#and Fabio was full elbows out

[42bakery]

Pedro crashed into Fabio at the start?!

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Like a Good Neighbor

On the sixth day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A fluffy, smutty Neighbors AU with Danny.

Christmas Song Pairing: “Last Christmas” by Wham!

~~~

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, dirty talk, please don’t let strangers into your apartment

Words: 7.6k

Your new neighbor was hot.

Like, ‘oh no, my panties fell off, take me now’ kind of hot. The kind of hot that they put shirtless on the covers of paperback romance novels – a true Fabio.

So, of course, you made every effort to avoid him.

It wasn’t all too hard, which, considering that you were neighbors, said something about either your schedule or his schedule – or both – and that maybe the universe was looking out for you for once. In the month or so that you’d seen him around, you’d only exchanged passing greetings and small smiles a couple of times, never having to walk the stairs together or find out you share a similar schedule.

Which was why you said ‘fuck you, universe’ when you were carrying a few bags of groceries up the stairs, bobbling a pack of toilet paper of all things and struggling to see over your own purchases when a pair of rather large hands took the toilet paper off of its precarious spot between your elbow and chest.

Because there he was, Model-Boy, holding your toilet paper with a sweet smile on his face. “Hi, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but you looked like you could use some help.”

You wanted to say fuck you to this gorgeous man, you really did, because the last thing you wanted in your life right now was some hot, sweet, boy-next-door (literally). But you directed your emotions toward the universe at the last second because if the word ‘fuck’ was going to come out of your mouth while in this man’s presence, it was going to be ‘fuck me, please’ and that was not the mark of an uncomplicated neighbor.

“Oh, uh, thanks, I guess,” was what lamely fell out instead. “I live in 22B, but I really don’t want to bother you. I can readjust,” you promised, starting to shift your bags.

“No, no,” the man rushed out before you could make space, and you stopped. “I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have offered if I really had to be somewhere.”

You blinked at him, hoping you wouldn’t break out in a full sweat, regardless of the cold temperatures that had descended that week. “Well, thanks again, then.” You started up the stairs again, making it to the landing and counting your steps along the broad hallway. You thought maybe you should say something, but you were nervous and he had your toilet paper in his arms.

“I – uh, I’ve seen you around a couple times. We’re neighbors, actually. I live in 23B,” he offered, tone easy-going and kind.

You feigned ignorance. “Yeah, we’ve passed each other a couple times. I sure remember a face like yours.” You flushed immediately, cursing yourself and the insinuation the phrase held. But it wasn’t as if this man didn’t know God had taken a little extra time on him.

He chuckled, and you hoped it wasn’t at your expense. “I’m glad I’m not too forgettable. I just moved in a few weeks ago and I’m gone more than I’m here, so I’m not surprised we haven’t really met. I’m Danny, by the way. Sorry, I should have introduced myself earlier.”

“Oh, no worries,” you said, catching sight of the gold number on your door and putting your bags down. “I’m Y/N. Thanks…for the third time for helping me out there. I think had I dropped that,” you said, nodding to the toilet paper, “down the stairwell, I might have thrown myself down with it.” Danny blinked and smiled hesitantly and you shut your eyes.

“That was just –”

“Did you have a bad –”

You spoke and stopped at the same time, both of you waiting for the other to continue, and you decided that you were done with human interaction after this.

“I was just joking,” you finished, finally, fingering your key in your pocket.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, I – I figured. If I thought you weren’t, I’d be a little more worried.”

Silence again.

“Well, it was nice meeting you officially, Danny. Happy Holidays,” you offered, knowing that you would not let yourself out again until they had passed.

He smiled, eyes roving your face, and you turned to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, definitely. Happy Holidays to you, too,” he repeated back, and then gave a small wave before ambling off toward the stairwell again.

You shoved your way into your apartment, dragging your bags and that damned toilet paper in after you and instantly threw yourself face-down on the couch.

“I used to be so good at flirting,” you bemoaned into the couch, to no one other than yourself.

Model-Man – or, Danny, you supposed – had to think you were some type of crazy, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

You dragged yourself off the couch once you got too hot in your coat and went about putting your groceries away. The audacity of life to not only have you need things, but to have to go buy things, and then have to put those things away was…audacious.

After the trainwreck of a conversation with Mr. Panty-Dropper – shit, Danny, you meant – you just wanted some comfort food and sad music.

Except what you really wanted to do was scream your repressed emotions out into a void, but there was no void and your repressed emotions were still repressed, so you had to make do with what you were given.

The record player you’d found at Goodwill didn’t have a whole lot of records to go with it, but you’d splurged on an album that contained some gloomy tunes you vibed with, so you lugged the thing out, plugged it in, and set the record on, letting the melancholy soothe the bite that had nothing to do with the weather outside.

You were no Scrooge, not usually. But heartbreak came in all shapes and sizes and popped up at the most inconvenient times.

It’d been a year since you’d been let down and disappointed big time by the dude who was supposed to be your rock. And you hated that it carried over in your mood as that sick sort of anniversary passed by. You tried to pay it no mind, which was the ultimate reason you had gone grocery shopping – you’d hoped that the menial task would help convince you that you were just fine living it up on your own – that you got full-fat, dairy ice cream and cheese because you didn’t have to take his lactose-intolerant ass into consideration.

But you still thought about it.

Still missed perhaps not him, but the human connection that you associated with him. Missed the intimacy and trust that at one point, you’d thought you could give without consequence.

And in all honesty, he hadn’t been all that great. In the few months it took you to process your emotions and actually become angry at him, you’d started a list of all the things you didn’t like about him: his thoughtlessness, his disregard of consequence, his lack of empathy, his obsession with the Revolutionary War, his pretentiousness when it came to draft beer when you preferred craft, and the fact that he thought everything could be fixed with Christmas songs.

You wanted him to explain his logic now that every Christmas song was tainted by him.

Your puttering around the kitchen didn’t last long, comfort food usually didn’t take much time to make, and you planted yourself on the couch once again, this time upright, and turned the TV on, letting yourself drift away into the sound, record player still playing, TV still on, food still in your lap.

The overwhelming noise coming from different directions actually helped. Distractions everywhere, discombobulated lyrics mixing with lines of dialogue creating a funny soundtrack, and it was dark out before you knew it.

The only reason you made your legs work again was to go retrieve that full-fat ice cream from the freezer, which is the exact moment you sent another ‘fuck you’ to the universe, because you couldn’t find it. Which meant you either forgot it at the store or it was hopefully staying cold enough in your car not to melt.

You didn’t want to take your chances, though, so you slipped some sandals on, knowing your feet would get cold, but uncaring as you’d be back underneath your blanket soon enough.

You’d just turned the lock when you made the decision to stop insulting the universe, because right as you started towards the stairwell, Danny the Model stepped off, eyes finding yours in the incandescent lighting and smiling.

Oh holy actual fuck.

Not a model. A fucking drummer. Which was somehow even hotter.

His coat was strung across his back, but the button up shirt beneath it was completely undone, catching on the drumsticks sticking out of his pockets and baring his torso to you, and you hoped the fast-closing distance and dim lighting enough to stop him from catching your eyes as they walked down his treasure trail.

“Hey, Danny, fancy seeing you, what, twice in a day, now?” you asked faintly as you got closer.

“Must be fate,” he joked.

You gestured to his drumsticks. “I didn’t know you were a drummer.” He smiled faintly, and you needed to look him up ASAP because that was not the face of some dive-bar, on-the-side musician.

“Yeah, I play in a band with my brothers. Well, best friends, but might as well be. We grew up together.”

“Oh, nice. I’ll have to look you up sometime.” You shivered, not having grabbed a covering. “Well, I need to go rescue my wayward ice cream that hopefully didn’t melt all over my car.”

He glanced at your state of dress. “Are you gonna want ice cream after being out in this weather dressed like that?”

You shrugged, beginning to shift past him. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m gonna eat it anyways. Have a good night, Danny,” you called to him as you got further away.

“You, too,” you heard him say, and you could feel his eyes on you all the way down the hallway, appreciative that you couldn’t actually see him looking at you.

You were thankful that the ice cream had fallen out of the bag in an upright position, and a squeeze of the container revealed soft, but perhaps not completely melted product, so you thought you might still be in luck. You might have sent a thank you up, but you weren’t sure the universe really wanted to talk to you right now, so you went about your way back into your apartment, teeth chattering and toes numb and thinking back to Danny’s comment about actually wanting the ice cream after you retrieved it.

You didn’t. Not particularly. But your spite had to be addressed in some way.

You were still staring at the soft ice cream, debating if you were spiting him or just yourself were you to eat it when a soft knock came from your door.

Your brows furrowed, and you immediately assumed that some creepy stalker had seen an underdressed young woman in a dark parking lot and had followed you back up to your apartment, so you picked your key up and held it like a shank, tiptoeing to the peephole and looking through it only to be assaulted with those damn brown puppy-eyes you weren’t supposed to see again until after you dragged yourself out of this anniversary funk.

But you still found yourself unlocking the door.

“Danny, what a surprise. What can I do for you?”

He brought a plate from behind his back, filled with cookies that must have been hot with the way they steamed in the temperature. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of having a neighbor not know how to properly enjoy dessert in the winter. So I was wondering,” he looked a little nervous, and you swallowed, trying not to let your own nerves enter the equation, “if maybe, you know, you’d help me enjoy these the right way.”

You laughed, but it sounded strung out and uncomfortable to you, and Danny flinched.

“I’m also a stranger, so I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything – you can have the cookies regardless, I mean, you don’t have to eat them with me…or at all. I didn’t poison them or anything – which, shit, makes it seem like I did, but I promise, I’m famous, I don’t want to hurt you because that would be rather bad for my band. And I know that sounds pretentious, but I – I’m making this a lot more painful than it should be. Please, just tell me if you want the cookies or not and I’ll…go.”

You laughed again, but this time in commiseration. “You know, for a supposedly famous rockstar drummer, that wasn’t very graceful.”

He shrugged sheepishly, shifting from foot to foot. “I guess I can’t always be that shirtless drummer from Greta Van Fleet; sometimes Danny Wagner, random, awkward dude from Michigan appears.”

You felt for him; you didn’t even realize that you’d had preconceived expectations for him until he felt like he had to explain himself.

You stepped to the side. “Well, Danny Wagner, come on in, then, I guess. If you murder me, my ghost will rain hellfire down on you for the rest of your life.”

He chuckled, looking around your apartment. “Duly noted.”

You had a moment of introspection, following his gaze around your walls and decorations, and wondered what he saw from a stranger’s perception. He noticed you studying him and his reactions.

“It’s nice. Very homey.”

You gave him a half smile. “Thanks. You can just put the cookies on the coffee table. Next to the, uh, well…more of a milkshake now than anything,” you said, grimacing at the melted ice cream. He did as you said and then stood up, head bobbing unconsciously to the tune that was still floating through the apartment.

“You know, and not that I’m judging you, but this is pretty dreary music to be playing this close to Christmas,” he commented, wandering over to where he had located the record player. “Not into Christmas music?”

You perched yourself on the arm of your couch, watching him inspect your other record choices. “I mean, I don’t hate it. I actually quite enjoy Christmas songs usually.”

“Just tired of it by now? It does get a little repetitive after a while, so I don’t blame you.”

The memory of your ex popped into your head, claiming in his nasally little voice that you could never listen to too much Christmas music. You pushed it from your mind, shaking your head. “I just haven’t been feeling it this year, I guess.”

Danny turned around, cocking his head and ruffling his hair, gazing at you with searching look that made you flee – well, in the sense that you turned around to put the lid back on the uneaten ice cream, leaving the room to return it to the freezer. “I guess that makes sense. Any particular reason?” he asked from the living room.

You were confused at his prodding – you didn’t know the guy, and you didn’t really want to dump all your unresolved feelings on him, but he kept asking all the questions that would lead to that point. You tried playing it off as a joke, walking back into the living room and fainting on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, the joys of heartbreak, I suppose. Christmas songs reek of him,” you said in your best transatlantic accent.

You saw Danny peeked over the back of his couch, an offended expression marring his face. “What kind of monster ruins Christmas songs for their ex?”

You scoffed lightly, sitting up. “Mine, apparently. But it’s been a whole year – I’m not sure it’s his fault anymore.”

Danny leaned against the back of the couch. “Eh, not entirely. When else are Christmas songs supposed to play? This sounds pre-meditated to me. I hope I’m not prying, but how exactly did he ruin them for you?”

You shot him a strange look. Amused, but strange. “You’re one of those fix-it type people, aren’t you?”

He laughed – an abrupt, distinct sound that you found adorable.

Damn it.

“I’ve been known to be one, yes. A people pleaser, a fixer, the dad friend – I’ve been called it all.” He smiled at you again, and you wondered if he ever stopped smiling. It didn’t seem likely.

“Well, Mr. Fix-It, to answer your question, he thought the world’s problems, much more insignificantly mine, could be solved with Christmas music. So, every time I was sad or frustrated and every time we fought, he put Christmas music on. It wasn’t horrible when we were dating, but now it just…now it’s different, you know?”

You didn’t meet his eyes and tightened your lips. So much for not wanting to dump your emotions on this poor man.

He left the couch and crossed your field of vision, pulling on his shoes that he’d left by the door. You blinked at the suddenness of his seeming departure and quickly went back through your limited interaction. It hadn’t been that bad, had it? You thought you’d injected enough humor to diminish your emotion turmoil.

“Hold on, just a second. I will be right back, I promise, don’t even lock the door.”

Oh.

So he wasn’t leaving. Relief rushed through you and you honestly didn’t know whether it stemmed from you not being perceived as a crazy, emotionally-unstable woman or that he simply just wasn’t going away for the night.

He met your eyes with an excited glint in his and raised his brows in sincerity. “Right back, I promise.”

Then he was gone. You blew out a breath and scrubbed your face in your hands and let out a loud groan.

“Why, why, why, why, why,” you said into your hands.

You didn’t understand why you were so averse to the idea of this man, of men in general. It really had been a year – and it wasn’t as though the breakup or your ex in himself was still eating away at you or your psyche, it was the prospect of trust. Of vulnerability. Of commitment in the sense that required work and collaboration with someone else and their feelings and time and interest.

You were used to being on your own again, and this man was threatening your desire to be so.

The knob turned again and Danny stepped back into your apartment, this time carrying a few squares in his hand – records.

“My music taste not good enough for you, big music man?” you teased, tired.

He chuckled and sat down by you, his arms shifting to share the records with you. You accepted the covers he offered you, huffing out a laugh as you took in the titles.

“Nah, but these are some classics. You need a new view on Christmas music, and I’m just the man to help you – if you want it, that is.”

“Classics, huh?” you said, shuffling the Christmas albums that featured Mariah Carey, Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and a Jazz album that featured multiple different artists.

“So, can I?”

You looked up from the vinyl at Danny, whose gaze was settled intently on your face. “Can you help me…what? I told you, I don’t hate Christmas music, I promise.”

“I know. But I just want to kickstart your enjoyment of it again.” He smiled a little secret smile. “What do you say?”

You were hesitant. “But why? I mean, not to be cliché, but aren’t you a rockstar?”

He shrugged and looked away. “People like to pretend being famous is all that. And as much as I love my band and the people I work with…I just thought it’d be nice to have a friend close to home, too. Like I said, none of this something I’m asking you to do, I’m just…offering? You looked like you were having a bad day, today, and I thought it might be a good opportunity to reach out.”

You studied him, blush and twiddling fingers and tapping feet and tight shoulders. “It was. A good opportunity, I mean. A good time. I appreciate having you here, despite you being a…stranger.” You blew out a breath. “My parents would kill me if they knew I let a strange man into my apartment. But everyone starts out as strangers, right? And you said you wouldn’t kill me.”

Danny chuckled. “Cross my heart. Now,” he said, grabbing two cookies off the untouched plate and handing you one, “to new Christmas song memories.” He raised his cookie in a toast and you laughed, touching yours to his.

“To new Christmas song memories,” you repeated, taking a bite of your baked good. Danny finished his in two bites, then dusted off his hands, grabbing the Elvis album from your lap.

You laughed at him and his innocent mannerisms, and he blinked, looking at you with wide eyes and chipmunk cheeks, still chewing, and started to laugh with you, but it was hard with a full mouth. As his hand went to cover his lips just in case cookie crumbles fell out, he must have inhaled a crumb, because he started a coughing fit just a second later, which made you laugh harder.

But you took pity on the man and went to get him a glass of water.

“Thanks,” he rasped, still coughing. He took a long pull out of the glass and you tried not to watch the movement of his throat. “I’m not impolite usually, I promise, that cookie was just a lot bigger than anticipated. They came pre-portioned and I swear they were a lot smaller.”

“Sure,” you teased, “blame it on the cookie.”

“It was!”

You couldn’t help but shake your head at him. He continued over to your record player, and the music that had been flowing through the apartment stopped.

The temptation to go over and watch him pulled at you, but before you could get up, the sounds of Elvis started up and got louder, and Danny fixed you with those brown eyes and held out his hand. Your smile morphed into a confused look.

“What?” you asked, still staring at his offering.

“New memories. Let’s dance, neighbor.”

Your head tilted and you laughed. “I’m sorry, but when did I step into the world of Hallmark movies? Dancing to Christmas albums? To make new memories? That’s gotta be the most cliché –”

“None of that!” Danny interrupted. “Cliché is just another word for popular, and unless you don’t want to take the chance to experience something because it’s too popular, get over here and dance, dammit!”

His playful outburst shocked a wide-eyed expression onto your face, but you got up and stood, facing him, not wanting him to know that this was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to you, and he wasn’t even trying to make it romantic.

A self-satisfied grin settled onto his face. “Good. Now, please, madame, let’s dance,” he intoned, and put out his hand for you to take. You saw his smile falter and knew that he was nervous, but something in you was still resisting.

You knew what it was.

It would be so easy to fall for this man, and to have the prior knowledge that he was just looking for a friend made you feel…icky.

Like you only wanted him because you wanted him. But you didn’t; he seemed like a really nice, genuine guy, and you didn’t want to take advantage of that and catch real feelings for him.

You were so confused and conflicted because you were hypersensitive to your emotions and relationships right now. You’d told him he’d come at a good time, but you were starting to second guess that.

You took his hand, not wanting him to suffer, and he let out a small breath of relief, placing a polite hand on the curve of your waist and letting you hang on to his other hand with yours.

“I thought you were gonna leave me hanging there for a second. Then I’d have to take my cookies and go.”

“Not the cookies,” you moaned playfully, swaying in a rather discombobulated manner – you wondered if it was because of the nerves or if was just because neither of you were good dancers; you sure as hell weren’t.

He gasped. “Are you really using me for my cookies right now?” He guided you back over to the couch and grabbed two more cookies with the hand that had been on your waist. “Well then, let me make an offering,” he said, putting one of the cookies in his mouth and bringing the other between you, eyes dipping down to your lips.

Tension.

Even the slightest bit sent your heart beating fast, and you hoped his thumb didn’t dip down to the pulse point in your wrist else he’d feel it spike.

Oh, fuck him. He wanted friendship, but now he was sending mixed signals. He’d known you a very short time, and now he really just wanted to feed you a cookie? Not likely.

You watched his eyes and took a bite, not breaking the eye contact, and let the tension grow.

You had been so good at flirting, dammit, and you were out to prove you still were. If he wanted to play games, well, enter Player 2.

The cookie in his mouth was quickly escaping his hold, so he eventually broke and tilted his head back in an attempt to catch the cookie, ending with another mouthful just like the one he’d had when he choked.

You took your cookie from his hand and finished it in a couple bites, mirroring his puffed out cheeks.

The two of you had to look away from each other to keep from bursting out laughing and spraying half-chewed cookies over everything, and it gave you a respite from the lingering tension that had been broken with Danny’s cookie mouth.

All the sudden, “Blue Christmas” bounced around the room, and Danny’s eyes lit up, having finally swallowed.

He pulled you back into your dancing position and spun you around, bellowing and crooning the rolling ‘B’ syllable just like Elvis.

You laughed. “You’re pretty good at that,” you observed. “Just like Elvis.”

“Thank ya, thank ya very much,” he responded, in a less-convincing accent. But he didn’t stop singing and twirling you around, and you were content watching him have fun for the few minutes that the song played.

As the record trailed off and no song followed, he didn’t release you to flip it to the other side.

“Hey Danny?” you asked, emboldened by the way he was looking at you.

“Hmm?”

“Were you really looking only for a friend?”

He shrugged. “A friend, yes. But not in a specific capacity.”

You swallowed hard and leaned in. “So it would be perfectly neighborly for me to…” you trailed off as your lips brushed his, not quite pressing together.

“Perfectly neighborly,” he said, closing the gap and kissing you.

You were already positioned closely together, and all he had to do was slide his hand around your back to pull you all the way against him. He never let you pull away further than what was necessary to get air, always coming back in with a nip or a peck or just the whisper of a breath across your lips.

“Shit, I – just hold on,” he said, pulling away. You didn’t want to say that you missed his warmth in fear of sounding whipped for a stranger after the first kiss, but you watched him change out the record with no small amount of longing.

He hurried back after smooth, jazzy Christmas chords replaced Elvis’s voice.

“New memories, have to get as many artists in as possible,” he said with a smile, and you pulled him back in by his sweater, which you’d noticed he’d changed into when he showed up at your door.

“I think Christmas songs have a new meaning, now,” you said, “but you’re right – might as well be thorough.”

He kissed you again and this time, he didn’t stop, and neither did you. You were appreciative of his strong, broad stature, clinging onto him as you swayed unconsciously to the beat of the song, lips and tongues dancing to a beat of their own.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, giving and taking with Danny in the middle of your living room before he moved you to the couch, long body unable to fit stretched out, so he hovered, course fingertips trailing heat wherever they touched.

Air felt like a second thought, but your gasps continued even after he gave your lips a break, working his way down your neck while you pressed your fingers into his hair and felt the muscles of his forearm from where it was bracing him.

“Is this okay, Y/N?” he said, voice deep and gravelly and hands creeping underneath your shirt.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, it’s okay.”

Danny met your eyes, dark and intense. “I don’t want you to think I’m…preying on your vulnerability or anything. We don’t have to do this today. I’ll take you out and we can have ice cream and you don’t ever have to sleep with me if you don’t want –”

“Danny, I want to sleep with you,” you said, a small smile appearing on your face and your doubt dwindling with his words. “But it’s not the only thing I want with you. So if you came here with the intent to fuck me once and ignore me for the remainder of our rent agreements, then no, I don’t want this. But if you’re telling the truth, if you’re offering something more, then this is my emphatic ‘fuck yes, please.’”

His thumbs had started rubbing circles into your stomach, and it made you squirm. He kissed you softly. “This is my emphatic ‘fuck yes I’m offering more.’” You hooked a foot around his thighs and tried to get him to come down to you, but he resisted. “I’m too big for this couch, I think, if it’s okay with you, we might want to move this to the bedroom.”

“God – Danny, you could fuck me on the floor for all I care, I just want you.”

And you did. Now that you’d been assured this wasn’t just a one and done, that if you let him have your body, he wouldn’t reject the trust that came with it.

He groaned and tugged your shirt up and off of you. “Yeah? You’d let me fuck you on the floor?”

You hummed, jokingly saying, “Mmhh. New memories, right? Have to be able to hear the music to make the association.”

Danny laughed and rolled off you, tugging you off the couch and then laid the thick blanket you’d been wrapped in on the floor.

Oh.

Oh.

He was actually gonna fuck you on the floor.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he put his hands behind his head, no attempt to hide the half-mast in his pants.

“Memorable enough for you?”

You licked you lips, crawling to him (not in a sexy way…just, normally) and swinging a leg over his waist. He took one hand and ran it up your thigh, gripping your hip as you settled yourself on top of him. “We’ll see,” you quipped, rolling your hips into him.

An aborted, silent grunt slid from his throat in one exhale, and you swallowed a dart of nerves as you reached back to undo your bra, sliding it off and flushing at the way you felt him twitch against you.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed, hands climbing up your torso. He demonstrated a show of core strength and pushed himself up into a sitting position, sliding you back into the dip of his lap, and pulled his own sweater off.

You couldn’t have stopped your hands from smoothing across his stomach if you’d wanted to, thumbing that happy trail you’d been so taken with when you saw it earlier and feeling him tense. You looked up again and smiled, leaning in to lick another kiss against his lips. “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” you murmured against him, repeating his sentiment back to him.

The button of his jeans came undone with a shaky slip of your fingers between the two of you, and you pulled the zipper down, revealing a triangle of the material of his boxers. You could feel his thighs tense as you dipped your fingertips below his waistband, still trading wet kisses above.

His arms wrapped around you and he flipped you over, standing up to shuck his jeans the rest off but returning to you to tug at your sweatpants, pressing his lips to your skin as he did.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

His voice interrupted your stare – you’d been watching him, hyperaware of the spatial positioning of his body.

“You,” you said truthfully. “Not a whole lot else.”

He chuckled. “Good. I’m gonna keep it that way.”

The meaning of the details in his words escaped you, but nevertheless, you felt it in your core. Because that sounded like a promise.

He planted a kiss to the crease of your hip and hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them over with your pants. He mouthed his way up your body again, right up to your ear.

“I’m gonna taste you – later though. Right now, I just want you to feel me.”

You took his hand and trailed it down, lining up your fingers and guiding them through the wetness there. “Trust me, I want that too,” you said, wanting to physically show him the evidence of your desire, but also needing him to touch you.

He groaned, stroking you on his own accord before slipping a finger into you. A gasp fell out of your mouth and your fingertips dug into his broad shoulders.

“Wanna feel you, Danny.”

He nodded in agreement and reluctantly withdrew himself from inside you, holding your gaze as he sucked the wetness there right off. “More to come,” he said, and the resulting repressed smile told you that he caught the pun, but didn’t make it known. You would have acknowledged it had he not immediately pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and peeled them off.

You were rather too distracted to make a pun about coming when your neighbor Danny the Model/Drummer was now naked and on top of you. Hopefully you would actually be coming now that Danny was naked.

You wanted to stare. You really did. You wanted to take your time watching him move and exploring every last inch of his body and beauty, but when you felt him bump against your center, everything flew out of the window and all you knew was that you wanted whatever Danny was willing to give.

You didn’t remember being this…needy? Submissive? You weren’t sure what you would label what it was you were, but it was so different from your ex.

With him, you had to take. You had to guide and be responsible for your pleasure sometimes. It wasn’t that your ex couldn’t satisfy you. You had orgasms with him. But it wasn’t like this – wasn’t filled with anticipatory promises and this tightly-wound, electric tension.

And perhaps you were getting caught up in the newness and novelty of Danny and his body and the imminent prospect of sex with him while you had nothing but a lingering wisp of resentful feelings toward your ex. Perhaps you were just absorbed in the moment without the desire to try and remember what sex had been like with your ex at the beginning when everything was new and exciting, but Danny was inspiring thoughts and feelings that you couldn’t remember your ex ever inspiring.

You ex sure as hell had never fucked you on the floor of your living room to your record player, that’s for sure.

“Where are you, Y/N? You’re not with me anymore.”

You blinked, Danny’s face coming into focus. “Still with you. Still thinking about you. Just – sorry. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I – my mind was wanting to make comparisons. Between you and my ex.” You punctuated the sentence with an uncomfortable giggle, and Danny shifted against you, clearing his throat and glancing down to where he was still hard against you.

“And?”

You followed his gaze and let out a real laugh. “Not like that!”

Danny gave you a warm smile. “Well, even so, you know what they say – it’s not what you have, it’s how you use it.”

You’d been in situations like this before – naked and conversing – but never before sex. Always after. It was an equal amount of awkward and nice, really – you were still aroused, and you could feel that he was too, but he was interested in what you were saying, interested in more than just sex.

“Right,” you agreed with a kiss. “But anyways, not like that. I was thinking about how you’re making me feel, and how he used to make me feel. And it’s – fuck. This is gonna sound wrong.”

Danny lifted himself off of you and you whined, tightening your legs around his waist so that he couldn’t pull away, and he didn’t resist much. “I wanna hear what you have to say. Don’t worry. Don’t apologize. I’m not gonna gonna pull my pants on and walk out. Tell me what you’re thinking, pretty girl,” he said, returning his lips to your neck.

You arched it to give him more skin and took the opportunity to tell him what you were thinking. “What I’m feeling right now is miles away – so much better – than what I remember feeling with my ex. I want anything you have to offer, and I feel like I’ll be satisfied whether or not I end up coming.” A disgruntled noise came from Danny’s mouth, vibrating through you, but he let you finish the thought. “You give off ‘I’m gonna take care of you’ vibes, and it’s a nice change.”

Danny bit down on the juncture between the slope of your shoulder and your neck and you let out an exclamation of surprise.

“Your ex was an asshole. An utter douchebag by the sounds of it.”

“I mean, I’m not saying—”

He stole the rest of the sentence with his lips. “You don’t have to defend him. I don’t want you to. In fact, I don’t want you to fucking think about him at all. That’s not what we’re trying to do here.” You nodded, and he pressed his hips into yours. “And I will take care of you,” he murmured. “You’re gonna come tonight, I’ll make sure of it.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, and all the sudden you were tired of talking. You returned the movement of your hips. “Prove it to me?” you whispered against his lips, one hand threaded into the hair at the back of his head and one splayed out against his ribs.

Danny’s hand wandered back down to where you needed him, curling one long, callused finger into you for just a few strokes before adding another.

“Do you have a condom?”

You nodded. “It’s in my bedroom, though, I’ll go get it.” Danny left one more lingering kiss to your lips before he let you up, and you were back within 10 seconds, ripping the foil open and falling back onto the blanket with very little grace.

It was a little strange to you that the first time you touched Danny’s cock was when you were rolling a condom onto him, but it didn’t feel contrived. Every interaction with this man seemed to skip a few steps, but if that’s how it was, that’s how it was.

He spent a few more minutes working your mouth before he reached down to take himself in hand, pressing his tip to your entrance and putting a delicious pressure that didn’t quite take him inside, but teased it.

“Say my name,” he whispered.

“Danny,” you answered immediately.

He hummed. “That’s right, pretty girl, and I’m gonna take care of you.” He concluded the statement with the press of his cock into you, the burn filling up the empty ache.

You sighed, “Yes, Danny, yes, please,” and rolled your hips to meet him all the way, wrapping your legs around him when he was there.

He groaned. “Take me so well, pretty girl.”

He started up a slow rhythm with just his hips, rolling in and out of you in a continuous, smooth motion. It was a nice start – letting you get used to him without having to stay still. His elbows were planted flush against the top of your shoulders, your head resting between his hands. You clutched onto his back, hooking your arms behind his, and felt the shift of his muscles coincide with the movement of his hips.

You distantly heard the jazzy tune of “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” and would have laughed if the observation hadn’t actually been the furthest thing from your mind.

Danny nosed your cheek, pressing short pecks on your chin, the corner of your mouth, face close enough that you were breathing the same air.

One of his hands crept down to the curve of your ass, and in one move, hitched it up and ramped up his pace, forcing an unintelligible sound to bubble up from your throat.

“That’s it, Y/N, keep making those pretty sounds for me. Just for me. I’ll fuck you on every surface of this apartment and mine to every Christmas album I can find if you keep those noises up. Eat you out, get you nice and wet for me,” he said, the stream of filth he was spewing a surprise.

You didn’t want to say that you had sexpectations for him, but if you were to have them, dirty talk was not something you would have expected, if only because he had seemed so adamant about being polite. You weren’t going to complain, though.

The skin of his neck was achingly unmarked, and even though it was a rather juvenile concept, you thought a hickey would really compliment his skin tone – so you gave him one.

While he was busy keeping his rhythm up, you attached your mouth to a patch of skin right under his jawline.

He exhaled sharply against your ear and gripped your hips tighter, increasing the force of his thrusts, you body slipping along the soft material of the blanket. The hard line of the floor had felt unnatural at first, but it hadn’t mattered – even now, the primality of the location added to the general feel of the situation. Like you had thought earlier – nothing about your relationship with Danny was conventional.

One of his hands moved to circle your clit, making sure to give you the pressure you needed to heighten your pleasure.

“Come on, pretty girl, it’s just you and me,” he murmured with another kiss. “Want you to cum for me. Right here on your living room floor. Make a new memory with me.”

“Already have – Danny, Danny, keep going, don’t stop – I’m, I’m close,” you let him know, letting your feel slip against the blanket in an attempt to push your hips up into his.

“That’s right,” he panted in your ear, “what’s my name?”

“Danny!”

“Good. I love hearing you say it, pretty girl. Am I taking care of you?”

Praises left your mouth like angry bees out of a beehive, fast and furious and intentional. “Yes, fuck – Danny, you’re doing so well, taking care of me so well. You’re gonna make me come, make me feel so good –”

“I’d never think of doing it any other way.” You loved it when he was right by your ear, his voice deep and erotic and his breath warm. “When you’re with me, I’m gonna make you come, baby.”

It was the last thing he got out before the dual sensations between his cock scraping against your walls and his fingers moving on your clit made you come.

He moaned out your name when he felt your pleasure through the flutter against his cock and slowed down to let you properly feel everything without overstimulating you too quickly.

Your moans were swallowed down in desperate kisses, and once you felt your body calm down, you stroked a hand down his sweaty back – which was kinda gross, but you were both sweating so it was unavoidable if you wanted to touch him, and you did.

“You can go again, I’m alright,” you breathed against his lips, body boneless. Danny met your hooded gaze.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded, and he softly took your bottom lip into his mouth as he started moving again. It didn’t take long for him to finish, his hands wandering across the planes and curves of your body in a slow, lazy way until he jolted into you one last time, a curse and a groan of your name on his lips.

He waited until he’d caught his breath to pull out of you and roll onto the blanket, looking a little lost as to where he could put the condom without getting up.

You chuckled, tired. “Just lay it somewhere, it’s not like it’s gonna stain the carpet.” You were getting sleepier and sleepier and hoped he would spend the night with you, heart dropping when he got up and pulled his boxers on. “Are you leaving?”

“Of course not. I’m just gonna toss this and then we can move into the bedroom. Sex on the floor is one thing, sleeping on it is another.”

You hummed, brain telling you to get up but your body sluggishly resisting until Danny came back to pull you up from the ground, leading you into your room so that he could hold you as you fell asleep.

The record player had long since exhausted its contents, scratching lowly over and over as the night settled into silence.

