apologetic phone call had turned into a terrified cry for help that had given away to the adrenaline of the hunt had run out long ago, the only thing getting him through the alternating waves of exhaustion and depression that he would never find his baby girl had been the look of joy on her face when running backward through the gate at LAX, excited about her grand new adventure.

I love you, daddy.

He had managed to hold it together long enough to find her, save her, never giving the bloody swath he had cut through Paris or its possible consequences a second thought. Kimmy - his little girl was all that had mattered…

Wiping his eyes, Bryan pushed back the exhaustion that had not been fully assuaged by the fitful dozing on the flight back to the States, too busy watching his daughter sleep to give in to his body’s demands. But Kim was back home with her mom and Stewart, safe and sound in her pink bedroom and comfortable bed, and he…

Setting the frame on the table, Bryan Mills straightened and grabbed his keys.

He still had one more stop to make.

“Hey - hands off m’ beer!” Eliot called over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows at Hardison who had looked to steal his bottle rather than get up and get his own. That was the thing about team poker night with a bunch of thieves - it was never boring.

Taking a deep breath and opening the door, Eliot wasn’t too surprised by the face revealed on the other side; after all, anyone else he knew in L.A. was already in here. “Hello, Bryan.”

The man that opened the door looked relaxed, blue eyes open and smiling up at him from where Eliot stood in the doorway. A little bigger, a little older, and a far cry from the suspicious lone wolf Bryan had left naked and sated, tangled in the sheets in that hotel room in Madrid all those years ago.

“Eliot,” he nodded, smiling tiredly. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You, on the other hand look like crap.”

Well there was no denying that, was there?

“Thank you. I must admit, I find myself feeling my age.”

Eliot chuckled, eyes crinkling in the corners with shared sympathy. “Yeah I know the feelin’.”

“I’m sure you do,” he admitted. After all, the only difference between a preventor and a retrieval specialist was the timing. “I -“

Bryan noticed the man favoring them with a mild look from the kitchen immediately, the edge from the last three days automatically spurring him to take in height, weight, physical and facial features even as he saw that Eliot remained relaxed, small smile barely twisting his lips. The retrieval specialist certainly realized he was there and just as certainly didn‘t care.

“Eliot?”

“Old friend,” Eliot tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “I’ll be on in a minute.”

A once over from those eyes - sharp despite the obvious half way to drunk - and the nameless man in question - older, maybe mid forties, slender to the point of thin - and he shrugged, “Ok. Parker‘s asking about fortune cookies.”

“In the bread box - there’s leftover Chinese if Hardison didn’t get enough of my enchiladas.”

“Next time make more,“ the man just admonished lightly before ducking back into the kitchen.

“If I’d a known Harrison was a bottomless pit for Mexican, I would have.”

Bryan felt his eyebrows rise slightly at the knowledge that Eliot seemed to have settled down a bit since their last few…escapades. “I see you’re still puttering around in the kitchen. Friend a yours?”

“Yeah, he is,” the younger man just smiled. “Find the place all right?”

So, he hadn’t been mistaken in Paris then. And Eliot had been expecting him.

His eyes narrowed, brought back to what had brought him here in the first place. “Were you dogging me?”

The younger man snorted, stepping back to let him in. He stayed in the hallway. “Course. No job goes that smooth without someone ta muddy your back trail. ‘Specially not one that…personal.”

Damn. There must have been more collateral damage than he had realized. He had just thought - no. He hadn‘t thought. Eliot was right; with as much chaos and destruction as he had been churning out, it was a wonder Jean Claude hadn‘t had the entire bevy of armed services after his trail; or been harder on it himself than he had been. Now he knew why.

“Who called you?”

“Sam. Said you might need some help and he an’ the boys were caught up in another job.” Eliot shrugged. “Clean up’s not that hard, just messy.”

“Eliot - I…don’t know what to say, except…thank you.”

“Ain’t notthin’ you don’t do for family,” Eliot looked at him seriously. “Kimmy, well, Kimmy’s family.”

“Yeah.” Bryan studied his long time friend a moment before nodding. “If there is ever anything you need - anything at all - you call.”

Eliot nodded just as seriously. “I will.”

Suddenly the hard demeanor softened as the older operative smiled. “Right, well…I’ll let you get back to…” he trailed off, realizing he really had no idea *what* the younger man had going on in there.

“Poker game.”

“Ah. Then I will let you get back to your poker game.”

He watched Eliot smile as the younger man thought back on what was, knowing Eliot’s penchant for collecting strays, most probably a ragtag bunch of misfits currently sitting around his kitchen table with bottles of beer and bowls of popcorn. “Yeah.”

“He seems like a good man,” Bryan hesitated. Eliot seemed happy enough and Lord knew the boy deserved it, but Bryan wanted to be sure…he was heartened to see Eliot smile, enjoying the blush that crept up to heat his face.

“He is.”

“Are you happy?” he asked. “Does he make you happy, Eliot?”

Eliot wasn’t exactly his kid - the Lord knew you didn’t sleep with your kids - but they had been lovers once and remained friends despite the distance, and that meant he was as good as family, and Bryan wanted to know he was happy.

“Yeah, I am. And yeah, he does…” Despite the blush, Eliot smirked, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he added pointedly, “They all do.”

Oh. *Oh*. And here he thought he no longer had it in him to take the younger man’s blush and surpass it. Apparently he had been wrong. Still, despite the small squirm of embarrassment, he was glad to see Eliot was no longer alone.

“Good,” he said and meant it. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah.“ The last hard line on the shorter man softened, Eliot smiling softly at the well wishes. “Thanks.”

“Goodbye, Eliot.”

“See ya, Bry.”

The door that shut behind him cut off the loud call demanding to know just “who the hell stole m’ beer!”, and Bryan took a moment to stare at the non-descript cream door, imagining the odd little family beyond it. With a shake of his head and a smile, he turned and made his way to the elevator, pushing the down button as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

Waiting on the car to arrive, he dialed a familiar number and listened to the two short rings before it was answered on the other end.

“Sam? I want in…”

Shaking his head as he shut the door, Eliot turned back to the people no doubt just waiting to tear into him the moment he stepped through the kitchen, and yelled, just because he *knew* Hardison had used Bryan’s unexpected visit to drain his bottle, “Who the Hell stole m’ beer!”

Chuckling evilly as he rounded the corner to Hardison tripping over his own chair in his haste to put Sophie between them, Eliot put on his best pissed off glare and jerked open the stainless steel door to his fridge, snickering at the smack Parker landed on the hacker’s arm.

“Old friend?” Nate asked mildly.

Reclaiming his chair, Eliot gathered up the cards for a fresh deal and cast the older man a sideways glance. “Yeah.”

“That where you were the last few days?”

“Yeup.”

“Retrieval?”

“Nah - clean up,” Eliot told him. Tossing out the cards around the table he took a sip of his newly opened bottle, knowing from the slight wince on Nate’s face that the former investigator knew what that simple explanation would entail - just as he knew from the blank but interested faces of the others that they didn’t.

Nate favored him with a mildly sympathetic look as he picked up his cards. “Messy.”

Eliot could more than agree with that. “Yeah.” Twitching his own cards into place, Eliot peered over the edges of the white cardboard and speared Harrison a glare as the larger man slipped into his seat. “You planning on playin’ sometime tonight, momma’s boy or all you gonna do is steal m’ beer?”

Eliot snickered in satisfaction as the hacker fumbled with his cards, much to the others amusement. After all, like his recent foray in Paris, poker was all about misdirection…

End

FIC: Horses, White and Otherwise (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-04-08T15:20:13Z

Title: Horses, White and Otherwise
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRAO - slash, mention of naked Harley riding, mention of the badness of child abuse and kiddie porn, angst
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: It's not the color of your horse...
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A/N: Bunnied myself with Comment FIc and Chris Kane videos...Leverage, Nate/Eliot, don't have a white horse.
--

Horse, White and Otherwise

“You know, apparently I have this thing called a rattlesnake smile,” Seated under him Eliot smiled, lips quirking into a pained grin as he shook his head and denied, “Don’t know what the hell it is, but women love it. But Cassie - that little girl took one look and she just…stopped shakin’. She stopped cryin’.” Eliot looked up from where he studied his hands circling Nate’s hips and admitted, mixture of dark satisfaction and revulsion brittle in his eyes, in that smile as he admitted, “Because finally here was someone on *her* side that was meaner’n ‘er daddy.”

“You saved her, Eliot,” Nate told him seriously. “Her and her mom? They have a safe place to go tonight, where he will never get to them again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Eliot brooded. “How long ‘til he gets out, huh? Tracks Sherri down?”

“Eliot, with what Hardison found on Miller’s hard drive, he won’t be getting out until he’s too old to hold it himself, much less use it. The kiddie porn alone - “

“I can’t - I can’t…know that,” Eliot shook his head, looking desperate and a bit green at the thought.

Nate could sympathize. The things that Hardison had found - no one needed to know that type of filth existed in the world. “Yeah, ok.”

“Called me her white knight,” Eliot shrugged, his thumbs digging in to Nate’s hip. “Hell, I don’ even have a white horse.”

“Nah, just an old, broken down Harley,“ Nate grinned. “You’re just a different kind of knight, Eliot,” Nate assured him. The gray-blue eyes shone, though with humor, not in the alcohol glaze of bourbon; that had been showing up less and less of late. “A little beat up, a little rough around the edges…but with a heart of gold and that’s all you need to make a knight, Spenser, white or otherwise.”

Eliot smirked up at him, the edges softening into a real smile as he quirked, “What? It ain’t the color of your hat - or your - ,” Eliot bucked up lightly causing Nate to groan and glare down at the man under him. “Horse?”

“Or your horse,” Nate agreed, leaning down to meet the lips angled up to meet his.

“Huh. Though speakin’ a horses…” Eliot smirked and the heat of the innuendo flushed through Nate at the evil, knowing little chuckle. Or maybe it was the fingers that had wormed their way under his shirt to rub lazy circles into his skin. “Got this ol’ broken down Harley down in the garage…maybe a ride with yer name on it.”

“Oh really?” Nate let his eyebrows rise, smiling at the cheerful lust that had erased the morose brooding of earlier. “I might be persuaded into a ride around the garage...”

But Eliot smirked, lifting them both up and turning to sit Nate on his desk while he stood in front of him. “Nuh uh, “ he shook his head, denying with a truly evil smile. “I was thinkin’ couple trips around the block…”

“Umm, Eliot - “

Lips caught his as Eliot crowded in. “Under the streetlights…all the good parts naked…”

“E-El…“ Nate swallowed at the image, clutching at the arms holding him onto the desk and arching into the scrape of teeth over his adam’s apple.

Teeth moved up to nip at his ear as Eliot whispered darkly, “Bet it’s still rainin’…if I’m a White Knight, wonder what my Black King tastes like wet? Like rain? Or maybe somethin’ else?”

Closing his eyes against the images flooding through his mind, Nate managed to swallow and rise up to meet the next kiss. Guess they were about to find out.

End

FIC: All An Act (Leverage - Eliot/Nate - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-04-08T15:12:18Z

Title: All An Act
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Nate
Rating: FRAO - slash, language, D/s, bit of slimy badguyness
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Eliot and Nate go undercover.
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A/N: Comment Fic Lonely Prompt - Leverage, dom!Eliot/Nate, putting on an act for a mark.
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All An Act

“This yer boy?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Not bad. Little long in the tooth, though ain’t he?”

Eliot smiled through the backhanded compliment and reminded himself that under no circumstances could he wipe that smirk of the mark’s face with his fist. At least not yet. So he threaded his fingers through Nate’s hair where the older man currently knelt by his side and allowed his smile to widen, keeping his body open and relaxed where he sat in the overstuffed easy chair of Weston’s den, enjoying the oilman’s hospitality while they - chatted - over buying and selling human beings.

“Oh he makes up for age with experience,” Eliot smiled, firmly ignoring Hardison’s sputter and Sophie’s attempts to steer the conversation, choosing instead to take a leap from the script they had rehearsed into something he figured Weston’s might be a little more willing to accept, given what he‘d picked up about the man in the last few minutes. Eliot looked down at Nate, the dark head bowed, and asked, “Don‘t you, pet?”

A glance up to showcase the soft, adoring smile, and Nate’s “Yessir, “ flowed over him like honey.

“Been with me a long time, in fact. Which is why I’m not lookin’ at get rid of my boy just yet. Though I am lookin’ at try somethin’ a little…different. Not exactly what a man can find goin‘ through what one might call - normal - channels.”

Weston had servants, sure - but none looked to be over twenty. Hell, if half of the kids Weston had working here were legal, Eliot would tell Sophie and Parker where he hid his payout money - *and* give them the key.

The older man leaned forward, fingers laced together, elbows leaning on his desk as he looked Eliot over. “Really, now. Do tell.”

Knowing he had him curious by the sudden conspiratory gleam in the man’s eye, Eliot repressed the shudder the next bit was going to cause and let his natural southern drawl thicken a bit, pulling them together as fellow Texans.

Feeling the warm weight against his leg as Nate leaned in to his knee, Eliot let his hand run through the loose curls and launched into the story they had come up with over the last three days prep. Cameron Keller had Nate’s general build and coloring and with any luck Weston was as sick a fuck as Eliot thought he was and would get a kick out of the idea of a pseudo father/son pairing, thereby allowing Eliot first bid on the teen.

If not, Eliot would *make* Weston tell him where they were holding the boy and tear through the organization the way he really wanted to, by punching a whole lotta scumbags who had no idea it was coming.

End

FIC: Hidden Talents (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-04-04T02:45:02Z

Title: Hidden Talents
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRAO - slash, kink, knifeplay, sex, little bit of BDSM and D/s
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Eliot isn't the only one with hidden talents.
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A/N: Comment Fic - Leverage, dom!Nate/Eliot, knife
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Hidden Talents

Eliot wasn’t the only one with secrets. He wasn’t the only one with hidden talents.

Holding the knife easily in his hand, Nate studied the man held captive under him, hands and feet tied to the bed by metal chains and leather cuffs that were already leaving rough, red marks as Eliot alternately balled and released his fists, panting into the warm night air of the open windows, waiting, anticipating what Nate was going to do next.

Naked, bound and held open for his gaze, for his touch, for the knife held in his hand, Eliot was beautiful; a willing sacrifice to the darkness Nate held in check with the ease of long practice.

No, Eliot wasn’t the only one with a hidden past. And despite popular belief, he wasn’t the only one who knew how to hold a knife.

The first few lines dimpled into the firm skin were met with sharp indrawn breaths and the not-so-subtle tightening of the body lying under him. By the time Nate had drawn light, maddening trails down both arms, over the collarbone and down the well defined chest, Eliot’s muscles were trembling with the effort of holding still and he glowed in the candlelight. But he was hard, and leaking, and his eyes were glazed with more than the instinctive fear that being this vulnerable brought him.

When Eliot licked his lips, Nate knew he had him.

“Eliot?”

The low, guttural groan forced out through clenched teeth had Nate closing his eyes in pleasure, enjoying the thrill and the tightening in his own body that the needy sound produced. And then came the one word Nate had been waiting for.

“Please!”

Snapping his eyes open, Nate smiled down at his lover, Eliot groaning at the look Nate gave him while the knife skimmed over a nipple, trailed a little harder down the flat stomach, hard enough to sting until he reached his goal; the one place both he and Eliot wanted the knife to bite. A single pass along the underside, a second, a third and Eliot was pushing involuntarily against the blade as he came, body drawn tight and bowed off the bed.

The knife was back as he came down, panting and blinking into the darkness, the point making a sharp trail up along his throat, scraping over the bobbing adam’s apple until the flat of the blade lay like a benediction against his lips, inviting Eliot to taste the metallic bite of the steel that lay under the bitter salt of his own come.

“Eliot?” Nate asked, still in control, the darkness still coiled tight in his belly, his body thrumming with arousal and denied release.

As he watched Eliot lick around the blade, the pink tongue darting out around the knife, Nate growled low in his throat at the challenge coming back into the blue eyes that struggled to focus past the blade to meet his. The answer, when it came, was more demand than request and sent a wave of heat flooding through his veins.

“More.”

