#he also has several tattoos not visible from this angle. so all my other ideas are over there

[fslurusami]

usami in clothes i own and with a knife i own. i think he needs more tattoos but im almost out of ideas

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” || Modern!Thomas

Modern-day AU:

It's still Thomas B. Hewitt we know, the only thing that's different is the fact that it's set in modern days! Making it easy for our Big Man to actually communicate with the help of text messages. He gots one of those nasty vocabularies.

I'm still learning how to write smut, okay :( Also, try changing my mind that Modern!Thomas wouldn't have both tattoos and a frenum piercing.

Oh, and sorry that this is AFAB, but it's easier for me to practice writing smut since I'm cis myself, but one day I might evolve!

You sigh as you lean your head on your steering wheel and bonk it a few times. “Please. Move. Please. Move. Please. Move.”, you chant in rhythm to your head hitting it, and glare out at the cars in front of you.

Of course, you got stuck in traffic. And of course, you still had about maybe two hours left to drive to get home, meaning, you would get home much later than you had hoped. Turning your head, you decide to unbuckle your seatbelt and just lean in more comfortably on your wheel instead and look out at the horizon to your left.

“I jus’anna’go’ome.”, you mumble into your arms and groan slightly before fishing your phone out of your pocket to lazily browse your social media in a rotation, hoping something will happen, knowing nothing will. The line of cars is ever un-moving in front of you, and you can even see some people going out to check on the miles of cars. Checking the news section, you see the cause of the traffic jam. A big accident, apparently. With several cars.

“Well, I’m not gonna get home any time soon…”. A thought crosses your mind as you scroll through your contacts, looking for a specific little icon you know so well at this point.

A chainsaw one.

You press it and bring up the message window to your earlier conversations and start typing.

“I’m stuck.”

It takes maybe five minutes before you hear the familiar chime.

“In a baby swing?”

“Ha-ha. No.” “In traffic.” “And I’m bored.”

You knew he had a particular small pet-peeve to other people multi texting but had a habit of doing it himself.

“And you think I care?”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You seem in a happy mood…” “What made you so grumpy?”

“Can’t get the shower to work.” “And I really want to take one” “but my uncle is an ass and refuse to fix the plumbing” “so I have to.”

All you do is sit there and watch as the pet-peeve he so vehemently screams about when you do come through.

“Uh-huh. All I could focus on were you, naked, alone.”

“No.”

“What do you mean by “no”?

“I won’t do it.”

He saw right through you. You’d been talking with this somewhat mysterious man for a few months now, you’d never seen him, all he’d done was to describe himself to you, but you had never seen his face directly before. He refused to send any kind of clear picture of himself, but you loved teasing him about it in a friendly way, making sure to never sound like you were making fun of him. And even if he seems like he didn’t want to, he also seemed to loosen around this subject, one time going as far as to send half of a mirror selfie to you. Showing a strong arm with a tattoo covering most of it that pictured a chainsaw - the sole reason why you’d saved his phone number as a chainsaw icon, not thinking about asking him for his name - shoulder long brown hair flowing in locks and the half of what seemed to be a broad chest. He had his face turned away, sadly, but what you saw made you more curious. It seemed like he was wearing a mask in the photo that covered the parts of his face that were visible in the mirror.

“Aaw, come on. I know you’re hiding something really handsome. I won’t tell anyone~” “What if I send you something naughty? ;)”

This time he seemed to disappear on you for a longer time and during the thirty minutes he was gone you thought you had almost offended him or finally made him tired of your ramblings. But then the chime came back.

“Finally!”

“Finally I’m getting a nude?”

“...”

“I’m just messing with you, big man.”

“Look, you won’t like what you see, okay?” “I’m nothing more than a freak” “I’m ugly and disfigured” “that’s all there is to this.” “People don’t like looking at me” “so I don’t bother showing my face to anyone”

A part of you broke when you saw his confession. He had never told you why he didn’t send you pictures, and you didn’t want to pressure him by asking. All you did was type one reply.

“Try me.”

Silence. Pding! This time, however, you froze when the notification said that “ Has sent an attachment ”. Your thumb hovered over the small icon with its glowing and angry red one. You opened the chat, and the attached photo showed you a man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, he had one arm laid over his broad chest, the one heavily tattooed arm taking the mirror selfie resting on the one crossed over the chest. He did have a mask on, it looked homemade, but what you could see showed a strong jawline and a masculine face. The most striking part of him was his eyes, they were amazingly blue, and he looked directly into the camera. And you melted. Your eyes traveled over his tank topped clad shoulders, down his biceps, and up to his arms. He looked like he was made by an artist. His dark locks sweaty after seemingly working the plumbing, a sheen of sweat lingering on his collarbone.

“Jesus fucking… christ…”, was all you could mumble behind your mouth. Seemingly in a trance, as you just ogled the stranger you’ve barely gotten to know, the two of you mostly using the other for some sexual relief during the nights. You glanced up to the traffic in front of you, making sure it was still stuck and yes, just as stuck as when you first messaged him. Your phone chimed into a melody as a series of short sentences came through, and you woke up from your trance.

“I’m sorry…” “I’m not what you expected, am I?” “I figured.” “This is why I never sent you anything back.”

“No, I… You’re just really… really handsome. I couldn’t stop looking at the picture.” “I really can’t. I had no idea this is who I was having such naughty thoughts about at night.”

“Heh… No need to be polite.”

“I’m not being polite! I’m being honest!”

“You really like it?”

“Yeah… I do.” “Can I ask why you wear the mask, though?”  

Silence. You tapped the side of your phone as you saw the three dots.

“My face isn’t like everyone else's” “I don’t want to scare you off” “like I do with everyone else”

You bite the side of your thumb. His responses made your heart sting. How would anyone be scared of him? You want to see more of him, want to see him without the mask. And suddenly, you felt nervous. You’ve never been nervous about having sessions of dirty talk with him before, but now? When you’ve seen him? You were. And you decided to take the plunge and ask for more.

“Can I see more of you…?”

For some reason, you were shaking as you pressed send.

Why do I suddenly feel like a fucking schoolgirl?!, you thought as you waited for a reply, feeling a small tingle starting to emerge in your body.

A new picture came your way, this one accompanied by a text on top of it.

“Time to give the new plumbing a test drive…”

He had no shirt on this time, your breath hitched slightly as you saw his bare torso. His mask was off, but he had one hand hovering over his face, parts of it seen through sprawled fingers. Like he did want to show you, but not all at once. What you saw was shocking, yes, and you couldn’t deny that fact. His nose was missing, large parts of his face were scarred and dried, but you didn’t care. All you could really focus on was his blue eyes. Your own traveled over what you could see. He was gifted with the absolute perfect ratio of muscles and fat all over his body. A towel wrapped around his waist, the angle of the camera showing a beautifully delicious happy trail leading down from his navel down below the towel.

“Are you sure you’ve never taken photos like this…?”

You couldn’t help but tease a little bit.

“Positive…” “Am I doing good?”

You breathe a laugh out.

“You’re doing great.” “I hope you think of me when you shower~”

The cars finally started moving again after that message and you happily went on your way home. Having a hard time ignoring the chiming that went on in the passenger seat next to you, having to chew the inside of your cheek as to focus on the road the best you could. Absolutely not thinking about this mysterious man you’ve never met before having a shower… naked.

When you finally arrived home you basically threw everything on the couch and almost ran to your bedroom. Sinking down on your bed, covered by big pillows, you take a shaky breath while opening your phone to check your messages. There weren't many, but the few you had from the giant man was enough to send chills running down your spine to end up exploding in tingling fireworks between your legs. You chewed your lip slightly as you opened his chat.

“Would be nicer if you could join me, though.”

Another picture had joined the chat while you were driving.

The bathroom is foggy, the mirror covered by condensation, but he’d wiped straight across it so he could take another picture in it.

This was the one where he had - apparently - gathered enough strength to show his entire face. His hair was dripping, laying over the upper half of his face, eyes peeking through it, and he had a towel laid over his shoulders, the one hand not holding the phone in the midst of wiping excess water from his thick and wide neck. Although now, a smirk was splayed across his lips, lips that seemed to be missing a few pieces, but god did they look kissable. His smirk letting you know he knew something you didn’t. This angle also showed a bit of skin like the earlier one had done, but this time you couldn’t see a towel in the fogged-up mirror. This bastard had consciously wiped the mirror off just enough for you to see his face and down just above his navel where the fog took over, covering the rest of him up. This one also had a message over it, strategically placed on the lower end of the picture.

“I hope you make it home fast, I want to practice this thing. ;)”

You trace the shape of his body, thoughts running wild at how his hands would feel, what sounds he would make if you bit down on his throat, his strong hands gripping and groping every part of your own body. You two had exchanged dirty texts for a long time now. It had mostly only been dirty words, with you sending him the occasional picture, but he’d never sent anything back. Until now. You couldn’t help but smile at that fact.

“This is a new side of you.” “I’m home now, by the way” “I like these welcome home messages ;)”

All you do as you wait for a reply is look at the pictures again. You had no idea this was the man you’d been talking to. He did describe himself, but it was obvious he was oblivious to just how attractive he actually was. You did guess it was because of his facial deformities, and while you could agree that it was bad, all the words you’d exchanged between each other made so it didn’t matter. This man was hot.  

“Heh… Welcome home.” “Mmh. I’m not sure what happened” “but I wanted to make you happy” “and if showing my ugly mug makes you happy” “so be it.”

You frowned when you read how he called himself ugly.

“You’re not ugly. I can’t stop looking at you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you on my drive home, either. My thoughts have been nothing but impure because of your pictures~”

“What did you think about?”

“You really want to know such dirty things?”

“Mmh. Tell me.” “‘specially if it’s dirty. ;)”

You sank down lower on the bed, biting your lower lip as you pondered how to word your response. Deciding it’s time to bring the teasing out and see if you can lure more pictures from him.

“Mmh~ I don’t know… What do I get if I do?”

“Are you starting to bargain?”

“Maybe~ ;)” “Maybe I just need some convincing before I actually tell you such naughty things”

“You’ve never had any problems in telling me naughty things before, little lady.” “Why now, all of a sudden?”

“Tell you what, big guy. If you do me two favors, I’ll tell you what I was thinking about…” “Deal?”

Your phone got quiet for a minute, you figured he was thinking about your proposal.

“Deal.”

“First, tell me your name. I want a name to moan while cumming to that handsome face of yours” “Secondly, I want another picture~” “It doesn’t have to be spicy, I just want to see more of you.”