~~~

Tag list: @fleetsonfire @theweightofstardust @joshplaysthevocals

[jovialyouthmusic]

Special Delivery

Fabio and I share a bottle of wine and discuss previous relationships.

Word Count 2993

No warnings - just a few feelings and a bit of sexual tension No under 18s please

8 What Came Before?

It was late afternoon on the day my new lodger moved in. He retreated to his room after Martin’s visit, and came out when he heard me clattering around in the kitchen.

‘I can help?’ he asked.

‘You say can I help? I corrected him.

‘Ah.’ he sighed. ‘I never learn.’

‘Don’t worry.’ I reassured him ‘I like the way you speak, and you make yourself understood very well. Your vocabulary is really good, but the tenses are difficult. I looked into learning a couple of other languages a little while ago, but most of them have masculine and feminine forms, and that really confuses me.’

‘Ah yes, that is all normal for me.’ He gestured at the salad ingredients. ‘I get these ready if you like?’

‘Okay.’ I smiled ‘Do you want an apron?’ I tugged at my own apron just in case he didn’t know the word. He nodded. ‘I have just the right one for you then.’ I giggled, reaching into a drawer to bring one out that was made to look like a dinner jacket and bow tie. He grinned.

‘Perfecto! I look smart, yes?’ He put it on and struck a pose, hand on his cheek, looking off into the distance, one of the poses that had made my heart beat a little faster when I had seen it on Instagram.

‘You do’. I smiled. I got on with grilling the salmon while he washed and cut up the lettuce and rocket. I told him how to make the dressing, and before long the meal was ready. I put a small portion of fish out for Ginger, who I had shut out of the room while we cooked. He rushed in and wolfed it down eagerly. I hoped he would go and sleep it off rather than sit and stare at me as I ate my dinner. Fabio reached into the fridge, where he had put the bottle of wine he’d brought, and opened it while I got out the wine glasses. We went through to the dining room, the table set out neatly. I loved having a separate dining room and putting everything out just so, with flowers and napkins – it made meal times more of an occasion. Earlier on I had prepared strawberries for dessert, washing and cutting them up and putting a little sugar on them before placing the bowl in the fridge. He poured the wine while I waited.

‘Salud, to my new English home, and my new beautiful friend.’ he said, raising his glass, and I reached out with mine to clink them together, feeling my cheeks heat up.

‘Bottoms up.’ I said, without thinking. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he laughed loudly. I blushed even more, but he set me at my ease.

‘Ah, you mean the bottom of the glass.’

‘You can say cheers or to your health.’ I explained ‘bottoms up is rather – informal.’ I refrained from saying cheeky in case that got me in hot water.

‘Thankyou for telling me - it sounds very English.’ He waved his fork in the air ‘Tomorrow we go out to eat, yes? I pay.’

‘That would be nice. You can say my treat if you like. There’s an place on the coast that does great bar meals, very English. We can go there after our walk.’

‘Si, it sounds good. Do we need to book?’

‘Not usually, but I can do to make sure.’ I replied. We began eating, the fish fragrant and tasty, the salad crisp and the dressing piquant. The wine went down nicely, and he kept my glass topped up.

‘We get just a little drunk.’ He winked. ‘But I don’t throw stones at the window.’

‘You don’t need to, you’re already inside.’ I said drily.

‘That is true.’ he grinned, sitting back in his chair, stretching, his hand behind his head. I reached out to clear our empty plates.

‘Strawberries?’ I asked ‘I have Greek yogurt too. To be properly English we should have them with cream, but I think that’s a little calorific – and I like Greek yogurt.’ He made the gesture again with his thumb and forefinger touching, kissing his fingers and raising his hand

‘Perfecto.’ he grinned, obviously relaxed from the wine, as was I. I presented him with a bowl of the red fruit, bringing the yogurt in with a spoon. He picked a piece up ‘Try this’ he said, and dropped it into his glass ‘Is better with champagne or prosecco, but is good’

‘I’ve heard of prosecco and strawberries’ I replied ‘I’ve never tried it though’ I dropped a piece in my drink and swirled it round. A little of the sugar clung to the fruit, and when I drank it sweetened the wine, while the strawberry was a little tart. I became aware that Fabio was intently watching me as my lips parted to suck the strawberry from the glass. He kept eye contact with me as he sucked his from the wine and rolled it around his mouth. Heat pooled in my belly and I felt a little light headed from the wine.

‘Is good, no?’ he smiled seductively, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Mmmm.’ I replied, spooning the yogurt into my bowl to try and break the spell he had on me. He reached out for the pot when I had done, and ladled a dollop onto his. He took his time with dessert, toying with his spoon and savouring every mouthful until his bowl was empty. I went to take the empty bowl, but he reached across and stopped me, his hand on mine. Our eyes locked as a little jolt of electricity travelled up my arm, and my cheeks flamed red.

‘Is okay, I wash up.’ He said ‘Go, take your glass and sit in the lounge.’

‘I – umm - don’t bother to dry things. I usually leave things and put them away later. I – it annoys me if things aren’t in the right place.’ I couldn’t handle standing next to him drying the dishes, I decided, and although my house was often cluttered and disorganised, in the kitchen everything had its place so that it was easy to cook.

‘You teach me where things go tomorrow.’ he smiled, and stood, taking the bowls and spoons out. I rose onto shaky legs to pick up the yogurt to put it away, then went through to the lounge. I sat in the easy chair and curled up, comfortably full and a little tipsy, taking a deep calming breath. The couch was dangerous territory, I told myself, and leaned forward to put my glass on the coffee table. Ginger was curled up on the couch and opened his eyes to look at me sleepily before dozing off again.

I listened to Fabio washing up in the kitchen. It was good to have company, even company that made my knees go weak and my heart flutter. I told myself he couldn’t possibly feel anything for me, being used to rubbing shoulders with beautiful models. I was just ordinary, my only claim to being exotic in his eyes was my nationality. Of course he was flirting with me, good looking men like him just did that naturally, I told myself. Perhaps he didn’t even know how he was affecting me.

Fabio came into the room with his glass and the rest of the bottle, almost empty now. He sank down onto the couch and Ginger made a little sound of surprise.

‘El gato churo.’ he smiled, and reached out to stroke him. The cat stretched out luxuriously and exposed his belly, a goofy expression on his furry face. I envied him his relaxed acceptance of my new lodger and his total lack of restraint or self consciousness.

‘So we are a little drunk.’ he said, raising his gaze to mine. ‘Relaxed, no?’

‘Solo un poco.’ just a little. I admitted.

‘Martin, he is a good friend?’ he asked, turning the conversation in a direction I hadn’t expected.

‘He is. We talk a lot, about all sorts of things.’

‘He tries to protect you. I think he doesn’t like me.’

‘It’s only natural I suppose. He’s like a brother to me.’ my breath caught in my throat as Fabio gave me a slow smile. ‘I’m an only child – no brothers or sisters’ I said quickly.

‘Senora, you said your head and your heart tell you different things.’ He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, his cheek resting on his palm.

‘Doesn’t everybody feel the same way?’ I asked ‘your heart tells you to – to jump in, not think about the consequences, and your head tells you to stop. I suppose mostly my head wins.’

‘You mean with love? You have had a boyfriend – or someone special before?’

‘Of course, I’m only human. Nothing longer than a couple of years, mostly just months.’