End

FIC: Past Lives (Charmed - Wyatt/Chris - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-04-03T22:05:39Z

Title: Past Lives
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Charmed
Pairing: Wyatt/Chris
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, dub/non-con in memory, shmoopy angst
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: When you're a son of the Charmed Ones, sometimes past lives linger.
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A/N: Comment Fic - Charmed, Wyatt/Chris, dark memories
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A/N 2: Technical underage fic as I see the boys about 15/17...
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Past Lives

Wincing into the brilliant blue sky with its fluffy white clouds, Chris shook his head against the dichotomy brewing behind his eyes. Again.

Screams and blood and carnage and broken bodies. Broken buildings standing like sentinels in the smoke of an abandoned city; all but deserted except for the demons and the powerful despot they served.

His brother, Wyatt.

But that had been before. Before he had gone back through time and tried to change everything. Before he *had* changed everything, dying in the Manor while he urged their dad to finish what he had started.

Find Wyatt. Protect Wyatt. *Save* Wyatt.

And they had. They *had*. This was the future Chris had fought and sacrificed so much for, spread out beneath him where he perched on top of their high school building, surveying all the kids like he had grown up to be, laughing and milling around the grounds before the ringing of the bell. This time Chris Halliwell had only grown up to be a witch and white lighter; a warrior for Good, yeah, but not seeped in the blood and pain and betrayal of his past life. Not this time.

This time he got to forget the desperate scramble for survival, hiding wherever he didn’t think Wyatt might look for his wayward brother this time, learning what he could and praying that when time ran out this time, he could find or summon up the courage to kill him; to end the torment for the city and for himself.

He never could. Wyatt had been a tyrant and a terror and an evil sonofabitch despite believing otherwise, but he had still been Chris’ older brother; the only family he had had left.

His lover simply for the fact that Wyatt had wanted it and Chris hadn’t been able to refuse.

Oh he had - he had fought and cursed and pleaded for Wyatt not to do that one thing that would both bind them together and break them apart. In the end, though, he would always give in short of the point of true force, not wanting to risk that there might be some small part of Wyatt that might be fighting with him. Not wanting to force that some small part of the little boy he had grown up with to have to live with what the alternative that crossing that line would have caused.

And now none of that had happened; it was only the consequences of the spell he had cast that echoed in his head, reminding him of the terrible fate the world would have faced if had failed. But he hadn’t failed, the world was safe and now Wyatt was all smiles, able to grow up without that taint of evil. Able to grow up good, grow up normal...

…grow up to date the head cheerleader of the senior squad, blond haired, blue eyed Lizzie McClellan.

And Chris was left brooding on the roof of the high school unable to keep from remembering that a lifetime ago that smile had been directed at him. A little meaner, a lot darker, but his.

Chris sighed and turned away from the quad, dropping down onto the roof and ignoring the loose gravel that dug into his butt through his jeans. His back pressed against the concrete and brick wall, Chris hugged his legs against his chest and blinked away the tears the confusion always caused. He didn’t want evil Wyatt, he wanted *good* Wyatt - only good Wyatt didn’t want him…good Wyatt wanted the blond cheerleader with breasts that filled out her sweater and lips painted red that left lipstick on his cheek.

Expected. Normal. Just the way it was all supposed to be. Just the everything he had fought so hard for, had risked everything for…

Only everything he had fought for only wanted Lizzie McClellan, it didn’t want him.

He felt the air displace beside him and hastily wiped his tears before Wyatt appeared, orbing in to sit with his back to the wall like Chris.

He should be angry, he should resent the invasion of privacy and in a way he was and he did…

But this was his big brother and ever since they were kids Wyatt had always been able to find him. Much better this time around, actually, a fact which Chris still wasn’t sure if he was grateful for or not.

One sideways look and Wyatt ignored the tears, choosing to stare up into the bright blue sky instead.

“You skipping again?”

Chris laughed, a sharp huff of breath that rolled his head along the rim of the wall behind him. “Nah. No,” he shrugged. “Just, you know.”

“Brooding.”

“Thinking,” Chris glared over at his brother, only to see Wyatt grinning at him, scooting over that much more to bump his shoulder, leaving it to rest there as he went back to staring at the clouds.

“About me?”

“Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“With you, it is.” Wyatt shrugged again, not looking at him. “Always has been.”

“Yeah well…what can I say? You‘re high maintenance.”

But there was nothing more to say to that and so Chris didn’t say anything, just sat next his brother and soaked up the sun, sitting on the roof. Wyatt deserved a normal life; maybe they both did.

“I know what’s eating you up inside,” Wyatt told him suddenly.

Another sharp huff of a laugh as Chris rocked his head back further. “You have no idea.”

“Lizzie McClellan.”

And suddenly there was an anger in Chris that burned to the surface and had him snapping, wanting to *hurt*. “Why should I care who you screw?”

“Because she’s not you.”

And just like that Wyatt took his anger and dispersed it, leaving Chris lightheaded and off balance. Because there was no way he could know that.

“I know because I’ve been trying to make you jealous.”

Chris turned to him, eyes widen in disbelief. “I - you what?”

This time the smile was wry as Wyatt rocked his head to the side just enough to look at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been trying to make you jealous. Because this time, the first move has to be yours.”

“This time?” Chris frowned, not liking where he thought this was going. “What do you mean this time the move has to be mine?”

“Last time around Chris, I didn’t give you a choice. This time…this time it’s up to you.”

“You - you can NOT know that!” Chris jumped up and backed away from the edge, keeping a wary eye on Wyatt who didn’t move except to angle his head up to look at him, hazel eyes made liquid and squinting in the sun.

“Not as well as you do, I guess,” he admitted. “But enough. I remember enough to figure out the rest. Chris, I want you in this universe…this universe where I’m good and would never hurt you, for any reason. In that other…” Wyatt bit his lip and looked away. “I - I can’t imagine not wanting you. Just like I can’t imagine I gave you much of a choice, or cared about what it was you wanted. Or didn’t want.”

Reacting to his pain, Chris took a step closer, finding his hand outstretched, wanting to touch. “Wyatt…”

“But I had to know, you know? I figured Lizzie was the best way…but I would never do anything, Chris - not anything, I swear…not unless you wanted it, too…”

“I do - I did - “

“How could you when I - “

“That’s why I gave in,” Chris admitted. “So it wouldn’t - “

“Chris…Chris sex under duress is still - “

“No. Not with you,” Chris told him firmly, dropping down to his knees in the loose rock and not caring that there would be bruises there in the morning. “Never that with you.”

This time Wyatt reached for him and Chris didn’t move away. “Chris - “

His eyes did flicker but they landed on Wyatt’s and Chris knew that, if anything in what they remembered could be the truth, this was.

“Wyatt, I - there is no universe where I wouldn’t want you. I just - I just do.”

It was like the sun came out all over again. Wyatt smiled, his eyes shining in happiness even as Chris found himself blushing, kinda wanting the ground to rise up and swallow him right now. Or the roof, or whatever. It was definitely different saying all this stuff in his head…

“You do?”

What the hell, he had lived through worse. Chris smiled, straddling his brother’s hips and feeling the large hands span to hold on to his. “Yeah, I do.”

Wyatt huffed out a laugh and admitted, “Oh thank god. I was beginning to think I was going to actually have to take Lizzie to the prom.”

Chris winced, making a face and knowing they were going to have to do something about that. “So what are you going to do about her?”

“Me?”

“Yes you. You led her on, you get to deal with the fallout,” Chris told him firmly. Raising an eyebrow he pointed out, “And it serves you right for parading her in front of me to make me jealous.”

Wyatt winced. “Ouch.”

“Personal gain,” Chris smirked, his superior attitude knocked down by the feel of Wyatt’s body under him as the older boy pulled him closer.

“As long as this is the gain, I think I can live with that.”

Chris smiled, feeling goofy for the wide, sappy grin that he just knew was spreading across his face, but he couldn’t help it. Didn’t try to stop it. He rolled his eyes, accusing, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“High maintenance?”

“Definitely.”

“So we skipping again?”

Chris leaned in, catching Wyatt’s lips in the kiss he had been waiting for forever. “Yeah, looks that way.”

Wyatt groaned into the short kiss, following when Chris pulled away, arching into the hands running up and down his back, sliding inside the tshirt he wore. Feeling safe enough up on the roof to trade another few kisses, Chris settled in on Wyatt’s lap, laying his head on the broad shoulder and more than willing to skip History if it meant making the most out of the version he had now.

And this time when Wyatt’s arms came around him, solid and strong and safe, it felt good, natural. It felt like finally coming home.

Drowsing in the sun, one hand running through his hair, Wyatt pulled him in and cradled him against his body, warm breath puffing in his ear as he asked, “So, what are you doing for prom?”

End

FIC: Bed Rest (Supernatural - Dean/Castiel - FRM - 1/1)

2009-04-03T19:08:56Z

Title: Bed Rest
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: FRM - slash, schmoop
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Dean's tired.
--
A/N: Comment Fic - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, bed rest
--

Bed Rest

“You should sleep.”

“Can’t sleep, “ Dean groused, resisting the urge to punch the pillow one more time. It hadn’t worked the last five, no reason it should work now just because the angel had decided to pay him a visit.

“Still, you need to rest,” Castiel told him, stepping close until Dean could see the worry in the blue eyes that replaced his view of the water stained ceiling above his bed. And wasn’t that just another thing to keep him from sleeping, needing to worry that the cheap tiles may crash down on his head while he slept. Who ran water pipes over the bed anyway?

“Too much on my mind, Cas,” Dean broke down and admitted, knowing it would only fuel the angel’s worry and taking a petty bit of spite in the fact. He was tired, he was grumpy and he had been laying on the very lumpy bed, staring at the ceiling for over an hour wondering where Sammy was, wondering where Cas was, wondering where the hell they went from here now that he was the only one able to stop the whole apocalypse.

He felt the weight dip the bed as the angel sat on the edge, knowing form the silence that Castiel was trying to come up with yet another pep talk. Another once more into the breach speech.

“Dean…this burden would not have been placed on your shoulders were you not able to bear it.”

“Spare me the platitudes, will ya?” Dean huffed. “We both know I’m not strong enough. I’m broken, Cas,” Dean told him. “And we both know it.”

“I do not.” The angel denied firmly, the soft voice not rising above its usual quiet conviction. “You have been through much, it is true -”

“Broken, Cas,” Dean countered, too tired to truly argue the point. “Broken.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Cas - “

“You need to rest, Dean,” the angel sighed. “And you will not get that by staring up at the ceiling. I could help.”

“What? Whammy me?” Dean huffed, glancing sideways at the being sitting on his bed. Sometimes he forgot that Cas wasn’t human; that he wasn’t just another contact in this war he and Sam had been forced into.

“Help you sleep,” Cas agreed, turning to face him. “You need to rest, why will you not let me help?”

“Too many lose ends.”

“Sam is in no danger, Dean. He is safe at Bobby’s, protected under spells that have protected the house for years.”

“Lillith.”

“Is being hunted by angels and will not dare show up here while I am with you.”

Dean felt the corner of his lips quirk up at the unintended arrogance in the fierce declaration, caught by what was almost emotion in the dark blue eyes that stared back at him, willing him, as always, to believe in what Cas was telling him.

“Yeah that’s humility right there.”

As for Castiel, at least the angel had the grace to look a little abashed at what was, for him, an impassioned outburst. “It is nothing less than the truth.”

At that Dean did smile, tension leaving him knowing that Sam was safe (and away from Ruby, if only for the moment) and that Lillith was being chased all over the map by a host of angry angels and that Cas... “Yeah. So that mean you’re staying the night?”

“Yes. If you want me to.”

Dean drew in a deep breath and let it out. There were all sorts of flippant responses he could make to that, but what came out was another simple, “Yeah,” a weight lifting from his chest even as he fought to ignore the lump forming in his throat as Castiel settled against the headboard, the heat of his borrowed body comforting in the otherwise empty motel room.

His cheek all but resting against the trench-covered hip, the fingers that brushed through his hair began lulling him to sleep even before Dean felt the familiar two-fingered touch between his eyes, the angel’s voice deepening as it rolled over him, sending him that last step down into soothing darkness.

“Sleep, Dean.” Castiel demanded softly, his fingers still brushing through the short hair as Dean’s breath evened out. “Just sleep.”

End

Fic: April Fools (Leverage/Angel/RPS - triplets AU - FRM - 1/1)

2009-04-01T19:21:21Z

I bunnied myself on Comment Fic...::grin:: But it's just because I can *see* all three boys playing around...and yes this is RPS though not - really....? ::sigh and blames Trowa while insisting Chris is just another part Christian plays::
--

Title: April Fools
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage/Angel (AtS)/RPS
Pairings: Eliot/Nate, Lindsey/Angel, Eliot/ANgel, Chris/Nate
Rating: FRM - slash, incest implied, partner swap, couple of owwies
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Fools don't have to wiat for April.
--
A/N: Comment Fic - Leverage/AtS/RPS, triplet AU, identity switch goes wrong
--

April Fools

“No. No - I vote no.”

“Come on, Eliot. Ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”

“Well yeah, but…”

“You aren’t the least bit curious?”

“Well…I mean, yeah, but…”

“Besides,” Lindsey smirked, blue eyes alight with wicked humor. “Would make a great practical joke. I mean, imagine their faces…” he looked between the other two, practically cackling. “All of them.”

With a frustrated groan of surrender, Eliot’s hand snaked out, grabbing Lindsey by the back of the neck and squeezing. Staring his little brother down, Eliot intoned, “I hate you. Just so ya know.”

Never one to be cowed by a mere mortal - at least not any more - Lindsey just flashed him the same cocky grin that had gotten them all in many a trouble before now and denied, “You love me.”

“Shaddup.”

Talking Lorne into setting everything up took a bit of doing, and personally Eliot figured it was only knowing Chris and having heard Lindsey himself sing that had convinced the demon that Eliot was just as good as the other two. Of course the strange eyes glazed over in bliss during their rehearsal was a good indicator that the Host was pleased with his decision to go along for the ride.

Dressed completely alike from clothes to jewelry to the longer hair piece Lindsey wore, they swapped the lead from song to song, singing Chris’ originals as well as well known rock and country hits, never moving from the three stools placed in a line, each expertly strumming the guitar in their hands, each crooning the lyrics into their own mike, offering up the songs wrapped in silk and a graveled drawl to the humans, demons and other that had flocked to the bar when the word got out that the triplets were going to sing.

The hit of evening came when they gave up swapping lead song per song and started throwing it around within the same song…

Whiskey in Mind…Rattlesnake Smile…Different Kind of Knight…

Chris…Lindsey…Eliot…they were all so similar…so together…it was hard to tell in the best of times which triplet was which…after they were through that night it was damned near impossible.

Leaning over to whisper in his older brother‘s ear as the applause rang out loud and long in the Host‘s domain, Lindsey clapped Eliot on the shoulder and smirked. “See? What did I tell you? What could go wrong?”

Of course that was the reason Eliot ended up with Angel, pressed hard against the wall, the vampire’s lips hot against his throat…

That was also the reason Chris ended up at the Leverage HQ, draped over Nate in the other’s office, drinking bourbon from the older man’s lips…

It was also the reason Lindsey ended up taking Chris’ next tour date in San Diego…

Meeting up again three days later, Eliot stalked into Lindsey’s apartment with a growl, making a bee line for the freezer. Shooting his little brother a glare, Eliot stopped, eyebrows rising at the large bruise forming over his cheekbone, already staring to color the eye an impressive shade of pain.

“Chris?”

“Damn good thing I’m used to bar brawls, bro,” Chris shook his head, holding the ice pack to his cheek gingerly as Eliot reached in the box for his own handful of ice cubes. “These marks of yours don’t take kindly at bein’ ripped off.”

Smirking despite himself at the dry declaration, Eliot found a small hand towel and loaded the ice, holding his own home remedy to the back of his jaw as he sat on the other end of the couch. “Yeah. Lindsey’s so-called colleagues ain’t that friendly neither,” Eliot admitted. “’Specially not when their golden boy screwed up a board meeting.”

“What did you do?”

“Accidentally neutered a spell that would call up Satan. Star won‘t be right for another 200 years.”

“Oh. Ouch,” Chris laughed with a wince.

Eliot snickered. “Yeah.”

The front door opened and slammed shut, announcing the arrival of the third triplet and the cause of all of this prankiness.

“Bloody Hell…Chris!”

“Ugh oh,” Eliot smirked and Chris sat up higher, watching as Lindsey stalked in much as Eliot had, though the clothes torn and almost ripped off of him, baring glimpses of bare skin was a little different. “What the hell happened to you?”