It was weird, but you’d never thought about asking his name before. You guessed it was because you didn’t have a face to him until now. Apparently, he had decided to play along, seeing as he’d sent you a new photo.

It showed you a lap, thighs that looked just as muscular as his upper body, he was sitting down, relaxing it seems. This man was either a huge tease by nature, or he knew how attractive a guy in gray sweatpants was because he had chosen to put a pair on. His left hand lazily resting on his left thigh, big fingers adorned by clunky rings and a worn-out watch on his wrist. Nothing sexual, if it wasn’t for the generous outline of what seemed like a properly proportional dick resting in between his meaty thighs. And a name sprawled in simple text.

“Thomas.”

You hummed to yourself.

“Well, Thomas, I guess it’s up to me to uphold my part of the deal then...“

“I’m waiting, darlin"

A tingle runs down your back again, he’s never called you that before.

“I was thinking about you in the shower. How the water ran down you back, how much I would love to be in it with you, pressing my tits against your back as my hands run down your strong arms” “then back up to massage your shoulders. You don’t know how much I wanted to do that, to join you in your shower. I want to run my tongue on your throat, I want to know what you taste like”

“You can’t.”

“I know, and it’s killing me. And now when I’ve seen you, I want you more. Want to hear you breathe in my ear as you fuck me” “to hear you moan” “you have no idea how hard you make me cum when we talk”

“This is definitely a new side to you” “I didn’t know you could talk like this” “what’s made you this bold? ;)”

“You, Thomas. You awoke something in me when you showed me your face.”

You can’t help but be honest with him at this point. You agree that you’ve never talked to him like this before, even if you’ve been texting dirty, it’s never been to this point. Arousal starts to build up between your legs and you press your thighs together, not wanting to give in just yet.

“That makes me happy, baby.” “Nice knowing I have this effect on you” “so, you’re telling me I make you horny?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know you do.”

“I do, but I want to you say it” “I want to see you admit I make you horny” “tell me I’m the one who makes your pussy wet”

A shaky breath escapes you seeing him talk like this, but you give in and give him what he wants.

“Thomas, you make me so horny. You’ve always had.”

“That’s my girl” “You like how I talk about how I would fuck you?” " Is that what you like hearing?”

“Yes…”

“Mhm.” " I bet you would look lovely stretched around my cock”

That was the point where you couldn’t ignore the growing arousal spiking through your body, and you could feel yourself starting to get wet by the thought of him ravishing you. Him moaning as he pushed inside your wet cunt. Your thighs rubbed harder, your hand shaking as you could only watch the three dots come up as he was typing.

“Show me.” “Show me how your body reacts to me” “I want to see how wet I make you”

“Persuade me…”

You grinned, thinking you had the upper hand this time.

“Nuh-uh” “you don’t get to set the rules this time” “this time; I’m in charge” “and if I want you to show me your pussy before I give you more” “that’s what you’ll do”

You shivered hard at this series of texts from him. You loved that he showed his dominant side. Pulling off your jeans along with your moist panties, you sit back on the bed, half laying, snapping a cheeky photo of your lower half, fingers only crazing your mound, being more in a teasing mood than in a give-him-what-he-wants-straight-away kind of mood.

A satisfied smirk dances on your lips as you send it away. Not long after a reply comes.

“Don’t play games with me, now.”

“Or what? You’ll spank me?” “You know you can’t do that~” “So what’s gonna stop me?”

A few minutes of silence followed before you got another picture, one that made you moan slightly at the sight of it.

His left hand was grabbing over his crotch, fondling what looked like a half-hard cock through his pants, nothing fancier. But it did look like he was definitely… proportional to the rest of him that you’ve seen.

“if you don’t stop playing games, the pictures stop here” “and I think you want to see more than this.”

You cursed him silently because he was right. God did you want to see more than that. You huffed at his reply and decided to be good and give him what he wanted.

Spreading your legs as wide as you could, you snapped the photo he wanted. Showing him how wet you already were.

Over it, you slapped a text.

“See how wet you’ve made me by only showing me what you look like. This is what only your words did earlier, now this is because you showed me ~”

You scrolled up to watch the latest picture he showed you and massaged slow circles around your clit while waiting for a reply. You wanted to see what he was hiding inside his pants. Finally, his reply came.

“That’s what I wanted to see” “to think I did that to you” “you make me hard, baby”

His multi texting habits were really going strong today, and you giggled a bit at it before replying.

“Oh yeah?” “I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours ;)”

“Mmmmhhh…. No”

“Why not? You can’t tease me with a picture like that and then not follow up with more”

"Because you haven’t earned it yet” “and I just don’t feel like showing you my fat cock just yet is all”

“What do I have to do to deserve it, mister?”

He’d admit it early on that calling him mister or sir sent chills down his spine, something you’ve used sparingly, as to not overuse it on him. The thought of him caving in and finally showing his cock made you rub your clit a little harder, earning a low moan as you tried picturing it behind closed eyes.

Pding!

“Hmm…” “surprise me with a movie” “but don’t tell me what it is.”

Oh, you liked that idea. You thought for a bit before you figured something out.

Pulling your top off, laying naked on your bed, you started the recording.

Angling the camera to focus on you sucking on two fingers, making them nice and wet, and making sure a string of saliva was attached between your lips and your fingers as you removed them from your mouth. You slowly moved your hand down together with your phone, until you reached one of your breasts where you circled a hardening nipple with your saliva drenched fingers, making sure to amplify your breathing.

As your hand traveled downwards, the one holding your phone stopped right at your navel and returned up to your face to focus on your expression as your fingers reached your wet cunt and pressed down on your clit, something that was accompanied by a breathy moan of his name. “Thomass…”, right before you turned the recording off you made sure to look straight into the camera with lustful eyes.

On the receiving end of that video, Thomas quickly opened the message. Eyes wide as he followed the way your fingers moved down your body, around your breast, gingerly moving around a nipple. He cursed silently to himself as you stopped filming downward right above your navel, but when the camera returned up to show your face and the way he heard his name escape your lips as you reached that sweet, sweet spot between your legs, some part of him snapped.

He shot up from the chair he was slumped in and silently sneaked over to his door to listen if anyone needed him in the house, it was silent, which was a good sign. He closed the door and locked it. Making sure no one would disturb him.

Sitting back down he smirked as he grabbed the base of his now rock hard cock, still tucked away in his sweatpants to snap a new picture, a small dark stain resting where the head was located.

“That was dirty, see what you’ve done to me?”

Right after sending the picture, he sighed as he slid his hand down into his sweats to lazily stroke himself, closing his eyes, he fantasized about how your lips would feel gliding over his cock and stroked it a way he thought your tongue would move, a trembling low groan left him at the thought. All regrets he had earlier have about starting to send pictures blown out the window as your voice replayed from his phone.

It dinged with a reply and he quickly looked at it.

“I can get even dirtier~” “You remember how I told you I went shopping a few days back?”

He gulped, his hand was shaking slightly as he tapped away with this thumb. He did remember you had briefly told him you went “shopping” a few days ago.

“Mhm. I remember that.” “What did you get, baby?”

His breathing went up a notch as he sent the question. His hand stopped moving, having to already calm himself down a notch. Your video and photo had worked him up something awful.

“Do you want to see~?”

“Oh hell yeah"

It took a while to receive a response from you, but when he finally did, it was a photo. One that made his dick jolt in excitement.

It showed you, holding a dildo against your tongue. He shivered hard at the sight, a tingle reaching his cock.

“You got that just for me? ;)”

He smirked slightly.

“I did… I thought of you when I bought it.” " Wanna see me use it~?”

“Fuck yourself for me” “I promise to give you material” “you won’t regret it, believe me”

He finally let his erection spring free, the hefty weight of it making it bounce back on his stomach and he sighed again in relief. He pondered if he should send another photo already, but decided to tease a little longer before giving in. It took a while to get a new reply, during this time he entertained himself with lazily stroking his leaking dick. Smearing precum over his sensitive head, a finger caressing over the silvery barbell placed right under it, his breath hitching as his sensitivity had gone up tenfold since got the small jewelry. The other arm is flung over his eyes as he tilted his head back and smiled as he always did when he was stroking himself, and deleted every single regret about getting the erotic piercing.

The ping of his phone jolted him back to reality. A video. He hesitated at first but decided to press play.

It was you, at first sucking the dildo, swirling your tongue around the head of it, a string of saliva snapping as you smiled into the camera before moving both the phone and dildo slowly downward. A small gasp escaped you off-camera as you slowly pushed the fake dick into your already soaking cunt. You started slow, just teasing yourself with how it filled you, but after slowly pulling it out you suddenly shoved it in, and he vaguely heard his name escape you again.

One part of him couldn’t believe you were actually sending him videos, while the other part of him kicked itself for not asking for it earlier. This was pure bliss for him.

This video was what made lust take over, though, and he decided it was time for him to give you what you’ve asked for for a long time

Checking the lightning around him, he grabbed his cock at the base, angling it just right, he snapped a picture, doing his best to really show the sheer size of him. He was fully aware of the fact that he was way above average. His butchering job making sure he’d seen a good amount of men, making him realize how big he actually was. His small light made the silvery part of him glint.

“I hope this is what you’re thinking of when you fuck yourself like that” “because I sure as hell am thinking about fucking your tight pussy right now”

Sent.

The smile on your lips transformed into a needy grin as you bit down on your lower lip when you opened his convo, a quiet moan leaving you as you saw it. All you could do was stare. You dropped the toy to hide your blushing cheeks and needy grin behind your hand, for whom you hid, you had no idea. What you saw must’ve been the biggest dick you’ve ever seen outside of porn.

He must’ve been around 7 - 7,8 inches long, the girth almost scary, your toy suddenly felt way too small for you and you spasmed around nothing. You couldn’t help but drool slightly as you followed every inch of him, brows furrowing in want when you saw the barbell snugly fastened under his swollen and leaking head.

After ogling the huge cock, you gave him what he wanted; you to admit that he was right.

“You’re right, big boy.” “I did want to see this” “I wanna taste you”

"Yeah?” "You wanna suck my dick?”

A shiver runs down your back as your fingers play through your folds at the way he’s talking to you.

“Yeah, I do” “I want to hear you moan as I swallow your big fat cock down my throat”

The phone went quiet for a minute or two before you got an attachment sent your way, this time, he had sent a video, and you thought you were going to lose your mind at what you saw.