‘Me also. Perhaps every now and again it is good to jump in, otherwise we are lonely.’ His words made me suddenly feel sorry for him.

‘You’re lonely, Fabio?’ I asked softly. He shifted self consiously.

‘I travel alone. I have friends here and there, but when you move around so much it is difficult.’

‘I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel lonely too, but most of the time I don’t mind.’

‘If I was not here?’ he asked, the end of his question hanging in the air.

‘I’d take in a lodger, maybe not as soon as this, but unless I meet Mr Right One, I guess Ginger would be my companion.’ He smiled and stroked Ginger, who was now sitting with his paws tucked under his body, his head dropping forward sleepily.

‘Lucky cat, to live in this English house, quiet and happy. Rabbits to chase, a warm place to sleep, someone to look after him if he gets sick.’

‘Fabio…’ I started, but he interrupted me.

‘I’m sorry senora, perhaps I move too fast, I…’ he paused and reached into his back pocket for his phone to translate his thoughts ‘I think that maybe you want…’ he rubbed his forehead. ‘Perhaps the wine is talking.’

‘We should just be friendly for now.’ I said gently ‘it’s easy to get carried away.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Your head is strong. Your heart…’

‘My heart needs a little more time’ I explained ‘It doesn’t always lose, sometimes my head realises that my heart is right. We only met a few days ago.’ He nodded sagely.

‘That is true senora. Tell me, you like me calling you Lisa?’

‘Lisa is fine.’ I replied ‘How about you? Do you have a nickname? Something shorter?’ he shrugged.

‘Not really’ he smiled.

‘You know, the first part of your name – Fab – is like ‘fabulous. How about Fabby?’ He grinned widely.

‘I like Fabby. You use that. Is almost the same in Spanish - fabuloso’ He stretched and took his glass up again, taking a sip and putting it back down again. He looked very relaxed, long legged, his ankle resting on his knee, his arms spread wide along the back of the couch.

‘So you and Martin. You are just friends? Always?’

‘Yes, always, though I had a bit of a crush on him when we met. He was married though, and by the time he was free we were – just friends. I don’t think of him that way, and his life is very complicated.’ We spent a little more time talking about old partners, falling into a comfortable place. Eventually Fabricio yawned.

‘I am tired.’ he announced ‘I think I will go to my room. Tomorrow we go for a walk – you said the coast?’

‘Yes’ I smiled.

‘And you listen to your head, let your heart get used to things.’ he smiled, standing. I stood to pick up the glasses and bottle. He moved toward me, then stopped, thoughtful.

‘Do friends whose hearts are waiting hug each other?’ he asked ‘Is alright?

‘I think so.’ I replied, putting the glasses back down. I walked into his embrace and he held me tight. It was different to hugging Martin – I felt it was something Fabio needed, something that grounded him, but there was an undercurrent, a feeling of potential. I felt him sigh happily, then he drew back and kissed me on the cheek. Doing anything more daring was not a good idea after the wine, I told myself with a little pang of regret.

‘Sleep well. Do you need anything?’

‘No, is fine. I see you in the morning. Is okay to shower when I get up?’

‘Of course, the door has a lock on it, and I’ll hear you. This is your home.’

‘My English home. Goodnight my friend.’

-------

I slept surprisingly well that night, but I closed my bedroom door which did not please Ginger at all. He fussed to be let in, and settled down with a little grumble. At two o’clock in the morning I relented and left the door open when he yowled at me, but he didn’t return until he decided it was breakfast time. He was so insistent that I thought I would risk going downstairs in my dressing gown. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom and calculated that I had time to complete my task before he emerged, so I went to feed Ginger and put the kettle on for coffee. I started out to go back upstairs to get dressed when I realised the sound of the kettle boiling had masked the sounds from the bathroom, and Fabrio emerged, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of his bare chest, unwaxed and unshaved with dark hair forming a trail that lead down below the towel. His hair was wet and tousled from towel drying and steam billowed out from the bathroom. He was barefoot and grinned at me disarmingly.

‘Buenos días senora.’ he said as I gripped the newel post to stop my legs from giving way. The scent of his shower gel flooded the hall and I managed to return his greeting.

‘Good Morning Fabio. Did you sleep well?’

‘Muy beuno. Is quiet here. El gato – Ginger, he came to sleep on my bed when I got up for the bathroom.’ I eyed the cat, who had strolled out from the kitchen licking his chops and making for a comfortable place to digest his food. He avoided Fabio’s bare legs, but went to his door and looked up at him, mewing to demand entrance. ‘Ginger, you are bad.’ he scolded ‘You go to Lisa, not me.’

‘I’m so sorry. If you don’t want him in your room…’

‘Is okay, I don’t mind, but he should be more – faithful.’ I shrugged

‘Cats are very independent. I’m glad he likes you, it means you’re not a threat.’ Fabio gave me a smouldering look, and I pulled my dressing gown closer around me. He looked back down at the cat, nodding sagely.

‘Ginger, you are a good wing man. You make me look good.’ He laughed loudly and the cat glared at him and stalked off to the lounge.

‘I uh – I’ll get dressed and we can have breakfast.’

‘Thankyou Lisa.’ He shook his head at me, his hair flopping over his forehead. He pulled at it ‘I do this and then I join you.’

It wasn’t long before we met again in the kitchen, both fully dressed, Fabio’s jet black hair styled and glossy. I made coffee and showed him what was available for breakfast.

‘Have you ever had porridge?’ I asked ‘It’s more Scottish than English. In the USA they call it oatmeal.’

‘Si, I have it before.’

‘I like to cut up banana and cook it with oats and water, and I add something sweet – honey is good, and a splash of milk. The Scots like it with salt.’ He looked thoughtful.

‘Make it the way you like it, and I try it.’

‘Okay, if you go and sit down I’ll get it ready.’ He took his coffee and phone and went into the dining room, and ten minutes later we were sitting together eating and looking out at the garden.

‘Ginger will love it when he’s allowed out.’ I said ‘He probably won’t bother sleeping on my bed if it’s warm outside.’ Fabio looked at me.

‘El gato, he is not sure who to sleep with now. This is good.’ he waved his spoon over his bowl ‘Very healthy, yes?’

‘Thanks. You can make it richer if you make it with milk instead of water. You can put sultanas in, or any kind of fruit you like.’

‘Strawberries?’ He asked, and I nodded, remembering how we had flirted over strawberries and wine the night before.

‘I like bananas best.’

‘You don’t have to feed me all the time, senora.’ he said ‘today we eat out, and on my next day off, I make paella.’

‘Okay, I can put aside space in the cupboard and fridge for any food you want to cook, but otherwise you can share most things – if you’re not sure, just ask.’ 

When we had finished, Fabio washed up for me again, and I showed him where to put things away in the kitchen. I was getting more comfortable having him around, but there was still an undercurrent, the sense of possibility. I had wanted excitement – but as usual my head had put the brakes on, and I hoped I could overcome that and manage to go toward that goal again very soon.

[yespolkadotkitty]

The Angel’s Share, pt 7

Written with the super talented @hopelessromanticspoonie​

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It was late, so late that the night had almost folded over into morning. 

Thomas sat in the drawing room - one of the only downstairs rooms of his father’s to have been kept pristine in the selling of possessions to keep the wolves from the door in the lean times - with a snifter of Crimson Peak in his hand, staring out of the window, looking without seeing.

He missed his wolfhound. Baskerville had been a good boy; friendly, loyal. Thomas remembered curling up in front of the fire, sprawled over the giant dog’s belly, his little hands curled in the dog’s thick, warm-smelling fur.

Baskerville’s death by his father’s hand had been one of the darkest days of Thomas’ young life. 

He was drawn from his miserable reverie - how most of his reveries went these days - by the creak of a floorboard.

“Gid? You’d better not be out of bed,” he called from his chair. The only light in the room came from the small lamp on the corner of the desk. The hallway and the remainder of the room sat in shades of grey.

Silence, then Kate’s voice.

“I didn’t know you had a curfew for guests, Fabio.”

He felt a smile spread across his face. “Sneaking about, are we?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Brooding, are we? It works better if you frown more, maybe narrow your eyes a bit. Curse God under your breath. You know.”

“Touche.” He had to work hard not to laugh. God, she elevated his mood. “Still, you might do well to remember that Allerdale is rumoured to be haunted.”

She stepped into the doorway silently. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder. Her feet were bare, the nails painted a bright blue. She wore jogging bottoms and a t-shirt that proclaimed ‘I AM FUCKING MAGNIFICENT’. With the moon shining a halo around her from the big hallway window, catching the lines of her delicate features and the curve of her lush hips, Thomas couldn’t disagree.

“Can I tempt you?” he asked, lifting the decanter of whiskey he’d placed on his father’s wide mahogany desk. 

Her eyes narrowed a second, and he prepared for more snark. But instead she yawned, and then shrugged in agreement, crossing the room to drop on to the chair opposite his. Thomas loved the wingtip chairs, old as they were. In the good times, his father used to read to him, both of them cuddled up in these big chairs, and Thomas had felt happy and loved and secure on his father’s knee. The older man had smelled faintly of pipe smoke and mint. The scents still made Thomas melancholy to this day.

He poured Kate a small measure and handed her the glass. When she took it, their fingers brushed momentarily. He felt the electric contact. The fire leaping between them. If he ever took her to bed, he knew instantly that they’d set the sheets alight. 

If I ever take her to bed. No one took Katherine Adams anywhere. You didn’t prepare for a woman like Kate, you simply buckled in and enjoyed the ride. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, inhaling the spirit. “And to answer your question, I couldn’t sleep. Too quiet. I’m used to ambulances roaring past at all hours. Don’t suppose you could do me a favour and round up a couple of drunks to fight outside? That’d definitely send me off.”

“City girl,” he teased, rolling his eyes.

“Country toff.”

Their gazes met and held for a second, and Thomas felt that fire crackle between them again. Fuck, he wanted her.

“If we’ve learned anything over the last few days, surely it’s that appearances can be deceptive,” he said mildly.

Kate lifted her glass in a toast. “I agree, and yet you did insist on bringing me out here to see your frankly magnificent mansion in the middle of nowhere. You could have shown me a picture? Even a little video on your phone? But no. You wanted me to be here. In the country. To see the huge house. And what is probably a garden the size of a football pitch. So, toff.”

Thomas sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. “Maybe I just wanted you, Kate. Maybe it was never about the whiskey. You ever think about that?” 

She coughed in surprise, a little of the spirit going down the wrong way. As she spluttered he abandoned his own drink and shot from his chair, rubbing a hand over her back to soothe and encourage her breathing. “There, darling. That’s it. Just breathe.”

Kate glared at him as she sucked in a breath. “You can sit down now, Dr McCoy. I’m hardly dying.”

He grinned. “And a Star Trek reference. Be still my beating heart, she’s back.”

*****

The combination of the whiskey burning down her throat and his hand searing through her thin t-shirt where it came to rest between her shoulder blades had a different heat coiling low in her belly. This close, with him hovering over her with such concern, the warm glow of the lamp catching on the angles of his face, it was all too much. 

She ducked her chin to cough into her elbow, shaking her head as she cleared her throat. “You’re just lucky that I can’t breathe well enough to really lay into you, Sharpe.”

His hair created a curtain around them as he leaned over her, lending more intimacy to his gaze as it fell to her parted lips. “I look forward to that day, Katherine.”

The sound of her name in his rich baritone, full of dark promises, sent a shiver down her spine that he had to have felt with his hand still on her back. She needed to create space between them, and quickly, before her curiosity got the better of her. Her hand pushed lightly on his chest, the deep burgundy jumper deliciously soft beneath her fingertips. With the space she made, she could stand up and move over to the window. She felt she could breathe again without the heady cloud of citrus and bergamot that perfumed his skin surrounding her. She caught his heavy sigh at her retreat, but ignored it.

Searching frantically for a change of subject in the dark woods, she tapped the crystal in her hand with her fingertips. Her eyes caught on the twinkling of stars through the clouds, a sight she had been hoping to see since she had agreed to the journey. “The one benefit to being out here in the middle of nowhere is the sky. I’ve never seen so many stars before…”

The floorboards creaked and felt the heat of his body against her back as he came to a stop behind her. “Have you ever been to the countryside before, Katherine?”

Maybe it was the whiskey lowering her inhibitions, or the fact that her back was to him, or the stillness of the night begging for her to break the overwhelming quiet. Maybe it was his soft, imploring tone, genuinely wanting to know the answer to the question. Whatever it was, she opened up, just a bit, her face tilted up to the cool blue moonlight.

“Mum says that my biological dad, the glorified sperm donor, has a house out in the country somewhere. Lots of land, estate older than dirt, like this place. Something only someone with old money or who profited off the backs of others can afford.” She took a sip of her drink, relishing the bracing smokey alcohol scorching her throat even as her knuckles whitened to still the shake in her hands. 

“He took her there, once, before he dropped her on her arse for having the gall to get pregnant with me - as if he had no part in it. He claimed she was chasing him for his money, his status in society, that she was just American trash looking for a way to lock him down.” Her humorless laugh tasted bitter on her tongue. “He still sent her money, even after all those accusations. Sends me the money now that I’m an adult. Neither of us have taken a pound of it. But raising a child alone in London is hard, expensive. There wasn’t really money to just take a trip anywhere, even a little cabin in the countryside. Maybe somewhere farther up north, with a fireplace and feet of snow all around…”

His hand settled on her upper arm, and she didn’t pull away. It was comforting, warm and large, anchoring her to the moment so that she couldn’t slide back into the darkness of her memories. She turned to him, resting her hip against the cool window as she regarded him thoughtfully.

Standing there, watching her with the same protective concern he had earlier on the stairs, he was beautiful. His crimson jumper seemed to infuse  more color into his face, even with the dark gray button down underneath that just peeked out the top of the jumper’s neckline. Even when relaxing in his own home, he was well-dressed, a product of his privileged childhood through and through.

She felt like a gremlin in comparison with her hair mussed and bare feet peeking out from her pajama bottoms. She was common, nothing like him, and she never would be. She knew better than to let him get this close. The last time she had fallen for such a well-mannered, handsome package with expensive clothing, her heart had been torn to ribbons.

Some days, she felt like she still hadn’t collected all the pieces.

She couldn’t let that happen again, no matter how much she longed to know if Thomas’ lips would taste like the bittersweet whiskey on his breath as he gazed down at her. Her heart hammered in her eardrums when he shifted closer to her, his chest brushing against hers. The same look of desire that she had seen earlier before dinner flashed in his eyes. Sooty lashes touched his cheeks as his head tilted towards her. “Kate…”

Oh no. No no no. Panic raised its ugly head as her heart fluttered in her chest, desire warring with fear. Not fear of Thomas, but fear of heartbreak. Fear that loving the wrong man one more time would destroy her, throw her into a hole she’d never truly climb out from.

She pressed her back against the window, placing her free hand on his stomach to still his approach. It took every bit of willpower she had not to stroke the muscles there that clenched beneath her touch. “I… I should go back to bed. You promised me a tour of the grounds tomorrow, and I’ll need my rest to keep up with those long legs of yours, GQ.”

Ignoring the look of disappointment that pulled the curve of his lips downward, she retreated back to her designated room, still gripping onto her drink for dear life.

That was too close.

*****

The next morning, Kate was only mildly disoriented when she woke up to the sound of, well, nothing, besides her alarm blaring loudly in her ear. Pushing the frizzy mane of her hair out of her face, she stumbled out of bed, the previous night heavy on her mind as she went about her morning routine.

She had let him get too familiar, giving him an insight into her past when he hadn’t asked for it. It was foolish of her. His earnest demeanor and charming ease had pulled her in, hook, line, and sinker. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Tugging on her scuffed boots after she had finished dressing - today in a thin sweatshirt that read THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE and some denim cut offs - she left her room, braiding her hair over her shoulder as she trotted downstairs to find Thomas and get the day started. Maybe she could hurry him along and she wouldn’t have to stay another night. If she was lucky, she’d be on her little sofa by six pm, Netflix on and a fish and chip dinner on her lap.

“Sir Thomas Sharpe? Where you hiding? Let’s get going, Fabio!” she called down the hallway.

Gideon poked his dark head out from the dining room. “Missus Kate! Hello!”

Charmed, Kate stopped and smiled at him. “Hi there.”

“Looking for Uncle Thomas?”

“I sure am.”

Gideon offered his hand. “I’ll take you. He’s in the stables. Do you want breakfast first? Or coffee? Adults always seem to want coffee but it’s disgusting,” he added, scowling.

Kate had to laugh. She loved kids. They had no filter and hardly ever lied, at Gideon’s age anyway. “I would love some coffee. But I’ll make it, shall I?”

“Already done,” a voice from the kitchen called. Kate recognised Lucille’s dulcet tones and steeled herself for the perfectly presented Englishwoman. She’d already prepared herself to feel like a troll around Thomas’ regal sister.

Lucille didn’t disappoint today, her hair coiffed in a neat bun, dressed in darkwash, immaculate jeans and a sleek navy gillet. “Good morning.” She handed Kate a mug. “Black?”

“Perfect.” Kate sipped the inky black brew gratefully as Gideon tugged her hand.

“Come on! You’re missing the morning! Let’s go see the horses already!”

“Gideon,” Lucille cautioned, but Kate smiled and shrugged her shoulders dismissively.

“It’s really fine. I should be on a train back later anyway, so it’s good to get a jump on the day. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Lucille only smiled politely and went back to making breakfast - looked like some sort of bircher muesli concoction or something equally healthy and pretentious. Kate herself preferred pig in a bun of a weekend morning. She’d try and choke down some muesli later, maybe after another coffee. For now, she let Gideon lead her out of the house and down to where Thomas would be.

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[hopelessromanticspoonie]

The Angel’s Share - Ch. 6

Chapter: 6 of ? (Find Chapter 5 here)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Kate settles into her room at Allerdale, and she and Thomas share a quick and unexpected moment before dinner.

Permanent taglist for hopelessromanticspoonie (open): @vodka-and-some-sass​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @myoxisbroken​ @blah666 @brokenthelovely​ @myworddump​ @polireader​

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Co-written with my splendid sister-from-another-mister, @yespolkadotkitty​

Hot damn.

He had absolutely no right to look that delectable doing something so mundane - and downright disgusting - as mucking out horse stalls. Her eyes drank him in greedily, following a bead of sweat as it trailed down the column of his neck to the hollow of his throat, before spilling down the porcelain planes of defined muscles of his torso and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. The barest smattering of black hair extended from beneath his belly button to disappear beneath his trousers, matching the patch of hair between his firm pectorals. For such a slender man, he was much more muscular than she expected, built with an underlying strength that was more agile speed than brute force. Not that she had thought about him half-naked. Not at all.

Pulling herself from her momentary lapse of judgment - she was not attracted to the posh Baronet - Kate painted a smirk onto her face, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Well, you had to get all of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth from somewhere.”

He shook his head, a smile tugging at one side of that gorgeous poet’s mouth, pushing back a few sweat-dampened locks of hair from his face before tugging on his shirt. All the better, as she couldn’t let herself get distracted by his almost unmarred, marble-pale complexion. “Where is Eddie?”

Adjusting her grip on her duffel bag, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Well, he spread his plague to half of the staff, so he had to stay behind and work the pub. So, you’re stuck with just me this weekend.”

The look in his eyes as he walked over and easily took her bag from her made it seem like he wasn’t too upset at the turn of events. “I’m sure we’ll manage somehow. Come, I’ll show you to your room and then I can give you a brief tour of the house before dinner? With it becoming dark soon, I planned to save the tour of the rest of the facilities for tomorrow.”

She tried to snag her bag back off of his shoulder, but he angled his body away with a shake of his head. Not wanting to fight a losing battle against the long-limbed man, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and fell into step with him. “Sure thing, Fabio.”

He quirked his brow. “Fabio?”

Her chocolate brown eyes danced across the sprawling landscape, trying to imagine a young Sir Thomas Sharpe running around just as Gideon had been earlier - perhaps terrorizing Lucille just as his tiny doppelganger upon her arrival. It was a pleasant image in her head, and the small smile that had graced her face at the thought remained when she shifted her attention back to her companion. “You know, that guy from the romance novels? My mum used to read them. He’s an American. Always shirtless, with long hair, ripped chest all oiled up as he tenderly embraces the swooning damsel in distress.”

“I can’t say that I’m familiar, but I do appreciate the comparison,” he winked, holding open a side door, waving her inside.

The interior was just as grand as the exterior, with towering ceilings, intricate chandeliers, and hardwood floors that had to be original. She followed Thomas up a grand staircase, trailing her hand up the smooth handrail, imaging years and years of Sharpe’s doing the same. This was not a world that she belonged in, one of old money and place settings with too many pieces of silverware on them. The history practically oozed out of the walls, taunting her with elegant crown molding and creaking floorboards.