More ice, another towel and Lindsey dropped down on the couch between them, still sputtering. “Fangirls, man, those women…” The hand holding the ice dropped as he gestured sharply. “They’re…they’re *insane*!”

Eliot snickered as Chris threw his head back and laughed, long and hard. Leave it to a singer in a country rock band to lead a more dangerous life than a retrieval specialist and a lawyer working for a demon law firm.

“Yeup,” Chris grinned. “You gonna live?”

Lindsey shot him a glare before dropping his head back against the back of the couch and dropping the makeshift ice pack on top of his head, groaning as the cold seeped through the rough cotton. “No.”

“Yeah yeah, poor baby.”

“Bite me.”

“Oh settle down,” Eliot chuckled. “All this - it was your idea. So…you reap what you sew.”

Lindsey flipped him the bird, refusing to look at him.

“Yeah, maybe later. At least tell me you had a good time?”

“Umph. Maybe.”

“Eliot’s team are awesome,” Chris chuckled. “Man, where was I when the vocation of thief was handed out in high school?”

“Band practice.”

Eliot chuckled, easily catching the pillow thrown his way over Lindsey’s head

“That why you have a black eye?” Lindsey asked with a pointed look at the dark bruise.

“Job gone wonky.” Chris grinned, shrugging.

“Happens,” Eliot frowned, still not liking the fact that his brother caught the fist meant for him, but like Chris said, bar fights… “But demon firm lawyer? Man your job? Just nuts, man. Like *insane* nuts. Like - like…”

“Like Parker nuts,” Chris snickered and Eliot shushed him quickly before the idea could grow. “Hey just sayin’…”

Eliot glowered, a shiver of fear running through him at the idea of Parker catching the eye of Wolfram and Hart. Knowing his luck, the blond thief would end up taking over the company with very little effort other than a wide vacant smile and a kamikaze yell over the side…

“Yeah, well don’t.”

“Right.”

“I have two words for you,” Lindsey huffed, taking Chris’ pillow to replace the one he had lobbed at Eliot. “Crazy women. Rabid, insane, crazed fan girls.”

Chris thought it over. “That’s seven words.”

Lindsey lowered the ice to glower at his brother, who had better not be smirking. Of course he was. “Sue me.”

Eliot smirked along with Chris. “Oh wait, that would be me.”

“Oh no - not anymore. I want my job back.” Lindsey demanded. “I’d rather face demons, monsters and bloodsucking lawyers than crazy fan girls, any day.”

“Speaking of bloodsucking,” Eliot snickered, blushing through the smirk, his eyebrows rising. “Angel knows. Something about the way you taste?”

“Yeah I figured,” Lindsey grinned. “The band knows, too…seems my chording is a little rusty.”

“Yeah, seems Nate misses your scars, El,” Chris grimaced, tossing him a wry smile. “Guess we shoulda left the lights off.”

“Wouldn’t a mattered, “Eliot shook his head. “Nate can map ‘em in the dark.”

“Huh.”

Silence stretched on for a few moments before Eliot got up to check on their wounds, placing a kiss to Chris’ cheek and the top of Lindsey’s head before dropping the ice packs in the sink and grabbing each of them a beer. “Gentlemen - here’s to our lives.”

Tipping his bottle to the others, Chris muttered with a smile, “Who you callin’ a gentleman?”

Eliot shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “Beats me.”

“Libelous,” Lindsey snickered.

“Slip of the tongue.” Eliot grinned. “Won’t happen again.”

“Hey guys?”

Two sets of eyes turned to favor Lindsey with a look.

“Happy April Fools. "

"Hear hear!"

Bottles clanked together before Lindsey smiled that evil little grin and asked, "So - what are we doin' next year?"

Eliot and Chris just groaned while Lindsey ducked both pillows thrown his way.

End

FIC: Sacrifice (Supernatural - Castiel/Alistair - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-03-30T22:42:25Z

Title: Sacrifice
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Alistair
Rating: FRAO - slash, torture, non-con
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: War demands sacrifice, and not just for the Winchesters.
--
A/N: Comment fic - Leverage, Castiel/Alistair, Don't you remember?
--

Sacrifice

“Ah, Cas,” Alistair tasked almost fondly, rough voice scraping like gravel over his ear as the demon nosed in past the collar on the trench he now wore. “Did you miss me?”

For his part, Castiel could only stand his ground and try to ignore the images that flashed behind his eyes at the reminder; try to ignore the way the words washed over him, hot and shameful. Sinful. Necessary. Then and now.

But Dean and Sam needed time to get away and for that slim chance, Castiel would stand and allow the demon its moment with him….

“Much like Hell, yes?” Alistair cackled quietly. But then, there was no reason to yell; volume was only necessary when the words held nothing of importance. “Don’t you remember?”

He flinched at the hot breath that stirred his hair at the nape of his neck; tried not to lash out at the slick, unwanted slide of the tongue that bathed a burning trail over his throat.

“Unwanted?” the demon cackled darkly, nose once more buried against his neck. Castiel shivered as he was scented, Alistair breathing deep and rumbling low and dark into his skin. “I don’t remember you protesting overly much in Hell, cousin. We made a deal, struck an accord you and I - I would let Dean Winchester go if you surrendered to me. You did - and I did…and didn‘t we have just a lovely time before your little friends caught up with us…”

Dean’s release for Castiel’s submission…but he had known Uriel and the others were close…only moments away…

Torture he could and would withstand - only he could never have imagined what torment the demon could have desired in that brief span of time…

Cas shuddered again at the hand that slipped down into his clothes, the fingernails that raked into the flesh that he wore, drawing thin lines of blood over his stomach as Alistair chuckled deep in his ear, his own borrowed body crowded close, draped over his back.

“Ah what times we had Castiel. How beautifully you screamed for me as I violated your mouth…”

…fire and stone and pain as his knees were forced to the floor of Hell, the demon’s hand in his hair twisting and trapping him there for the cock that broke past his lips, choking and bruising deep and cutting off his screams even as he fought to simply breathe…

“Claimed your body…”

…pushed back, thrown over a large altar-type stone littered with blood and burned flesh and bone…debris that smeared and cut into the flesh of his stomach…biting back the instinctive protest as that small torment was eclipsed, overshadowed by the unfamiliar, unimaginable pain…

Cas shivered now in renewed fear, fighting not to squirm in revulsion as the hard tongue invaded his ear.

“Again…and again…” Alistair tangled his hand in Cas’s hair, pulling his head to the side as his teeth bit bruises into his borrowed flesh and his other hand squeezed painfully around his balls inside the dark slacks. “And again…”

Castiel gasped and whimpered as the hard fingers tightened and gripped cruelly.

….fire and pain and fear at the unwanted hands that gripped him, hurt him and stroked him, his body broken, split apart and bleeding while the sounds of battle, of sword against claws and steel rang out close…

…but not close enough…

…the pain of those claws clamped around the soft flesh of his hips…pain that surrendered to pleasure as the demon changed his attack…momentum gentled though still violent, working him over and making him scream in the pleasure that was so much worse than the pain Castiel would have welcomed in its stead…

“Mmm, good times, Cas,” Alistair’s borrowed voice purred with dark satisfaction in his ear. “You know I will find them, cousin. This new distraction isn’t nearly as noble as you pretend it to be.” That tongue flicked out, rubbing over the bruises already darkening the pale column of his throat. “I think you *do* remember our time together, all too well…”

Cas closed his eyes as the fingers crushing him loosened and began to torture him in a far worse way, rolling and squeezing and fondling the abused genitals until his mouth opened in a silent cry of shame, his hips jerking against his will as his borrowed flesh seized up and spilled over the demon’s hand, unable to shield the brothers and fight the body he wore at the same time.

Weak-kneed and shaking, when Alistair released him it was all Castiel could do to lock his knees and stay upright, unwilling to give the demon any more satisfaction than necessary; anymore than he already had.

When he managed to draw himself up, to turn to face his enemy, Alistair was smirking at him, licking the come from his fingers as if it were the finest of sweets. The demon smirked behind the cold blue eyes, only that last slap allowing Cas to turn away from the abhorrent display.

“I will find him, cousin,” Alistair told him. “And when I do…should I tell him? How much his beloved, pure protector - his chaste, perfect angel - has endured for him?“

“You will tell him nothing,“ Castiel warned.

Alistair advanced quickly, backing the smaller body back against a tree and holding him there. “But it would be such fun…” Fingers trialing lovingly over his face brushed over his lips. Alistair chuckled darkly as he swallowed heavily. “Don‘t worry, cousin…your sacrifice shall be our little secret. Mmmm. For now.”

With that, Alistair was gone, the demon traveling through the underworld, no doubt tracking Sam and Dean wherever the brothers were headed.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel got his borrowed body back under his own control, wrapped the trench coat a little tighter around himself, and begun tracking them himself.

End

FIC: Blood Dripping From White Wings (Supernatural - Sam/Dean/Castiel, Sam/Uriel - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-03-16T18:01:13Z

Kripke is ebil - I'm just following in his dark, fluffy footsteps?
--

Title: Blood Dripping From White Wings
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Castiel, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Uriel
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, blood, language, non-con, badness, run away now
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: When sending an invitation to help take over the world, it's all in the presentation.
--
A/N: I prompted a comment fic and bunnied myself - Supernatural, Sam/Dean/(Cas), white wings and red blood
--
A/N 2: Anyone know why Sub is so damned bloodthirsty lastely????
--

Blood Dripping From White Wings

Sam smiled as the blood saturated the feather, turning that part of Castiel that had been a pure, virgin white into the sullied, sullen red of lust and sin. It was beautiful, corrupt; obscene. So much so that he found it hard to pull himself away from the body on the bed; bound in leather and chains and spells so old that not even the angels knew how to counteract them to bring their brother home.

Uriel cursed and Sam grinned over him, feather brushing the blood over his skin in the next set of sigils.

But then, angels with their lofty, hands clean ideals weren’t really that big on the blood and cleanup a good dark ritual would require; not even the worst of them, or perhaps he should say the best, since the only one remotely able to stop them would by necessity be one able to keep up with them…

But then, not even Uriel had been prepared for the carnage Sam and Dean had made of Lawrence, the last Seal broken and bleeding in the form of the physical innocence of the human Seal herself, and the spiritual innocence of the angel Sam and Dean had claimed for themselves. By the time Castiel had realized it hadn’t been coincidence that had brought Sam and Dean here and now, it had been too late to save them.

By the time Uriel had tracked them down, to the place where it had all started, it had been too late to stop them.

Though Castiel had tried; the fear in the blue eyes of the host, the betrayal and denial - the failure - beyond that in the angel still fighting a futile battle against two who would rule Hell together…

Delicious.

Sam smiled down on the naked man in their bed, dark flesh split and carved with the ritual knife for the sheer pleasure of hearing Uriel’s curses hurled at his ears, Castiel’s pleas broken and soft on the other, Dean sitting beside the angel unashamed in his nakedness even now, still urging repentance and forgiveness. It wasn’t too late…

But it was; much too late. It was Castiel’s blood from the lone cut over his heart that painted Uriel in the sigils necessary to invite Hell topside to Earth; Castiel’s pure white wings in the feather that formed the lines, and Castiel’s anguish that fueled the message.

Earth no longer belonged to the weak. Sam Winchester had fulfilled his destiny and now moved to claim what was his - the Earth under his feet, Hell in his brother at his right hand…

…and the angel at his left, though Castiel didn’t yet realize his continuing role in this little drama. It was not only the Earth that Sam had claimed. Not only Hell that Sam wished to rule.

“What’s the matter, Uriel?” Sam leaned over the struggling body and smiled darkly. Naked, bound and tortured, wings broken and bloodied, and still he fought. What a trooper. A part of Sam could admire that, could admire the fire that still smoldered in the dark eyes, if it hadn’t been Dean the angel had tried to take out first. For that Sam wanted to make him pay on a…more personal level.

Skimming his hand down the stomach suddenly still in deference to the blade digging torturous trails deep into the sensitive flesh, Sam played with the lax cock with fingers and steel, teasing and pulling and tormenting the human flesh until Uriel cursed, trying to pull away as it filled and lengthened, thickening in his hand until the curses fell silent. “Afraid I’ll make you enjoy it?”

Dark eyes blazed fury as Sam continued to stroke the hard flesh in his hand, blood flowing and trickling from the various wounds Sam had carefully carved not to interfere with the invitation sigils drawn in Castiel’s blood.

One angel to form the message, another to deliver it. It was all in the presentation.

He knew behind him Dean was doing the same to Cas, knife only dimpling the skin without breaking it, gentle fingers only coaxing where he demanded, drawing out sighs that were just as unwilling, just as hard-fought as the curses Uriel reigned down on him. In the end, though, both angels fell, Castiel to Dean’s seduction, Uriel to the violence Sam granted him, both bodies shuddering and coming into the hands that held them.

Sam waited until the last of the aftershocks had just about ended to wrap that same hand around Uriel’s throat and squeeze. Smirking down into the hazy yet immediate glare thrown his way, Sam warned him seriously. “I’m not going to kill you, Uriel. You’re just my errand boy, for now. But Castiel is ours - you come after him, or Dean again - “ Sam squeezed again on more than just a physical level, affecting the essence of the angel inside the human vessel. “And I won’t just kill you. I’ll rip you apart and scatter the bits until there’s not enough of you left to cry for help. Am I understood?”

“Yes.” Ground out - spat really - and reluctantly given but it would do.

“Good.” With no more than a thought, Sam snapped the bespelled chains that had held the angel, the clunky iron links rattling loud as they fell to the floor. Knowing it would piss him off, Sam turned his back and sent him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You can go now.”

Uriel surged off the bed, dark wings quivering in restrained violence, every bloodied line of his borrowed body coiled tight and screaming that he was going to strike and claim his vengeance now, while he had Sam in his sights. Sam knew he wouldn’t; that Uriel would leave and deliver his message and been drawn into the spell.

Not to mention that if he did, Sam would lose this one little potent bit of poetic irony that having Uriel deliver his message would bring and that would just be sad. Sam did enjoy a finely crafted presentation.

As Dean tensed, ready to rise from where he lounged on Castiel’s bed if needed, Sam turned and raised an eyebrow, watching in dark satisfaction as Uriel fumed, the large hands clenching until lightning flashed across the night sky outside, lights flickered and he was gone.

“Showoff,” Dean muttered, relaxing as his eyes flickered to Sam’s , Sam shrugging as he wiped the blood off his hands with a clean towel. Another gesture freed Cas, though the angel made no move to fight or escape. The chains that bound the smaller angel to Sam and Dean were no longer visible. The physical ones had been more for Uriel anyway…to fuck with his head.

Castiel turned, buried his head in his arms and cried softly, the tears soft and wet on his cheeks. “What is it that you want from me? Why keep me, here, like this?”

“Because,” Dean snuggled in behind him, careful of the soft white wings that shivered at the contact and hooking his chin over the slender shoulder. “We love you Cas. And you deserve better.”

“This - this isn’t love, Dean,” the angel denied and tried to turn, only to close his eyes at the lips pressed against his shoulder.

“I know,” Sam told him, brushing away the tears as Cas looked at him, unable to deny either one what they wanted. Maybe it wasn‘t love, but it was all the angel knew. “But it’s all we have. You and Dean, you’re mine, Cas.” Sam told him, his eyes flaring a gold that was so intense it was almost white, even as his fingers trailed down Castiel‘s neck, making the angel shiver and lean into that touch. “And I hold on to what’s mine.”

End

FIC: Where You Land (Supernatural - Dean/multi - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-03-14T21:53:30Z

Title: Where You Land
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Chief, Dean/others, Dean/Sam
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, bdsm, toys
--
RoK Round: 10
Day: 14
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/any male
Prompt: After Chief, Dean wants more.
Kink: BDSM
Prompter: Slashydutchie
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: It's not how far you fall, it's where you land.

Where You Land

Ever since he had been confronted with a large mountain of a man wielding a wicked looking flogger and wearing nothing but leather and an ugly smile, Dean had wanted more; had *needed* more. More pain, more submission, more of what he had never let himself even think about before Chief.

He needed to be able to give up the self-reliance and control Dad had drilled into him since the night the demon had killed his Mom and sent them all out on the road, chasing monsters. He needed to be able to give up the constant vigilance that had kept him and Sammy alive out there on their own, facing ghosts and topas and werewolves and demons and whatever else wanted to kill them this time.

He needed to be able to give it up without there being literal hell to pay; without there being anything more than just his body on the line.