Pressing play, you saw his cock twitching in his hand before he slowly started stroking himself. He was slow at first, teasing himself - or you, you weren’t sure and didn’t care at this point - before he decided to up his tempo. Off-camera, you could hear his heavy raspy breathing, a deep moan, and something that sounded like a breathy “ fuck ”, it was low like he didn’t mean for it to escape his throat.

"Where have you been all my life?" "Your cock is amazing"

This time, you grab your dildo and sit down in front of the full-body mirror you've placed in your bedroom. Spreading your legs, you tease your slit with the toy smiling straight into the camera and furrowing your brows with want and need before pushing the toy in your wet cunt. You fuck yourself slowly as you decide to start talking instead, asking one simple question. “Want to watch me cum?”

When Thomas' phone dinged he almost dropped it out of excitement.

His head rolled back against his chair as he watched you fuck yourself, a growl low in his throat as he started dreaming of how it would feel when your muscles clench around him, making sure to squeeze his own hand in a desperate way to mimic that feeling. He started thinking how in the hell he’d been happy just reading your words earlier and seeing the occasional nude photo coming from you.

The videos were so. much. better. He almost couldn’t type anymore. He’d lost his words in fogginess that was lust, if he talked he’d be speechless at the amazing view coming from his phone. He was close, but he refused to cum without seeing you do the same, letting his aching cock go, he pulled up the keyboard.

"Please… " "I do want to see you cum" "need to" "need to see that beautiful pussy cum because of me"

You huff slightly as you see his desperate plea for you to show him. But at this point, you can't keep edging yourself. Your pussy clenched hard as you watched yourself in the mirror.

Alright, you thought. I'll give you what you want

"Do you think of me when you cum, Thomas? Ever think of how I would look covered in your cum?"

Hurrying, you prop your phone up in a standing position, making sure you are well visible in the camera you hit record; Your toy pumps in and out in a hectic tempo, hitting a really sweet spot inside your cunt, the other hand rubbing your clit.

Your orgasm was approaching fast and just moments before it hit, you look straight into the camera and with a breathy voice you say; "Because I think of you when I do." And just as your orgasm hits, you throw your head back, your voice loud as you scream his name in ecstasy.

Before stopping the recording, you lean in close to your phone and whisper; "I hope you do."

He was in the middle of replying to your questions when he saw you’d sent him a video, completely ignoring to reply to you, he pressed play. Thomas’ mouth just hung open as he watched the - for him - most beautiful and erotic scene he’s ever seen play out on his phone. His hand pumped in time with the way you fucked yourself and he almost had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from moaning out loud in fear of his family heard him.

The sounds your toy made as it went in and out of your wet cunt sent shivers down his spine and exploded in a myriad of tingles in his dick, making it twitch, his own orgasm building at a rapid speed.

But when he heard and saw you cum, and the way you screamed his name as you did, he couldn’t hold it at bay any longer. His orgasm washed over him, a low choked groan left his lips as his thick and almost cream-like seed shot over and covered his hand, landing a good way up to his chest. He forced himself to let his phone go because if he didn’t, he would surely have crushed it the way his fist clenched until his knuckles turned white. He grit his teeth, heavy, huffing and wheezing breaths coming from his lungs.

You’d made an absolute mess out of him, and you hadn’t even touched him. Sweat was running down his temple, his hair stuck on his neck, he was absolutely spent .

If only you knew, he tilted his head back, trying to catch his breath, how much I think of you when I do.

It's been two weeks since you've heard from this man who now has a name resting before his little chainsaw icon. It wasn't that weird not hearing from him for a few days, but never two weeks. You'd gotten a special assignment from work, meaning you'd had to travel to Texas. Before you left you sent him a short message.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm going to drive for a while, so can't text much."

No response. You guessed he'd had his fun with you, gotten what he wanted, and now he was tired of you.

You were stranded at a small dip in the road, your car had broken down in the middle of it, but you had managed to push it into a safer spot away from the traffic - if there actually were any. It was hot and humid. And you hated yourself for actively choosing to drive instead of taking a flight as you kicked your car out of anger.

"I. Fucking. HATE YOU! You absolute…" Kick "piece" Kick "of" Kick "trash!"

You were hot and you suspected your skin was starting to turn red due to the angry sun screaming down at you.

Footsteps coming your way distracted you momentarily from abusing your poor car and you got happy for only a moment as you went to turn to the person. Before you had the chance to fully turn towards them the butt of a gun slammed against your temple and everything went black.

You wake up with your head throbbing, you move to sit up from an apparently horizontal position but notice you can't.

You're bolted down.

"What…", you try looking around, but your position makes sure you can only flip your head from side to side, the room is cool and dim. From a distance, you hear voices shouting in what sounds like a heated argument. "Hello…?", you try to yell out. Your heart begins to beat in a rapid rhythm as the voices quiet down. They heard you. Not long after they go quiet, you notice the floor above you start cracking and creaking with footsteps, and soon after a door slides open. "Hello?", you try again.

An angry voice rings out again; "You heard me, boy! I don't give a rats fuckin' ass about what you say. You take care of 'er now, or I will!", the door slides shut again.

Heavy footsteps are coming your way, and your breathing starts picking up. "Who's there?", you hear heavy breathing in the room, the person is moving closer. "Please… I beg of you.", you try pleading to the stranger. You're so, so scared, you don't know if you're about to get killed, or used for other things, to be locked up on the surface you’re pinned down to only be viewed as an object. You don't know anything.

The person stops close to you, you see them in the corner of your eyes. But they're not saying anything, only watch you in silence.

You turn your head towards them, and they back off into a shadowy corner. They seem… afraid. "What do you want from me? Who are you?", they seem to flinch slightly at your words. You can see their whole body moving with each breath. "I don't know what you want!", tears start prickling in the corner of your eyes as panic sets in. "Please, let me go! I… I don't… I was just passing through!", you thrash against your restraints as your tears start streaming freely. Pain shooting through your restraints digs into your skin. "I don't want to die…", you sob.

Thomas can't move. He's frozen. He wants to move, he really does, but his body refuses to cooperate.

You're here. In the basement. Where everything grim happens. Where no one gets out alive. Where he is supposed to kill and butcher you. The person who’s been so nice to him over text messages, keeping him company during lonely nights. The one who willingly showed herself reaching her climax thanks to him, even after he had shown you his face.

Charlie has already told him he can't keep you. He didn't care that Thomas knows you, he didn't give a fuck about how nice you've been, how you didn't stop talking to him after you've seen his face. Thomas had a job to do, but he couldn't. He's breathing heavily as your voice pierces the otherwise quiet basement, his mind flashes back to the video saved on his phone. All those late nights where he’d read your words with his hand down his own pants.

You're here. What are you doing here?

Three words from you wake him up from his trance-like state.

You sigh. "Just do it..", you've given up. You realize you won't get out of here alive, a part of you already accepting that fate. You won't see your family anymore.

You'll never hear from Thomas again. The last thought makes another stream of tears run down the side of your face and you turn to your captor. "Please, do it fast… I… I don't want to feel pain.", a weak defeated smile reaches your lips, "Just kill me." Your last words seem to trigger movement in the figure as it moves towards a wall close to it, a small click and a light flicker on. You're bathed in a harsh white light, your newly cried eyes burn slightly as you adapt to it.

And you guess this is it.

The figure moves close to you again, and suddenly; he's right next to you. Your eyes widen in nothing but pure shock as you see dark, shoulder lengths locks. "What…", your heart beating a panicked drumming melody against your ribs. "You can't be…". The man reaches up to his head, and that's when you realize he's wearing a mask that looks way too familiar to you. He unbuckles it, and that’s when it clicks in your head. You see a face you recognize. A face you've dreamed off. A face you've masturbated to almost every night for two weeks.

But seeing this face makes tears well in your eyes for the third time and a cry that almost makes you scream bubbles up from your stomach. He just looks at you with sad eyes, eyes you wish you hadn’t seen, eyes you wish you didn’t recognize.

Thomas’ eyes.

[tirednotflirting]

i want your midnights

i listened to new year’s day 26 times very early yesterday morning and then had an idea and then my 2021 started w some jalex. a strong start i would say.

this one is for miss bella (aka @clumsyclifford​). she was one of the brightest parts of a somewhat dark year and i’m so crazy wild thankful to have her sweet soul in my world. she shares so much love and warmth in this space and she inspires me endlessly. she also made me a four hour long atl playlist in sept for my quarter life crisis drive back to my hometown and here we are now. 

she also reminded me that i needed to post this here and not just on ao3 lol. bella, my love, sending you so so so much love and peace x

here this is btw on ao3 if that’s more your jam

“Any idea how we’re supposed to get down from here though?”

“Look, even if someone moved the stool below the door, we can just get Zack to catch us. Trust me, Alex. I thought this all through.”

Alex laughs gently while rolling his eyes at Jack’s confidence in his plan. Though he can’t say that the effort Jack has put into this little adventure doesn’t warm his cheeks despite how cold the Chicago night time breeze is. Especially from where they sit on top of the bus.

It had been about ten minutes until midnight when Jack pulled Alex away from the party happening on one of the other buses. 

“Surprise adventure time.” Jack had whispered against his ear before tilting his head to press a kiss against Alex’s tattoo. Alex quickly excused himself from the conversation he had been somewhere in the middle of before allowing himself to get dragged toward the front steps.

“Jack, neither of us are in a state to be going anywhere right now.” Alex had said while half jogging to keep up with him. Jack only laughed and tightened the grip he had on Alex’s hand as he led them to the door of their bus.

“Good thing we’re only headed to the bus then, huh?”

Once he had seen Jack grab for a bottle of champagne and a blanket before using a step stool to reach up for the door that opened up onto the roof of the bus, Alex only laughed. “Aren’t we getting a little bit too old for this?”

Jack pulled himself up before sticking his head back inside to throw a look at Alex’s questioning gaze. “Alex, we took shots of Fireball tonight. We legally cannot be too old for anything if we can still stomach that.”

“Fine, fine. I’m coming.”

It’s just after midnight now. Their foreheads are still pressed together after parting from a very wind-chilled midnight kiss. Alex is almost worried the smile spread across his chapped lips might get frozen in place, he’s so damn happy right now. He can just barely make out Jack’s features as he opens his eyes. The glitter someone had painted across Jack’s eyelids sparkles under the parking lot lights and it’s cold enough that he can see the breath puffing from Jack’s parted lips.

Alex shifts some in Jack’s hold so he can more comfortably press his palms against his cheeks, a soft laugh leaving his mouth when Jack hums at the feeling before moving to hold his hands over Alex’s. “Thank you for being so warm. Very helpful.”