He followed her into the room that was to be hers for the weekend, setting down her duffel on a cushioned leather seat on the end of the four poster bed. “Through that door is an ensuite, which should have everything you need for your stay. The balcony is private, but the French door can stick sometimes. There’s a stone outside you can use to prop it open so you don’t become trapped out there. Dinner and drinks will be,” he paused, glancing at the wide-faced, leather-strapped watch on his wrist briefly, “in about one hour. I’ll come collect you around then to show you where the dining room is, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing,” she replied, propping her hip against a dark post at the corner of the bed. “Thanks, Thomas.”

A look of pure shock flashed across his face before he could replace it with polite indifference. He cleared his throat, backing towards the door. “Until then.”

Once the door was shut behind him, she took in the room with a critical eye. It was nice, the wooden furnishings sturdy and oiled, the mattress yielding but firm beneath her as she sat down to kick off her boots. Through the windows she was given a view of the back garden, which didn’t look wild, but wasn’t meticulously maintained, either. Perhaps she could sit out there later at night, see what the sky looked like without the bright London lights to dim the brilliance of the stars.

Humming quietly to herself, she set about unpacking her clothes, hanging them up in an antique wardrobe in the corner that looked as if it could take her to Narnia if she looked hard enough.

Her entire flat could almost fit in the large bedroom and ensuite bathroom. Even sparsely furnished as the rooms were, it wasn’t hard to imagine them full to the brim with gaudy decorations to match the faded wallpaper on the walls, fancily dressed women tittering to themselves in fine clothes about their men off hunting on horseback.

She felt like a time traveler, unpacking her toiletries onto the white marble countertop in the bathroom, glancing at her reflection in the large gold-framed mirror before her. She didn’t belong here, with her cheap flannel and worn blue jeans. Running a brush through her thick caramel hair, she mentally shook herself. Who was she trying to impress by freshening up? Certainly not Thomas, and she didn’t know what to make of Lucille just yet; the enigmatic woman was a puzzle for sure.

A knock sounded on her door, pulling her from her inspection of her heart-shaped face, making her brush clatter to the counter loudly. “Shit. Coming!”

Tugging on her flannel, she padded to the door, having spent so long looking about and lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t thought to decide if she should change. Wasn’t that something that posh people did? Wear nice clothes to impress absolutely no one of importance, risking ruining them with a spilled bit of sauce? She tugged open the heavy wooden door, finding Thomas standing on the other side, running a hand through his damp obsidian curls. A few wayward locks curled around his jaw, kissing his freshly shaven skin. Damn.

And he wore another bloody henley, forest green this time, complimenting his creamy skin and raven hair. He smiled, a relaxed, warm expression, taking in her unchanged outfit save for her mismatched black and white socks. Bergamot and citrus wafted over her as she stepped out of the room, skirting around him so close that her arm brushed his chest. She was acutely aware of the brief contact, but refused to acknowledge why that might be.

“To dinner, then? You must be hungry after such a journey,” he swept his arm down the hallway, azure eyes twinkling brightly. “And if you are thirsty, I hear that an excellent whiskey is produced on the estate that I’m sure you will enjoy.”

She walked in the direction he suggested, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “So, there will be whiskey served besides Crimson Peak?”

*****

Thomas chuckled. Kate was a spitfire. He’d seen a softening in her today, though. He knew it. A tiny chink in her extensive armour for sure, but he’d seen it. They reached the staircase and he offered her his arm, elbow out in invitation.

“You’ll be offered a choice of mixers if you find the taste of the whiskey is not to your liking.”

She gave him the side-eye, but he saw a smile ticking up at the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement. After a moment’s further hesitation, she slipped her hand through his arm and he walked her down the stairs as if she were a grand duchess attending her debutante’s ball.

“What is it?” he asked, when she cleared her throat, clearly mulling over whether to speak.

“I can’t figure you out, Thomas,” she said eventually, her voice soft as they reached the last stair.

He glanced at her face, her profile delicate. His name in her voice sounded like an invitation to sin. “Really. In what sense?”

“You don’t act…rich.”

“And how should I act?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Kate slipped her hand free of his elbow and looked up at him. The low light from the ancient chandelier at the foot of the stairs touched on her hair, picking out the gold in the warm honey-brown of her locks. “You shouldn’t be like this. Kind. Hardworking. Friendly.”

He lifted a hand to tuck a stay lock of hair behind her ear. “Who put the shadows in your eyes, Katherine? I’ve a mind to rough them up.”

“Thomas, I-”

“Uncle Thomas! Missus Kate!!” Gideon barrelled into the back of Thomas’s legs and he stumbled. Automatically Kate’s arms shot out to steady him and he grabbed on to her, pulling her close. The lines of their bodies fit together perfectly, and Thomas breathed her in, the faintest hint of strawberries and the freshness of soap in her scent. The whole contrary package of her made his heart thump wildly. Her effect on him made itself known further down his body too, and he made himself think unsexy thoughts to refrain from making either of them uncomfortable. His jeans were a bit too tight as it was.

“I beg your pardon.” He drew back, steadying himself, but he’d seen the quicksilver flash of want in her eyes when they’d accidentally embraced.

“No worries, GQ.” Kate slid her palms down her jeans. “Hey, Gideon.”

The boy grinned up at her. “I’ve been making aeroplanes! Wanna see?”

“After dinner, Gideon,” Lucille called out as she appeared in the dining room doorway. “Hello, Kate. Settled in all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kate said stiffly.

Lucille led Gideon through to the dining room by the hand. Thomas leaned in to Kate and murmured; “She’s all bark and no bite, I promise. She’s reserved.” When Kate smiled, he added, “Remind you of anyone?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m not taking your bait, Sharpe, no matter how low you dangle it. I’ve been on a train for two hours with nothing but mints and I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

[mechagalaxy]

Sten Hugo Hiller - 627184: Mountain Climbing Mecha Combat #1423

(By Sten Hugo Hiller - 627184) Mountain Climbing Mecha Combat #1423 Brought to you by ANN Highlighting the August 3367 Nifty The Gaming Authorities decided to hold an event for the 40 ton Nifthels this time, -on the eight highest tops they would be the only legal model. On K9 they instead had an event with no restrictions whatsoever. I admit having a soft spot for the Nifthels. They were the first single Mech formation I was succesfull with, and they helped me hold my own as a 40 ton specialist for decades. Fully upgraded they have room for dual Cockpits, Chasis and Shields, in addition to a quartet of Engines. They also have a decent Freeze, solid Slow and deliver nearly 50% additional damage using Ice weapons. The last time they had seen action was back in May `52, where we ended up playing second fiddle to my clan-mate Able Hunter, so some serious updating of the armament was required before we set out for the mountains. A couple hours before the scramble were to begin we signed in on K4, and were shown a spot out on the plains. About half of the formations present had Nifthels on point, but the tonnages indicated few of them had full formations. It also seemed at least some held the mistaken belief that we were allowed to use one non-Nifthel, a clear case of not reading the current rules of engagement. A  few succesfull strikes saw us advance to the slopes against neglible opposition, but claiming the top was another matter. It was held by Larry Tsang of "Raging Vengeance" and the first trio of strikes were turned back with ridicilous ease. His licence was a bit higher than mine, just enough to give his Nifthels room for one more weapon mount than ours. On the other hand, he had brought what looked like a Novum to the top, so we had one more Nifthel present. Back in the hangar some additional changes to the armament took place, and when we returned Tsang`s forces were finally dethroned. Now all we had to do was wait for him, -or someone else, to strike back and topple us. To avoid gnawing my nails down to the elbows while worrying, time was spent setting up recording equipment to cover the action on all the tops. But the expected counterattacks failed to materilize, so when the light flashed we still held the top. And the footage showed that the winners had been: Div 1 408+ (23 Commanders): Claude Poirier, Winters Coming (6s) 2: Bernard Johnson 3: Jeff Haas 4: Fabio Favaro 5: Makema Mathews 6: Sal Vezzosi Jr 7: Were Wolf 8: Lewis Reed 9: Michael Coldwell 10: Yusuke Paul Okabayashi Div 2 -407 (9 Commanders): Felix Fogg, "R.V." (4h,52m) Div 3 -315 (16 Commanders): Darryl Proctor, Northwind Dragons (5h,8m) Div 4 -205 (22 Commanders): Sten Hugo Hiller, Star League (2h,32m) Div 5 -145 (9 Commanders): Eman Eliforp, T&T (2h,3m) Div 6 -120 (14 Commanders): Non de Plume, T&T (1m,9s) Div 7 -91 (23 Commanders): Markus Eisenhand, Black Star Bandits (41s) Div 8 -63 (16 Commanders): Name Of Profile, Mad Scientist 1 (25m,35) Div 9 -37 (24 Commanders): Cathy Goetz, Ronins 2 (6h,47m) On the eight tops where only Niftels were allowed to fight 4(3S)+1(S)+4(3S)+4(G,2S)+1(G)+4(G,2S)+6(3S)+1(G)= Four Golds, fourteen Silvers and seven Bronzes were awarded to Commanders who might have had pure Nifthel formations. Total Contestants: 160 Total medals claimed: 122 (of 135 possible) Compared to the previous (Warg) event, another couple of Commanders were present. But the imbalances between the tops resulted in a bakers dozen of unclaimed Bronzes from a trio of tops. The last half-hour saw four Golds changing hands at least once, two of them not decided untill less than a minute before the light flashed. The other five Golds were all held for at least two hours. So we had many strong winners, but perhaps the fight for the lesser prizes were closer? To find out, we count the number of medals held for more than 30 minutes in this event: .............Silvers......Bronzes Div 1 ....1 of 4.........4 of 10 Div 2 ....2 of 4.........3 of 4 Div 3 ....1 of 4.........2 of 10 Div 4 ....2 of 4.........6 of 10 Div 5 ....2 of 4.........3 of 4 Div 6 ....3 of 4.........7 of 9 Div 7 ....0 of 4.........4 of 10 Div 8 ....3 of 4.........8 of 10 Div 9 ....4 of 4.......10 of 10 The only top bereft of succesfull medal attacks this time was K9. At the other side of the coin, Mount Olympus, K3 and K7 were freewheeling meelees where most of the medals found fresh holders. A total of eighteen Silvers(50%) and thirty Bronzes(39%) changed hands, while the turnover for the Golds were 44%. Today and Tomorrow showed muscles by being the only clan to claim a double Gold. They won on K5 and K6. None of the unaligned Commanders managed to claim a Gold, but we had two repeat winners: Claude Poirier from Winters Coming on Mount Olympus as well as Today and Tommorrow`s Eman Eliforp on K5. Upcoming event: Limited Tonnage Here we get an event where the total tonnage a Commander is allowed to bring to the mountains depends on what top they are fighting on. On the lowest top, K9, the limit is a whooping 445 tons, -much more than the lowest ranked can possibly fit into their formations. Then it increases by 135 tons for each higher top, until those fighting on Mount Olympus are alowed a measly 1525 tons, -less than a third of their maximum tonnage. Event ends January 26 between 1930 and 2000 New York Time

[chezzkaa]

Cinders - Chapter 35/36

All Chapters

WC: 3853

In a swift and lightning quick motion you’re rocketing back, Jon’s blade skidding across the arm you’d raised in defence; Gareth’s simple smile stretching into a morbid grin. Bruises make promises as your body clatters to the floor, the water clinging to your clothes helping you slide away from the madman stood before you. Despite the Cheshire swirling in your chest you can’t bring yourself to rush forward and attack, instead concern overwhelming all other emotion screaming inside of your head. Determined, you manage to crawl across the ground amidst Gareth’s cold chuckles. Pulling Jon’s face into your hands your fingers curl around the tape and rip it away, his lips left chapped and irritated. You press your forehead against his frantically, his hands finding yours and holding on for dear life. “Oh god, you’re okay,” is all you can quietly choke, eyes brimming with tears that you refuse to shed. Anguish flashes across his face, burrowing into the deep hollows surrounding his uncomfortably bright eyes. “Okay, so about that,” his voice is rough, rasping painfully through his throat, voice box struggling to play a tune with broken strings, “please don’t look down.” “Why?”

Before you can stop yourself your eyes have drifted downwards; raking over his mangled body to see the glass protruding from infected wounds while they ooze puss – deep scars having healed only to be torn open again. It’s not the sight of his hands littered with cigarette burns that sparks the fire in your belly, nor is it the vicious brands singed into his forearms to scrawl derogatory slurs. Instead it’s a sight so familiar you want to scream, want to claw your eyes out so that you could never see such a thing again. But you can’t. Rather you are left to take in the sight of the empty space occupying what should have been his leg; severed at the knee. Your stomach lurches as bile rises, feeling yourself turn green while a painful cold settles over your shoulders and into the tops of your ears. His stump glares back at you, having healed completely with skin folding like a parcel, a clean amputation on the opposite side of your own.

Slowly you stand, the red mist descending over your vision as you stare at his mutilation, his eyes brimming with sorrow. You can’t quieten the screams inside your mind. You can’t force any thought into your mind, plagued by the sight of your brother. You’d been too late – why were you always too late? Every time you’d never been quick enough, no matter how hard you’d tried you couldn’t save them. You’d lost so many. So, so many. But not Jon, you can’t lose him like Amber. You can’t wake up every morning swimming in the blue waters of his eyes, knowing they’ll rush into your throat and clog your nose; drowning you in guilt. You refuse to never utter his name again for fear of pulling apart at the seams. You won’t lose Jon, not like her.

In an instant the Cheshire has you snatching a gun and spinning to point it at Gareth, a bitter snarl curling on your lips. His movements are quicker grabbing the barrel of the gun and twisting you arm. With a small yelp you have no choice but to move with him to save your arm from snapping; vicious growls resonating in your chest. You don’t realise how far you’ve moved until the gun points down at Jon. You watch his head shaking back and forth, barrel pointed at the temple and voice distorted by the blood pounding desperately in your ears. And then you’re struggling, kicking out and twisting best you can to break free, but each move Gareth has foreseen; pulling your strings like a puppet. “You know,” starts Gareth, voice pleasant and conversational as he forces his fingers around your own, trapping them as you spit your snarls; “I heard that if you destroy a certain part of the brain you can kill an immortal. Why don’t we test that out?”

You know as soon as pressure increases on your fingers that you should be closing your eyes to block it out, but you can’t leave Jon alone. Instead you’re staring into his eyes, shining and full of a forgiveness you don’t deserve. He barely manages to speak, “it’s okay” continuing to ring in your ears far longer than the bullet that slides through his skull. A gentle cry is all that’s left inside of you, falling from your lips to join his body collapsing to the ground. His hair traces his descent, pooling around his empty face and shielding the eyes that stare into the nothingness. Quiet. It’s far too quiet. You’re on your knees, metal biting at your skin. Hands reaching out to brush away his wild hair, leaving his eyes to fade before you; the water receding as the tide goes out one last time. You can’t push his name past your lips, the Cheshire already building up her walls and blocking him out. You’re fighting desperately, refusing to let him fall into the same hole you’d buried Amber, nameless for far too long. Instead your shaky hands cradle his head in your lap, stroking back his hair with the same nervous energy you’d seen him do so many times before. You had so much left to talk about, so much left to explore. And now you were holding the world in your hands, feeling hope drain away and pool sticky and red around your feet. No matter how gentle you are the truth shatters against your shoulders, curling over and pressing your forehead against his for a final time; a mourning wail tearing through your ribcage.

“What a shame.” The words lap at the edges of your consciousness like water at the shore front, cold and biting. “It’s always the pretty ones.” You try to block him out and focus on Jon, fighting with the Cheshire for control as she tries to rage against your sorrow. You’re clutching his hand, willing him to squeeze your fingers, chocking on your sobs as they fall limp in your grip, palm slipping away. “He’s not coming back.” You rebel against the statement, body trembling and teeth grinding so hard your jaw was starting to set. You wouldn’t forget the sound of his laughter, nor the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. You wouldn’t let his memory be tainted with anger – you just had to hold on. “Just like Amber.”

You can almost see her kneeling with you, a soft smile on her lips as she places a tiny hand into Jon’s remaining. A deep and shaky breath smudges your vision with unshed tears, “look after him, baby.” Your whisper is soft within the pounding rain, hammering heavily against the metal container and weeping over the loss of such a good soul. At your words the weight lifts from your shoulders, leaving you incredibly alone and numb; watching as Amber pulls Jon away in your mind. Eyes closing to allow the tears to trickle.

“You know,” Gareth’s words are clear now, cutting through the tension thick in the air; “I’m pretty sure it was all your fault.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your hiss is sharp and vicious, the Cheshire redirecting her rage towards the chuckling man, and you welcome her like an old friend. “You didn’t think I’d do my research before I got here? I’m offended!” The heavens continue to pour, but the sky is the only one left weeping. Instead darkness throbs in your mind, encasing your heart in ice, impervious to the burning rage flickering within your chest. “Funny thing is, you really should have seen it coming. Did you honestly expect them not to come after you? Of course, she didn’t – see it coming that is. Bullet tore straight through that baby’s eye. Very impressive!” He seems unfazed by your silence, pushing forward with blatant disregard, “what, don’t want to tell me all about your little girl?” Your body stiffens as a response, but not defensively. Rather the Cheshire tenses inside of you, ready to pounce and waiting on your mark. “Oh,” his voice isn’t surprised, despite the nature of his exclamation, “or maybe you can’t. You really are just like me.”

You bark out a laugh, harsh and rough, battering against the walls while you let Jon slide away from your knee. Gareth sucks in a offended breath, venom lacing each word. “Oh, The Cheshire’s too good for people like me. How ignorant. At least I know I’m a fuck up, don’t tell me; the Cheshire’s a coping mechanism? And the Vagabond’s the same, right? Oh please! What fucking losers, you have no idea.” Each dark chuckle lashes at your exposed back, whipping into your core to drag out a concept you’d long since abandoned. The ring of heavy footsteps clomps towards you, shaking beneath your knees until your hairs are standing. A rustle of fabric sees him crouching to your left, a genuine smile teasing beneath the malice. “Do you want to know why the Cheshire’s such a hassle?”

A glint of anger is the only indication he’s able to process before your elbow swings upwards, colliding with a wicked crunch into his windpipe. He hurtles back, stumbling and clutching his throat while he gasps for air. Each cough racks through his airways, eyes narrow and offended as you stand – the Cheshire as strong, dangerous and angry as she’d ever been. “Oh, there she is,” he chokes. Regaining composure he tries to mirror your stance, unable to achieve the same level of intimidation, body flinching with every inhale. “You’ll never be able to get rid of her,” he coughs again to clear his throat, eyes flashing “your body thinks she’s the original copy. With every death you’re brain’s going to reconstruct her, over and over again until there’s nothing left. Same for that frightful Fabio character you like so much. Same as me.” “You going to start making sense any time soon?” you growl, eyebrow rising curiously, almost bored. He chuckles, wincing and slightly ruffled by your cool demeanour. He doesn’t have time to react as you rush at him, a right hook smashing against his jaw before an uppercut catches him in the stomach. Doubling over the back of his head is met with the downwards force of your opposing elbow before a front kick sends him back. He doesn’t retreat, instead steadying before blocking your next punch, forearms clattering together. Another swing, another blinded opportunity. A firm and powerful slam of his palms against your chest, only defended against with your arms forming an ‘x’, has your heels skidding against the floor and sliding back with the force.

“Don’t you remember the explosion, Y/N?” Though his words are strained from exertion they send a hungry fire through your mind. You can’t see, trapped in the Greek humidity as the blast rolls towards you, a glowing orange chasing through the cool marble hallways. Taking advantage he pulls out Jon’s blade, swinging the hilt upwards into your gut and knocking you to your knees. His next move brings around a punch and has you bouncing into a crouch, cybernetic sweeping out to topple his balance. In an arc he falls and releases the weapon, legs lifting above his head as it smashes against the ground, container shaking. From your crouch you leap over his still falling body, fingers snatching his foot. The sound of his face turning to grind across the floor rattles satisfyingly through you, continuing to flip until his body passes over your own to smash into the opposite wall. The impact is intense, the crate you occupy shuddering unsteadily while he falls to his knees. Chuckling and shaking to his feet he brushes the dust away from his jeans, face displeased by the state of his outfit. “So you don’t remember then,” he smiles, conversational despite the blood tracing the shape of his neck and collar bone, seeping into his shirt. “How very interesting. Does that mean the nail bomb doesn’t ring any bells, either?”

You aren’t giving him the courtesy of listening to his taunts while your head and face prickle painfully in the memory, instead charging forward to collect Jon’s blade from the floor; bringing it up in a smooth swing to slice at his face. Instead he dodges, weaving away and digging and elbow into the back of your neck, muscle screaming in pain. “Oh, you guys were such a mess. You and Ryan, I mean.” His teasing does nothing, but the second elbow that comes down is anticipated. Catching it in your hands you twist into his back, hearing the skin tear and pop as you push it too far, blood spurting through his scream. A swift kick forces him onto his front, Gareth clutching at his right arm, limp and useless. “That’s not fair, we were about to get to the brain and nails bit.”