The two old magicians who had sent him off on a wild goose chase to that gay bondage club may not have known what they had been setting him up for - or, having easily seen through their law enforcement scam, they might have - but after the large man had taken Dean, stripped him of his suit and tie and strapped him over the bench, Dean had stopped struggling at the third lash to fall across his upturned and exposed ass.

The first he had cursed and fought, the second his eyes had gone wide and dry at the mix of pain that had flooded through him, the unexpected pleasure taking him by surprise…the third had him gasping back into the stinging slap of leather, his body locked in the restraints but no longer fighting against the metal cuffs that bit into his wrists.

That had been four states and five ‘masters’ ago and Dean couldn’t help but feel there was something missing. Though still dark, still a release, the pleasure wasn’t as sharp, wasn’t as good; it didn’t leave him boneless and settled the way Chief had that first time. And yet, Dean was sure it wasn’t the large Dom he was missing. He had a sinking suspicion that that first time had only been that intense because it had been unexpected; the entire situation uninvited, that had quickly become a mental and physical shock to his mind and body.

When he closed his eyes and brought up the images of his past ‘sessions’, it wasn’t Chief or Snake or any of the others he saw.

It was Sam.

Sam stripping him naked, large hands tearing, ripping his clothes, or slicing them up with the large hunting knife that just barely dimpled his skin…or gently removing them piece by careful piece with nothing more than long fingers and broad palms.

Sam tying him to the cheap motel chair, or cuffing him to the bed, spread out and vulnerable, or bending him over the trunk of the car, Dean barely able to see his brother past his own face reflected in the black metal.

Sam whipping him with a newly bought flogger, the wide leather belt he wore around his hips every day, or those broad hands that researched their hunts and cleaned out his wounds.

Sam stuffing him with toys and objects Dean couldn’t even imagine; the handle of Sam’s favorite knife, the wrist-thick candle they used for rituals…the barrel of the colt, of the shotgun after a long session with his ass raised high in the air, worked slick and open…

Sam fucking him mercilessly as Dean begged and moaned and screamed under him, unable to get enough, always needing, wanting more…

Wanting what he shouldn’t want, what he couldn’t have.

Kicker was, Dean couldn’t blame this sick, twisted part of his mind on the Hell he had survived. No, this was all him, and had been since well, forever…he just hadn’t known there had been a name for it before Chief.

Unlocking the door to the motel room they shared, Dean shuffled his duffle bag in before himself, his body stiff and bruised from the hunt that had almost gone all too wrong and the session that hadn’t done nearly enough to release the tension that thrummed in his bones.

“Sammy - you here?”

When the lone light turned on, Dean’s fingers flew to the glock at his back, arms already up and aiming even as his eyes followed suit…

…only to see that it had been Sam who had flicked the switch, flooding their little motel room with the bulb Sam brought with them, unwilling to trust the light in the caliber of motels they usually chose for the job.

Dean swallowed down the adrenaline as he lowered the gun, Sam leaning in casual disregard for either the gun or the glare that Dean was now shooting his way.

He was just about to cut into him, demand to know just where Sam got off taking such a risk - Dean could have killed him, goddamnit! - when the belt Sam was slapping against the denim of his leg swam into view and had him swallowing for an entirely different reason.

“Sam - “

But his brother had moved and the hand that shot out to curl around his neck, gripping hard, cut off whatever it was Dean had been about to say, Sam eyes large and green and hard as they glared into his.

“You go anywhere like that again without my say so, Dean,” his brother told him seriously, “And I will beat you until you can’t sit down. Are we clear?”

He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe…could only follow the sudden instinct to fight. This wasn‘t Hell - just because Dean wanted something didn‘t mean he could just take it…didn‘t mean he could have it. “Sam - “

“I mean it, Dean. I know where you’ve been going, what you’ve been doing - without me - and it all stops now. No more, Dean.”

And damn if it wasn’t a fight, Dean too recently locked into something that was too near sub-space to want to ignore what Sam was offering him in that hard hand and promising strip of leather. “How - how did - ”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sam denied, hand tightening and making sure Dean looked at him. “You want that, you come to me.”

But that made Dean angry. Everything, all of it - it was too much, too fast… “Why should I? Huh, Sammy? What makes you think you know - “

“Chief. Snake. Mitch. Sarge. Rick. Sir.”

Dean blanched, feeling each name like a physical blow. Sammy knew…

“No more Dean.” Sam demanded again. “We have fought - killed - *died* for each other. You belong to me. No one else.”

Unable to keep his head up, to meet his eyes, not knowing what he would find, Dean let it fall. He was just so tired.

He still needed, but more than that, he *wanted* what Sam was offering him. He should fight...he should…but he was just so tired of fighting…

The warning growl made up his mind for him. “Dean.”

“Yours, Sammy.” He sighed, resigned, feeling the rest of his energy drain out of him with the tension. “Only yours.”

What was one more sin compared to those he had already committed?

He could even smile at the, “It’s *Sam*.” Could even raise his eyes at the exasperation he thought he would see now instead of whatever disappointment had been there before…

Only to be caught by surprise at the depth of love/desire/want - the possessiveness that flashed in the green eyes made dark by everything Dean had never expected to find looking back at him. “Sam?”

“Mine, Dean.”

This time the agreement was a lot stronger, more sure. “Yours.”

Sam nodded, jaw tightening as he swallowed. What came next wasn‘t what Dean had been expecting. “Strip,” he demanded, but Dean didn’t think he could do anything more tonight than fall on his nose. Too much, too fast…

“Sam…”

And that hand was back, curled around his neck, fingers digging into the short scruff of his hair as Sam started to say something, caught his eyes, and unbent to say, “I need to see what you’ve done to yourself this time.” And damn if the tension hadn’t drained out of Sammy, too…

“Yeah. Okay.“ Dean smiled tiredly, looking into the return Sam offered as he squeezed once and let his hand fall away so that Dean could undress. Dean already had his top shirt off and was working on the black tee when all of the accumulated aches and pains, ignored in wave after wave of adrenaline, caught back up with him, slowing his movements and making him long for a hot bath. “Ow.”

“Dean?”

Sam was there in a second, but Dean waved him away, catching his eye wryly. “Just the hunt. I swear that damned werewolf must have been a gym head before he started howling at the moon.”

He honestly hadn’t thought there to be anything more to it than that until he straightened up from pulling off his jeans and underwear and heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath. The angry curse that followed had him frowning back over his shoulder. “Sam?”

“Just the hunt, Dean?” The green eyes were angry now, the frown thinning Sam’s lips until there was nothing left.

Dean frowned himself, unable to figure out what Sam was pissed about. “Yeah, I think so, why?”

“Because your ass is covered in welts and your back is one big bruise, that’s why.”

Sam stalked over to him, mix of anger and concern in that frown, and Dean suddenly remembered Sir cursing a blue streak at Dean’s lack of response, remembered the pain that no longer felt good, that it had felt like…like Hell…

Sam’s long fingers brushed over the wounds, snapping him out of the flashback, and Dean hissed in renewed pain long ignored. “Fuck! That hurts…”

“Yeah well, it should.” Sam’s voice was hard as he frowned at Dean’s grimace of pain. “Dean - “

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam just shook his head and sighed. “I know. Come on, we’ll get you a nice hot tub of water and see about damage control later.”

As much as he had been thinking about a nice hot bath earlier… ”I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he admitted. Given what his ass felt like, he didn’t think he could stand hot water right now.

“Yeah, well, just think of it as your first punishment, “ Sam told him firmly, a certain grim hint of satisfaction in the tone as he adjusted the taps. Figures this motel would have a good hot water tank. Dean watched the steam rise with a mixture of longing and dread. “I’ll come back in a few minutes,” Sam told him. “Want to make sure I got the first aid kit out of the car.”

He sighed, “Yeah, okay.”

Only to get a swat on his ass for the trouble. “Hey!”

Sam only raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, and Dean suddenly realized that he was in a session. Sort of. With his brother. And that, if he let it, a whole lot of Dean’s world was going to change. It was a scary, sobering, exciting thought.

“Sorry.”

Sam just looked at him a moment and nodded. “Go on.”

He nodded, his head buzzing with too many thoughts, consequences, on the hunt and off, but he didn’t fight, biting back the cry of pain as his abused ass came in contact with the hot water. After a while the awful sting blended into the general aches and pains that the water was slowly taking away, leaving Dean even more weary and exhausted than he had been walking in the door.

When Sam came back and helped him out of the tub, checking over his body as he dried him off, Dean just let him, standing pliant and meek as Sam discovered first hand all of the new marks and bruises Dean had let others give him. Other than the occasional gasp or odd sound, Sam didn’t say anything, just took care of him; applying the antibiotic cream on the worst of them all, rubbing gently and thoroughly until Dean was one big body of loose muscles and jelly, except for the one part that wasn’t, and that Dean didn’t know if he would be allowed to take care of, or if he had the energy to if he was.

“Come on, Dean. Bed.”

Lying down felt like Heaven.

Lying down next to his brother, Sam pulling the covers over them both and realizing Sam was dressed in a tshirt and pajamas while he was still naked was Hell.

“Sam…” Oh how he hated that soft, unsure whisper.

The finger that pressed in, slick and solid left him gasping, arching and pushing back even as his hand reached back to grab a hold of Sam’s hip. “Sam…”

And Sam was there, under the covers, body curled in close to his, chin hooked over his shoulder as Sam promised soft and low in his ear, “Have to check everything, Dean,” he said. “Not finished with you yet.”

“Please.” Dean whimpered, pretty sure the tears were due to the overload more than anything and not caring one way or the other. “Sammy, please.”

“Hush, Dean,” Sam whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And then there was a hand on his cock that wasn’t his and wasn’t a stranger’s and Dean was coming harder than he could ever remember, blacking out and seeing stars. The last thing he felt before the darkness claimed him completely was a warm wet cloth cleaning him up, Sam’s lips pressed against his, his body curled against his as he whispered gently, “Go to sleep, Dean. I’m here.”

Surrounded and protected by his brother, Dean fell into the darkness willingly.

Sam looked down on the sleeping form of his brother and let the control that had seen him through the confrontation go, feeling the wave of relief and exhaustion roll over him as he held Dean safe and whole in his arms.

Too close. That had been too close.

“Thank you,” he told Castiel, the angel hovering over in the corner.

“You are welcome, Sam,” the angel told him, dark eyes heavy and serious as he said, “Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Castiel held his eyes a moment longer and disappeared, leaving Sam alone with Dean snuffling in his arms. They would need to talk - in the morning, when they were both steady enough to know what it was they were getting into. There would need to be rules and boundaries and guidelines so that Dean could accept this from Sam without it breaking him apart…

But for now, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and held on tight, allowing the warm, solid bulk of his brother beside him lull him down into sleep.

End

FIC: The Porn Job (Leverage - Team - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-03-11T19:23:30Z

Title: The Porn Job
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: The team - from Eliot's pov
Rating: FRAO - slash, het, moresomes, language, toys, bdsm
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Eliot gets distracted by his work environment.
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A/N: Comment fic - Leverage, team, The Porn Job
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A/N 2: All toys, etc can be found on the Extreme Restraints website...ah research. ;-)
--

The Porn Job

A porn store. Whoever thought they would be undercover as owners of a *porn* store? Man…

The entire team, not just Eliot or Nate - though, personally, Eliot thought Nate was looking just a shade too creepy in his adopted persona of sleazy owner who didn’t mind selling to kids. But no, Hardison, Parker and Sophie were also in this one, she and Nate posing as disinterested spouses with Eliot, Hardison and Parker as their boy and girl toys.

Employees. Their employees. Except to the mark who should be by any time now to pick up the highly illegal kiddie porn that had gotten him securely on the hook for this one.

Eliot shuddered. With any luck Hardison would have gotten everything they needed off of the scumbag’s computer and the cops would be at the guy’s house when he showed up with his latest prize, all nice and in his possession for San Diego‘s finest.

In the meantime, Eliot had to concentrate on not jumping any of his teammates bones while surrounded by all sorts of things that were giving him serious *ideas*…

Like Parker, naked except for the black leather body harness…Parker liked harnesses… getting fucked by Sophie wearing the strap on dildo and a pair of nipple rings…blond hair spread over the pillow…

Or Nate stuffed spread and open on the large black four-stage Rocket, cock held captive in the leather and metal Gates, arms restrained over his chest by the black latex straight jacket…

Or Hardison, bent over the bench, wrists and ankles held wide by padded leather cuffs, his ass beaten red from the wood and leather of the tawse…or maybe the long leather paddle that left the impression of letters on skin.

Eliot snickered, wiping down the counter. Alec would look real good with the word ‘slut’ tattooed on his ass…maybe add in the butt plug with the fuzzy, white bunny tail. Just the contrast of the white fur against the dark and red skin…

Or Eliot himself trapped and vulnerable, shackled face first to the St Andrew’s Cross, Nate circling him with the bullwhip…later running the feather tickler over the welts criss-crossing his hot, abused flesh…

Or all three men bent over and going nowhere, wrists and ankles cuffed, eyes blindfolded, asses stuffed, with the girls dressed in black leather bra and panties for Parker, red lace for Sophie…circling the three of them, floggers and paddles tapping meaningfully against their palms…

Whips and floggers, dildos in every manner of sizes, shapes and colors from the erotic to the impossible…cock rings and chastity devices…nipple rings and clamps and pumps of all kinds…

Eliot groaned and barely resisted the urge to reach down and rub his cock through his jeans in the middle of the store, the hard bulk pressed painfully tight against the zipper. Yeah, if the dirt bag didn’t get here soon, Eliot was going to have to go make a side trip to the little boy’s room…

Turning the aborted move into a reach down for an item that had been knocked off the wall, Eliot turned the hard plastic package over in his hands and felt himself flush at what was inside.

‘Strict Leather Locking Butt Plug Harness - With Inflating Butt Plug’

Holy fuck.

He was still staring at it when Nate slid up beside him to whisper in his ear, “That’s for you. And we have incoming.”

Eliot swallowed, managing to pull it together and go find the box with the video as Nate greeted the mark at the door. Once this job was over, Eliot was dragging everyone home and putting their soundproofed playroom to good use.

Already making a mental list of the things he was going to take with him, Eliot joined Nate at the door, and if the mark thought the extra wide grin was for Nate’s hand shoved down the back of his very tight jeans, well who was he to argue?

End

FIC: I Believe (Xfiles/Supernatural - Sam/Mulder/Dean - FRT - 1/1)

2009-03-11T14:17:20Z

So it's Odd Pairing Day at comment fic - and I have no idea where this came from...
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Title: I Believe
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: X-Files/Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Mulder/Dean
Rating: FRT - slash, incest, threesome all implied. Angst.
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Mulder no longer has to wonder if the truth is out there - now he knows.
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A/N: Comment fic - SPN/XFiles, Sam/Mulder, geeks
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A/N 2: I think the addition of the X-Files into my Hunter AU was just born. *headdesk*
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A/N 3: Probably not what you were looking for, sorry about Dean - he just kind of bullied his way in... :-/
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I Believe

He was cleaning out his office. His books, notes and case files, neatly packed in one box. His few knickknacks, supplies, reference numbers, contacts he didn‘t want to lose, etcetera packed in another.

And…that was it. No large legacy left with him. Only the truth. Only the guilt at another failure, the frustration at yet another case unsolved because it didn’t fit the FBI’s narrow mold of normal. Not a coverup, not this time, no.

Just another Xfile.

So he was cleaning out his office. The one in the basement. The one no one ever came to. Until now.

Uncoiling from his lean against the open doorway, Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, his head bent, sheepish frown on his face as he offered almost apologetically, “I heard.”

Mulder just snorted softly and shook his head. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. No one’s but his, he supposed. But at least now he *knew* there were things out there in the dark. Like zombies. Like demons. Maybe like aliens.

To say he was surprised by the hug would be an understatement. Had to admit though that the strong muscled body folded around him felt good, lending him a strength he hadn’t had for himself now in way too long.

“Keep the poster, “ Sam whispered into his ear. “It’ll remind you of who you are.”

“And who might that be?” Mulder wondered. He was no longer FBI, kicked out for one crackpot theory too many. Didn’t matter that he had been right, for all the wrong reasons. Again.

“A hunter. Like Dean. Like me.”

Mulder felt the tears fall, smiling through them at the sure knowledge Sam had something similar packed away in a duffle somewhere, just out of his brother’s reach. Something silly, something innocuous, something…like him.

“Geek.” Mulder laughed fondly.