“Gotta keep you around for something, right?” Alex jokes as he sits up. He presses another quick kiss against Jack’s forehead before moving his hands to lift the hood of Jack’s hoodie up to cover his head. 

“Oh yeah that’s definitely it.” Jack scoffs as he turns to throw his legs over Alex’s lap and adjust the blanket pulled over their laps. He drops his head to rest against Alex’s shoulder and reaches for his hand to tangle their fingers together. “God, we used to come up here all the time. Why did we stop doing this?”

“Pretty sure it had something to do with the several times one of us nearly fell off and then we got that talk about proper bus safety.” Alex says.

“Proper bus safety sounds like it eliminates a great deal of proper bus fun, honestly.” Jack replies.

“Agreed, we should be doing this more often. It’s a good view.”

Alex’s mind is in a battle between what’s in front of his eyes right now and the memories flashing through his head as he lifts his free hand to tap out a pattern against Jack’s knee. Right now, as he looks out over the city, he can see fireworks shooting up into the sky in all directions. He’s always loved fireworks. Alex has spent so many years on the road in big cities for New Year’s Eve and watching fireworks burst over his head almost makes him forget that he can’t see the stars not visible in the light polluted skies. The explosion of colors and lights and the joy in Jack’s eyes has always been a special kind of beautiful. It’s a view he’s getting a new edition of right now and one he knows he’ll never grow tired of seeing.

But in the back of his mind he sees two boys in all seasons of the year, their lanky legs dangling from the edge of the roof of the bus, their hands still clasped together, their laughter loud and bright. He remembers everything feeling so big then, how they used to climb up here just to see what it felt like to see the world they were creating with these lyrics and music from up above. He thinks back fondly on the nights they would park somewhere in the middle of nowhere so the driver could rest and how Alex would poke at Jack’s cheek until he woke up to drag him up to the roof. They would cuddle up under blankets like they have now so he could tell Jack all about whatever was going on up in the night sky over New Mexico or wherever it was they were that night. 

Jack squeezes his hand and then he’s back to the present, to a brand new year and the cold Chicago wind and the boy he’s loved for so so many years still pressed up against him after all this time. Alex sighs and lifts their intertwined hands to press his lips against Jack’s knuckles.

“Happy New Year, my love,” he says while letting his lips brush against Jack’s skin as he speaks. “Glad I get to start another year with you. Looking forward to all the rest of them too.”

“Love you too, Al,” Jack says back, knowing that Alex is always mixing the sentiment into every word that leaves his mouth. “I think this is gonna be a good one for us.”

And regardless of how the predictability in their lives seems to always be dwindling, Alex can’t help but agree. Like fireworks on New Year’s and stars somewhere beyond the light from the skyline, Jack is a forever constant in Alex’s world.

He’s not sure how long they stay up there, watching the fireworks light up the sky and holding each other. All Alex remembers is getting lost in the lights and the love clouding up his mind and eventually being helped down onto the tour bus floor (by Zack he’s sure given that neither of them fell) and shuffling his way into his bunk with a gentle hand against his back guiding the way.

(Alex is seconds away from sleep when he feels his phone buzz inside the pocket of his sweats. He pulls it out and squints at the light from the screen, angling it some so as to not wake Jack who managed to pass out the second his head hit the pillow and his arm wrapped around Alex’s waist. It’s a text from Rian. It’s a picture of them he must have snapped from the ground right as midnight struck. Alex smiles as he saves the image, glad it was captured physically in case his memory starts failing him one day. The accompanying message only reads you crazy kids, don’t ever change. 

And as Alex smiles at the feeling of Jack wrapping his arm more securely around his waist, he can’t help but hope that they never do.)

*

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapter 207 - What is Ariko/Ipopte‘s place in the hunt for the gold?

The action in GK has finally returned to the Noboribetsu Hot springs area.  This first off adds to the tension between Sugimoto and Asirpa at the end of 206 where Sugimoto tells her that she shouldn’t fight for her people b/c she will get hurt in the process.

Ariko has presented the fake skin of Toni Anji to Tsurumi as he inspects it.  Ariko looks stiff, Nikaido watches the skin while Usami watches Tsurumi intensely. 

Usami as usual has quite the creepy look .  . . as he’ll own up to his creepiness by the end of the chapter.  I have to admit I’m concerned for his backstory and when we learn his first name - if it isn’t really bizarre I will be disappointed.

As they discuss the skin, Warrant Officer Kikuta seems to be watching Ariko while they speak with Tsurumi.  Ariko explains that the tattoo pattern is similar to the type that women used to tattoo on their arms and that they were seen to be beautiful and associated with their position in the kotan.  He mentions if “grandmother” may be a part of or key to the code b/c the last women to have this type of tattoo would have been someone old enough to be his grandmother.

The next page shows Ariko and Tsurumi looking at all of the skins.  Ariko asks Tsurumi if these are all of the skins that they have and he replies yes.  This is such an interesting situation - Ariko is trying to access the situation and Tsurumi is far to “honest” with him. 

From the start of their encounter, it is clear that Tsurumi will lie to Ariko - he’s not part of his inner circle and his face is shaded as they look at the skins.

Tsurumi tells Ariko that he did a good job but he tries to explain that he was just lucky that things worked out the way that they did.  Tsurumi continues to talk about how if they hadn’t gotten the body, then it would have been lost to the wild and the key to the gold would be lost. Ariko is already beginning to look nervous here and Tsurumi seems too calm and chipper, and we haven’t seen his eyes very much on this page, instead he’s smiling with his eyes closed.

Is Tsurumi trying to hide his true intention by not letting Ariko see his eyes?  This is very unusual body language from Tsurumi . . . . Tsurumi seems off and Ariko is starting to sweat and look nervous.

As Tsurumi continues to talk about how any lost skin would mean the gold was lost - he still avoids looking directly at Ariko.  Tsurumi’s body language is screaming “I’m lying to you, I don’t believe you and I don’t trust you.  Nor am I going to convert you to Tsurumisexuality.”

Ariko seems confused by Tsurumi’s statement about how scary the gold being lost would be as he has no response and looks super nervous.

Kikuta then gets the conversation moving again as Ariko explains that the tattoo pattern varies on location and he was wondering if it would help reveal the location but he apologizes that it isn’t like any of the ones he knows.  Tsurumi finally looks at him as he replies and notes that it is some interesting information.  Ariko you look so damn nervous!  You are a worse liar than Tanigaki.

The chapter changes to Kikuta on a smoke break (so many of us were wondering if he would be a smoker based on his character design!) as Ariko comes outside.  Kikuta mentions how the almost new moon looks the same as the moon that they both looked at during the Battle of Mukden - which based on his description of events, implies that both of them were injured during that battle and that they kept each other alive by checking in with the other throughout the night.

I’m reading this to explain that the wounds that both men suffered were during this battle and it was the two of them who were able to survive together, supporting each other.  Kikuta is Warrant Officer the highest rank of enlisted men that could command a platoon.  It is clear that Ariko was in his platoon.  Furthermore, they were not under Tsurumi’s command. 

We know this b/c Tsurumi and Tsukishima were wounded at the Battle of Mukden and these were the members of the 27th that were present here:

The bear death trio of Tamai, Noma and Okada; Tanigaki, Ogata, Maeyama, Mishima etc.

Later on the Nikaido twins are show in the group as well.

So this information shows that Tsurumi and Tsukishima were wounded during the day and the rest of the 27th under his command made sure that both of them were saved and Sugimoto gave up the sled for Toraiji to Tsukishima.

We also know this b/c Nikaido and Usami did not know Ariko nor that he was an Ainu member of the 27th.

Back to the chapter action -

Without looking at Ariko, Kikuta makes a rather odd comment looking up at the moon that it is the only thing that hasn’t changed from that time.  This is such a loaded and bittersweet statement, Kikuta is flat out saying that things between him and Ariko have therefore changed from the Battle of Mukden and that they do not have the camaraderie that they once had.

The next page reveals Tsurumi and Admiral Koito enjoying the onsen the following day, the night of the new moon.  And with this, the full nude Tsurumi is revealed and Koito has more of a “mature” Dad bod than he had before in the Koito flashback.  I want to know how Tsurumi has been able to maintain such a great figure all these years as an officer?  Remember this - Tsurumi and Kiro at the start of the story are the same age according to Noda which made them 40 or 41!  In the background a fully clothed Usami is peering into the bathing area with Tsurumi and Koito Sr.  Okaaaayyyyy.  Usami is offically a pervert.

As Koito Sr. leaves the bath to head back to his room, Tsurumi playfully whips him with his towel.  It seems even Tsurumi is capable of high school locker room antics.  He politely reminds him to be careful of things with it being dark and the new moon. 

This is the only comical moment in the entire chapter as things get action packed as Ariko crashes out of a window on likely the second floor of the onsen inn part! 

Ariko rolls in the snow in his socks, as he looks up at the window wide-eyed looking very emotional as two men fire at him.  One has a type 38 rifle - either Nikaido or Usami and the other based on the angle of the gunfire is Kikuta as the figure has a longer coat and has a handgun.

Keep in mind that this is the new moon so it is pitch black.  This is likely why they are unable to hit Ariko and he then asks if “someone” is there.

Not surprisingly, Toni is able to grab Ariko and start to lead him away in the darkness.  He asks him if he has stolen them, and Ariko confirms that he has the skins in one of the woven Ainu bags.

Ariko then gives very detailed directions to Toni as he leads them away from the 27th in the total darkness.  Toni makes it clear that he can smell the blood of Ariko and how injured he is, but he tells him that he will be able to make it with him.  Ariko is one tough guy.

There is then a slight flashback to a few hours before Ariko’s daring escape.  He’s walking around alone in the inn part of the onsen with a single candle.  He finds a trunk and opens it. He looks shocked as it reveals a damaged makkiri.  It is quite clear that this is one of the makkiris from the murder scene of the 7 men that were determining what to do with the gold.  Ariko is wondering what it is doing there in this trunk of Tsurumi’s

KIkuta than approaches from behind him and explains that Tsurumi was the one who investigated the murder scene and collected all of the evidence and that one of the men was Ariko’s father.   KIkuta then asks him a rhetorical question - that Ariko didn’t know that Tsurumi investigated the Ainu murder scene.  Based on the amount of sweat the is on Ariko’s face it could mean that he had some of an idea about this, but I’m going to say that Ariko does not know about Tsurumi’s role.  Of course Tsurumi already knew that Ariko’s father was one of the men who were killed. . ..

Kikuta has pulled out one of his Nagant revolvers and he looks so sad/disappointed/hurt/bitter as he tells Ariko that it is too bad that he’s forgotten their time together in the trenches at Mukden.