Rolling to his feet his back faces you for a moment, tempting your charge. You lunge forward; face searing from the impact of his powerful backhand. Your body ricochets against the wall, using the surface as leverage to fling upwards and tear a pipe from the roof; bringing it down with a crack. He bellows, stumbling back and clawing at his jaw, stray teeth tumbling to pitter against the floor. With a start you push forward, smashing the pipe into his kneecap, his buckling bringing his head down and into your next upwards golf swing. Falling backwards he snatches at the hem of your shirt, dragging you close before his hands come around your ears in a sharp clap. Then the world is ringing, sound searing through your head until the momentum carrying him back brings his foot up, front kicking you away. The sickening crunch of your ribs fracturing beneath his shoe cracks with the thunder rolling above you, leaving you breathless and on your hands and knees; arm curling around your side.

Somehow he manages to pull himself up; regarding you with a rage you hadn’t seen in him before. It was obvious that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, unaware of your proximity to the closest blade and powering on with his narrative. “You know, I had the same thing happen to me when dear ol’ Geoffrey decided to blow me up. Funny what shrapnel on the brain will do to an immortal. Nails are worse, I’ll admit. You one-up me on that. Still, that much metal shooting through a person’s hippocampus and frontal lobe can really change your outlook on life. Your personality, you know?” He lurches towards you, right arm hanging far lower and fingers brushing the bottom of his knee; swinging sickeningly as he approaches. A smile twists across his lips as he takes the upper hand, watching you squirm to keep you ribs in place long enough for them to heal into fractures and keep from puncturing your lungs. You blink hard and frantically, trying to clear the blood that had traced to your eye from the cut above your eyebrow, smudging your vision red.

“A damaged brain doesn’t have much to work with, but it does its best. Goes with the stronger traits and builds from there. Problem is,” he picks up the pipe you’d dropped, spinning it playfully, “emotions can make the whole process a little messy. Still, immortality’s a stubborn thing. If all it’s got is anger and murderous intentions, hell; what else does it have to reconstruct?” He kneels down beside you, victorious and beaming “and it’s just a never ending cycle. Each death brings with it more anger, and further solidifies that personality until you aren’t you anymore. You’re the Cheshire. Just a burning pit of pointless, misdirected rage.” And then you feel his hand smoothing back your hair comfortingly, his tone shifting to a deep, resonating sadness and understanding. “Welcome to the club.”

You swing the blade you’d managed to work your way upwards, catching him off guard and slicing away what was left of his arm. His guttural screams are thick and wet as blood gushes from the wound, arm falling to the floor and rolling back and forth. You stand despite your aching ribs, the movement shifting what felt like sand beneath your skin. And then you buckle into a duck, an explosion rocking the stack of containers you were in and tearing away the walls and roof; remains of the structure rattling in the rind whipping around you.

The outside battle rages on, Mama Bear shooting past in a lone jet as Michael retakes the perimeter on his own, the jovial Brit unheard within the chaos. Rain pelts down, stinging your open wounds and blinding your vision; Gareth clutching his stump in disbelief and agony. “You fucking bitch!” he spits through his teeth, trying to pull himself up and collapsing, “all you’ve done is get in the fucking way!” You’re advancing on him, each step ringing out powerfully, cracks of light tracing the sky above. “All I wanted to do,” he manages to regain his balance, leaning into his stance, “was brutally murder Geoff and everyone he’s ever loved. He deserves, you know that! I’m as broken as you are, why don’t you understand?!”

He shrieks as you crouch, launching towards him and forcing his back against the remaining section of wall, ribs aching beneath your touch. With a shudder the structure strips away, taking you with it and leaving you both to plummet towards the ground unbelievably far away. You plant your feet and push up off his falling body, rocketing him quicker towards the earth as you turn in the air to dive after him; blade ready. Your momentum drives you through the space, cutting through the air and then his elbow, his shrieks filling your ears as you roll onto the ground, body smashing beside you.

You’re breathing heavily, air rasping through your raw airways and legs shaking from the impact. You can barely register the mayhem unfolding around you, the smell of burning bodies washing away with the rain. The battle is quietening, at least. No longer are men streaming in, instead they litter the passageways. Though the sound of gunfire persists, the urgency that had rattled between the containers and into the bones of your crew had settled into a slow hum. The trembling sounds escaping Gareth’s broken body, however, have no problem catching your attention. Straightening up you pass your gaze over Ryan, his mask in hand and watching you with glittering eyes. Hair whips around his face, blond tendrils plastered to his face and tracing the sharp structure of his jaw. You can’t make out the emotion buried within those dark circles, but at this point you don’t care. All that matters is the poor excuse for a human being at your feet, spitting insults into the stream of his own blood.

Your back faces Ryan, willing him to look away while you let the Cheshire out to play without her chains, muscles tense and restless. It doesn’t take long until you’re standing above him, feet either side of his hips and face a vicious mask carved with gold shimmer and splatters as black as soot. The tightness in your chest doesn’t ease, instead growing increasingly frantic as he squirms, trying to drag what remains of his body away. “What are you gonna do, kill me?” he yells to the sky, his final triumph “I’m immortal!” You don’t respond, instead bringing the blade down on his other shoulder, slicing the skin and smashing through the bone, his kegs kicking out and knocking your knees as he screams. You stay steady, breathing hard amidst your crew’s destruction as it slowly dies down.

You’re floating, out of control as you stare murderously down at the man between your feet. Ryan’s face creases in worry at your anger, body running cold as he bellows at anyone who’ll listen to him – ordering someone towards the crate you had fallen from. At his instructions Michael is rushing up the side of the stack, Ryan watching with panic and a dropping stomach as Michael’s broken wail tears through the shipyard at the sight of Jon. You feel the blade lift in your hands, see the gleam of metal shift as you ready for the next strike, but cannot concentrate through the rage poisoning your mind. With a final smile Gareth watches the Cheshire; dangerous, imposing, and in complete control. “You’ll never be more than your anger.” “You’re wrong.”

And then you’re thrusting down, knees buckling to carry to forward to spear the blade through his skull. The bone cracks and splits, skin peeling back and curling while you lean in the hilt, watching the life drain from his smirk. Adrenaline continues to course through your veins, numbing you to the blood loss and dizziness tugging at your mind. Yanking away the skull lets off a breath as the vacuum is released; before your screams claw out of your throat and just don’t stop. Each slash brings the sharp edge across his face, smashing his face to pieces until the features merge. Around you the sound of Ryan and Ray clearing out the remaining men barely registers, instead you don’t break free of your frenzy until a bloody pulp throbs into submission beneath you. But even then your body won’t respond, throat running raw as screams continue and his chest splits open. You discard the blade, hands coming down to claw at his flesh and force through to his rib cage, a swift punch cracking free the bone to open the lungs. There’s no more sound, ears ringing into silence while your voice escapes you, whimpering into Gareth’s chest cavity and pulling out the organs to hurling them away.

You don’t notice Ryan until his hands are tugging you away, arms vices around you to force you to still. The Cheshire thrashes within you, desperate to maim what was left until he had never existed. Wipe the world clean of his hatred, of every trace. You knew that the vain hope was useless, knew that the destruction of all he was would never bring back Jon; but you had to try. Damn it, you had to try. But you can’t, instead Ryan’s kneeling with you, your legs kicking while you try to tear free. You had to get back to the corpse, had to tatter everything so that there was no way he would be granted life after taking one so important. Jon deserved better than this, Jon was better than this.

The soft humming doesn’t register immediately, rather nibbling at your raging insanity while Ryan presses his face into the curve of your neck. His arms are still strong around you, but not restraining. Their comfort slows your thrashes, chest heaving until his hums are all you hear. And then you go slack, collapsing into his gasp and letting him hold you as he world comes crashing down against your battered and bruised heart.

[astro-onechampionship]

What’s Next For Nong-O Gaiyanghadao?

After yet another successful World Title defense, Nong-O Gaiyanghadao is by far the bantamweight king of ONE Super Series Muay Thai.

The Thai warrior proved why he deserves that epithet at ONE: IMMORTAL TRIUMPH in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam on Friday, 6 September.

He went toe-to-toe with Algerian phenom Brice “The Truck” Delval for five rounds and retained the ONE Bantamweight Muay Thai World Title.

Nong-O ran his gamut of weapons – elbows, kicks, and pinpoint strikes to slow down “The Truck” and seal the victory. But the win was hard-earned.

The Algerian youngster battled fearlessly against the icon of the sport and although Nong-O has a knack for exploiting weaknesses, Delval showed few in the opening rounds.

But Nong-O patiently let Delval wear himself out, and then the Thai used well-executed counters to unsettle the Parisian. “The Truck” began to run out of gas, and Nong-O capitalized by shifting gears on his wearied opponent.

Delval – like Fabio Pinca and Han Zi Hao  –  looked like the prime candidate to defeat the legend and break out in ONE Super Series. But once again he was denied entrance by the Muay Thai mastery of Nong-O.

Nong-O, who is also a four-time Lumpinee Stadium Muay Thai World Champion, is one of the sport’s best athletes.

He can adjust to attacks on the fly, he can stand and trade with bruising hitters, and he can sweep out any of his opponents almost effortlessly. But it is his powerful kicks that should concern any would-be challengers – as Delval himself experienced.

Nong-O also possesses a shot selection that is both accurate and varied, which allowed him to break through the stout defense of  ISKA and WBC World Champion Mehdi Zatout in October 2018.

After more than two decades in the sport and over 300 professional matches, Nong-O has vigorously tested his skills against emboldened young challengers.

Though he has conquered all that has been thrown at him thus far, Nong-O welcomes any new opponents to the fold.

One man that could make an impact and test the Thai native is Alaverdi “Babyface Killer” Ramazanov. At just 24-years-old, he has something Nong-O does not have – youth.

The ferocious Russian made quite the name for himself after his debut win over Petchmorakot Petchyindee Academy. “Babyface Killer” showed little fear in his bout against the Thai veteran who had more than double the experience.

Most recently, Ramazanov registered a stunning win over Serbian-American Ognjen Topic in August.

Perhaps Nong-O’s next match-up could pit his crafty experience against the Russian’s bold youthfulness.

Looking for more action? Check out ONE Championship’s next event, ONE: CENTURY, at the famous Ryogoku Kokugikan on 13 October in Tokyo, Japan.

This will be the biggest World Championship martial arts event in history. No organization has ever promoted two full-scale World Championship events in one day.

But The Home Of Martial Arts breaks new ground as it features 28 World Champions, four World Title bouts, three World Grand Prix Championship Finals, and four World Champion versus World Champion matches.

Download the ONE Super App to catch all the action.

Read More From ONE Championship:

5 Lessons We Learned From The ONE Super Series Action At ONE: IMMORTAL TRIUMPH

Heroes Of ONE: IMMORTAL TRIUMPH Show Their Respect On Social Media

Top 5 Highlights From ONE: IMMORTAL TRIUMPH

[sbknews]

Martin reigns the Red Bull Ring for magnificent maiden win

The wait is over for Pramac Racing as the rookie puts in a stunner for his first premier class win and the team's first with Ducati. Ladies and gentlemen, there's a new MotoGP™ winner in town! From injury to pole position to top step of the podium, comeback stories don't get much better than Jorge Martin's (Pramac Racing) first weekend back from the summer break. The Spaniard broke the lap record for pole on Saturday and then put in an imperious performance to outpace reigning Champion Joan Mir (Team Suzuki Ecstar) on Sunday, taking his first premier class win and becoming the first Independent Team rider on a Ducati to win a MotoGP™ race. And for Pramac Racing, the wait is over as that victory with Ducati finally comes their way. Mir took second and his best result of the season so far, with Championship leader Fabio Quartararo (Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP) completing the rostrum to do some impressive damage control in the standings at a tougher venue for Yamaha. The first race start of two saw Francesco Bagnaia (Ducati Lenovo Team) take the holeshot as Mir and Martin slotted in behind, but it wasn’t long before a huge moment of drama would interrupt proceedings. A couple of laps later, MotoGP™ Legend and wildcard Dani Pedrosa (Red Bull KTM Factory Racing) slid off out of Turn 3 – and his bike was then struck by Lorenzo Savadori (Aprilia Racing Team Gresini). Both riders were up and ok after the crash, but the bikes burst into flames and the Red Flag came out immediately – leaving a clean-up job to do. Savadori headed for a check up and was found to have fractured his right malleolis, therefore out of the restart – but Pedrosa was able to get back out. After a considerable wait for the track to get cleaned and race ready, a new distance of 27 laps was set and the grid lined up again. But again, more drama hit – this time for Maverick Viñales (Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP) as the number 12 couldn’t get away on the Warm Up lap and was forced into pitlane. That left a gap on the grid, and the lights then finally went out for the second time. This time around, Martin took the holeshot but Jack Miller (Ducati Lenovo Team) struck at Turn 3, with Mir slotted into third and a gap back behind the trio already. Quartararo was on the chase, with another – after the same in the first start – moment between Marc Marquez (Repsol Honda Team) and Aleix Espargaro (Aprilia Racing Team Gresini) slightly shuffling the pack just behind as El Diablo took the inside line and the room ran out. At the front though, Miller led Martin led Mir, but Quartararo was homing in – and closest Championship challenger Zarco was the last man going with the front group. Bagnaia, meanwhile, had dropped behind both LCR Honda Castrol’s Alex Marquez and LCR Honda Idemitsu’s Takaaki Nakagami. Another rider of note was Brad Binder (Red Bull KTM Factory Racing), as the South African started to ignite his Sunday charge, up into ninth and looking like little would stop further progress. Up ahead, by the braking zone for Turn 3, Martin was into the lead and past Miller though, and Quartararo and Zarco switched and switched back. Mir then got past Miller to get on the chase for victory, and a gap started to open up behind the leading duo. By 21 to go, Quartararo moved past the Australian too, and Miller responded at Turn 4 before El Diablo elbowed his way back through. With that, the gap to the lead duo only grew... Quartararo managed to hold on in third, but then more drama hit behind him to assure it. Martin and Mir had disappeared in the distance and Miller was starting to put the pressure on the number 20 in the fight for the podium, but disaster hit for the Australian with 10 laps to go. Suddenly sliding out at Turn 7, his rostrum hopes were over and the Yamaha ahead was released into some solid breathing space. From there on out, the key question became: Martin or Mir? But as the laps ticked down, the answer became clearer. The number 89 was edging away, and then a mistake from Mir at Turn 3 just took the gap over a second… and that was that. If Martin could keep it clean, his first premier class win was there for the taking. Keep it clean he did. Mir did too from there on out, but it wasn’t quite enough as the Pramac Racing rider in the lead just pounded on. Over the line, the comeback fairytale was complete and Martin took the flag with a second and a half in hand, making some incredible history with an emotional victory, from a pole position lap record no less. Mir was forced to settle for second but was right back in the hunt – and moved up to third in the standings – with Quartararo a distant but valuable third as Ducati territory didn’t play out that way for his closest challengers in the points. Fourth place, meanwhile, looked set for much of the race. But Brad Binder had other ideas, and the South African absolutely smashed the final lap. Beginning it behind both Nakagami and Zarco, the KTM rider wanted more than sixth and that’s exactly what he got. Dispatching the Japanese rider AND the Frenchman in just one lap, the number 33 took fourth and the honour of top KTM on home turf. Sunday rider can also be a compliment! Nakagami then snatched fifth and Zarco was forced to settle for sixth, losing out some ground to Quartararo. Alex Rins slotted into seventh, with Marc Marquez able to salvage eighth after some dramas for the number 93 on Sunday. Alex Marquez faded in the latter stages to ninth but still took a valuable top ten… as did Pedrosa, in the end. Bagnaia was given a time penalty for not taking a Long Lap – he exceeded track limits – and that puts the number 26 back into the top ten in Grand Prix racing. An impressive achievement for any rider, but especially more than two years after retirement. Enea Bastianini (Avintia Esponsorama) took P12 and managed to stay ahead of Valentino Rossi (Petronas Yamaha SRT), who in turn held off Luca Marini (Sky VR46 Avintia). Iker Lecuona (Tech 3 KTM Factory Racing), after a stronger start, completed the points in P15. So that’s all she wrote for Styria… but not for the Red Bull Ring. The stunning venue welcomes MotoGP™ back for more next weekend for the Austrian Grand Prix, and there’ll be a new premier class winner lining up: Jorge Martin. Will the deck shuffle again or can he go back to back? We’ll start to see some answers on Friday! MotoGP™ podium 1 Jorge Martin - Pramac Racing - Ducati - 38:07.879 2 Joan Mir - Team Suzuki Ecstar - Suzuki - +1.548 3 Fabio Quartararo - Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP - Yamaha - +9.362 *Independent Team rider Jorge Martin: "I can't believe it, for sure I think I still don't believe it so I'm still not so excited! What I did today was amazing, I kept a really constant pace throughout the race, in the same tenth, and I was super focused. Even if I made some mistakes, my target was to win the race. Joan was impressive today too, he was behind me almost all the race but in the last laps I tried a bit more to brake a bit harder even if the front tyre was destroyed, and I could take a gap for the lead. On the last laps I was thinking a lot of things, about everything and everyone who helped me to arrive here and that's why I was a bit worse in the last laps! But I had the gap to manage. Thanks to all my family, this is one big step towards my dream of being World Champion. Today is one big step, we're a bit closer and I want to dedicate it to all the people who've helped me and also to my grandfather who is still fighting, this is for you. I hope to keep this line for next weekend, it'll be more difficult but I think we still have some margin to work and we'll try for the win again." For more MotoGP info checkout our dedicated MotoGP News page Or visit the official MotoGP website www.motogp.com Follow us on social media: Instagram: @superbikenews Twitter: @sbknews Facebook: @superbikenews SBN Directory - add your motorcycle related business here

MotoGP™ podium L-R: Mir, Martin and Quartararo

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[artificialqueens]

Heavy Rain Ch. 4 (Shalaska/Katlaska)- Insomnidelic

AN: Caution: Smut. Enjoy :)

“Uunhhh.” Justin groans heavily, taking in all of his length as he buries his face in a pillow to deafen his whorish moans, mindful of the thin hotel walls. He grips at the bed sheets, desperately trying to find something to hold on to as Brian pounds him roughly into the mattress.

Holy shit. Cock this good should be illegal.

Brian pauses his movement and lowers his mouth to Justin’s shoulder, nipping gently and lying wet kisses along his shoulder blades.

“Use your words, big boy.” He whispers into his ear. Justin trembles at the sound of his voice, gruff and laced with sex.

“You feel so fucking good.” He breathes, craning his head to connect their lips. Its all tongue and teeth, the two men fighting for control. Brian grins into the kiss, knowing he has the upper hand by far.

‘Turn over.” He commands. Justin obliges happily to a change of position. He flips onto his back and his eyes graze lustfully over Brian’s naked body, glistening with sweat as he pumps his throbbing cock in his hand before spreading Justin’s legs to reclaim entry. The air in the room gets thicker and the moaning gets louder as Brian continues his rough thrusts, giving Justin every inch of him.

“That’s it, fuck me harder. Give it to me.” Justin whispers hotly, eyes smoldering. Brian growls and moves Justin’s legs from around his waist to over his shoulders, shifting his hips to slide even deeper into the younger man. Justin gasps and bites his lip, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better view. Brian’s cock slamming in and out of him was mesmerizing. He reaches down to stroke himself at the sight, his moans now uncontainable. Brian lowers his hand over his lips to quiet him, surprised when Justin takes his thumb into his mouth and sucks teasingly without breaking eye contact. He picks up the pace, filling him completely with every thrust of his hips. He pauses when he feels himself getting close, burying his face in Justin’s neck.

“I’m gonna cum.” He murmurs, moving his mouth back to Justin’s. They kiss, biting and pulling on each other’s lips. Brian gives in and pulls his cock out to release all over the other queen’s stomach. Justin whimpers and stares in awe at the unending streams of hot, white cum shooting out from Brian’s cock. Someone was pent up.

Brian’s breathing slows. He leans down to bite along Justin’s neck before connecting their lips in a searing kiss. Justin gives him a lustful smile as they break apart, Brian’s teeth grazing the flesh of his chest as he sinks to his lower half.

“Your turn.” He says softly, taking the younger man’s length into his eager mouth, sucking wildly, appreciating every inch with his throat and tongue. It’s not long before Justin is sent over the edge, Brian swallowing every drop. He shivers and pulls Brian up to meet his lips, their bodies sticky and intertwined.

They lay quietly together. Had they really just done this? It wasn’t something Justin could ever imagine happening, but being connected with Brian felt right in every way. He struggles to keep his eyes open as the older man gently brushes his sweaty curls away from his forehead.