“I tell him that all the time.”

They unwound enough so that Mulder could see Dean just inside the doorway, the older Winchester’s arms folded across his chest, smirk on his face and something else in his eyes. Something…older. Like Sam, only harder. Experience maybe.

The moment broken, they pulled apart, Sam taking the heavier box of books and other materials Mulder was allowed to keep and didn’t want to leave behind. But only after a pointed look at the poster - the UFO and naïve slogan I Want To Believe blazoned across the front - was gently taken down and placed in the box Mulder carried out himself.

Arms free of boxes, Dean led the charge out of the FBI, green eyes staring down anyone who might dare say anything to their fallen colleague, their very own little anti-mascot, Fox ‘Spooky’ Mulder. Sam brought up the rear, identical set of green eyes equally hard and taking out any chance of a paper ball, rubber band - or worse - from behind, while Mulder…Mulder strode confidently in the middle, thinking about what Sam had said.

A hunter. Not FBI, but still taking on the cases, the jobs, no one else would. Maybe he would hang the poster in his apartment - to remind him of what he used to be and maybe still was. Someone who defended the innocent. Who sought out the truth. Someone -

“A geek,” Dean whispered in his ear, and suddenly Mulder realized they were out of the basement and into the bright spring sunshine of the parking lot, Dean’s Impala parked next to Mulder’s very grey sedan. The analogy was not lost on him, either one of them.

He had to get a new car.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at his grey car before Dean took the box out of his hands and put it in he trunk - of the Impala.

One look at the brother’s identical expressions, at the look they tossed between them and Mulder felt something other than darkness and fog for the first time since the demon had killed the Moran’s daughter right in front of him. And that had been after he had emptied two full clips into its chest.

“Leave it,” Dean told him.

“You have questions, we have answers,” Sam added, those puppy dog eyes offering incentive. Like he would turn either of them down. The brothers or their answers. Mulder smiled. Guess he was a geek.

“And beer,” Dean suddenly threw him a grin. “And pie.”

“We’ll have to stop for pie,” Sam denied.

“No pie?” For a moment Dean looked crushed. And accusingly at his brother, who just rolled his eyes and offered, “We’ll get cherry.”

“We already have cherry, “ Dean smirked, looking at Mulder in the backseat through the rearview mirror.

And again, even though he was sitting in the backseat with two brothers wanted by the very FBI he used to be for everything from graverobbing to murder, there was a sense of rightness bubbling up that Mulder hadn’t felt in days, months, years even, that had him catching those eyes in the mirror - catching Sam’s as the younger man turned in his seat, the two of them shaking their heads at the man pulling out of the parking lot into a DC rush hour, agreeing cheerfully, “Geek.”

End

FIC: Pinned (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRT - 1/1)

2009-03-06T20:21:57Z

Title: Pinned
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRT - slash, vampires
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Dubenich wants them dead - it's a good thing one of them already is.
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A/N: Comment fic - Leverage, vampire!Eliot/Nate, pinned
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A/N 2: Set during the pilot episode.
--

Pinned

They were all here, together; three thieves and a slightly dishonest man and not one of them had any reason to be…unless…

Nate cursed and took off running, knowing (hoping) the other three had the common sense to follow. There was only one reason for Dubenich to deny he had gotten the merchandise and demand they all meet, and that was to get rid of any loose ends. Unfortunately, they were the loose ends.

The first up the short flight of stairs, Nate hit the button for the door, turning back to make sure the others got through. He cursed as Hardison tripped over the landing, the hacker in too big a hurry to clear that last step; blinked as Eliot hauled the larger body up off the concrete floor, all but throwing him out the door as Nate waited.

A glance back at the main body of the deserted warehouse and Nate’s eyes widened, his attention caught by the unfolding bloom of the explosion that painted his vision orange as the warehouse crashed down around him…

One blink and then two and he figured he had passed out at some point for time to pass as the next he saw through the smoke was Eliot leaning over him, hair falling down around his face, blue eyes worried when Nate tried to talk, tried to move and couldn’t. His body felt heavy, pressed downed to the floor and there was a ringing in his ears…but more importantly, he found he couldn’t move his legs…

Another short break of darkness and Nate opened his eyes to find Eliot still there, cursing as he tugged and failed to move the steel support beam that had fallen at an angle, pinning his legs under it. Good thing it hadn’t fallen flat or Nate would have been crushed…good thing Eliot had come back or the fire would have gotten him. Still might because there was no way Eliot was going to be able to move that beam without a crane…though the sight of the muscles bunching with the effort was rather nice for something that was most likely going to be the last thing he saw before he died a slow, agonizingly painful death…

…and that Nate didn’t remember him being that big when he chased him in France all those years ago…

Funny the thoughts that ran through one’s head while trapped in a burning warehouse, pinned under a thousand pounds of metal.

He tried to tell him to go - to run, get out while he could. All that came out was a croak, snapping the younger man’s attention back to him…and that was when Nate saw the fangs…and that Eliot’s eyes had changed from sky blue to gold…

Before he could be sure what he saw wasn’t just the lack of oxygen or an effect of the smoke, Eliot gave a fierce tug and Nate was free. The last thing he felt was being lifted easily in incredibly strong arms and the sensation of motion - of being carried…and suddenly the air was fresher and he could take a deeper breath…

It was then his mind decided it had had enough and he passed out.

Opening his eyes the next time sent a jumble of images scrambling around in his head - the look on all of their faces as they realized they were in danger, that the warehouse was probably wired…Hardison falling…Eliot dragging him up and through the door…which led to images of golden eyes and strong arms…and fangs…

Blinking once or twice, Nate frowned at the face he remembered leaning over him once before (or had that just been a dream?), Eliot’s blue (what happened to the gold?) eyes smiling down on him in relief and concern as the long hair framed his face.

“You alright?”

His voice came out as a rough croak, Nate coughing with the smoke still in his lungs, having to try again before anything actually made it past the sandpaper in his throat. “E - Eliot?”

“C’mon.” Eliot looked up, out toward what was probably the door, and it was then Nate realized they were still inside what was left of the warehouse. “We gotta go. Think you can walk?”

“Yeah.” Nate blinked again and tried to sit up, allowing Eliot to help him to his feet. “Yeah, we should get out of here.”

Navigating a relatively clear patch of floor, Nate spared the younger man a look, unable to decide if he should broach the subject of what he thought he saw or just stay silent and forever wonder. But after they left the warehouse, he doubted they would ever see each other again, and there went his opportunity for answers. To so many different questions…

“What?” Eliot huffed, clearly torn between annoyance and something else. “And put your arm around me, here…”

Nate threw an arm over the strong shoulder obediently, allowing Eliot to take a bit of his weight as the building started to spin. Concussion then. “So, do I call you Dracula? Or what?”

Freezing for a moment, but only for a moment, Eliot laughed, placing one arm around his waist, the other holding onto his wrist and maneuvering them around the chucks of debris. Shaking his head, Nate saw there was amusement in the eyes that flashed gold before once more settling into the cheerful blue as Eliot replied, “Only if you want to make me feel old.”

End

FIC: A Little Knowledge (Supernatural - Dean/Castiel - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-03-02T21:04:22Z

Title: A Little Knowledge
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean and Sam/Dean/Castiel implied
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, angels, demons, schmoop, h/c
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Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made.
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RoK Round: 10
Day: 02
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Prompt: Castiel admires the human race. He sees beauty in it, sees something special, and understands why they have to fight to keep them safe. He even understand them, to an extent; but he wants to learn more - more about emotions and love and things he hasn't felt and doesn't know.
Kink: "What's the difference between sex, and making love?"
Prompter: bakarini
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Summary: Castiel has questions, but sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
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A little Knowledge

Castiel admires the human race. He sees beauty in it, sees something special, and understands why they have to fight to keep them safe. He even understand them, to an extent; but he wants to learn more - more about emotions and love and things he hasn't felt and doesn't know.

He cannot ask; there is no one he knows that would not take the question amiss, and even fewer who would not scoff at the very need the angel has to ask. But it burns inside him, this question, and he thinks it is important. Worlds and civilizations have all fallen before it; as many if not more than have fallen for God, and Castiel is finding himself curious and a little wary of such a powerful unknown.

He watches Dean Winchester flirt with the waitress that serves him breakfast, knows he’s not serious, even as his brother smacks his arm, Sam wearing an expression somewhere between fond amusement and well worn resignation as Dean just smiles and digs into his eggs. Castiel knows, just as Sam knows, that Dean will go no further than that smile. Dean belongs to Sam in a way that brothers shouldn’t, just as Sam belongs to Dean the same way…

Heart, body and soul.

It has been that way since before Castiel had been told to watch them; long before angels, demons and Hell itself had tried to separate them; back when the only solace two little boys had, alone and scared and huddling in the back of their father’s car, was each other. Human decades may not be as long a love as an angel’s millennia, but it is long enough.

Castiel thinks he may have found someone of which to ask his question.

“Dean, may I ask you something?”

Green eyes cut sideways, Dean taking a swallow from the bottle in his hand before answering warily, “Why not? Go for it.”

Still, it was nowhere near as wary as it could have been between them; not even as wary as it had been in the beginning, when Castiel had been trying overly hard to awe and convey to the human his very important role in the war between angels and demons. Between Heaven and the Hell he had just been pulled from.

He likes to think they understand each other now, at least a little.

“What’s the difference between sex and making love?”

And if it was wrong of him to take a certain gleeful pleasure the spray of beer that sprinkled the dry, packed dirt of the parking lot, well, Castiel would be sure to feel appropriately guilty for it later.

“Come again?”

Another sideways glance and this time even Castiel could read the doubt for his motivations in the glare thrown his way. But, as he truly felt it important a distinction to find, Castiel asked again, “What is the difference between sex and making love? They look so similar to us, so much so that most angels cannot tell the physical differences in each act…but there must be. Sex, in and of itself, cannot destroy entire civilizations…”

Unspoken was that, supposedly so much more noble a thing, love could do that which sex itself could not; destroy and set cultures against each other for that which angels could not even discern a difference between.

For a long time, Dean didn’t answer. So long in fact that Castiel had come to the disappointed conclusion that he was not going to; either because he chose not to, or simply because he no more had the answer than the angel did.

“I’m sorry. I should go - “

“Cas.” Dean called to him and the angel turned to see the green eyes serious, thoughtful as he rolled the neck of the dark brown bottle between his hands. “You really want to know?”

“Yes, Dean. I would not have asked if I did not wish an answer.”

Again the green eyes met his and Castiel felt a jolt of - something - pass between them. “I know you watch me and Sammy,” Dean told him and Castiel could do nothing more than stand quiet under the not-quite-accusation. “Tell me - what do you see?”

It was not a plea for absolution, nor was it a demand for a confrontation, and so Castiel pushed those things aside and thought about what it was Dean *was* asking…what *did* he see when he watched Dean make love - have sex? - with his brother.

But as soon as the words flew across his mind, Castiel dismissed what passed between the brother’s as anything less than the love they so clearly felt for each other. Even when there was force between them, torn clothing, harsh sounds and bruises, there was no doubt that there was love there as well. It was in the careful touches after, the cloth that cleaned his brother’s body, the kiss that Sam pressed against the unintentional mark, and sometimes even the occasional intentional one…

“I see love,” the angel admitted. “I see care and concern that makes the act more than a physical release.”

Dean nodded, faint smile on his lips as he raised the bottle again, this time to clearly hide the blush that dusted his cheeks, making the faint freckles stand out against the color. For some reason he could not explain, that the human was uncomfortable with their conversation made Castiel wish to continue it.

“And you see sex, “ Dean prompted. “Two bodies mating together for that very physical release?’

“I…suppose…” Castiel frowned. But that didn’t seem quite right somehow. Having labeled what Dean and Sam had together, if only in his own mind, Castiel could not degrade so loving an act as just animal release… “No.” He looked up and found Dean looking at him intensely. “It is more than that, but how - why - I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it is. But I doubt Uriel would see it the same way.”

Castiel knew Dean was right about that. “No, he definitely would not.”

Dean smiled again, but this time it wasn’t the nice one he had favored the angel with before. “Would he watch?”

“I doubt the thought has ever occurred to him.” Uriel would be horrified to discover that Castiel did on a regular basis..

“But you do,” Dean pushed, pinning Castiel with that dark smile and knowing green eyes. “Why is that, I wonder?”

Castiel frowned. “I - have questions.”

Dean nodded. “That’s why you’re different,” the hunter told him, green eyes pinning him in place and somehow making it difficult to breathe. “Now what you need to ask yourself, Castiel, is what exactly you need to do to find the answers.”

With that, Dean hopped down off the hood of the Impala and walked back to the motel room he shared with Sam.

Castiel still did not understand the difference when Dean’s hands brushed the clothes from his borrowed body, nor when the soft lips claimed his; one hand cupped under his chin, Dean’s thumb caressing softly until Castiel felt himself moaning into the sure touch. Nor did he understand when Dean pulled him in against the smooth skin and hard muscles that bunched under his hesitant, wandering touch, mouths still pressed together, tongues each swallowing the other as Dean pressed in with fingers and body slick with lube and sweat.

He didn’t understand when Dean’s body drove into his, spiraling him higher toward a pleasure he had never thought to feel for his own, body tight and aching and seizing up as he finally broke with a harsh, desperate cry, Dean falling right behind him.

He barely remembered the question as he lay beside Dean, still surrounded by the strong arms as his breathing slowed down and came back under his own control, feeling Dean’s breath on his neck as Dean sighed, nose brushing under his hair at the nape.

And still, body once more quiet and sated, Castiel could not help but feel just a little bit…empty.

He knew what Dean had shared with him had not been what he shared with Sam; how could it be, when Dean did not love Castiel, and the angel himself incapable of love? And yet, watching from the Ether as humans came together with other strangers, with nothing more than pleasure and release on their minds, even if it had not risen to the level of human love, he could not help but feel it had been so much more than that shallow connection…

So he watched Dean with Sam, once again noting the care, the concern, that same he had shared with the angel, and felt his answer incomplete.

Castiel was still not sure he understood the differences between sex and love until he was forced to watch as Sam stood between his brother and Alistair, armed with nothing more than the sheer determination that the demon would not touch Dean, laying crumpled and bleeding behind him. His hands empty of even the demon-killing knife that had proven so ineffective before…

“You will not TOUCH him!” Sam screamed out, standing braced and defiant between the demon and his brother, Dean all but unconscious on the ground behind him.

“Ah and who’s gonna stop me, Sammy? You?” Alistair sneered, arms crossed across his borrowed chest in casual disregard to the human’s anger. “Dean’s mine. I broke him and now I’m reclaiming him. Best you get out of my way before I claim you, too. Not like angel boy there can stop me.”

Castiel tensed, knowing the demon was right and hating the fact. He had not been given the choice to interfere this time…

Sam‘s eyes, so much like his brother’s, flickered between them, noting the truth in the taunts. But even then he did not waver. “I’ll stop you.”

“As I said before, kid, you don’t have the juice.” Alistair’s eyes blazed and still Sam did not move. “He’s mine.”

“No.” The younger Winchester denied grimly, and this time when the green eyes came up, Castiel saw the shimmer of power in them. Sam had decided to fight with the only weapon he had left. “He’s mine.”

And before Alistair could do more than snarl in thwarted rage, Sam raised his hand and let the power that ran in his blood free…

…and Castiel found himself doing the same thing.

“Easy Dean,” Sam spoke softly, easing his brother down onto the bed, shifting his weight just enough to pull down the covers before easing him under them. “You’re safe. He’s gone, I promise.”

“Sammy…” The voice was still weak, the eyes still unfocused as Dean tried to rise, to touch as Sam evaded the uncoordinated arms and hands with the ease of long practice. Castiel had healed the major wounds in the car as Sam drove; all that was left was for Dean to regain his bearings and his strength.

Sam‘s hand brushed over Dean‘s forehead, soothing him. “I’m here.”

Castiel watched from the window where he lay down the line of salt that would keep out any minor demons that may have been attracted by the supernatural battle. Castiel himself would take care of any the salt could not handle.

The worry in his name called him out of his resolve.

“Cas? Is - is he…?”

“He will live, Sam,” Castiel told him, trying to assure him with a hand that felt only slightly wrong placed on the broad shoulder. “He only needs to rest. You should do the same. I will keep watch.”

“Back there…you weren’t supposed to help us,” Sam accused. “Were you?”

“No. I was not allowed to interfere.”