Ariko sweats profusely as Tsurumi approaches in the darkness in shadow. Tsurumi then flat out says that the tattoo he gave him was not Toni Anji’s - of course that would be the case - when Sugimoto was captured by Tsurumi, he got the copy that Sugimoto had.  All Tsurumi did was compare them and realize that Toni Anji was still alive and still working with Hijikata.

Tsurumi then goes on to explain that Hijikata was sloppy to not realize that the tattoo that Ariko gave to Tsurumi would be checked by Tsurumi.  He asks him if Hijikata convinced him to join him and to do it for his father.  As Tsurumi emerges from behind the sliding door he has COMPLETELY black eyes!  I have no idea what this exactly means - Sugimoto and Ogata have had completely white eyes but completely black eyes are a NEW eye trait/mood for the series.  I shall have to update my eye color analysis soon!

What I can say is it is creepy as all hell and this is clearly the eyes of a Tsurumi as he’s about to eliminate someone who is in his way.  White eyes have been associated with murderous intent for Sugimoto and extreme anger in Ogata.  But what do black eyes in Tsurumi mean?

Before Ariko can respond he winces in pain as the final page reveals that Usami has bit his right hand so hard it is bleeding and he then uses this distraction to punch Ariko with his right hand!  Damn, Usami keeps his creepy vibe and is far more feral than Ogata.

Usami looks beyond smug, he’s literally vibrating as he puffs his chest and makes the proud snort of breath.  Several veins in Usuami’s face are clearly visible as Ariko looks at him in shock as he tells him he’s made the worst possible course of actions.

Bam! with that the chapter ends!  208 will show us how Ariko is able to escape through the window. . . .

Crazy hypothesis time

1.) Kikuta and Ariko were very close and Kikuta had to chose Tsurumi over Ariko.

The smoke break conversation between Kikuta and Ariko is bittersweet.  He brings up a moment were they bonded as comrades and were able to survive together.  Ariko reminds me of Tanigaki, he’s skilled in the mountains but he misses subtle clues from others.  He sees nothing odd with Kikuta’s statement, instead he’s just a bit confused.  This is similar to when they were in the cave in pursuit of Toni Anji.  Kikuta was a few steps ahead of him but they trusted each other.  Ariko betrayed that trust.  Not only did Kikuta closely watch his interactions with Tsurumi but it is clear that he know the skin he handed over was fake.

His facial expression here is so complex.  You can even see the twinge in his lips as he bites it down on the left side to try to maintain a deadpan expression.  His eyes look so disappointed.  Kikuta is one smooth, sexy man but he has a sense of loneliness about him - not in the flashback in 197-200 but when he was first introduced and now.  I really think he wanted Ariko to be on his side as a trusted man working with him.  Tsurumi is a through and intelligent man, but at this point in the manga, he still does not have a trusted team member who is an Ainu.  Yes, Inkarmat worked for him, but Tsurumi needs a man like Kiro or Ariko on his side.  I’m waiting for him to reveal someone in his back pocket - but based on Kikuta’s disappointment, I’d say they were banking on adding Ariko to their team.  Or maybe Kikuta was hoping to add Ariko to team Tsurumi since he knew him so well and trusted him.

Convincing Ariko to join their cause b/c of his father’s death is classic activation of Tsurumisexuality 101. Tsurumi is collecting broken men with no fathers - Tsurumi is upset that Hijikata got to Ariko first before him.  Hell, I’d say Tsurumi is beyond upset that Ariko may have chosen Hijikata, but it explains why he didn’t attempt to use his charms on Ariko.  I think Kikuta is truly torn by his actions but chooses Tsurumi and is willing to kill his trusted comrade.

2.) Ariko just grabbed all of the fake skins that Edogai made.

Tsurumi has just lied to Ariko about the skins he had, with the fake that Ariko provided there were 5 more skins in the picture here:

When Edogai escaped from Ogata in Yubari, he only was able to grab 5 skins that went into the handbag that Tsukishima gave to Tsurumi.  Those 5 skins have been waiting to make a mess of the hunt for the skins.  The whole point of those skins were likely made for Hijikata and not for Sugimoto per se since Tsurumi knows Hijikata was the other major faction in the search for the gold.

Here are the skins that Edogai made:

Now the image in chapter 207 is hard to tell what the kanji are.  Maybe this is due the quality of the scans or the fact that Noda was rushed and didn’t have the time to go back and double check the kanji on the fakes.  What I did notice was this here:

The kanji in red and the lines pointed out the blue arrows match - not exactly but pretty damn close to the orignal ones made by Edogai.  Plus the “seam” of Edogai’s fake next to the kanji matches the cut line of the skin before Ariko.  Now I waffled a bit b/c all of Edogai’s were sewn, but if he wanted to put the fakes into circulation he’d have to remove that so that whoever got them wasn’t supicious about the skin.

These also look somewhat similar - not a perfect match but close too.

@goldenkamuyhunting has already done a post about the fake tattoo and Toni Anji’s and has gone back to compare the artwork.  The positions of the kanji are consistent but the lines vary between chapters.  Therefore, as long as the kanji are match and the lines are close-ish that is the best that we can work with.

If Toni is able to lead Ariko to safety (please get him shoes as well, I don’t want him losing his toes to hypothermia in those socks in the snow!  They will likely meet up with Hijikata or someone in his group.

I’m personally unsure if Ariko was convinced directly by Hijikata - I more wonder if he struck a deal up with Toni and decided he might as well work with Hijikata. Ariko really seems to be missing key information which is why he was caught so easily by Tsurumi.  I wonder if Hijikata wanted Ariko to steal what were the likely fake skins from Tsurumi  . . . .

Either way, it is time that Edogai’s fake skins actually get involved in the game! 

3.) Koito Sr. helps Ariko escape

And just to throw a crazy idea out there - maybe Koito Sr. helps in faciliating the escape of Ariko.  He needed some sort of break to be able to grab the skins and break through the window.  It is clear that he was cornered so he thought it was the best option and I do not think he was pushed out the window.  Tsurumi’s men tries to follow them into the mountains but, again, they are lacking the team members that would be helpful in this e.g. Tanigaki . . .

Well that is all for now!  Looking forward to 208!

[raendown]

I finally got around to taking part in @dahtwitchi‘s Dick Pic Project! And in time to be allowed my repost of her delicious artwork! The image I am posting is ever so slightly doctored, just cropped a little, but with permission from Twitchi. 

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4121 Rated: M Summary: Madara isn't sure what he thinks about being given a third chance at life. He's glad that he has his brother and Hashirama with him, although he's pretty sure he could live without Tobirama being there as well. What really makes things things interesting is all this new technology. He particularly enjoys his new 'cellphone'.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Rapture On The Lonely Shore

As much as Madara appreciated being given another chance at life, there were still moments when he wondered if this was all just a little too much trouble. He had lived his life – two of them in fact! In that time he had committed his crimes, died for them twice, and seen about as much of the world as he’d thought he would ever want to. Getting dragged back in to the land of the living for a third go around wasn’t really in his plans.

Having both of the Senju brothers tag along for the ride could be nothing but karma trying to kick him in the ass and have a good laugh at him while doing it. Some days not even the fact that Izuna had also clawed his way back to life was worth the aggravation of it all.

Certainly on the surface everything was fine and dandy. The citizens of Konoha had at last reached a point where they were content to ignore him so long as he remained docile and afforded them the same discourtesy. Hashirama had fallen so easily in to the patterns of friendship they enjoyed during the few shorts months he had been able to peacefully exist within the village they built together. Spending his days with Izuna as he had always wanted to was a joy he’d long stopped believing could ever be possible.

The problem, as always, was Tobirama. To an outsider’s point of view it would appear that Tobirama had given up all animosity towards the Uchiha brothers he once carried so much hate for. And that would almost be considered correct, Madara had to admit. After finding themselves alive in a time period far passed their own, all of them had found it much easier to lay down their anger and simply enjoy the time they had been gifted, allowing the sins of the past to stay there and looking forward to the future with lighter hearts. Tobirama spent most of his time these days devoting his mind to the science he’d always loved.

He spent the rest of his time bothering Madara.

It wasn’t the same sort of hatred which had existed between them before when Izuna lay buried beneath six feet of earth and neither Tobirama nor Madara could look at each other without seeing the blood of their lost kin. Back then they had both done everything in their power to get in each other’s way, to antagonize and impede and irritate in every way they could just for the pleasure of knowing they had ruined even just a moment of the other’s day.

Now Madara wasn’t sure what he would call it. Without the weight of the world on his shoulders Tobirama seemed to have discovered a new side of himself that very much enjoyed poking fun at other people. He found a great deal of amusement in pulling small pranks and Madara, unfortunately, was his new favorite victim. Even more confusing was that none of it seemed to truly be mean-spirited. Tobirama switched out his reading glasses and put dye in his shampoo bottle, he laughed at the results until he was rubbing his sides with glee and then – amazingly – he would return Madara his things or provide him with the cure for whatever chaos he had caused. Then he returned to his lab until the urge for this new brand of fun rose again.

Several years had already gone by since the Fourth Shinobi War and all of them were fairly well entrenched in their patterns. Izuna in particular still struggled to remember the availability of new technologies like electric stoves and lightbulbs. On his part, Madara had been enamored with the concept of a cellphone since he was first handed one and the concept explained to him. That changed when Tobirama got a cellphone of his own.

Now here he was eyeing the small bar across the lock screen which indicated that he had a new message from “That White Bastard”. Madara sighed, drumming the nails of his other hands against his thigh as he wondered if it was worth his time to open the message. Last time he gave in to curiosity he’d gotten a series of eight picture messages of the same stupid leaf from different angles. Just a dumb waste of his time, something harmless that did nothing more than irritate him yet caused no real offense, that was the basis of all their interactions now. Madara had stopped checking Tobirama’s messages since then and started deleting them on sight but today a pattern had been broken.

Today he had received one picture message followed by no less than fifteen text messages in rapid succession. The constant ding of his phone was both annoying and slightly alarming, holding his attention if only for the way the messages just kept coming all at once. That wasn’t like Tobirama. It was more like Tobirama to wait and send each message in short intervals for maximum irritation value.

With a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, Madara unlocked his phone and fumbled around for the messages app. He wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until he solved this mini mystery so he might as well get it over with sooner rather than later. As soon as he opened it, however, he narrowed his eyes in confusion, anxious worry rising up in his throat as he read through the immediately visible messages.