“Wake up, Justin.” Brian whispers in his ear.

“Hmm?” Justin hums back, still lost in the haze of his orgasm.

“I said it’s time to wake up”

Justin’s eyes crack open, the morning light streaming in from the hotel room windows, blinding him. Michelle sits next to him on top of his bed covers and smiles warmly as she continues brushing his curls. He stretches, groaning at the dull pain on the right side of this head.

“Michelle, it huuurts.” He whines in his distinctive vocal fry.

“I’ve brought your meds and your breakfast. Make sure you eat all of it so you don’t have an upset tummy later.” Michelle informs him, settling effortlessly into mommy mode. She gestures to his bedside table where all she had brought laid.

His stomach roars at the mention of food. He sits up and quickly throws back the pills to kill the emerging pain in his skull. He leans to rest against a stack of fluffy pillows, reflecting on his bizarre, erotic dream.

Featuring his “friend”, Brian, of all people.

He crinkles his eyebrows in confusion. Michelle takes notice to his expression.

“Is everything ok?” She asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had this weird dream. It almost felt real.” He replies, staring blankly ahead. “Everything about it was so familiar.” He continued a little quieter.

“Well, I had a long talk with your doctor about ways to help jog your memory. He suggested showing you pictures and taking you places… things like that. But he also mentioned that sometimes old memories can work their way into your dreams. So maybe what you dreamt really happened.” She says with a slight shrug, walking to his side to move a tray of pancakes over his lap.

Justin laughs and shakes his head, blushing as the dream replayed itself in his mind. There was absolutely zero chance in hell he and Brian hooked up. He would never go behind Aaron’s back like that, even if he did find Brian attractive. The thought made him flush with guilt. He stares down at his food.

Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry.

–

Brian enters his apartment, having beaten the rain by mere seconds. He was soaked with sweat from head to toe, tossing his keys and phone on the couch before making a b-line for the fridge. He pulls out an ice-cold bottle of water and downs it in record time, trying to catch his breath as his heart rate calms, his morning run unsuccessful in taking his mind off the clusterfuck the previous 24 hours had been.

The tour had obviously been cancelled which meant the queens were given the liberty of returning home. Brian stumbles into his bathroom, stripping before hopping in the shower. He lets the water run over him for what seems like an eternity, staying completely still and allowing the steaming moisture to hit his face. When it goes cold, he takes that as his cue to step out and dry off, wrapping a towel around his waist before walking back through the bedroom and into the kitchen.

He had been living in LA for over a year now but hadn’t been home long enough to finish unpacking, his apartment still cluttered with cardboard boxes. His drag lies haphazardly on every surface, reminders that Katya had very much taken over time and time again. He gripes when he steps on a tiny plastic hand, kicking it across the floor under the couch. Grocery shopping had also yet to be a priority, he realizes as he opens his fridge once more, searching for something to eat knowing full well it was empty save for his water and a few beers he kept around for guests. He sighs in frustration and slams the door shut before making his way over to the couch. He sinks into the cushions and rests his head against the wall behind him, listening to the rain as it poured endlessly, thudding heavily against his windows. He squeezes his eyes shut and attempts to put his mind at ease.

Justin.

Fuck. He couldn’t have a moment alone from his thoughts for one second. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the little amnesiac since he’d woken up that morning.

Let’s pay him a visit.

Let’s not, he wages war with his internal thoughts. He doesn’t even know who you are and he want’s nothing to do with you, he continues to himself.

His phone vibrates from its perch on the opposite end of the couch. He leans over to check who the message is from, “Tits McGee” flashing across the bright screen. What was Michelle texting him for? He slides his thumb over the screen to view the full message.

M- Justin’s asking for you.

No fucking way. Brian stares at the message long enough for his phone to fall asleep, his dumbfounded reflection staring back at him in the black screen.

He wants to see me.

He shakes his head and opens up the text tab to respond.

B- Oh? What does he want?

Gotta keep it cool, don’t want to come across too eager.

He didn’t want Michelle getting wise. Little did she know, he was sweating bullets on the couch waiting for her response. Typing bubbles appear in the text box and he doesn’t dare rip his eyes away from the screen, his phone shaking in the palm of his hands.

M- He says he wants to talk. Asking if you’re free for lunch around noon?

His heart nearly pounds out of his chest. Was Justin remembering? Or better yet, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he just took a liking to Brian at the hospital and wanted to get to know him more. A smile stretches across his face at the thought. Either way it didn’t matter. Justin wanted to see him.

And have lunch.

Easy Fabio, it’s not a date.

He rolls his eyes at his own foolishness. Of course it wasn’t anywhere close to being a date. Michelle was probably going with them to chaperone, for fuck’s sake. His phone vibrates again.

M- I’d join you but I have a few loose ends to tie up at World of Wonder.

Well excuse the fuck out of me.

His eyes glance at the mounted wall clock next to the front door. It was now 11:05. He had just enough time to brush his teeth, comb his hair, get dressed, and sit in a cloud of anxiety for a good fifteen minutes before he would have to leave.

Perfect.

If it’s possible, his smile grows even wider as he types his response.

B- Sure. Tell him we can meet in the hotel lobby.

He presses send and tosses his phone on the couch, darting to his bedroom to get ready.

–

Justin sits on the end of his hotel bed as he laces his shoes on. After four years, he still pretty much dressed the same, but he didn’t recognize most of his clothes. He eyes a few t-shirts Michelle had brought in a bag for him to choose from. He pulled one out that said “Kimora Boujee Barbie” across the chest with what he presumed to be a queen on her elbows and knees, ass in the air. He didn’t know what any of it meant, but he sure as hell liked it. He slips it on and heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair.

Staring at himself in the mirror had become his new favorite thing. He didn’t look drastically different, but he’d certainly changed. Filled out more, it seemed. He was still a gangly mess of limbs but his chest seemed a little broader. He flexes jokingly in the mirror at himself. His lips were fuller too. He’d remembered getting a few fillers but he was sure his face had undergone a bit more over time.

He fixes his bandage and runs his hand through his hair before slipping his glasses on his face, not bothering with contact lenses today. He glanced at the clock, reading 12:02. Brian was probably already waiting for him in the lobby. With a deep breath he turns out of the bathroom and grabs his key card before exiting his hotel suite.

It was time to get some answers.

–

Brian sits nervously in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Los Angeles. The swanky hotel had to be costing Michelle a pretty penny, he thought to himself. He’d opted to take a cab because of the rain, but the weather cleared up once again, returning LA to its bright and sunny glory. Justin was late, but that only gave him more time to calm his nerves. He stands to give himself a once over in the full length mirror lining the lobby wall, adjusting his backwards cap and loose button on his blue checkered shirt.

Who are you trying to impress?

His head whips around when he hears the chime of the elevator. Justin steps out of the opening doors and immediately locks eyes with an apprehensive Brian now standing directly across from him. They both smile awkwardly and walk toward one another.

“Hey.” Brian manages to squeak out, embarrassed at the way his voice cracked at the utter of one simple word. Justin laughs gently, picking up on the nervous atmosphere. Brian sure as hell seemed more confident in his dreams.

“Hi.” He responds and bites his lip, forcing his dream out of his head. Brian really was very attractive, he thought. He wasn’t Aaron, but he was something. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

Aaron.

Michelle had taken Justin’s phone away so he had virtually no way to contact his boyfriend. Aaron told him the night before that he’d be by to visit that morning, but no dice. He felt guilty that he’d asked Michelle to contact Brian before his lover, but he was all too eager to pump his “friend” for any information.

“How’s pizza sound?” Brian asks with a soft smile, breaking Justin out of his thoughts.

“Sounds great.” he replies in nearly a whisper. Something about Brian put him at ease. It was a completely unexpected feeling, but a welcome one.

“Great! There’s a place around the corner. It looks like the rain stopped, so we can walk down there if you want.” Brian prompts. Justin nods and the two make their way out the doors and down the street.

Ten minutes later, they sit comfortably in a booth of a quaint pizza parlor. The silence is awkward. Neither one had uttered a word since they left the hotel. Justin moves to break the ice.

“So you’re probably wondering why I wanted to meet up. I know we reintroduced ourselves yesterday, and from what I hear from Aaron we’re actually pretty good friends.” He starts nervously. “So maybe you can tell me more about our friendship and we can try to pick things up where we left off.” He finishes, smiling and leaning in closer across the table.

Brian stiffens.

Justin had spoken to Aaron already? He thought for sure that he hadn’t considering that he didn’t seem at all upset. Certainly he would be distraught after being told that he and Aaron were no longer together. Unless…

That bastard didn’t tell him.

Brian stifles his inner monologue after realizing he hadn’t yet answered Justin’s question.

“Uh… yeah. We’re friends…” He trails off. Justin smiles wider and eyes him, hopeful for more. “Best friends.” He adds, making eye contact with the other queen. He grins as he slides his hand across the table and puts it over Justin’s.

Why did he lie? Well if Aaron could do it for his own selfish reasons, then why couldn’t Brian? He needed Justin to trust him as much as possible. Besides, if he convinced him that they were a little closer to begin with, it might make it easier in the long run to develop a relationship with him.

Relationship? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, slick.

Justin smiles brightly at Brian from what seemed to be a genuine response. He found such security in his eyes and he couldn’t look away. Something about Brian had him dying to get to know him all over again. Their veggie pizza arrived and they dove into easy conversation.

“So I take it you’re a queen too, obviously. What’s your drag name?” Justin asks, reaching for his second slice.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but everyone just calls me Katya.” Brian says, raising his hand in a “here I am” fashion, a blinding smile across his face.

“…Uuhkay.” Justin says, blinking. Brian wheeze laughs at his reaction, which he’d been expecting considering it’s the exact same way he responded when they met for the first time years ago.

“So were those other people I didn’t know queens too, Katya?” Justin continues with a smirk, dragging the name out in his signature drawl.

“Well yeah, lets see. Danny was there- Adore Delano from season six. Then there was Shane- Courtney Act, also from season six-“ He’s cut off by Justin’s excited hand waving and bouncing.

“That was Courtney Act? I know all about her from Australian Idol!” He says, a glowing smile on his face.

“Exactly! That was her sitting next to me when you woke up. You guys work together on a lot of stuff…” Brian trails off. He didn’t want to go into the details of the “AAA Girls”, just yet.

“And the other two?” Justin asks, taking more food into his mouth.

“Violet? She won season seven. My season, actually.” Brian replies with a shrug.

“And that other guy. He had a shaved head and a leather jacket?” Justin continued. It still bothered him that Aaron seemingly left with that stranger when Justin woke up. Dread washes over Brian as he realizes he’s being asked about Chad.

“Oh. He’s Sharon’s… assistant.” He responds. It wasn’t a total lie. Chad was Sharon Needles’ assistant. Sharon also happened to be engaged to Chad, but Brian wasn’t about to reveal that tid-bit of information.

Justin nods and looks down at his food. He tried his best to convince himself that Aaron just had business to take care of with his “assistant” and that was the reason he followed him out the way he did. He couldn’t shake this feeling that something was off about the whole thing. He tried to talk to Michelle about it, but she avoided his questions before making him go to sleep, just like any mother would. And then his dream shifted all of his thoughts and focus onto Brian.

“Maybe what you dreamt really happened.” Michelle’s voice echoed in his head.

Right. He came here to get answers. It was time to dive a little deeper with his questions.

“So I’m sure you’ve seen me naked more than a few times.” Justin jokes, taking a sip of water.

This was a test.

Would Brian mention hooking up if it actually happened? Justin was desperate to know. He couldn’t live with himself if he cheated on Aaron. Brian chokes on his pizza and laughs nervously. Justin’s question seemed earnest; surely he didn’t remember anything that had happened between them.

“Uh yeah, of course. Haven’t we all? You were constantly nude in the work room during All Stars.” He justifies with a smirk, averting his eyes and taking a bite out of his pizza crust.

“You were on All Stars with me?” Justin asks, all thoughts of probing for information about cheating now thrown out the window. He was still obsessed over his apparent win and was excited for Brian to share more.

“Yeah. We were each other’s biggest competitors, actually.” Brian assures with a smirk. He puts down his crust and wipes his hands and mouth with a paper napkin. He leans in to an enthusiastic Justin who obviously wanted him to go into detail. “We even had to lip sync against each other a few times. Of course the rules this time around we’re a little different because the winners of the challenge got to lip sync for a chance to send someone home.” He finishes, taking joy in the way Justin’s face lit up at the apparent plot twist.

“Oooh that’s so exciting tell me more, tell me more! God I wish I remembered, fuck!” Justin squeals, bouncing in his seat and shaking his hands around before reaching over to grip Brian’s arm. Not thinking, Brian moves to take Justin’s hands in his own. He craved contact. Justin didn’t seem to think much of it as he let Brian hold his hands while he urged him to continue.

“Well, you won both times. And you won the entire competition- but I take it you already knew that.” He replies, smirking. If you had asked Brian about this a year ago, he probably would have been more reluctant to talk about losing. But seeing the way Justin’s eyes lit up while he told his story made his heart soar.

“Well I’m sorry you lost, but I’m really happy I won.” Justin drawls, pulling his hands away to reach for another slice of pizza.

“It’s alright.” Brian chuckles. “I won the fans.” He adds unthinkingly as he takes a sip from his cup.

“Wha-?” Justin asks, mouth full.

Shit. How are we going to get out of this one, Barbra?

“Well, you see… Not everyone really agreed with you winning.” Brian states as a matter of fact. Justin drops his crust and leans back in his booth, crossing his arms.

“Oh, is that so? And why is that, Bri?” He probes, cocking an eyebrow.

“Because you threw a fit for being on the bottom one time and that really pissed everybody off, including me. You were a total brat and you ended up losing some fans.” Brian huffs. Okay, maybe he was still a little bitter. He chugged his water nervously, avoiding eye contact with Justin who was likely glaring daggers at him. He puts his cup down and looks back up, met with an unexpected sight.

Justin pouts to himself, face red and eyes down casted as a few angry tears roll down his cheeks. His hands remained in his lap and his shoulders slouched. Brian’s stomach sinks. This is exactly what the hunky doctor and Michelle had warned everyone about.

Revealing too much at once.

He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a few crumpled bills, slamming them on the table before grabbing Justin by the hand and pulling him out of the booth.

“What the hell, where are we going?” Justin whines, struggling to keep up with Brian as he all but ran with him out of the restaurant into the crowded streets of LA.

“I’m going to cheer you up.” Brian assures him, clasping his hand a little tighter and pulling him closer.

“Cheer me up? You just told me everyone hates me because I was a brat on national television.” He huffs, planting his feet and pulling away from Brian. Brian frowns as he steps closer to the unmoving man. He brushes his fingers up in down his arm in an attempt to soothe him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything like that. But if you come with me, I can show you why it’s not all that bad. In fact it’s actually pretty fucking amazing.” He steps closer to put his hands on Justin’s shoulders, a warm smile on his face as he looks into his eyes. Justin’s expression softens.

“Ok, bestie. I trust you.” he whispers reluctantly, mulling over Brian’s words. He lets the older man grasp his hand once again as he continues to guide them to their destination.

“Hot Topic?” Justin asks confused as they finally arrived at the clothing store.

“Look in that window.” Brian urges, gesturing with his free hand to the display on their left.

“Queen of Snakes” was stenciled onto the glass. Racks that should have held t-shirts were bare save for the one on the display mannequin. Alaska in all her glory, a crown on her head and a scepter in her hand, the reining All Stars queen, was printed across the black material.

“That’s me.” Justin whispered in awe, his mouth falling open. “Where are all the other shirts?” He asked.

“Sold out, no doubt.” Brian says, smiling at Justin and rubbing his thumb across his hand. “I walk by this display on my way home all the time. I’ve seen it go from full to empty in a day.” He pauses. “Justin… People still love you. You killed the competition. You had a moment of weakness, and yeah, people called you a snake for it. But you totally owned it and you clawed your way back to the top.” He says. Justin beams at him and shakes his head.

He really was the Queen of Queens.

“OH MY GOD. IT’S KATYA AND ALASKA!”

The two queens jump at the sound of squeals coming from a gaggle of teenaged girls walking out of Hot Topic.

“Oh no, Alaska! What happened to your head? Is that why the tour is cancelled?” One of the girls questioned, stepping closer to get a better look.

“OMFG. They’re holding hands!” Another teen whispers excitedly to her surrounding friends. As if on cue, they all pull out their phones to take pictures.

“Are you guys dating?”

“Can we get a photo?”

“Will the tour be rescheduled?”

A flurry of questions bombard the two queens as they struggle to escape the surprising and uncomfortable situation. Justin tries his best to be friendly to his fans and even allows one to take a selfie with him. He enjoys the attention from being noticed on the street. It was all so new to him. Brian on the other hand was feeling the total opposite of his friend.

Abort! Abort!

He pulls Justin through the group of teenaged girls and around the corner as fast as he could, praying that they wouldn’t follow. He’s somewhat thankful when the rain starts up again, making it easier to get away if anyone decided to go after them. He doesn’t stop until they’ve reached the hotel, both dripping wet.

“What the hell Brian? They just wanted a picture! Do you always treat your fans that way?” Justin exclaims, ripping his hand away from him as they enter the lobby. His damp shoes squeak across the marble floor as he stalks to the elevator, in total disbelief with the situation that just occurred.

Without thinking, Brian follows him into the lift.

“You have amnesia, Justin. I was just trying to protect you. What if those girls said something you weren’t ready to hear? I didn’t want them upsetting you.” He says truthfully, his tone begging for understanding. Justin scowls at him as he continuously presses the button to his floor.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend. Which means you should always tell me the truth. So if there’s something you’re keeping from me, you need to tell me now, or I think maybe we should reconsider picking up where we left off!” He shouts, shaking out his drenched hair in frustration.

He didn’t mean to have an outburst, but so much had happened in one day, it was bound to catch up to him. The way Brian held his hand a little too comfortably. The way that teen asked if they were dating. Had he been cheating on Aaron with Brian? His stomach turns as he starts to believe that that could be a real possibility.

Brian exhales slowly unsure of what to say next. He wanted to tell Justin that whatever Aaron had said to him was a lie. That Aaron was in love with someone else. That he was happily engaged. But it just wasn’t his place. He’s broken out of his thoughts at the sound of Justin’s sobs.

“No, please don’t cry! I shouldn’t have taken you out there. Michelle is going to be so pissed. I’m a fucking idiot.” Brian urges, reaching out and pulling Justin into his arms to comfort him.

“No, it’s not that. We shouldn’t have been holding hands. They took pictures. Aaron is going to find out and be so angry with me.” Justin weeps into his shoulder before pushing away. The elevator door opens and the two walk out, Brian continuing to follow Justin as he makes his way to his suite.

“No, he won’t Justin.” Brian says firmly in response to his friend’s worried assertion.

Just tell him.

Brian takes a deep breath and reaches out for his friend who remains two steps ahead of him.

“You and Aaron are n-“ He’s cut off as they round the corner to see a man standing in front of Justin’s door.

Aaron turns to face Justin and Brian, the two standing a little too close for his liking. Brian’s heart sinks.

Can this get any worse?

“Baby!” Justin exclaims, wiping his tears and running into Aaron’s waiting arms.

Apparently it can.

[365daysofj2]

Déshabillé (Orchestra AU, 3/?)