“Then why?” Sam asked. “Why would you risk it?”

His eyes flickered between Sam, the window and Dean laying still and quiet on the bed behind Sam, feeling the truth well up on his tongue. Thinking back to the sight of Sam standing between one of Hell’s greatest demons, knowing he had failed against him not so long ago…Castiel found himself asking instead, “You were told never to use the power which you possess. Why would you?”

“Because he’s my brother,” Sam answered immediately. “Because he’s been through too much; more than anyone should be asked…because I‘m not losing him again.” Emotion choked him and the tears he hadn’t shed before now fell as it hit home just how close Sam *had* come to losing Dean to Hell, again.

“Because you love him,” Castiel finished for him, turning what should have been a question into a statement of fact.

The wonder of it all was that he even thought he knew, now, that very difference he had been asking Dean to explain to him. Not necessarily between sex and love, but why humans fought, fell, killed and clung to each other for the one but not the other. Sex could be empty or full, but love was the one thing that would allow humankind to transcend all that they were, simply to turn around and sacrifice it all for another. Love was powerful; more than that, love was dangerous…

And love was what had allowed Sam Winchester to defy both Heaven and Hell for his brother.

It was what had *not* allowed Castiel to simply stand back and watch as Sam began to falter; time, experience and a ruthless evil on the demon’s side as Alistair had begun to force Sam to his knees, the pain from his power feeding back on him and blinding him until he could no longer see the demon he was still fighting valiantly to keep away from his brother. And still he fought.

It was what had made Castiel strike, sending Alistair screaming back to Hell to fight another day.

“It is…why I did as I did as well.” Unable to face Sam, Castiel admitted softly, allowing his confusion and doubt to show on his face as green eyes watched him lean wearily against the peeling wooden frame, staring out into the night sky beyond the trees that ringed the empty parking lot. “I once asked Dean to explain the difference between sex and love, because I did not understand how two acts that looked exactly the same, could be so very different. How one would incite nothing more than a release of animal passion, sharp, brief and intensely shallow, and the other…” Castiel turned to him now, sadness and passion in his own eyes as he admitted, “How the other could move mountains…could destroy entire civilizations…could induce a human to stand alone against a demon, knowing he had no chance at victory but standing his ground anyway, all in the name of love.”

Green eyes shone with memories and tears as Sam looked at him and Castiel found that he had to go - go now, before he lost himself even more in those eyes, so much like his brother’s…

“Cas - “

Straightening from his slouch, Castiel once more reclaimed his own weight, intending to leave and stand guard from the Ether instead of staying on the mortal plane. “I think I understand it now, thank you.”

“Cas, wait!”

He turned at the plea, unable not to.

“Cas I know about…well, you and Dean,” Sam admitted. “He told me.”

“I know.” Another thing that drew him to Dean, and to an extent to his brother; that sense of honor and loyalty to friends, family, loved ones. Castiel would not be surprised to learn that Sam had known before Dean had offered to demonstrate…

“I - just…don’t go too far, okay?” Sam asked urgently. “Hell, don’t *go*.”

“Sam…” Castiel looked at the human and was mortally afraid that everything he should not know was currently reflected in his eyes. “I should not be here.“

Sam sighed, his face crumpling in dejection. “I don’t like the thought of you all alone out there tonight, okay?”

To his chagrin Castiel found it had much the same effect on him that it did on Dean.

“I shall stay.”

Sam smiled in relief, reaching out a hand and pulling the angel down to sit on the bed beside him. “Whatever this is - Cas, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Castiel thought about that, about not having to rely solely on his faith for answers, and looked between Sam’s earnest caring and to Dean, eyes open and serious as he nodded his agreement, and felt himself nodding in return. “Okay.”

He thought he might have finally have his answer, whole and complete, in the hands that reached out for his, gripping and squeezing tight.

Sex might be a release for the body, but love…love was a release for the soul.

End

FIC: Grace (Leverage/Supernatural - Eliot/Dean - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-28T17:19:20Z

Title: Grace
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Pairing: Eliot/Dean
Rating: FRAO - slash, sex
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: A rambling commentary on grace? Oh, and sex.
--
A/N: Comment fic - Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, grace
--

Grace

There was grace in the perfect form; in a body holding the perfect line, everything in balance. There was grace in strength and grace in tone and grace in a body perfectly trained to hold a blade. To fire a gun. To fight until the war was done.

To save the world.

Dean Winchester was grace hardened and chiseled into its purest form. Hardened by resolve and purpose; chiseled by so many battles before this one that both body and mind shone with that clarity and skill, harnessed in the purest form of movement.

Skill and clarity he currently held back, kept in check as he drove into Eliot, holding him down and folding him over in order to reach his lips; lips already open with the various curses and gasps and moans as Dean caught that one spot and drove in hard. And still in the hard, desperate drive of their bodies, the hunter was still the pinnacle of grace and fluidity of movement; riding them both with a ruthless drive toward the edge they were both desperate to fall over.

Grace in the fall and grace in the perfect hot splash of release caught deep inside because Eliot refused to let him go.

Feeling the harsh breathing panting wet and hot over his collarbone, the tongue swiping in apology for the rough treatment along his neck, Eliot wrapped his arms around the other man and accepted the weight from the graceless fall with a body also honed and trained by too many battles he didn’t want to remember.

Because there was also grace in finding strength and comfort in another - one who knew what it was to hold a blade. To fight until the war was done.

And maybe - to save the world.

End

FIC: Captains Outrageous (Leverage - Eliot/Hardison - FRM - 1/1)

2009-02-26T21:19:10Z

All Trowa's fault. Her prompt. ;-)
--
Title: Captains Outrageous
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Rating: FRM - slash, innuendo, slight drunken grope?
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Men and their outrageous stories...
--
A/N: Comment fic - Leverage, Eliot/Alec, Captains Outrageous
--

Captains Outrageous

“So…” Hardison slid up beside him, sly smile on his face and Eliot knew he should have made his escape while he had had the chance.

Cutting his eyes sideways, Eliot rinsed out his beer bottle and threw it into the bin, ignoring Hardison and his smirk in favor of the sharp clank as the bottle hit the rest. He had had maybe one - or three - too many, and any conversation at this point would only lead to more things about his past that Eliot would really rather not reveal. Oh, nothing huge - not professional secrets - just…embarrassing stuff; shit Eliot would rather not be reminded of, especially not in front of the others.

Sophie’s roll of the eyes, Parker’s inhuman cackle of glee and the one evil little smile that had proceeded her cry of ‘prove it!’…

Nate’s steady eyes, though already into his third scotch, over that little unreadable smile that was never, ever good…

Alec’s bony hip hit his, breaking Eliot out of the remembered worry of Nate with that smile. “Hardison!” Eliot glared, looking up slightly at the smug amusement in the dark eyes as the hacker turned and crossed his arms, butt leaning back against the countertop. “What!?”

“Dude? You jumped onto a moving car to get some girl’s phone number? Seriously?”

Remembering the woman in question, Eliot was momentarily torn between the glare and a smug smile. “Yeah.”

Hardison shook his head in that ‘man are you crazy?’ look he usually reserved for Parker. “Man, you - that’s messed up. Must have been some girl.”

Eliot smiled, remembering Melanie’s four year old son, Scott, and the month Eliot had spent playing ball with the boy when he wasn’t busy putting out the word that they weren’t to be touched or the locals would have to deal with him. For having a busted drug dealer for an ex, Mel had shown surprising spine during and after the trial, when Stevie-boy’s buddies had figured they had a ready made house complete with wife and future drug mule to just move in to until Stevie was released.

Eliot had stopped for a drink at the bar where she worked, seen the bangers hassling her, pinching at her backside and tossing in threats in between catcalls and innuendo, and decided no woman should ever have that look of resignation and trapped fear in her eyes, even as she slapped every hand away. He had caught her eye briefly, only to have another waitress intercept his order, and had to run out when he realized she was leaving early. Eliot had almost missed her in the parking lot, though had been able to take care of the four bangers preventing her from leaving - hence the jumping on the car part - and a combination of the fight on her behalf and her rescuer hanging off of her hood had gotten her to stop. It had also gotten Eliot a place on her couch until, three weeks and ten members in the hospital later, the local chapter of the Locos had gotten the hint and called off their boys, turning their attentions elsewhere.

“’ey, yo - Earth ta Eliot.” Hardison waved a hand in front of his face, making Eliot blink at the fuzzy, too fast movement in front of his eyes. “You with us, man?”

Eliot grabbed the hand about to make him puke and shot a glare at the owner, adding in a growl for good measure. “Chill, boy, I’m here.”

The evil chuckle made him sigh. “Like I said, man - must have been some girl.”

“She was,” Eliot admitted, relenting enough to smile.

“Huh.”

Eliot smirked some more. Haridson blinked and licked his lips as the silence stretched on, probably still realizing Eliot still had his wrist.

“Huh.” he repeated, at a loss as to what else to say. “Soooo…do I get my hand back, or are we going steady now?”

Eliot smiled. “Nope.”

Hardison blinked, clearly thrown by the hard grip Eliot had, their hands held down by their hip. “Nope? Nope, what?”

“No, you don’t get your wrist back until I get a stupid story out of you,” Eliot demanded. “Fair’s fair; just the way it works. You bug me about mine, I bug you about yours. So spill.” Eliot leaned in a little closer until he could smell the mix of lager and orange soda on the hacker’s breath, pitching his voice to pull out every secret Hardison had ever owned. “Any stupid, crazy moments Alec Hardison might want to share with the class?”

“Between you ‘n me?” Hardison checked, waving the finger of his free hand between them.

“Yeah.”

“*Want* to share? I - naw…naw, man, nothing’..”

Eliot pressed in closer, allowing his thumb to trail over the tendons on the inside of the wrist his held, lowering his voice, asking, “Really? You sure ‘bout that?”

“Er…ah, well…yeah, there was maybe that one time…”

“One time, what Hardison?”

“I uh - yeah, I might have, erm…stolen…something….”

Eliot snorted and felt his eyebrows rise when Hardison refused to meet his eyes. He started to remind him they were thieves - so yeah stealing would be a bit redundant at this point - when Hardison licked his lips and finished in a rush.

“It - mighthavebeenfromanadultstore….”

Eliot blinked, his eyes lighting up in evil glee as his own alcohol-fuzzed brain caught up with the *type* of store, wondering just what it was Hardison had stolen and if it was what Eliot thought it might be. Judging from the bright red blush staining the dark cheeks, Eliot thought it probably was.

Leaning in closer, Eliot asked, “How young?”

Eliot’s smile only grew as Hardison still refused to meet his eyes, body gone still between Eliot and the counter but not trying to make his escape.

A light press of his thumb as Eliot bumped against him brought the stuttered admission of “Four - fourteen.”

“And what did you steal,” Eliot asked, voice low and full of the husk of alcohol and arousal. “A naught boy all of fourteen?”

Hardison moaned, head falling, his free hand reaching to clutch at Eliot’s hip. “El. Eliot...”

Eliot could feel the heat through two layers of shirts and denim.

Licking his lips, Eliot pressed in that much closer; close enough that his breath ghosted over the full bottom lip, almost touching as he whispered, demanding, “But what I really want to know,” Eliot told him, pushing in closer until they stood hip to hip, chest to chest, finally touching. Letting his voice dip even lower, the drawl coming out and watching Hardison shiver and swallow, “is do you still have it?”

End

FIC: Steel (XMen/Leverage - Logan/Eliot - FRM - 1/1)

2009-02-23T18:48:40Z

Yep, still going to Hell...
--

Title: Steel
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: XMen/Leverage
Pairing: Logan/Eliot
Rating: FRM - slash, knife!play, violence
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Logan had walked into the bar needing a beer; the barfight and the kid in the midle of it all was just a bonus.
--
A/N: Comment fic - XMen/Leverage, Wolverine/Logan, 'there's something about the way that boy handles a blade'
--

Steel

There was somethin’ about the way that boy handled that blade…

Stayin’ out of the fight - for now - Logan leaned against the bar out of the way and watched as the man blew his hair out of his face, shaking it back and offering the newest good ol’ boy a feral smile that spoke to the Wolverine in Logan, sending a shiver of arousal down his spine to pool at his groin as the boy twitched the fingers of the hand not holding the knife, inviting all comers.

Insult. Capable. Wild. Lookin’ for a fight. But it was the way he held that knife that Logan paid attention to; high in the air, his arm pulled back over his head, the other arm out straight, slightly bent and ready, but not flashy, no…for all of the fancy pose, the kid was balanced, standing easy in the broken wreckage of what had been a table and three chairs, two of which he had broken over the heads of the guys who had come at him before this one. Before he had taken the large bowie off of the last, the steel of the blade catching the low light as he had tested it, twirling it in a cocky move designed to insult as much as it was meant to let him get to know the unfamiliar blade before holding it still in his hand, drawing a curse from the other guy before he charged anyway, only to get - not the knife, at least not like Logan had expected - but a hard, sharp left jab that Logan knew had broken the man’s jaw. Logan had heard the snap of bone breaking beneath the fleshy pop of impact.

And still that knife was balanced easily in the very capable hand, though held in a different, equally easy grip, that smirk firmly in place, despite the blood that painted the kid’s bottom lip, so fresh Wolverine could almost taste it…

He felt the growl well up in his throat as the locals finally banded together to form a semi-circle around the kid, closing him off from the door and escape while the asshole who had started the whole thing hung on his buddy at the back and watched, smug sneer firmly in place under the broken nose.

The kid bit off a curse and wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of the hand holding the knife - showing it, reminding them of it case it might make a difference. It wouldn’t. Logan watched as that fact settled into the hard body, setting the shoulders and shifting the ready stance even as he shook that mane of hair back again, counting the bodies, weighing the odds.

Logan slammed his glass down on the bar, breaking the standoff. Catching the kid’s eye in the sudden silence, he felt a jagged jolt of something primal rip through him at the intense blues that met his, going from startled to thoughtful in less time than it took the rest of the bar to even realize anything had changed. A guarded nod, grateful, as Logan stepped up beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder as he snapped out his claws, greeting the group of ten locals now milling restlessly in front of them.

Logan rolled his neck, nodding his greeting at the bar. “Boys.”

“Fuckin’ Muties! Knew Jake shoulda threw’em out a’fore the fucker broke Dave’s nose!”

Another answer the siren song of alcohol and mob-fueled bravado, swearing predictably, “Well then I say we do what Jake shoulda done from the start! We don’ want your kind around here, Mutie. Why don‘ ya go crawl back up under the test tube whore ya came out of? Better yet, we’ll send ya on yer way.”

Just before the more drunk of the lot screwed up his courage to actually follow through on the insult, the kid leaned over slightly and smirked, amusement and lust coloring the blue eyes dark as he nodded down at Logan’s claws now joining the knife in his hands to shine in the low light. “Know how to use those?”

Throwing him a feral smile of his own, Logan inhaled the cloud of lust and adrenaline coming from his new companion and widened the smile into a dark smirk that was all teeth. “You had better hope so - better hope you have more clothes’n just those you’re wearin’,” Logan told him. “Not going to be worth much in about twenty minutes.”

The kid turned back to the bar, but not before Wolverine saw the flash of satisfaction glitter fiercely at the threat. “Make it five and I’ll let ya cut’em off me in the parkin’ lot.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Logan couldn’t help but grin at the brash offer, saying only, “Bet your ass you will,” before the locals finally grew offended enough to mistake stupidity for courage and rushed them. Taking out one opponent at a time, Logan couldn’t help but track that flash of steel as the kid used the bowie to threaten and then to follow through when the guy attacking was too drunk to tell the kid was serious, taking out one for every one of Logan’s.

Growling in dark satisfaction, Logan let himself fall into the fight, knowing he wouldn’t have to save the kid’s hide just to cut it up himself later. He wondered if the kid *was* a mutant - and if he was, was he as fast a healer as Logan was.

And how much the boy could take if he wasn’t.

End

FIC: The Dark Side of Duct Tape (MacGyver/SG1 - Mac/Daniel - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-23T16:54:42Z

Yeah the icon says it all for this one. ::grin::
--

Title: The Dark Side of Duct Tape
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: MacGyver/Stargate SG1
Pairing: Mac/Daniel
Rating: FRAO - slash, bondage, unusal...toys?
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Daniel won't stop talking; Mac has duct tape.
--
A/N: Comment fic - MacGyver/Stargate SG1, Mac/Daniel, paper clips and/or duct tape
--
A/N 2: Hope I got Mac's voice right - it's been a while....
--

The Dark Side of Duct Tape

“Daniel.”