No Seriously Do not I mean it, don’t scroll up If I send you enough messages it won’t be visible Just don’t scroll up I mean it Uchiha Don’t fucking do it If you want to keep your sanity DO NOT SCROLL UP

Madara caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled viciously with indecision. He’d never seen Tobirama come even close to panic before but these messages, the speed with which they had all dropped in one after the other, it felt a lot like panic to him. The last message in particular caught his attention. He wasn’t sure if the wording was meant as a genuine warning or as a some kind of threat but all it had really accomplished was to make him incredibly curious. What could that idiot Senju have possibly sent him that would be followed all of this?

It took exactly half a minute for Madara to cave to his own curiosity. Whatever had been sent to him, it was obvious the Senju didn’t want him to see it. He might be holding amazing blackmail material in the palm of his hand; he would be stupid not to investigate that. Scrolling upwards only increased his confusion at first as it became more and more clear that Tobirama seemed to have sent him something by accident, something he truly did not wish for Madara to see, true panic clear in the messages where he seemed to realize he’d made some sort of mistake.

DON’T LOOK AT IT I DID NOT MEAN TO SEND THIS IMAGE Believe me when I say I meant to send something else This was an accident Do not scroll up Do not look at that image No Seriously

And then Madara found the image itself.

If he had an ounce less self-control he would have thrown his cellphone across the room on mere reflex, an instinctive reaction to the immediate influx of conflicting emotions. Of all the possible things Tobirama might have sent him, even accidentally, an image of the other man in the nude had not even crossed Madara’s mind.

Alright, so Tobirama wasn’t completely nude in the photo, although he might as well have been. His torso was bare and the pants he was wearing were opened to allow his impressive erection to rise out and stand perfectly centered in the frame. Madara couldn’t decide if he wanted to stare at the most delicious cock he’d ever set his poor shamed eyes upon or if he wanted to trace the shape of the tattoo he’d never known about. Tobirama’s pale white skin made a perfect backdrop for the red ink of a tiger to claw its way up and around his shoulder, the stripes of the beast’s arm running down Tobirama’s. The man’s other arm was pulled up behind his head to draw Madara’s eye to the third surprise: apparently Tobirama had seen fit to pierce one of his nipples.

Madara swallowed thickly, both hands clutching his phone so hard the metal casing gave a protesting creak. The part of his brain that had been raised in a war with the Senju was a little disgusted with himself for even entertaining the ideas this image was clearly meant to inspire. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to inspire those ideas in him but the other part of himself, the one that had put the war behind him and was slowly learning to trust again, was already rerouting blood to some very interested parts of his body. A few years ago he might have scowled at this same image with nothing but revulsion. Now he sank deeper in to his couch cushions and palmed the front of his trousers.

Two could play at this game, he thought with a grin. It had taken hours to teach him how to use the camera function on this overly complicated device but it was time he appreciated as well-spent now, reluctantly backing away from the messaging app so he could open up the camera and fiddle until he remembered how to turn it around to face himself. Then he unfastened his pants and pushed them down.

He wasn’t nearly as naked as Tobirama, he noticed. Staring back at the image of himself made him wonder if he should set the scene a little. Maybe take off his shirt? Pose? What expression should he make? Madara shifted and watched his cock bob from side to side, leering at the reflection his own hardness when an idea occurred to him.

It took several tries to get a picture he liked that actually stayed in focus, then several more tries to figure out how to send it back to Tobirama. If he said so himself it was quite an attractive image with him hunkered down in a similar lounging pose as the other man with one of his hands stroking himself and his eyes closed in bliss.

When his phone began to ring he nearly jumped out of his skin. The screen told him that Tobirama was calling him and Madara stared at it for a few seconds, terrified enough that his erection wilted a little. He didn’t think Tobirama would call him. He’d just…actually he had no idea what he’d meant with this stupid idea. Tit for tat? Payback? Mutual teasing with naked bodies? But if he didn’t answer then he ran the risk of Tobirama just popping in with that infernal jutsu of his so Madara accepted the call with one shaking thumb, his other hand still wrapped protectively around his own cock.

“Hello…” he mumbled, unsure of what the protocol was for talking to someone he’d just sent a racy picture of himself to.

“I thought I told you not to look at it.” Tobirama’s voice sounded oddly breathless in his ear. Madara swallowed thickly as his mind supplied him with several possible reasons why. His thumb absently rubbed small circles around the smooth head of his cock, making him shiver.

“You made me curious,” he admitted.

A few beats of silence followed before Tobirama spoke in a husky rasp, “I think I made you hard.”

“Perhaps. And you?” This was all stupid, so stupid, a bad idea shaped from adrenaline and the shock of sudden arousal. The percentage chance of this all blowing up in his face was astronomically high and yet he couldn’t stop his thumb from continuing to trace light circles, closing his eyes and dropping his head back to strain his ears for the sound of Tobirama’s voice. Had the man always had such an attractive voice or had Madara just not been listening properly?

“Madara…what are you doing right now?”

There were a hundred possible answers he could have given, a million different lies he could have told to stop this situation before it got too far out of hand, but the only animosity left between them was harmless pranks because they made Tobirama laugh and Madara had just enough courage to make a leap of faith. He took a chance in a way he never would have done in the world they lived in before.

“Right now? I’m touching myself while I think about that picture you sent me.”

“Oh.” Tobirama cleared his throat but it didn’t erase the fact that they both heard his voice crack. “R-right now. You’re–? Okay.”

“Do you know what would help?” Madara grinned listening to Tobirama’s breathing speed up.

“What?”

“If I could listen to you touching yourself at the same time.”

He never would have guessed how satisfying it would be to hear the hitch in Tobirama’s breath and the stuttering inhale that followed his statement. Madara shifted his grasp on the phone and squirmed as his thumb moved a little faster. Every fiber of his being wanted to move the entire hand, his blood boiling with anticipation at just the thought of it, but he held off for now. How much more satisfying would it be to have Tobirama join him? To listen to each other fall to pieces even though they were half a village apart.

Very likely he would have trouble looking Tobirama in the eye the next time they saw each other but that was a problem to be considered later. He could worry about his own recklessness and the possible fallouts of this after what promised to be a very satisfying orgasm.

“So, what, you would just…if I…?”

“You’re already touching yourself aren’t you?” Madara cut in smugly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Tell me how you’re touching yourself Tobirama.”

The voice in his ear stumbled through a few syllables, clearly having difficulty doing both tasks at once, but finally he managed to say, “Slowly. I like to do it slowly. With light touches at first.”

Madara kept his eyes closed and groaned freely as his hand began to move at last, root to tip, consciously mimicking the things that were being described to him and trying to imagine it was Tobirama’s pale hand working him. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty easy to imagine. He’d never been more thankful for the perfect recall his eyes granted him.

“Never knew you had any other tattoos. If you were here I’d be tracing it with my tongue.” Madara bucked helplessly in to his fist when Tobirama groaned in his ear. He waited to hear something back, silence stretching until he realized the other man either had no idea what to say or was still too embarrassed to say it. Feeling reckless, he continued to speak his mind without thought for the consequences. “And that piercing. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I’d love to get my teeth around that.”

“It was a dare,” Tobirama murmured finally, making him chuckle.

“Dare you to stroke yourself a little faster,” he said darkly. The other man let out a keening sound that sparked down the length of his spine like a jolt of electricity.

When the breathing in his ear started coming in fits and starts Madara swallowed thickly and moved his own hand faster as well, thrilled in a way he couldn’t describe to know that Tobirama had done so at his behest. His other hand absently pressed the phone so hard to the side of his head he feared the screen might crack, unwilling to miss even the slightest sound.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asked, grinding the words out between his clenched teeth.

“Fuck – yes – fuck…” Tobirama paused and then he whispered, “I want…to hear youcome.”

Madara groaned again instead of answering. If he had a second hand free he would have reached down between his legs to tease his entrance, maybe spit on his fingers and pressed in with just the tip of one, but to do that he would have to drop the phone. The last thing he was willing to do at that moment was give up the sound of Tobirama right at the edge, so close to glory. So instead he squeezed his eyes closed tighter and constructed the image of the other man on his knees taking Madara in to his mouth, the heat and the suction and the way his red eyes would be narrow and unfocused.

It was just enough. With a violent shudder he came, back arching and teeth grinding, a wordless growl ripping up his throat and immediately echoed from the other end of the call. Madara felt his jaw drop open in a gasp when he realized that Tobirama was coming too, reaching his completion from listening to Madara’s own.  

When the pleasure bordered on pain he let his hand come to rest and slumped backwards against the couch cushions to listen to Tobirama’s panting. His mind was blissfully empty of any thoughts other than how incredibly satisfying that had been, more satisfying than taking care of things himself usually felt. It took several minutes for him to realize that he and Tobirama were sitting in silence and listening to the each other recover in the aftermath. This was a man who, until a half hour ago, he would never thought himself to have any attachment to, had never even considered him as an option. Their shared past had blinded him to any possible attraction before now.

Now he wasn’t sure he would be able to look the man in the eye without wondering what he would taste like in the throes of ecstasy. Madara snapped both eyes open and stared at the ceiling with muted horror as he slowly realized what he’d just done and who he had done it with.

It seemed Tobirama’s mind was following the same paths.

“May I point out,” he heard the man rumble, “that it truly was an accident, me sending you that image.”  

“Hmm. You say that and yet I cannot think of any other reason for you to possess something…like…that…” Madara’s voice trailed off as a sudden thought washed over him like ice water. Why indeed would Tobirama have taken a photograph like that? Had he meant to send it to someone else? Had he taken it for a another person? His panic was cut short when Tobirama snapped at him, slipping easily in to defensive mode.

“You’ve called me narcissistic many times yourself. If you can’t tell what that image is for then I don’t know how to break the news to you.”

“Well I just thought, you know, if it was meant for…”

“Someone else?”

Madara pulled the phone away from his ear so that he could scowl at it briefly, hoping Tobirama would feel his irritation through their connection. Then he brought it back to say, “Clearly. I seem to remember that Inuzuka boy blathering on about something called ‘dick pics’ while he was trying to explain the camera function to me.”

“It was meant to pander to my preference for exhibitionism when at the time I lacked a partner to exhibit myself for.” He paused, a moment in which Madara strained his ears for more. “I am, in fact, still without a partner. A life partner, I mean. Or, well, that’s a bit presumptuous, clearly not every relationship is meant to last for life but what I mean is–”

“Are you asking me to be your partner?”

“Well I was going to but not if you’re going to interrupt me in that tone.”