Jensen sidles up to Jared, camera in hand. “Fancy meeting you here.” “Hey!” Jared sets his bass aside and grabs Jensen by his tie, pulling him in for a kiss. “You done? ‘Cause we were just about to pack up.” Jensen nods. “Yeah, I’ve got most of my stuff packed up. I just have a proposition for you.” Jared raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.” Jensen leans in close, his words for Jared and Jared alone. “I’ve got a room upstairs, and you’ve got your wedding tux on. How about you let me take a series of you undressing? Just for us, of course.” “Huh.” Jared brushes his lips over the shell of Jensen’s ear, eliciting a full-body shiver from Jensen, before replying. “Not what I was expecting, but I’m game.” Jensen turns his head just so and meets Jared’s lips with his own. “Come to room 324 in fifteen minutes.” “Yes, sir.” Jared kisses Jensen one more time before separating from him. “See you soon.” Jensen lets Jared attend to his instrument. Jensen’s got an instrument of his own to prepare. He gets in the elevator and goes up to his room. He’s got most of his equipment up there already, lights positioned just so against the blank white wall. He switches to a fresh battery and sets the camera on the tripod. He knows he should wait for Jared, but he hates the stupid tie, so he sheds that and the jacket first and unbuttons the collar of his shirt. Jared can handle the rest. It’s close to twenty minutes before Jared knocks at the door. Jensen opens it and ushers him in. “Sorry, we got held up in the lobby.” He lets his eyes roam over Jensen’s unkempt upper body. “Looks like someone started early.” “Can’t let you have all the fun.” Jensen shuts the door and points to the blank wall. “Stand up straight against the wall there.” “Taking charge already?” Jared does as he’s told, moving into the pool of light. Jensen grabs his light meter and takes some readings. He likes what he sees, so he steps behind the tripod. “Untie the tie, but don’t take it off until I tell you.” Jared unties the knot and stops. Jensen uncaps the lens and focuses it. “Okay, slowly pull it down and drop it on the floor.” Jared does so, drawing the motion out and tilting his head like a professional model. Jensen’s starting to get hard already. He undoes one more button on his shirt and gives Jared his next instructions. “Unbutton the jacket and flip it off your shoulders to your elbows. Hold that, and then let it fall off.” Jared does that too, eyes hooded with barely concealed heat. “Okay, unbutton the vest and pull it apart like you’re flashing me. Hold it for a few seconds and then drop it.” Jared’s a fucking natural at this. “You did professional modeling and didn’t tell me?” Jared shakes his head. “Nope, just stripteases for boyfriends.” “Well, fuck.” Jensen ducks back behind the camera. “Now, unbutton the shirt real slow, and take it off the same as the jacket.” Jared follows the instructions perfectly, revealing rock-hard pecs with perfectly proportioned nipples and a six-pack that could easily grace the cover of any men’s magazine. His skin is evenly bronzed even in the dead of winter, and he’s got a happy trail that makes Jensen’s mind wander to pornographic places. “Okay, unbuckle your belt and pull it off in one motion. Let it snap like a whip.” Jared does that too, and he’s like Indiana Jones with the fucking thing. Now the real fun begins. “Unzip your pants, and push them down off your hips real slow. Show off a little.” Jared grins wickedly. He eases his pants down over his hips so slow that Jensen’s ready to jump out of his skin by the time he reveals what has got to be the biggest fucking cock Jensen’s ever seen in real life, half-hard and flushed a gorgeous shade of red. Jensen doesn’t know what he wants to do more, lick it or shoot it. He settles for shooting it, zooming in as close as he can, until he can actually see a bead of precome clinging to the tip. Jensen licks his lips and zooms back out to see that Jared’s kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. “Touch yourself,” says Jensen, his voice strained with lust and anxiety. “Get hard for me.” Jared fists his cock in one giant paw and jacks himself lazily. Once he’s fully hard, he thumbs precome off the slit and licks it off, the fucking slut. Jensen captures every movement on—well, not film anymore, but an SD card that he’s password-protecting the second they’re done. “I feel a little exposed here,” says Jared. “You’re still fully dressed.” “Just a couple more.” Jensen refocuses the lens. “Put your left hand on the back of your neck and tilt your head back as you jerk yourself off.” Jared does that too, exposing the beautifully clean line of his throat and a jawline that belongs on a comic book superhero. He zooms out to capture Jared’s entire upper body, head to cock, and Jared’s chest heaves with exertion and pent-up need. Jensen turns off the camera and caps the lens. “All right, Fabio, we’re done.” “Thank God.” Jared all but tackles Jensen onto the bed and unbuttons his shirt like he’s trying for a land-speed record. Jensen guesses he’s lucky Jared didn’t just rip it right off. Jensen gets in on the act and in no time at all he’s naked and spread out under Jared. “You got stuff?” Jensen reaches for his toiletry bag, which is sitting on the night table beside them. He digs out the lube and a condom and hands them to Jared. “My turn to make the rules,” growls Jared, right into Jensen’s ear, and Jensen gets instantly, painfully hard. Jensen scoots up until his head is resting on the small pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Jared positions himself between Jensen’s bowed legs and presses one slick finger into his hole. Jensen gasps and tips his head back as Jared finesses his way through the prep, adding a second finger and a third after that. Fuck, Jared’s cock is so huge that Jensen’s thinking a fourth finger might be necessary. Shit, it’s like a fucking elephant trunk. Jensen’s not exactly sure how Jared ever manages to hide that thing. “I’m in charge now,” declares Jared in a low, husky voice. He tries the condom, but it’s not big enough and it tears. Jared frowns. “Shit. I swear, I’m clean. I got tested after college, and I haven’t been with anyone since.” “I believe you,” gasps Jensen. “Just fuck me already.” Jared eases his thick, heavy cock into Jensen’s hole and Jensen has to breathe through the burn in a way he hasn’t done since he was a teenager. But Jared’s the biggest guy he’s ever been with by several orders of magnitude. Jared presses in further, but seems reluctant to go all the way. “I’m all right,” breathes Jensen. “Fuck me, Jay. Fuck me hard enough that they hear it downstairs.” Jared gives him an almost wolfish grin and draws back, then thrusts hard enough that the headboard bangs into the wall. Jensen nods. “Yeah, babe. Just like that.” Jared starts thrusting in earnest, the headboard drumming an incessant rhythm on the wall. Jensen hopes the neighbors don’t start complaining. He’s holding back from yelling because they are in shared space, but then Jared hits home and Jensen lets out a ragged shout. Jared covers Jensen’s disruptive mouth with his own and starts plundering Jensen’s mouth with his tongue just as hard as he’s currently plundering his ass. Finally, Jensen has to shove him off to catch his breath. Jared hits home a few more times, including two in quick succession, and that’s when Jensen finally comes apart. His orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami and he comes with a harsh cry that Jared matches a minute later when he achieves his own release. Jared pulls out with a gentleness that startles Jensen, so different from his actions mere seconds before. He collapses on the mattress next to Jensen and rests his head on Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen’s sure Jared can hear the calypso drumbeat of his heart. “Shit, that was amazing,” he mutters, too drained to say much more. “All thanks to you,” replies Jared between heaving breaths. “You inspired me.” “I think I’m supposed to be saying that to you.” Jensen tilts Jared’s head up so he can kiss him properly. He’s too exhausted for anything more. “You’re one hell of a muse.” “You’re one hell of a photographer.” “And you haven’t even seen the pictures yet,” replies Jensen. “I want to.” Jensen kisses him again. “That can be arranged.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Blue-Suede Shoes

The series is as follows :

Mama Scully’s Party …. Morning … Underwears … Maps … Nachos … Foul Ball … Promises … Stay … Phone Calls … Flannel Interruption … Awakening… Friendly Compromises … Scrabble … Apart …  A Long Week … Lightning … Missing You … Interim … Stuff … Waiting … Going … Hands … Unsteady … Fear … Fast … Slow … Regardless … Into the Dark … Light … Surfboards … Curbs … Showers … Borders … Canyons … Soaked … Ice Cream … Never Happened … Deep South … Almost … Blue-Suede Shoes … Unwelcome … Remarkable … Stars … Doorbells … M&Ms … Knees ... Home

___________

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

“First you took me to Roswell and now, honest-to-your-God, Scully, we are on a North facing highway that stops in Memphis. If we are going to Graceland, I might just pop my stitches and bleed all over this car.”

“We are not going to Graceland, Mulder.” His face fell faster that Langley’s when Scully once, for fun, told him that the Ramones were a terrible group. Scully saw it out the corner of her eye, then continued, “it’s an over-rated, kerfuffle of horded crap worthy of the dumpster and not much else.” Reaching across the car, Mulder gently placed his palm on her cheek, then simply held it there, at least a minute passing until finally Scully cracked, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Waiting patiently until you retract your sacrilege against the king. Until then, my hand will remain in its place on your face.”

“Mulder.”

“Yes, blasphemer?”

“The King is dead.”

His hand remained for another three minutes until Scully began softly humming ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ and he pulled away, “I knew it! You are a terrible, terrible person and I am going to make you sit in the Jungle Room for an extra ten minutes.”

“Ppssht. I’m only taking you because what is a paltry 400 extra miles when I’ve already driven you across the country … two countries actually?”

He dug in the center console and retrieved the thing he’d been hiding.

Gently, he poked her on the arm, then pulled her hand towards him, opened her palm and placed there their last red M&M.

Biting it in half, she handed the second part back to him.

They shared their candy love in silence.

&&&&&&&&&&

After about an hour in the car, Mulder meekly asked if she’d pull over so he could lay down in the backseat. His head was pounding and his stomach roiled from it, the motion of the car and making sure he didn’t bump his head. His muscles ached and the speed of the landscape moving past made his eyes hurt. All in all, even the prospect of Graceland wasn’t enough to keep him comfortable.

Shifting luggage and bags, she helped him settle down, pillow beneath his head, feet pulled up, bare foot pressed against the closed door with his cast resting on his leg, “how’s that?”

If he could have kept her cool hand on his forehead, he would have. In his muddled, half-dazed brain, he wondered if maybe he asked, she would crawl in the back seat with him and cool him off with those smooth fingertips of hers, putting out the fire pounding in his brain.

But the soft pillow won out, him slipping into sleep before he could form more than the first syllable of, “ple ...”

He slept two hours without movement, Scully in the front seat, reaching back every few minutes to make sure he was still breathing, warm enough, cool enough, stable enough not to roll off the seats. She spent a lot of time in the quiet, not wanting to bother him with the radio but after awhile, she began getting what Mulder called ‘crazy eyes’ so she began humming, first ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ then the rest of the Elvis catalogue her mother loved and had played constantly throughout her childhood.

She then moved on to Motown, eventually progressing to singing when humming stopped working.

After that second hour passed, though, even singing wasn’t cutting it. Pulling over in the nearest rest area, she parked under the shade of the tree-lined back lot. Careful to put the seat back so she didn’t squish his face, she turned on her side and fell asleep immediately, window cracked for fresh air and hand resting on Mulder’s knee.

He stirred when she parked but then drifted off again, waking only when he heard a truck’s rumbling diesel engine drive past behind them. Seeing the crown of her head not far away, he reached up, playing with the escaped curls hanging down over the back of the seat.

She must not have been sleeping too soundly because her hand, still on his knee, squeezed the joint lightly, her voice sleepy but waking up, “hi.”

“Morning, sunshine.”

“It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, Mulder.”

“Afternoon, sunshine.”

Twisting, she struggled until her elbows were under her and her head resting on her chin, staring at him, eyes red from sleep, “how’s your head?”

“Okay for the moment.”

Scully reached out, touching his temple briefly, “no fever, headache, chills, blood pounding in your stitches?”

With a smile, “I am alive. Let’s just leave it at that for now.”

“Then ready to get moving again? Want to come back up here or stay lying down?”

Already making to move, “I’ll come up there. I can make song requests easier that way.”

“You heard me?”

“And I loved it so don’t get all embarrassed and weird about it and never do it again.”

Contorting until she could open the door and slither onto the ground, she helped him balance, then move to the passenger seat, “at least this time, I’ll have the radio for accompaniment.”

Soon, they were on the move again, getting gas, taking bathroom breaks and on Mulder’s part, smuggling bags of M&Ms out to the car in his pockets, having paid surreptitiously while Scully was standing by the gas pump and faced the other way.

He requested three more bathroom breaks before they reached Memphis, buying candy each time until his pockets rattled and he had to deposit them in his backpack in the back of the car on the pretense of getting a racy novel to read out loud to Scully. His reading voices amused her, especially when he arrived at some torrid sex scene that demanded a high female voice and added sound effects.

She nearly crashed the car at one point, having to steer to the shoulder to avoid the unnoticed traffic in front of her. Mulder looked at her, all aghast and fake-angry, “if I die with,” flipping the book around to read the cover, “’The Taking of the Shrew’ complete with Fabio on the cover, I will come back to haunt you.”

“But I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I’ll convince you.”

Checking her mirrors and pulling back onto the road, “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Shall I go back to reading?”

“Of course.”

Eventually, they arrived in Memphis, no worse for the wear but once she did get out of the car, Scully immediately bent at the waist, her spine cracking from neck to tail. She hung her arms down for a few moments until she saw Mulder’s crutch ends appear in her vision, contrasting with the dark asphalt paving of the hotel parking lot.

“You all right there, partner?”

“I need to lay down.” Slowly righting herself, she put both hands on her lower back, “and I need to go for a run later. I sat too long without a break.”

“Preaching to the choir again, Scully. I would kill to run even to the other side of the lot.”

Frowning in sympathy, “maybe we can get you in a pool for a little while, let you swim a little if you swear you won’t move your leg.”

“What about the stitches in my head?”

Patting his hand briefly where it curled around the handle of his crutches, “you are a mess, I gotta say.”

“Come closer and say that. I’ll take you out with my whacking sticks.”

And for that, he got a look of amusement that proved once again that she had a very dirty mind.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

His headache calmed enough to manage another nap before going out in search of the best BBQ in Memphis. Find it they did, coming back to the hotel covered in sticky sauce and with leftovers enough to feed them for two more meals. Scully headed straight for the shower with Mulder discovering he had to pee only after he heard the shower curtain close, the water already on full.

Knowing he couldn’t wait, he knocked on the door, then turned the knob, happy to find it unlocked. “Hey, Scully? Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

A quick check revealed a solid shower curtain, “sure. Only to pee, I hope. If you need it for something else, I’ll get out right now.”

“Nope. No pooping, promise.” Once he was done with that, he washed his hands, then leaned back against the sink, staring at the disappointingly opaque plastic barrier between him and his suds’d-up partner, “need any help?”

First, he heard the bar of soap drop, then, following a higher pitched octave, ‘no, thank you’, he heard the plastic thump of the shampoo bottle hitting the bathtub bottom. Grinning, “you all right in there?”

“Just fine.”

Enjoying his position at the moment, “I was thinking that after we finish here, maybe we could go to Kitty Hawk in North Carolina; do both oceans on the same vacation before we go home. I know they have house rentals right on the beach so maybe I could call a real estate place and see if I can get us one for a few days?”

Inside the shower, ever since she said he could use the toilet, she’d been a clumsy mess. Soap dropping, shampoo dropping, washcloth dropping, she was afraid to use her razor for fear of accidental suicide by artery slicing on her ankle. She knew exactly why she suddenly turned into this awkward mess of an individual and it made her stomach flutter and twist, heart pounding in her chest. She was very wet and very naked and the only thing keeping him from seeing her was a flimsy-ass piece of plastic that kept sticking to her elbows.

When he mentioned North Carolina and a beach house, she kept her composure even though she had the sudden vision of secluded wrap-around porches and sand dunes and quiet, cozy living rooms with plaid couches overlooking churning waves and dark, stormy skies. She came back down to Earth long enough to say, in a voice she hoped didn’t hitch, “sounds good. Never been there. Can I surf?”

He was a profiler for the FBI for God’s sake and a trained Psychologist who had been with the same woman for the last six years … he heard the hitch.

And he grinned, “well, then, I’ll leave you to your showering and I’ll go see what kind of place I can find for us. Two days from now, you think?”

“Maybe three or four. It’s another 1000 miles, I think.”

Moving from amused arousal to dumbfounded admiration, “how the hell do you know mileage everywhere?”

Politely thanking God for the distraction, “I’m the navigator, Mulder. It’s what I do.”

“You frighten me sometimes.”

“Thank you.”

[roxysbeachlife]

30 Ways to Recycle Just About Anything

BY BROOKE NELSON

There’s no reason household cast-offs should be destined for the dump—plenty of nearby agencies are more than willing to give your old stuff from paint to cork to teddy bears a second life. Here’s how to find them.

Ink cartridges

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On average, 70 percent of used ink cartridges are thrown into landfills, where it will take over 1,000 years for them to decompose, according to tonerrecycle.net. “When something is tossed in the garbage and either landfilled or incinerated, the value of that material is lost forever,” Lauren Taylor, the Global VP of Communications for TerraCycle, says. “When an object is recycled, it provides a more circular solution.” Instead of letting those cartridges spend centuries in a landfill, look for recycling instructions on the cartridge’s package. Staples will give you $3 off your next cartridge purchase for bringing in your used ones, and HP accepts old HP-brand cartridges via mail. Here are more simple ways to reduce waste—and save money.

Clothes

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Options for recycling clothes abound. Donating old garments to Goodwill and The Salvation Army might be the most obvious way to clean out a cluttered closet. If you want to make a quick buck, you can always resell nicer items on eBay or at a local secondhand store, too. But consider giving your no-longer-needed garb a second life in your own home. “Think of old clothes differently,” Taylor says. “Before you throw them away or donate them, think about options.” Your favorite, worn-out shirt or sweater become a pillow cover, or you can make a pet bed out of old blankets or flannel sheets. For inspiration, check out more extraordinary uses for objects you have lying around at home.

 TVs

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Truth be told, TVs are just one of the things thrift stores don’t really want. Luckily, chain stores like Staples and Office Depot will recycle your old TVs, as well as a variety of other electronics. Better yet, Best Buy will even remove and recycle your set when it delivers a new one to your home. You can also drop off Sony TVs at any of the company’s local recycling centers. Find out what else is on the list of things thrift stores don’t want from you.

Furniture

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Has your well-loved sofa or coffee table seen better days? You can always donate it or sell it on Craigslist or eBay. But with some elbow grease and a bit of imagination, you can also turn it into a fabulous statement piece for your home. After all, “paint and new hardware can make anything look brand new,” Taylor says.

Wine corks

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Most wine corks are made out of bark tissue, a natural (and biodegradable!) material. That means you can safely toss them into a compost bin—or send them into Yemm & Hart, a wine cork recycling company. They’ll pay you for the corks, which they turn into floor tiles, partitions, and a variety of other products.

Books

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Old paperbacks can go in the recycling bin, but you should remove any hardcovers, which are too rigid to recycle. You can also drop them off at Goodwill, or a local library, school, charity, or shelter. If your books are in good condition, you can even resell them on Amazon and pocket the profit.

Crayons

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Say goodbye to your box full of broken and stubby Crayolas. Believe it or not, you can send your cast-off crayons to the National Crayon Recycle Program, which will melt them down and create new ones. Just make sure to leave the wrappers on. Why, you ask? “When you have black, blue, and purple crayons together without wrappers, it’s hard to tell them apart,” LuAnn Foty, the program’s founder, told RealSimple. Here are more bizarre things you didn’t know you could donate.

Hangers

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While plastic hangers are not always accepted at city recycling centers, you can donate them to your local thrift store. Wire hangers, on the other hand, can be recycled with other household metals—as long as you remove any attached paper or cardboard first. Some dry cleaners and Laundromats will reuse them, too.

Stuffed animals

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Don’t toss that tattered teddy bear; there are plenty of kids in need who would love to give him a new home. Organizations like Beanies for Baghdad and Loving Hugs send gently used stuffed animals to children in war-torn nations, refugee camps, and hospitals. Plus, check out these donation centers that will put your old stuff to good use, too.

Cars

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Your old junker can pick up anywhere between $200 to $500 if you bring it to a landfill, which will crush it and resell the scrap metal. But if you just want to get rid of it, junkmycar.com will pick up and remove cars, trailers, motorcycles, and other heavy equipment free of charge. Before you bid adieu to your auto, though, remember to remove the tires and clean out the car, checking the glove box and other nooks and crannies for any valuables.

Household paint

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Paint can be toxic to the environment if left in a landfill, but it’s not doing you any good by sitting in your garage, either. Some cities offer paint-recycling programs, which will take your paint to a company that turns it into new paint. To find a program near you, go to earth911.org. Your local hardware store or paint store may take back old paint, as well.

Pots and pans

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Need to free up space in your kitchen pantry or cabinets? Consider donating old pots and pans to your local secondhand store or a women’s shelter, or passing them on to a friend or family member. Check out more easy steps to having a zero-waste kitchen.

Batteries

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Batteries are made from hazardous metals that can cause serious damage to the environment if they are not recycled. Thankfully, batteries of all types are recyclable—and many stores will dispose of them for you. RadioShack and Office Depot accept reusable ones, and Best Buy even takes batteries from cameras and gaming consoles. Battery Solutions will accept old batteries through the mail, too.

Compact fluorescent bulbs (CFLs)

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Like batteries and paint, CFLs should never be thrown in the trash. They contain toxic levels of mercury, which can seep into the ground and contaminate groundwater. Bring old bulbs to CFL recycling programs located at stores like Ikea and the Home Depot, instead. You can also call your local hardware store or recycling center and ask if they offer recycling services. Here are some other ways to go green without even noticing.

Shampoo bottles

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Shampoo bottles—along with plastic bottles and milk jugs—are made of plastics with resin numbers 1 and 2, which means they are accepted for recycling almost everywhere. Just clean them out and toss them in with your other plastics.

Tinfoil

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No need to throw last night’s tinfoil in the garbage. Tinfoil is actually made of aluminum, so it can be recycled with your soda and beer cans.

Children’s toys

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Lots of organizations collect toy donations for children in need, including Project Smile, Project Night Night, Stuffed Animals for Emergencies, and AdoptaPlatoon.org. Don’t miss these myths about going green that have been busted.

Juice pouches

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Because most juice pouches are made of plastic polymer and aluminum, they unfortunately can’t be recycled. You don’t need to dump them, though. For every Honest Kids, Capri Sun, and Kool-Aid Drink pouch you send to TerraCycle, the company will donate 2 cents to the charity of your choice. (They provide free shipping, too!) What’s more, your old juice pouches will get a second life as colorful purses, totes, and pencil cases, which are sold at Target and Walgreens stores throughout the U.S.