“- and the markings! Mac, they predate Ra! Do you know - “

“Daniel.”

“ - what that means? Wait, of course you do. Mac this could be - “

“Daniel!”

“ - just what we needed to defeat the Goa’uumph!”

Pushing the scientist down into the chair behind his very overburdened desk, Mac straddled the muscular hips, sighing down into the outraged blue eyes over the fresh square of duct tape that demanded he explain. The sharp sound of another tear was Daniel’s only answer as Mac maneuvered the roll around, reaching behind the temporarily trapped body in order to tape the younger man to his chair. One loop, two, three - only once Daniel was stuck and going nowhere did Mac lean back and place his finger over the tape covering his lover’s mouth.

“Better.”

“Muh muh mumph, M’ck…?”

“Ah ah ah!” Mac waved his finger, admonishing with a raised eyebrow. “I just came to grab some lunch with my favorite ologist,” he sighed down at Daniel where the younger man rolled his eyes, flexing his shoulders but clearly going nowhere. “And here I can’t get a word in edgewise…”

“Welcome to the club,” Jack offered from the doorway, leaning just inside Daniel’s office, eyebrows raised in point. “You, too?”

Mac huffed out a laugh over his shoulder at his twin, shrugging. “Apparently.”

“Huh. Well I’m off to lunch,” Jack told them, raising an eyebrow identical to Mac‘s. “Bring you anything?”

“No, but thanks,” Mac grinned down on his captive with a deceptively sweet smile. “We’ll be down later. Much later.”

Jack just glared, shaking his head in mock horror. “See, now that is the kind of stuff, I don’t need to know!”

“Bye, Jack. Close the door on your way out?”

“Lock it…“ came the mutter, Mac calling out, “What did you say?“

“Oh nothing,“ Jack waved the comment away breezily. “Close the door, you betcha. Have fun kids.”

“You bet.“ Mac waved him away.

Sticking his head back through the door, Jack warned, “Just have him fed and caffeinated later this afternoon - he has a mission briefing at oh sixteen hundred.”

“Good *bye* Jack.“

“Gone.”

Hearing the door click shut, Mac traced one finger over the shiny, pebble-slick surface of the tape covering Daniel’s mouth, feeling the outline of the lush lips under the thick adhesive. “So. Now that I have you at my mercy Doctor Jackson, whatever should I do with you I wonder?”

Again the eye roll and Mac chuckled at the glare.

Though Daniel was trapped back in his chair, Mac had taped around his upper arms, leaving below the elbows and his hands free, and it would appear from the determined fingers deftly working the buttons on Mac’s jeans that his captive definitely had an idea or two about that very question.

But then, so did Mac. “Ah ah,“ he admonished again, sliding off of Daniel’s lap to crouch in front of his knees, giving his own a silent apology as he set up shop on the cold, hard floor. Taking one of Daniel’s knees in each hand, he pushed them apart, moving in between them and pressing both hands flat in Danny’s lap, thumbs rubbing slowly against the bulge he found there. “My turn to - talk,” Mac told him. “Or maybe I’ll just taste.”

Daniel threw his head back in frustration as Mac’s fingers finally made their way to the button of his BDUs, working slowly until he had Daniel’s length hard and hot in his hand, pulling gently.

Mac had to be back at Phoenix by nightfall to spearhead a new research project, but for now he had Daniel literally in his hands and he wasn’t about to waste such an opportunity; especially not since Jack made a point of letting him know no one would be looking for Daniel for at least another three and a half hours…

“But for now, we have time.“ Letting go of his prize brought Daniel’s head snapping back up in accusation, the blue eyes widening in denial at the gray roll of tape Mac once again pulled from his pocket, only to flare in arousal as his inventive mind ran through just what Mac might do with that roll and that very vulnerable part of his body newly bared for any and all to see. Only Jack really *had* locked the door…

“Plenty of time to play, though I confess I didn’t bring anything with me. Good thing I‘m the creative type,“ Mac grinned an airy, wicked smile as he pulled off a long strip, twisting the sticky tape into a long rope, saying casually, “Crafty.” He leaned in, licking the head of Daniel’s cock before wrapping the makeshift rope around and between his balls, twining the double strands up the shaft until he reached the top. “Inventive.“ He had just enough length to tie it securely under the crown.

Sitting back on his heels, Mac surveyed his handy work with a satisfied smile. He had Daniel exposed, his bound cock hard and already leaking, flushed an angry red, fully dressed in his chair, silver-gray line of duct tape across his chest keeping him there until Mac was through with whatever creative, crafty, inventive plan he came up with for the afternoon. Not bad for a surprise visit he would say. Of course those hands had to stay put - Daniel talked with them about as much as he did with his mouth, and so Mac tore off a couple more strips and deftly secured his wrists to the arms of his chair, making sure to tape the skin and not the cuffs of his shirt this time. Mac wanted him to remember this when he was on his way to whichever planet had been cleared for exploration this time and Mac on his way back to L.A. to babysit another scientist who didn’t have half of Daniel’s hard-won caution or common sense.

Sliding his hands up the muscled thighs, pants bunching slightly under the flat palms, Mac arched an eyebrow in expectation at the low groan coming from behind the tape. Leaning forward to flick his tongue over the tip, he sucked lightly on the head, making sure he had Daniel’s full attention before licking down the shaft, pressing his tongue a little harder in the line where flesh and tape met. The whimper above him had him chuckling, taking Daniel in his mouth, tape and all.

Definitely worth the bad knees and a new roll of duct tape, he would say...though he wondered where Daniel kept his paperclips. Silver or gold, they should make excellent nipple clamps in a pinch…

End

FIC: Velvet Glove (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-21T22:32:24Z

READ the WARNINGS - kink warning on this one.
--
Title: Velvet Glove
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRAO - slash, language, fisting, kink
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Sex on the kinky side.
--
A/N: Comment fic from last Thursday - Leverage, Nate/Eliot, fisting
--
A/N: I had started this one on Thursday and Sub got spiked with an almost 103 degree fever and didn't feel much like writing sex for the last couple of days. And then Trowa showed me her version and got Sub back on track. ;-) I blame her.

Velvet Glove

He feels the fingers slip into him, sliding deep through the butter soft opening of muscles made warm and open from hours of play and he sighs, moaning into the pillow under his lips as Nate pulls out three to press in four. It’s still not enough and Eliot relaxes into the other hand that is rubbing his shoulder, fingers and thumb petting in small circles, knowing what’s coming next will cross that line into too much soon enough.

He’s lost track of how many times Nate has made him come; lost track of everything except Nate’s hands; his lips, his words painting dark, dirty promises on his skin. Like the four fingers currently twisting, pressing deeper inside of him until Eliot curses as they brush that one spot lightly, bringing his head up and back, arcing his spine until Nate settles him down again with nothing more than a whispered word against his overheated skin.

Wait.

Eliot does, trying not to rock back against the fingers opening him wider, working him over so that he can accept more than he ever has before; everything Nate wants to give him. But his entire body is burning with it, with the effort of holding still, of just *accepting*, and the desperate moan that rumbles from out of his throat is one part whimper, one part groan and Eliot rubs his head into the pillow threatening to smother him as his hands wrap around the mattress so that he won’t pull on the restraints.

He settles for raising his hips higher in invitation, spreading his knees and letting his shoulders stay pressed flat and submissive against the pillows Nate had spread out under him when this latest session had first begun. His arms remain flung out in supplication on either side, hands white knuckled and bunched in the edge of the mattress, the white sheets Nate preferred rucked up and tousled from the hours of testing and teasing that had brought them here.

He’s pretty sure the resulting whine of protest when the four fingers were removed would have had him denying it had it been anyone but Nate; as it was, the soft press of lips against the cheek of his ass made him sigh and smile, all further tension leaving him at the thought that this was it. No more teasing, no more soft touches and soothing distractions. No more stalling, making sure his body was ready for something Eliot had been waiting for for hours.

When the four fingers returned, they brought Nate’s hand with them, Eliot’s body swallowing it all up, hips shifting and legs trembling as Nate slowly pressed in deep, deeper, until Eliot cried out softly, more in surprise than pain, as the pad of the thumb passed through the widened opening, Eliot’s body starting to close on the thinner bulk of Nate’s wrist.

“Fuck.”

Eliot didn’t know who that whisper belonged to, full of wonder and reverence, but it was all he could do not to arch back and drag Nate in deeper, still wanting more of that impossible bulk inside of him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Turning his head, looking over his shoulder, Eliot saw Nate smile, felt again that wash of awe ride over him as Nate watched his hand disappear inside of Eliot, eyes softer than he had ever seen and Eliot couldn’t help but shift his hips up to meet the still-careful thrusts of the flat hand. Slowly, slower than Eliot would like, Nate pulled his hand out; wrist, palm, fingers, before just as slowly easing them back in, driving Eliot ten different degrees of insane as the gentle assault pushed him that much closer to the edge but refused to tip him over for the fourth time.

More. He needed -

“I know,” Nate whispered, and damn if his voice wasn’t as rough and shaken as Eliot felt, waiting to be torn apart by the release that lay shimmering just out of reach.

On the next slow push in, just as the base of the thumb broke inside of him, Nate slowly, very slowly, curled his fingers in together, pressing his fist in deeper, knuckles first as Eliot blew out a stuttered breath and groaned, his eyes all but rolling up in his head as he panted, riding the solid bulk now moving to make way for more of Nate’s forearm.

His hands gripped the mattress, his hips straining, trembling with the effort not to make a wrong move and take too much, his cock lying forgotten and leaking back between his legs, turned up and pressed against the pillow propped under his stomach. And then Nate began to move, fist dragging back against the ring of muscle *just* pulling as if to pull out before pressing back in, the bulk of folded fingers, hand and bone pushing inexorably deeper until Eliot grunted softly, pushed physically forward by the fist inside him that had nowhere left to go.

“Please.” He pressed his eyes closed tightly, the hot wave of pressurepleasurebulkFULL building over him, ready to break him before it broke *over* him, sending him down into the darkness they had been courting since early afternoon. “Pleasepleaseplease…Nate…need it….need you, please…”

Lips pressed against his ear, warm and wet, brushing the single strand of hair that had escaped the ponytail, promising softly, “I know. You have it, Eliot. You already do.”

His mind screamed his frustration, his mouth unable to form the words…but then Nate was chuckling, a low, wicked sound, and suddenly there was the command Eliot had become desperate to hear…

“Come for me, El. Come now.”

And as simple as that Eliot was seeing stars, Nate’s hand moving, pressing, fucking just hard enough, on just the right angle to send him jerking out of control, his entire body trembling and shaking on Nate’s arm, Nate’s hand a fuzzy anchor on his lower back as Eliot seized and shook, riding out an orgasm too intense for his worn out, wound up body to handle.

Dropping back down onto the pillows, weak as a day old kitten, Eliot ignored the tears that leaked from his eyes, feeling his body tremble with the aftershocks rippling through him as Nate’s hand kept pushing, the now gentle pressure flowing back and forth as Nate cursed, his hips snapping over him as Eliot felt the free hand leave him, rope after rope of warm liquid splashing across his ass.

Smiling a contented rumble into the pillow as Nate panted above him, his fingers twitching against his lower back as Nate again braced his now sticky hand against him, holding him down, Eliot hissed weakly as Nate flattened his hand and pulled out, careful not to move too fast. He shivered as careful fingers brushed over the used opening, knowing Nate was looking for injury, for blood, and knowing he wouldn’t find any. He had been too careful, too kind…

A short pause later and there was a warm cloth running over his abused backside, his cock, cleaning up the evidence of the final orgasm Eliot didn’t remember having. Cloth thrown with a plop somewhere in the general vicinity of the bathroom, there was a snick of a lock, and then another, and Eliot was released to drag painfully numb arms back into his body, feeling the half-dead limbs responding sluggishly as the blood slowly returned.

Curling back into Nate’s body as Nate turned them until they lay curled together hip to hip, Eliot sighed happily, feeling Nate’s soft cock nestle against his ass as he threw a leg over Eliot’s hip, reaching over his shoulder to turn off the light.

The doors were locked, as were the windows, Hardison’s security system the hacker had specially designed for them all installed and turned on. Tomorrow Eliot knew there would be a more thorough once over and, if he had his way, follow up sex in the shower, but for now, Eliot was more than content to lay back against the one man he trusted to see him this way and enjoy the heavy, tired tingle of his misused body as he fell into sleep.

End

FIC: Fallout (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-21T18:40:25Z

Written on Thursday for Thurday's comment fic Capers and Casefiles, but the fever got me and just now posting, sorry...
--
Title: Fallout
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRAO - slash, langauge
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: After a job goes wrong, the team takes s tep back to regroup.
--
A/N: Comment fic prompt - Leverage, Dom!Nate/Eliot, wrapping broken ribs
--
A/N 2: SPOILERS for the First David Job.
--

Fallout

“Ow - fuck!”

Nate bit back a smile at the frustrated growl and smoothed the end of the bandage in place over Eliot‘s ribs, careful to not press too hard on the ones that were broken. “Sorry.” He had been distracted by all that smooth, tanned skin…

Eliot shifted under his hands, muscles bunching and releasing as he tested the bandages for support and wiggle room. “’z‘allright.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Yeah.” In deference to Eliot’s pacing, Nate moved to the bar, splashing in a fingerful of the good scotch Eliot kept for when he needed substance over flash. Watching the younger man stalk the loft in agitation, upper body held still and tight in deference to the ribs, bruises and stiff muscles, Nate waited him out, knowing there was more to the caged tiger restlessness than just a job gone wrong. Well, gone really wrong, it was true, but they weren’t out of the game yet. Not by a long shot.

He didn’t have long to wait as Eliot threw himself down onto the chair with a casual disregard for his broken bones, making Nate wince in sympathy as Eliot hissed, ignoring the pain to rest his elbows on his knees. Probably forgot about them already. Nate had no idea how the man had managed to taken down Quinn, let along make it to their offices and take on three more of Sterling’s goons without passing out. From everything Eliot had told him, Quinn had come out swinging, breaking Eliot’s ribs right off the bat, hoping to take him down quickly…

“Eliot?”

“I’m fine,” Eliot huffed out the answer. Sighing as he gingerly lifted a clean tshirt over his head, he briefly wrapped an arm around his chest, taking a couple of deep, even breaths before lowering the forearm back to his knee. Turning, catching him staring, Eliot glared. “What?”

“It’ll be - it’ll all be all right,” Nate consoled him, thinking maybe it was the money, or their freedom the mercenary was worried about. “We’re not out of this, not by a long shot.”

Blue eyes looked up in accusation, a wry smile twisting his lips as he accused, “You got more tricks up your sleeve, that it?”

“Yeah.” Nate smiled cheerfully. “A few.”

“Sterling knows ya.”

“No. He knows the old Nate. The old Parker. The old Eliot,” Nate told him. “Besides, he knows *us* - he doesn’t know the team. And Hardison destroyed the files, so…”

“Exactly! What about our cases, Nate? Our files?” Eliot grumbled. “How’re we supposed to help these people without,” his arms waved around, Eliot wincing absently as the abused ribs twinged. “Our lives?”

“Oh we have our lives, our talents,“ he disagreed. “The rest was just window dressing for the client.”

But Eliot wasn‘t as sanguine about the whole blowing up their offices just to keep Leverage Consulting and Associates out of his nemesis‘ hands as Nate was.

“Yeah, well, that’s one hell of a curtain we no longer have to hide behind,” the younger man snorted.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nate sighed, draining the one, last glass and closing his eyes. Sophie, Parker and Hardison had holed up in their own hand-picked safe houses for the night and were all on alert; everyone should be fine for the night while they - he - figured out how they were going to pull a rabbit out of the hat this time.

Sterling was good, but Nate was better - and in no way were Sterling and Blackpoole going to take *this* family away from him. Nate wouldn’t let him.

Resisting the urge to rub his aching eyes and head, Nate held out a hand for Eliot, urging, “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Eliot eyed the hand but allowed Nate to pull him up out of the couch. “Not about to faint and fall over dead now that it’s all over, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know. But I want you in bed, still and behaving where I can keep an eye on you.”

“So what - no nooky?” Eliot sputtered, pouting in protest.

“Not with those ribs, I don’t think you’re up for it, son.” Nate denied, pulling back the covers and making sure both of their phones were near at hand on the nightstand. Settling in for the night, Nate waited for Eliot to join him before turning out the light.