“Because you don’t actually hate me or because I got you off over the phone?” Madara huffed, using his sticky hand to wrench his clothing back in to place with something like offense settling in his stomach.

Tobirama echoed his huff. “Impossible man. Just hold on a moment.”

Before Madara had time to question what the man wanted him to hold on for there was a surge of chakra across the room and then he was very glad he’d taken the time to stuff himself back inside his pants. Tobirama’s head swung from side to side as he took in the room he had just appeared in, clearly looking for Madara, and he narrowed his eyes when he spotted his prey.

“Are you deliberately this obtuse or do you somehow go through life with your eyes closed without noticing?” the man demanded, crossing the room with long strides to lean over and brace himself against the back of the couch with one hand, shoving his face right up in to Madara’s.

“I am not obtuse!”

“You can’t even tell when someone is flirting with you!”

“That’s – you’ve been flirting with me!?” Madara shoved the idiot away from himself so that he could rise to his feet with indignation. “What are you, five? A little girl pulling pigtails? You annoy me every chance you get and call it flirting? Not even your stupid lump of a brother is that poorly socialized to think that any sane human being would see your actions as some form of courtship ritual!”

“Would you shut up?”

Tobirama sneered in irritation and then hauled Madara up on to his toes for a searing kiss that cut off all further comments. As much as Madara wanted to cling to his argument that absolutely no flirting had happened, he gave in to Tobirama’s very convincing rebuttal rather quickly. It was hands down the best argument he’d ever lost and he did have to admit that the benefits of going along with this far outweighed the downsides. Actually, he couldn’t think of any downsides at all.

He very deliberately avoided thinking about what Hashirama’s reaction would be to this little development.

Groaning in protest when the delicious lips assaulting his own pulled away, Madara gathered what little cantankerous irritation was left in him and glared up at the man towering over him, a little insulted as he always was whenever he noticed again how much taller Tobirama was than him.

“You did send me that ‘dick pic’ on purpose, didn’t you? I know you did.”

“I maintain that it was an accident.”

“Bullshit.”

Tobirama shrugged. “Believe what you will. Although I should probably mention that I believe it was your brother which started the betting pool on when precisely you would clue in to my attentions. I’m not certain who has the spot for this month but we may wish to be discreet for now.” Madara pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. You’re too much trouble, get out of my house.”

“Hmm, so that’s a no on taking a few more personal photographs? These cellular phones are incredibly useful, wouldn’t you say?”

Madara paused to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath, letting it back out slowly before cracking his eyes open again for a very hard glare. He was sort of hoping his new partner might cower under the force of such a sharp expression but instead the only response he got was a single raised eyebrow.

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

“You’ll love what I can do with my tongue, though.”

“Can I take pictures of that?”

Tobirama didn’t answer him but Madara did notice the other man made sure to grab his cellphone as they stumbled down the hall towards his bedroom.  

He still didn’t understand for what purpose he had been given yet another unearned chance at life. Madara had no idea why he and Izuna and the Senju brothers had all been pulled away from what should have been their final rest. But that mattered less and less with every kiss the two of them shared on their stumbling journey down the hall. There didn’t need to be a reason for any of this; what mattered was the fact that he hardly remembered what it felt like to truly hate someone, that he had the life now he had dreamed of for so many years before.

What mattered was Tobirama and the oddly peaceful feeling of leaning in to his embrace. This new future with its strange technologies was no faultless paradise but it certainly had quite a few perks he very much intended to take advantage of like cellphones, dick pics, and the dimmer switch on the electric lightbulbs in his bedroom. Madara had no idea why he had been granted the life he’d always wanted – but he was happy to finally be happy.

[insanereddragon]

No but imagine Harry and Merlin both working at Kingsman but not having met yet, and surely there is a pool table at the manor, and them taking a break at the same time and getting in a kind of friendly competition filled with UST

Dearest @elletromil,

You sent me this prompt way back in October, and you probably thought it got lost in the tumblr ether. Well, it didn’t. I immediately knew what I wanted to write for this, but I wanted to take the time to do it properly, and make it something special. I know you’ve seen my posts and indulged my vague mutterings about my super secret gift fic - this is it. It was so hard not to spill the beans, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had figured out that the fic might be for you, but I hope the content remained a surprise.

I have tentative plans for a second fic, and perhaps more as a series of UST filled moments between these two. But I make no guarantees XD

Absolute happiest of birthday’s, my darling Elle. I hope that this was worth the wait.

***

Author’s Notes

Can I start by saying it is very nerve wracking when the person that you go to most for fic advice is the very same person that you’re secretly writing for. Phew!

This prompt is based on this picture by @wenquanzhu.

In this fic, Merlin is brand new to the organization and is just a tech. His name is Alistair. Any references to Merlin refer to the previous Merlin.

Also, to clarify, they are playing what is referred to as blackball - a british version of standard American 8-ball, where instead of solids and stripes the balls are red and yellow (or blue and yellow).

Thank you to @deepdarkwaters for the headcanon that Harry and Merlin communicate secretly with Morse code. As well, big thanks to @sheepunderthemountain and @notbrogues for the encouragement and ideas when I was bogged down by my self doubt.

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A Gentleman’s Stroke

stroke: /strōk/

The motion of the cue stick and the player’s arm on a shot;

The strength, fluidity and finesse of a player’s shooting technique; “she has a good stroke.”

A combination of finesse, good judgement, accuracy and confidence. 

He’s been in this room dozens of times since his introduction to Kingsman two years ago. First as a candidate learning advanced skills for billiards, and later as a knight, playing friendly (and perhaps not so friendly, on occasion) games of pool with the other knights and staff. He’s met, played, and generally beaten what he thought to be all the other interested pool players at HQ. But today is the first time he’s seen the man currently at the far table who appears to be crushing Tristan.

There are several other people in the room; a pair playing at the other table, and the rest watching Tristan’s game unfold. Harry slips just inside the arched doorway and tucks his hands loosely in his trouser pockets. From the looks on the other faces, this is not the first time the new man has beaten the knight today.

As Harry watches, Tristan leans over and takes his shot. The cue ball bounces off the side and rolls straight into the pocket.

“Bloody hell!” Tristan stands up and scrubs his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It seems fairly obvious I don’t stand a chance now. Well come on then, Alistair. Finish it.”

The man, Alistair, stands up straight from the bookshelf he was leaning against. He surveys the table as he steps around it, until he finds the angle he’s looking for and leans over to line up the shot.

As Alistair studies the table, Harry studies him. He’s young, maybe a few years younger than himself, but he has an air about him that Harry hasn’t encountered often. Least of all from men his age. The others in the room already seem to have some level of respect for the man. He wonders what he does in the mansion when he’s not beating knights at billiards.

Surprisingly, Alistair’s bald. An unusual choice considering the kind of men that walk the halls of Kingsman - rich, snobby, and with entirely too much vanity. But it works for him, somehow accenting his suit which has been tailored perfectly, like they are for all members of Kingsman (albeit only the Knights get ones that are bullet proof). The grey trousers and blue waistcoat hug his frame, and as he takes his shot Harry is given a splendid view of his arse.

The cue ball hits one of the blue balls, which in turn taps another. Both balls roll around either side of the yellow ball blocking them and then continue leisurely into separate pockets. Quick and efficient, Alistair rounds the table and takes the final shot. As the 8-ball rolls into the pocket, a light wave of applause comes from the rest of the room. All around, it was an elegant set of shots and Harry can’t help but be impressed. He finds himself clapping along.

Tristan holds his hand over the table, and Alistair reaches out to take it. As he does, his cuff rides high on his long arm, and Harry takes note of the blue and green ink now visible on his forearm. Before he can get a clear look at the tattoo, the men pull their hands back and Alistair tugs his cuff back into place. It’s another intriguing aspect of this new man, and Harry’s curiosity insists he find out more about him.

Harry stands to the side as the room starts to clear out. One of the techs claps Tristan on the back and they wander out of the room in the direction of his office, Tristan looking put out but chuckling ruefully. Harry waits a moment, watching Alistair slip on his jacket and start pulling balls from their pockets to be racked. When the room is nearly empty, with only a couple of support staff left deep in conversation, Harry straightens his jacket and approaches.

He stops at the edge of the table, hip cocked to rest against the side. “You’re new.”

Alistair looks up from where he’s set a ball and quirks his eyebrow. “The handlers warned me that some of the knights were prone to stating the obvious, but I hadn’t expected to be accosted with it so soon. Aye, I’m new. I only started yesterday.”

“And already you’ve managed to humble Tristan. Although that admittedly doesn’t take much effort.” Alistair chuckles and the sound is warm and rich. Harry smiles widely in return. Reaching his hand out across the table, he continues. “Harry Hart, otherwise known as Galahad.”

“Alistair Grey.” Alistair takes Harry’s hand into a firm shake. His hand is warm and soft, Harry notes, and his long fingers brush against his wrist when they pull away. Harry wonders what those fingers would feel like elsewhere.

“How did you know I was a knight?”

“Ye aren’t the only one around here with keen observational skills.” He gives Harry an exaggerated once over, making a point of cocking his head and inspecting every inch. Harry barely suppresses a shiver as he does. “The tailors do a splendid job of hiding the gun and holster. I’d never know it was there. But to someone recruited for their aptitude with technology, yer accessories were a dead giveaway.”

Alistair steps around the table and closer to Harry. He tilts his head in question, and Harry stands up straight and spreads his arms, palms out, curious. Alistair is just a fraction too close for propriety as he starts pointing and listing the hidden tech that Harry is currently wearing.

“Glasses. Watch. Shoes.” He steps closer still to nudge the toe of Harry’s oxford with his own. Harry gets a faint whiff of his cologne and it ignites a heat low in his gut. “Signet ring and cufflinks were dead giveaways.”

When he steps back, there’s a challenge in Alistair’s expression, and Harry thinks that it suits him. Harry’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so he returns the look with one of his own as he carefully unbuttons his jacket. Alistair arches his eyebrow and his eyes grow dark as he leans back against the table and watches Harry. He removes his jacket and drapes it carefully over a nearby chair before turning to Alistair with his thumb tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat.

“I’m afraid you missed one. Granted, Merlin has only recently decided to tinker with the design. A sturdy belt has a multitude of uses, even before the techs get a hold of it.” His finger taps out WANT TO SEE in Morse code against the leather at his waist as he talks.

Alistair responds by tapping SHAMELESS on the polished mahogany where his hand rests and Harry laughs in surprise. “I’ll have to have a chat with Merlin then. I’m sure I’ve got a few ideas they haven’t thought to try yet,” Alistair says.