Plastic bags

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While it’s best to bring re-usable bags for your weekly haul of groceries, occasionally using a plastic bag is unavoidable. Try reusing plastic bags around the house as lunch boxes, small garbage can liners, or dog waste bags. If your town doesn’t recycle plastic, you may be able to drop them off at your local grocery store, too. Don’t miss these disposable products you should stop buying now.

Car batteries

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Car batteries should never be sent to landfills, because they contain lead and other toxic metals that can leach into groundwater. However, you don’t have to travel far to ditch yours. Many retailers that sell car batteries, including Advance Auto Parts, Home Depot, and AutoZone, will also collect and recycle them for you.

iPods

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Get this: If you bring your old iPod to an Apple store, you can get 10 percent off a new one. It’s a win-win situation—not only will your outdated iPod avoid the junkyard, but you’ll also save cash on your new gadget. The only catch? The discount can only be used that day.

CDs and DVDs

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Let’s be honest: Every music lover has a tall stack of CDs gathering dust in their basement or attic. Swapacd.com will let you trade your old discs with another music lover, or you can send them (along with DVDs) to greendisk.com for recycling. Check out other creative (and gorgeous!) ways to recycle your old CDs.

Post-it notes

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These little pads of paper come in handy around the office, but they should never pile up in your trash can. Toss them in the paper recycling bin, instead; that sticky stuff will get filtered out in the recycling process.

Computers

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Still holding on to your 2004 PC? Whether it’s out-of-date or just plain broken, that old computer can find many new homes. Charitable organizations such as cristina.org will properly dispose of all types of used technology, while nextsteprecycling.org repairs broken computers and gives them to underfunded schools, needy families, and nonprofits. Many manufacturers will also recycle used computers; visit epa.gov for a list of participating companies.

Tires

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To recycle old car tires, you can usually leave them with the dealer when you buy new ones. That worn-out rubber will eventually become highway paving, doormats, hoses, or even shoe soles. Don’t miss more extraordinary uses for the junk in your garage.

Nikes and other sneakers

HALFPOINT/SHUTTERSTOCK

Once your sneakers bite the dust, consider donating them to Nike’s Reuse-a-Shoe program, where they will be turned into sport and playground surfaces for kids around the world. It’s easy to participate, too; simply mail your old sneakers or drop them off at a Nike store. Many other retailers, athletic clubs, and schools around the country also accept shoes for Nike’s program, so check the website for participating locations. And if your sneakers are still in good shape, organizations like oneworldrunning.com will give them to needy athletes around the world.

Linens

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If your local charity shop takes clothing and furniture donations, odds are it will also take gently used sheets and towels, too. But for more well-worn linens, drop them off at a nearby animal hospital, pet boarding facility, or veterinary office. Those tattered t-shirts will make Fido and Fluffy’s cages a little cozier during their stay. Find out more secrets thrift and consignment shops won’t tell you.

Phones

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Thanks to the rate at which we go through phones these days, many discarded cell and smartphones are piling up in landfills. Just drop your out-of-date phone off at Best Buy, and it will be properly disposed of. Before you recycle, though, make sure to wipe your phone of any personal data such as numbers, notes, etc.

Eyeglasses

CLICK AND PHOTO/SHUTTERSTOCK

You can’t recycle plastic frames, but metal ones can safely be recycled with other scrap metal. Alternatively, organizations like neweyesfortheneedy.com will gladly take your old pairs of glasses and sunglasses for people who cannot afford them. You can also drop off no-longer-needed frames at LensCrafters, Target Optical, or other participating stores and doctors’ offices, and they will send them to onesight.org, another vision-centric charity.

Umbrellas

XFILEPHOTOS/SHUTTERSTOCK

If your umbrella has weathered its last storm (pun intended), simply drop the metal frame in with your other scrap metal. But make sure to remove the fabric and the handle first; they are not recyclable. Now that you know how to recycle basically everything in your home, don’t miss these 25 simple ways to reduce your carbon footprint.

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[mystlnewsonline]

New Post has been published on https://www.stl.news/no-quarter-a-given-djokovic-thiem-out-chung-sandgren/71990/

No quarter a given: Djokovic, Thiem out; Chung, Sandgren in

MELBOURNE, Australia/January 22, 2018(AP)(STL.News)— Even by Australian Open standards, back-to-back shockers have resulted in a most unexpected quarterfinal.

The season-opening Grand Slam has a tendency to be unpredictable, but losing six-time champion Novak Djokovic and fifth-ranked Dominic Thiem within a few hours on Monday leaves Hyeon Chung and Tennys Sandgren playing for a spot in the semifinals.

The 58th-ranked Chung relentlessly attacked a clearly injured Djokovic in a 7-6 (4), 7-5, 7-6 (3) fourth-round victory, becoming the first South Korean to reach the last eight at a Grand Slam.

Then there’s Tennys. The 26-year-old from Tennessee had never won a Grand Slam match or beaten a top-10 player until last week. The 97th-ranked Sandgren beat Thiem 6-2, 4-6, 7-6 (4), 6-7 (7), 6-3, following up on his earlier victory over 2014 Australian Open champion Stan Wawrinka.

He’s only the second man in 20 years to reach the quarterfinals in his debut at Melbourne Park.

The bespectacled Chung ripped 47 winners, including a forehand on the slide and at full stretch that put him within two points of victory, and credited Djokovic as his inspiration.

“When I’m young, I’m just trying to copy Novak because he’s my idol,” Chung said. “I can’t believe this tonight. Dreams come true tonight.”

Djokovic was playing his first competitive tennis since Wimbledon last July, and had to remodel his service swing to take some load off his injured right elbow.

He winced and grimaced throughout the match, particularly when stretching for backhands, and needed a medical timeout in the second set for massage on his injured elbow.

The 12-time major champion said he would need to reassess the injury, but didn’t want his pain to detract from Chung’s win.

“Amazing. Amazing performance,” said Djokovic, who was seeded 14th after his ranking slid in 2017 while he was off the tour. “Whenever he was in trouble, he came up with some unbelievable shots. Just from the back of the court, you know, he was like a wall.”

Chung was coming off a win over fourth-seeded Alexander Zverev, and is on a roll.

Djokovic wasn’t even sure until the last minute that he would be able to play at Melbourne Park, but was fit enough to beat Donald Young, Gael Monfils and No. 21 Albert Ramos-Vinolas. Chung was a different proposition.

“I had similar situations in the past where I found myself struggling a little bit with some injuries during the match, then I managed to win,” Djokovic said. “I felt the level of pain was not that high that I need to stop the match, even though it was obviously compromising my serve.

“That’s life. I have to move on.”

The 26-year-old Sandgren missed a match point in the fourth set but held on to beat Thiem.

“I don’t know if this is a dream or not — all you guys are here, so maybe it’s not,” Sandgren said in an on-court TV interview after his win. “I’m not in my underwear, so maybe it’s not a dream.”

He described it later has “a real ‘pinch-me’ moment.”

Sandgren converted half of his eight break-point chances, and fended off 10 of the 12 he faced against Thiem. He hit 63 winners against 38 unforced errors.

“Trying to keep riding the wave,” said Sandgren, who was given his first name in memory of his great-grandfather.

Defending champion Roger Federer, meanwhile, had no real difficulties in reaching the Australian Open quarterfinals for the 14th time.

He beat Marton Fucsovics 6-4, 7-6 (3), 6-2 and will next renew a lengthy rivalry against Tomas Berdych, who had a 6-1, 6-4, 6-4 win over Fabio Fognini.

The win over Fucsovics was Federer’s first day match of the 2018 tournament, and he joked about needing sunglasses and a towel for the beach but said really the only change was to set the alarm for a different time.

Angelique Kerber, the only Grand Slam singles champion remaining in the women’s draw, was up earlier than Federer, and got a serious wakeup call.

For a while it appeared former the Australian and U.S. Open champion’s tournament could unravel against No. 88 Hsieh Su-wei, a former top-ranked doubles player with a double-handed grip on both sides.

Kerber recovered for a 4-6, 7-5, 6-1 win that earned her a quarterfinal spot against U.S. Open finalist Madison Keys, who beat No. 8 Caroline Garcia 6-3, 6-2.

“Credit to her. She played an unbelievable match,” said Kerber, who is on a 13-match winning streak. “I was feeling I was running everywhere.”

Top-seeded Simona Halep, who had to rally from triple match point down to advance through the third round, beat Naomi Osaka 6-3, 6-2.

Halep will next play sixth-seeded Karolina Pliskova, who rounded off Day 8 with a 6-7 (5), 6-3, 6-2 win over No. 20 Barbora Strycova.

___

More AP coverage: www.apnews.com/tag/AustralianOpen

By Associated Press, published on STL.NEWS by St. Louis Media, LLC (TM)

[othersportsnews-blog]

2017 Tour de France - The stage that stripped each individual rider to the main

New Post has been published on https://othersportsnews.com/2017-tour-de-france-the-stage-that-stripped-each-individual-rider-to-the-main/

2017 Tour de France - The stage that stripped each individual rider to the main

CHAMBERY, France — The Tour de France is usually as opposed to a multi-dimensional chess match on two wheels. Significantly of biking is seeking to outsmart and corner your opponents, still that description is as well sanitized. It ignores the uncooked emotions and brutal honesty that qualified biking evokes.

Sunday’s 181.5km ninth stage from Nantua to Chambéry stripped each individual cyclist bare to their main. There was no spot to cover.

“[Yesterday’s] stage was brutal,” reported race leader Chris Froome (Sky). “I predicted the GC to get blown suitable up. It has in a lot of techniques.”

Each individual just one of the 181 finishers in Chambery experienced a tale to convey to. Some ended up tales of surprising joy, like Rigoberto Urán, the journeyman Colombian who gained in a image complete for his very first occupation Tour stage-win even with breaking his rear derailleur in the remaining descent.

“It is really unbelievable,” Urán reported. “I didn’t think it was genuine.”

Exultation for Urán was heartbreak for next-spot guy Warren Barguil. Picture finishes are widespread in bunch sprints, when the full pack barrels in with each other, but to have it that shut, particularly in a mountain stage in which time gaps are measured it minutes, it can be virtually as well cruel in a sport renowned for its harshness.

For quite a few, their emotions ended up etched on their faces, and their disappointment hung from their bodies as riders trundled into Chambéry.

French rider Tony Gallopin was ashen, and not able to even elevate his fingers to admit admirers cheering him at the bus. Polish climber Rafal Majka, whose Bora-Hansgrohe teammate Peter Sagan was kicked out past 7 days, shuffled throughout the line with his jersey tattered and flayed into strips from two tough crashes. Spanish star Alberto Contador, the very pleased previous champion, crossed the line at 4:19 back again, his head slung minimal over his handlebars, and his hopes of winning once more all but shattered.

“I crashed twice. We are going to have to see how I truly feel,” Contador reported. “A lot more than a number of favorites left the Tour currently. There will not be a tougher stage.”

The Tour goals of 12 riders ended in Chambéry, and their struggling is over, at the very least for this 12 months. Five abandoned because of to crashes and accidents. Seven much more concluded “hors délai,” that means they crossed the line, but not in just the time limit outlined in the rulebook.

Even worse off was Richie Porte, the plucky Tasmanian climber who dreamed of dethroning Froome. He crashed horribly on the narrow, sinuous descent off Mont du Chat late in the race. He was hauled away in ambulance, and health professionals afterwards verified fractures to his pelvis and clavicle.

“As we saw [yesterday], fifty percent the fight of the Tour de France is to survive the very first fifty percent of the race,” reported Matt White, sport director at Orica-Scott, reminding absolutely everyone we are not even midway via this year’s edition. “There are a number of fellas packing their baggage, and likely house presently.”

Chris Froome has rejected recommendations that he deliberately rode into Fabio Aru soon after the Italian attacked him when he suffered a mechanical dilemma during Sunday’s frantic stage of the Tour de France.

Chris Froome and Workforce Sky took manage of the Tour de France on Stage 9, as standard classification rival Richie Porte (BMC), his Workforce Sky teammate Geraint Thomas and quite a few other riders crashed out of the race.

one Connected

No just one was immune to problems Sunday, not even Workforce Sky. Froome’s staff looked impregnable, but teammate Geraint Thomas, who gained the yellow jersey on the opening working day, crashed on the day’s very first important descent. He started out the working day next over-all, but left the Tour with his shoulder wrapped in gauze.

“It is really a massive disappointment,” Thomas reported. “Just like at the Giro. It was stage 9 as properly. I was sitting next over-all as properly, really don’t know what it is for this 12 months, it can be just not happening.”

Just 48 several hours in the past, admirers and pundits ended up complaining of a Tour was caught in a doldrums of a tedious study course and the dominance of Workforce Sky. By Sunday, there was so considerably likely on in stage 9, journos ended up receiving whiplash seeking to preserve up with the unfolding developments.

The seven-climb route together the edge of the Alps built riders anxious even ahead of the start off. The climbs ended up not extremely high by Tour criteria, particularly as opposed to the giants of the Alps and Pyrénées looming in the next fifty percent of the Tour. Yet the stage showcased much more than 4,500m of vertical climbing, among the most of any stage in this year’s Tour.

And considerably of that vertical was attained on a few climbs rated as “hors categorie” — which, in Tour nomenclature, signifies as steep as it gets. Tour organizers packed a few of these “HC” behemoths into the stage — the very first time considering that 2011 that a few ended up showcased in just one stage — so absolutely everyone was apprehensive.

It was the descents, nevertheless, that put absolutely everyone on edge. Light rain, narrow roadways and tough pavement only ratcheted up the nerves.

Crashes took a brutal toll. The every day personal injury report crammed a full web page, with slash knees and elbows, a dislocated shoulder, a dislocated knee, and cracked bones. Tour de France chief race physician Florence Pommery reported she attended at the very least 10 crashes, a high amount for any stage. NBC Sports activities Tweeted a image of blood trailing down the aspect of her clinical automobile.

Richie Porte crashed out of the Tour de France and taken to healthcare facility. Philippe Lopez/AFP/Getty Images

Crashing is element of bicycle racing, but much more than a number of grumbled about how race organizers could just take the race down this kind of narrow and steep roadways.

“Richie just dropped it on just one corner. It was so slippery. I guess the organizers acquired what they required,” reported Dan Martin (Fast-Action). “Richie locked up his back again wheel, went straight into the grass, wiped out, and his bike just collected me. I experienced nowhere to go. I was extremely, extremely blessed to arrive off as frivolously as I did.”

Martin pedaled away from what was the day���s even worse crash when Porte slammed into him soon after lacking his line on the sinuous descent off Mont du Chat. A handful of the prime yellow jersey challengers experienced summited the days’s remaining climb, and ended up slicing their way down narrow corners. Porte appeared to miss out on his line, his wheel dipping off the street. His inertia carried him throughout the pavement, clipping Martin as he swept into a street-slash.

The Tour held its collective breath, fearing the even worse from the brutal effect. Porte was blessed. His Tour was over, but he escaped without much more critical personal injury. The Tour sped on. It isn’t going to hold out for any one.

A choose team rushed toward the complete line over flat roadways. The peloton lay decimated in its wake. Only eleven riders concluded in just sixty five seconds of Urán. The remainder was minutes at the rear of. The “gruppetto,” the past team of riders who are built for the flats, concluded much more than 37 minutes slower. A number of however experienced pluck to attack, like Romain Bardet and Jakob Fuglsang. On a working day when quite a few fortunes fell, theirs rose, with Bardet now 3rd, and Fulgsang leaping from fifteenth to fifth.

A single rider mostly immune from the perils that swallowed up much more than a number of of his rivals was Froome. Confirming still once more his biking chops and icy emphasis, Froome escaped the stage comparatively unscathed. His grip on what could be a fourth yellow jersey is a bit tighter, increasing what however is a extremely slender lead to eighteen seconds to Fabio Aru.

With other rivals this kind of as Nairo Quintana, twice a Tour runner-up, languishing at 2:13 back again, there is a double sense of Froome’s growing aura of invincibility, but also that the race is far from over.

“I have genuinely mixed thoughts currently,” Froome reported. “I am however satisfied to be in yellow, but soon after observing the images of Richie’s crash. That was horrific and left me with a horrible experience.”

Sunday humbled even Froome. At its main, bike racing is about struggling, and conquering the odds for fleeting moments of ecstasy. No just one left Chambéry without reeling from the consequences of Stage 9.

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Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal not all the news on ATP Tour

Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer have stolen the limelight so far in the young ATP season. With the clay-court season soon to start that should remain the same although perhaps the titles will start going Nadal's way instead of Federer's. After all, Nadal has always been more of a clay courter than a hard courter while the opposite is true of Federer. While Fed and Rafa have been the stories of 2017 so far on the men's tour, there are still plenty of other players to discuss in recapping the season-to-date. A big part of the 2017 season so far is just the dormancy and poor play of the players that remain ranked No. 1 and No. 2, Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic respectively. Both players have elbow problems, and both have played well below standard to start the 2017 season. Murray has a lot of points banked from Wimbledon and the tail end of the 2016 season still. Even with his bad start to the season, he still has nearly 12,000 ranking points, and that promises to keep his competitors at bay for a little while still. However, Djokovic is really coming back to the pack as he lost a full one thousand points with the Miami no-show. If his fortunes don't change soon then there are scenarios where he's out of the top five before Wimbledon. After all, he is the defending French Open champion. Stan Wawrinka has been a big part of the 2017 season thus far, however as of yet he has no titles. The French Open champion from two years ago has been blocked by Federer's resurgence. The Swiss Maestro took Wawrinka out of the Australian Open at the semi-final stage, and he took Stan out of the Indian Wells final. However, Wawrinka has outclassed numerous other players still, many of which have had disappointing seasons thus far. Milos Raonic remains the most injury-prone player in the top 10. The Canadian had to default a title match in Delray Beach in late February. Speaking with the ATP, at the time he said the following: "It's disappointing in a lot of ways. I've been unfortunate with injuries and have been doing everything I can to prevent them. It's been three tournaments in a row where I've sustained some sort of muscle damage." After Delray Beach, Raonic would miss Indian Wells with a hamstring problem. He pulled out of Miami before his third-round match with a hamstring problem as well. Going forward, it's virtually impossible to have any positive expectations with Raonic. He seems like a coin toss just to win or lose a battle against his body, let alone the competition. Looking ahead, Raonic may have trouble hanging on to a top-10 ranking after Wimbledon. Kei Nishikori hasn't had a great three months to open the season. He left Miami with a 15-6 record on the campaign, having failed to live up to his two seed in the Masters draw. Nishikori fell to Fabio Fognini in the quarterfinals, a player that the Japanese star should probably be beating in big matches. Nishikori also has losses this season to Jack Sock, Thomaz Bellucci, and Alexandr Dolgoplov. Nishikori dropped three spots with the April 3rd rankings and doesn't seem dangerous for the big titles at this point in his career. Marin Cilic is another player that has seen tough times so far in 2017. The Cincinnati 2016 champion and 2014 US Open champion is one player that could be taking advantage of the lull at the very top of the men's rankings. However, Cilic did nothing in either Miami or Indian Wells, losing his first match in each event and both times to low-ranked players in Jeremy Chardy and Taylor Fritz. Cilic also has losses this season to Dustin Brown, Daniel Evans, and Jozef Kovalik. When things will turn around for Cilic isn't clear, and I discussed my opinion on him earlier this season. On the positive side, Jack Sock is into the top 15 thanks in part to the title at Delray Beach. That's a career-high ranking for the American and he's just 24 years old. As he leaps over Nick Kyrgios, there is nobody ranked higher than Sock that is also younger than him except for Dominic Thiem. That speaks poorly to Kyrgios, a more talented player than Sock but one who absolutely melted down at the Australian Open and left a ton of attainable ranking points on the table that he could have cleaned up on. Jo-Wilfried Tsonga has also enjoyed a strong start to the season, one where he won two titles in Rotterdam and Marseille. He missed Miami, but that was due to personal reasons as opposed to being bothered by an injury. Grigor Dimitrov has a title from Brisbane, and he played excellently at Melbourne Park. However, the consistency isn't quite there for the Bulgarian yet. In many ways, the opening to the season has been one where Nadal and Federer have taken full advantage of the opportunities afforded to them. Obviously, they wouldn't be able to do that without immense talent, but the obstacles have not been as difficult to clear compared to less recent times. Djokovic, Murray, Nishikori, Raonic, and Cilic have all struggled for one reason or another. With regard to Thiem, I'll suspend my opinion until after the French Open as he's a clay-courter. The way things look heading into the part of the season where the game is played on dirt, the Austrian looks like a key player. Don't be surprised if the French Open semifinals (draw permitting) feature him, Nadal, Federer, and Wawrinka.

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