Eliot just stood over him and glared. “Nate, if I can ride a bull for the belt in Texas with three broken ribs, I can ride you with two.”

“Eliot…” Shifting up on his elbows, thinking Eliot was just blustering for appearance sake, Nate started to take a firm hand, only to get a good look at the heat in the blue eyes and changed his mind at the familiar smirk he found there. “What - you’re serious?”

“Very. Now move.”

“Alright, fine,” Nate gave in, mostly because he wasn’t one to give up on sex with Eliot, and because if he could lay under him, Eliot’s legs should be able to do most of the work without getting the ribs involved too much. “You’ll be good?”

“Darlin’ I’ll be damn good,” Eliot smirked. Throwing a leg over to straddle Nate’s hips he promised, “If’n I can get you ta buck, be even better.”

End

FIC: Shaken (Leverage - Nate/Eliot - FRM - 1/1)

2009-02-21T17:37:50Z

Title: Shaken
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: FRM - slash, violence, language
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: There's a reason Eliot is the best at what he does.
--
A/N: Comment fic prompt - Leverage, Nate/Eliot, shaken
--

Shaken

He was already ten men in before the various punches, kicks and whatever other connections Sterling’s goons had managed to get on him began to make themselves known. Someone had caught his left eye. Someone else had caught his hip - but Eliot remembered that one - had broke the man’s goddamned ankle in retribution for that one, eyes still trained on his goal. On the only thing that mattered.

Nate held tied and cuffed to an old wooden church pew, shotgun holes blown in the sacred wood to hold Nate’s wrists with metal cuffs; splinters rough and already drawing blood as Nate fought now to work himself free.

Catching the cattle prod before it did more than graze his arm, Eliot locked down on the curse and the pain both and dispatched another two goons with ruthless efficiency. Sterling’s hired muscle was no match for Eliot’s skill, especially not with Nate bleeding and broken not ten feet in front of him.

The widening of the gray-blue eyes on him told him what he already knew, and Eliot pivoted, ducking under another goon to avoid the bullet the last had just fired, catching the shoulder of his own man instead of Eliot’s chest. Eliot didn’t bother holding back the hand that caught the guman’s wrist, snapping it and removing the pistol in one twist, his elbow snapping out to break the man’s nose, pushing bone into the brain, killing him instantly.

A sudden silence and Eliot turned to see Sterling holding another gun to Nate’s head, the man’s face blanched white at the carnage lying at Eliot’s feet. But then Sterling, for all his bluster and petty evilness, Sterling was just a corporate thug; all facts and figures without a inkling of the violence it all meant on the street.

The was a twinge, quickly buried, before Eliot flicked his eyes to Nate, relieved when that same horror was not found on his face. But then, Nate had known who Eliot was. What he was - had been - had reclaimed to rescue Nathan Ford from the man who had hated him for longer than either of them knew why.

“One move,” Sterling warned, swallowing shakily, “and he’s dead.”

Eliot just watched his adam’s apple work, letting out the hard, feral smile that he knew turned Nate on like nothing else but scared the shit out of anyone else. “You sure ‘bout that hoss?” Eliot brought his hand up and watched as Sterling realized for the first time that Eliot still had the goon’s gun. “You sure yer aim’s better’n mine?”

“I - you don’t like guns! “

“Don’t mean I don’t know how at use ‘em.“ Eliot lowered his voice, letting the dark growl rumble about at the base of the words as he warned, “You sure you want ta deal with me when you miss?”

“How do I know you won’t come after me - kill me, if I just walk out of here?” Sterling countered, hand twitchy on the trigger. Eliot narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t,” Eliot smiled, a nasty thing that had his eyebrows rising cheekily. “But it’s not you I’m after. This time. I’ll let ya walk away.”

Sterling weighed his words against the gun held in Eliot’s hand and cursed. Eliot felt the pull of Nate’s eyes on him as Sterling made his decision but he didn’t dare look away from Sterling to make that connection. Finally the rogue insurance man’s hands rose in surrender.

Eliot shot him as soon as the gun was away from Nate’s head.

“I lied.”

Rifling through Sterling’s pockets found the key to the cuffs and Eliot had Nate’s hands free a second later, easing them carefully through the splintered holes in the pew and wincing at the blood that covered his hands from fingers to what had been the white cuffs of his shirt. They were shaking as they reached up to touch Eliot’s cheek, the wound that Eliot just now realized was bleeding freely, Nate’s fingers mixing their blood together before pulling away.

But Nate wasn’t the only one shaking. Eliot felt the beginning of the adrenaline crash, the fear and anger catching up with him now that the goons were eliminated and Sterling was no longer a threat. Too late. He had almost been too late…“Nate…”

Again Nate’s hand moved, this time to Eliot’s arm, the one that now twinged and burned with the aftermath of his near brush with electricity. “You’re hurt.”

“No more so than usual,” Eliot denied, the small twitch of his lips more for Nate than himself, his eyes drawn to the split in Nate’s lip. “So’re you.”

It was only as their lips met, soft and tentative, unsure how much the other could bear that Eliot realized Nate was just as shaken by this near miss as he was.

end

FIC: Magic Fingers (Supernatural - Dean/Castiel - FRT - 1/1)

2009-02-15T00:34:34Z

Title: Magic Fingers
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: FRT - Slash
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Sometimes after a hunt gone wrong, all you need is magic fingers...
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A/N: Comment fic lonely prompt - Supernatural, Castiel/Dean, magic fingers
--

Magic Fingers

He didn’t bother to do more than throw his gear on the floor, empty sawed-off falling with a dull thud on the already stained carpet before his body followed suit on the bed, leaving Castiel to close the door behind them. He knew the angel, trusted him to close and lock the door; to lay down the lines of salt and other things to ward the room for the night.

Right now Dean was one long bruise and didn’t want to move; didn’t think he could if he wanted to. The tepid spray that passed for hot water around here certainly held little in the way of tempting him off the bed; especially since this motel had Magic Fingers…

The metallic sound of a quarter slipping into that very slot made him smile, his lips stretching as he turned his head just enough to see Castiel settle on the corner of the other bed, the angel’s borrowed lips turned up in something that might have been a commiserating smile if Dean hadn’t known better.

“Does that really help?” the angel asked, curiosity coloring the mild tone.

“Mmmmyeah,” Dean mumbled, mouth pressed into the bedspread, too tired to do more than lie there and shake with the bed. Next quarter he would turn over and let the bed do his back, if he could. Right now though, not moving was just awesome.

Who knew ghosts could throw freakin’ dressers? Or that the guy targeted by the thing would be more interested in seeing his dead girlfriend up and walking than saving his own skin? When Dean had told him to run, the dick had just asked why - it wasn’t like she could do anything, she was dead. Which, of course, pissed the bitch off and sent Dean diving for the dumbass so the guy would hopefully live to see just how very dangerous a woman scorned could become; especially one pissed enough to come back from the grave to haunt his dumb…well, ass. Should have just left him there to deal with her…should have -

Castiel’s hands on his shoulders took him by surprise he was so out of it; the fingers digging in through two layers of shirts to the muscles abused by his subsequent crash into the living room wall much better than the bed rocking under him. Dean groaned into the added touch and did his best not to disgrace himself by begging.

“You have forever to stop doing that.”

He thought he managed the not begging thing pretty well, all things considered.

Castiel chuckled above him, the bed dipping so that the angel could get a better angle on his back. “I’ll be sure to stop before then.”

Dean just snorted. “Smartass.”

“I believe the proper response is that I learned from the best.”

“Humor!” Dean gasped, and then grunted as he hit a particularly bad spot. Grousing, he groaned as the fingers dug in gently, working over the muscle and chasing the tension away with gentle repetition. “Careful or they’ll revoke your angel card. And by the way, you’re killing me, here.”

“Not today. And that one is most likely going to bruise,” he warned.

“Yeah I figured. What did I land on anyway?”

“Coat rack.” Castiel answered automatically, as if it had been in his nature to notice everything about the battle he hadn’t actually participated in. Hell, for all Dean knew, maybe it was. “It looked painful.”

“Ah. Yeah, more than looked. And who the hell uses coat racks anymore?”

Still, between the bed and Cas’s magic fingers, Dean was slowly becoming something less than the one big knot he had been just a few minutes ago. The angel knew just were to dig and were to knead and if he didn’t stop any time tonight Dean would be quite happy to fall asleep this way, clothes and all. Cas could just let himself out…

He was just about to suggest that when Castiel shifted to straddle his ass, the better to reach his other shoulder, and so, of course Dean being Dean, his mind went completely to the wrong place. Thank god all that came out was a strangled groan that he hoped could be chalked up to the fingers now digging little furrows of alternating pain and bliss in his other shoulder.

And still Dean being Dean, the little part of his traitorous mind not locked up safe and sound couldn’t help but wish if only he were naked and those fingers would work down to dig in a little lower…

“That - can be arranged.“ The voice that rumbled close and warm in his ear sent him jumping about a foot off the bedspread.

End

FIC: Tattoo (Supernatural - Dean/Sam - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-14T22:36:02Z

Title: Tattoo
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Paring: Dean/Sam
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, demoiness, dub-con
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Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
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Summary: Dean gets the urge to mark what's his.
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A/N: Comment fic lonely prompt - Supernatural, demon!Dean, pet!Sam, tattoo
--

Tattoo

By the time Castiel had pulled him from Hell, Dean Winchester had been a lost cause for more than ten years. By the time Sam had figured it out, the angel was dead; glorious wings torn from his back, his borrowed body broken and shredded until Dean had once again felt the flow of blood under his fingers.

Sammy had had the chance to kill him then - had the colt trained on him, ready to shoot while Dean’s hands had still been stained red with the accountant’s blood. Dean had grabbed the barrel and placed it firmly against his chest, told Sammy to shoot…had watched in private satisfaction as the familiar face scrunched up, crumpled, tears spilling to fall unheeded as Sam’s arms buckled as he lowered the gun, unable to kill him, no matter that Dean was no longer the brother Sam had grown up with.

Dean had taken the colt; he wasn’t stupid.

The first thing he did after that was to collar him; the strong, slender neck was too perfect not to wrap in that supple circle of black leather and metal. The moment Dean had seen that mark of ownership, the leather moving as Sam swallowed, eyes downcast to the floor, Dean had thrown him to the bed and taken him, swallowing his scream with his own mouth and feeling a deep, dark flood of satisfaction when Sam wrapped his arms and legs around him, pulling him in closer and urging him on.

The second thing Dean had done - after a week of nothing but that one motel room and sex in as many sweaty, messy positions on as many surfaces as Dean could imagine - was to find a local tattoo parlor and get Sammy marked. It was only an abstract design, about as big as the tattoos they had gotten on their chests to ward away demons a lifetime ago, but it had become reason to fear and tremble in Hell, a sign that Dean had an interest in whichever soul he had branded the sigil into the flesh of the soul he had just claimed.

It was time to claim his brother in that very same way.

He had debated on where it should go - on the back of the neck, peekabooing out from under Sammy’s long hair, or a lot lower, so that every time Dean took Sam, he would see his brand and smile. In the end he finally decided the collar would work well enough for the outside world, the tattoo he would save for himself and for Sam, to know he would forever belong to his brother, Dean vowing to do anything necessary to protect Sammy from - well, everything else.

Back at their motel, Dean had immediately stripped and taken Sam, tattoo still raw and bleeding under the bandage he ripped off so he could see it right then. Sam had protested, or course - until Dean had worn him out, wringing out multiple orgasms from him until Sam had collapsed in an exhausted heap face-first on the bed. Now, his back against the wall, the tv on low and tuned to some inane movie, Dean let his fingers trail over the strong back, up and down the spine, but mostly over the bare ass, upturned to him and still shining a satisfying shade of red with scattered finger bruises over both cheeks, the vaguely tribal tattoo another irritated shade of red under the black ink, drawing Dean’s fingers to brush over the sigil in fond possession.

Sam murmured his name in his sleep, brushing and arching back against Dean’s touch, but never stirred.

Raising the bottle of beer to his lips, Dean smiled and settled in to watch the movie.

End

FIC: Hell (Supernatural - Dean/omc, Dean/Sam - FRAO - 1/1)

2009-02-14T21:06:03Z

Dark!fic - READ the WARNINGS.
--

Title: Hell
Author: Sam-Tony
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/omc, Dean/Sam
Rating: FRAO - slash, incest, Hell, non-con, torture, language
--
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
--
Summary: Hell is Hell and it changes people, even a man as strong as Dean WInchester.
--
A/N: Comment fic lonely prompt - Supernatural, Dom!Dean/omc, fuck you in Hell.

Hell

He torments people now. Saving them…is no longer his family business, but then, Dad’s gone to Heaven, or wherever souls go when the escape Hell and Sammy’s topside, probably doing his damnedest to save him - Dean has no illusions that he’s given up on that little chore. Dean knows if they’re positions were reversed, he wouldn’t.

Dean would be doing every damned thing he could thing of to break Sammy free. Only thing was, Dean had it on real good authority that nothing short of God Himself had the juice to break Dean out of Hell. For thirty years Dean had been told that as Alistair gloated and sneered and played above him with fire and knives and promises that no one was coming for him; he was all alone with only his own mind to keep him company. Sanity - well, sanity was no longer an option.

The second Dean stepped down off that rack, Alistair handed him Dean’s own knife, stolen from Sam when the younger Winchester had been off hunting Lilith and before he had started drinking himself unconscious every night. It had been a test - to see if Dean would go after the demon who had tortured him for thirty years, or if he would act like a good puppy and do what he had been told.

When the first damned soul had been placed on the rack in Dean’s place, Dean knew he would be becoming the very thing he had fought against his entire life. Alistair had chosen well and Dean died inside the part of his mind that was still human; still Sam’s big brother and John’s oldest son.

Early twenties, tall and lanky with floppy brown hair and green eyes that widened in hope and terror as Dean hesitated, knife raised in his hand, his own eyes torn between horror and anticipation as Alistair strapped him down onto the rack, splayed out and offered up just for him.

The first slice into bare flesh was pure Heaven - release, arousal, rage, satisfaction at the power he once again held in his hands. The power to hurt instead of being hurt, to *do* something instead of lie there and take it; someone else’s blood leaking, bleeding out to drip against the metal and brimestone, to sizzle in the fires of Hell.

Alistair had chuckled and patted him on the head, Dean ignoring the patronizing manner in favor of cutting another line into the sobbing victim, watching the blood well up over the boy’s chest, one thin river running down the flat torso over lean muscle and bone to roll into the valley of the groin, over his balls, again to drip onto the stone floor.

After that, every victim the demons brought him looked like Sammy. Every one that didn’t, brought a growl of protest from Dean’s throat and another patronizing pat on the head with a slick promise of ‘next time’. It wasn’t as if Dean wanted Sam in Hell, wasn’t as if he blamed Sam for not saving him, it was just that Dean would grasp at anything that might mean he wasn’t alone in his torment down here.

God help him the day Sam was brought before him, strapped to the rack and offered to Dean for real. The knife would still be sharp, the fierce joy at each cut, each burn, each body taken without regard for anything but Dean’s own pleasure would still be there; drilled into him from decades of the very agony he now dealt out. Dean honestly didn’t know if he would use the knife on Alistair for daring touch his brother, or on Sam because he was finally there, with him, to touch, to hold. To take.

Raising the torch in his hand, Dean’s eyes burned, his nose twitching at the sizzle of fire and flesh as he willingly pressed the torch against his latest boy’s chest, his ears drinking in the screams as fire burned away flesh, causing the body on the rack to arch and pull tight against the chains binding him. His nipples pierced through by barbs of steel attached to another just like it through his cock, Dean had added a chain between them this time to pull on and direct the boys screams. Torch thrown aside, clothes, too, Dean lined up and pushed in, using the boy’s own blood to ease his way and enjoying the screams that turned to whimpers as Dean drove in until he came inside the bleeding, broken body.

Pulling out and cleaning up, Dean redressed and, waiting until the green eyes opened, focusing on him again in pure terror, started all over again.

Dean truly and sincerely prayed that Sam never came to Hell, either as a soul, or to try and save him. Dean was already so far beyond saving…

…and having Sam on the rack in front of him, the chance to touch and torment, to taste and fuck the strong, beautiful forbidden body…Dean was hopelessly, heartbreakingly afraid he would do it. He wouldn‘t be able to resist.

End