Harry smirks and makes the decision to get this man into his bed. He briefly considers asking Alistair if he’d care to join him at home this evening, but decides against it. He’s particularly fond of the chase and he doesn’t need to be a spy to tell that Alistair feels the same.

“You seem to have a very high opinion of your skills.” As Harry speaks, he moves over to lean his hip against the table, a scant few millimeters from where Alistair’s fingers lay.

“Modesty only slows things down. But that doesn’t mean ye’ll hear me showboating either. An accurate picture of my skills is much more efficient for everyone.” Alistair looks at Harry from the corner of his eye. “Not exactly the gentlemanly behaviour I’ve heard pervades the table, but ye’ll be thankful I didn’t spend my time kissing arse when my tech saves yers in the field.”

“Well, I’ll have to take your word for it, at least when it comes to your job. But those aren’t the only skills to which I was referring.” Harry leans around him, his shoulder brushing against Alistair’s chest as he reaches for the cue that lays across the table. His skin tingles under his shirt where it touches Alistair. Harry wishes for the first time that a Kingsman didn’t wear so many layers.

When he straightens, he looks at Alistair’s face and smiles at the faint flush he sees there. “Care to join me for a game? I think you’ll find I’m not as easy as Tristan is.”

Harry tracks Alistair’s tongue as he wets his lips. “Why not,” Alistair says. “Perhaps ye’ll appreciate my skills better if ye experience them first hand.”

He doesn’t break eye contact as Alistair carefully removes his jacket. But when Alistair turns to lay it on top of Harry’s, he takes in the wide expanse of Alistair’s shoulders and his never ending arms. Harry has always had something of a fixation with the male back. The way the muscles move and flex just underneath the skin when he’s fully sheathed inside them. Hips rocking slowly and hands gripping tightly. He wonders what Alistair’s back would look like under the same treatment.

As Alistair goes back to racking the balls, his sleeve slides up his arm and Harry catches another glimpse of the green and blue tendrils that curl around his forearm. This time he gets a better look and he recognizes the edge of a feather. It compliments his waistcoat and the balls on the table. Harry thinks that shade of blue is quickly becoming his favourite color.

“Wait.”

Alistair stops and looks up from the table. His hand is resting on one of the yellow balls, and Harry reaches out to take it. He slips it from under Alistair’s hand and feels a crackle of electricity where their fingers touch.

“I’m assuming you’d prefer to play blue.” Alistair nods. “Then if you’re amenable, I’d like to play red.” Harry walks around the side of the table to the cabinet where the spare balls are stored and trades the yellow ball in his hand for a red one.

Alistair pointedly looks at the vibrant red of Harry’s waistcoat and arches his eyebrow. “Careful, Galahad, yer vanity’s showing,” Alistair retorts. He taps out PEACOCK against the felt and Harry makes a put upon face that is ruined by the appreciative glint in his eye.

They don’t speak again, quickly replacing and racking the balls. It’s not a complicated task, but they still complete it with an ease that feels practiced. Alistair passes yellow balls to Harry two at a time; Harry takes them in one hand and replaces them with red ones from his other. Their fingers brush more often than not, and Harry is getting used to how Alistair’s skin feels under his fingertips.

When the table is set, Alistair nods at Harry and picks up his cue. “Ye can break if ye like.”

Without preamble, Harry leans over and lines up his shot. He knows the sight he makes, his trousers making his legs look longer, his waistcoat riding up ever so slightly to draw the eye to the thin fabric covering the small of his back. He takes a moment longer than he needs to before he hits the cue ball, enjoying the heat of Alistair’s stare from where he looks on.

The clack of balls as they hit each other is loud in the otherwise silent room. The stragglers from earlier have gone, and Harry is loath to admit he doesn’t know when, Alistair enough of a distraction to have him stop paying attention to the others in the room. They are the only ones left and it seems to intensify the growing electricity between them.

The balls roll to a stop and Harry straightens. He points with his cue to the side pocket, where he’s potted one of the red balls. “Red then,” he says with a smirk. He eyes the table and begins to talk as he considers his next shot.

“So how is it you were recruited into our ranks?” Harry asks. His shot bounces off the side and taps one of the red balls gently. It would have been easy to sink, but it’s more interesting to draw out the game and see exactly what Alistair chooses to do.

Alistair stares at the table and considers Harry’s shot. “I was four years in with the Royal Marines - combat intelligence, information systems, part of the Information Exploitation Group - working to improve their comms, when I heard GCHQ was asking around about me. Apparently Kingsman heard about it too, and decided to approach me first.”

He makes a decision and circles the table, leaning over for his shot. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the sharp angles of Alistair’s face. The light over the table casts shadows around his eyes, and Harry wants the intense gaze he’s giving the table to be turned on himself. He’d bet money that as a lover in his bed, Alistair would put him under the same scrutiny and handle him with the same precision, and Harry feels his interest grow.

“Merlin approached me personally with a whole speech about spies and gadgets. I take it that works on most of ye.” The balls clack around the table as Alistair takes the shot, a blue one falling into the side pocket, and Harry hums his agreement.

“Of course. Well, I told Merlin I needed a week to decide and then went to GCHQ to see what they were willing to counter offer. When Merlin found out, he wasn’t too pleased at the idea they might find a better way to woo me. He and the Director had something of a pissing contest. It’s clear who came out on top of that one.”

Alistair sinks another ball and then makes a shot that leaves Harry’s balls all strategically blocked. He stands up straight and sets the butt of his cue to rest against the floor. “Yer shot, Galahad.”

Harry looks at Alistair with a newfound appreciation. “You’ve surprised me. I wasn’t expecting a Marine.”

He considers the muscles that must be hidden underneath Alistair’s shirt. Before he can think better of it, Harry presses his hand to the small of Alistair’s back as he slowly rounds the table to get to the cue ball. He feels the quick tensing and relaxing of the muscles under his fingers as Alistair presses back into Harry’s hand like a cat. The heat lingers on his skin when he pulls his hand away.

Alistair clears his throat before he continues. “Aye, understandable. The techs I’ve met so far have come from strictly academic backgrounds. It’s about time they recruited someone that can keep up with the rest of ye lot.”

Harry takes his shot, curving around Alistair’s ball to pot his in the corner. “Then perhaps next time you’d be interested in matching our skills on the sparring mats. One of my specialties is close quarters, and I assure you, others have found my hands hard to keep up with.”

He leans over the table and lines up his shot, and looks up to Alistair as his cue slides through his fingers on the follow-through. Alistair’s eyes are dark, and Harry watches the line of his throat as he swallows and nods his head.

Standing up, Harry smiles hungrily before looking down at the table. It takes him a moment before he realizes that he has utterly missed his shot, and instead has scratched the ball. He lets out a self depreciating laugh, but isn’t sure he can be too upset with himself when he catches Alistair discretely adjusting himself in his trousers.

The rest of the game passes in something of a blur. They don’t speak again, but the air is thick with the electricity between them. Harry feels it zing through his body every time their hands or shoulders brush against each other. At one point Alistair bends down to pick up some fallen chalk and Harry has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise at the sight of Alistair’s trousers pulled tight to his arse.

It is by far one of the worst games Harry has ever played, but the same must be the case for Alistair because he doesn’t just take the win. Somehow it feels like it lasts for hours and yet is over far too quickly.

Harry watches with some regret as Alistair sinks the 8-ball. As the cue ball comes to a stop, Harry looks across the table. There is a faint flush running down Alistair’s throat, and at some point during the game he’d hastily rolled up his sleeves. Harry’s gaze lingers on his forearms and the swirling peacock tattoo.

“Well, I know when I’ve been bested,” Harry says, forcing his eyes to meet Alistair’s. “Your confidence in your skills, at least billiards, seems to be well placed. But I still reserve the right to assess the others first hand.”

He sets his cue down and walks around the table, hand extended. When Alistair takes it, Harry doesn’t hesitate to step closer and bring up his other hand to cradle his arm. He looks down as he runs his thumb along the lines of the feathers.

“And you called me a peacock,” Harry says quietly.

“Aye, I think ye are. But maybe I have an appreciation for them.”

Harry can’t help but smile at the implication. “I was serious earlier, about sparring with you. Maybe then you’ll have something else to appreciate.”

Harry lets his desire color his expression as he locks eyes with Alistair. He lets go of Alistair’s hand and moves his own to rest on top of the tattoo. With great care he taps out INTERESTED against the eye of one of the feathers.

Alistair grips Harry’s arm and leans close to whisper against the shell of Harry’s ear. “Desperately.”

Harry doesn’t bother suppressing his shudder at the word.

He’s just turning his head to close the space between their lips, the chase be damned, when Alistair suddenly straightens and takes a step back. Harry’s confused at first, until he sees Alistair reach up to tap the side of his glasses.

“Aye, Merlin?”

Harry turns away in an attempt to give the man some privacy and heads over to the chair where his jacket is lying. He tries not to think too hard about the arousal churning low in his gut and how he’s going to have to wait until he’s safely back home this evening to do anything about it. He considers briefly utilizing his office for a bit of relief, but dismisses the idea. He’s not a teenager anymore, certainly he can wait a few more hours.

Harry has his jacket on and put himself back to sorts when he hears Alistair come up behind him.

“I’m afraid I’m needed back in the lab. Can I take you up on that challenge another day?” The words are said so close to him, Harry can feel Alistair’s breath on his neck.

“Of course.” Harry grabs Alistair’s jacket and turns around to offer it to the man. When their fingers brush, Harry takes hold of his hand under the jacket. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Alistair looks like he is going to say something more, but instead taps SOON against Harry’s palm before taking his jacket and stepping back. “Galahad,” he says, voice low and rough and promising, then walks away.

Harry cock twitches and he decides he’s going to take an early day.

(Alistair’s tattoo)

(Yes, I know that you don’t normally wear a belt with a tailored suit - you’d wear braces/suspenders. But the Knights definitely don’t, presumably because of their holsters. So forgive my inaccuracies for the sake of a good story XD)

[robbieinterviews]

“Margot Robbie: Richard Curtis (and Martin Scorsese's) new leading lady – interview”, 2013

Margot Robbie is the most nearly-famous almost-star you've never heard of. At only 23 years old, the Australian actor has already been directed by Martin Scorsese and Richard Curtis and starred opposite Leonardo DiCaprio; a call from Woody Allen can't be far off. Next month she begins filming the caper comedy Focus, in which she'll star as a pickpocket who falls for a con artist played by Will Smith. Consequently, she has a lot to be excited about. So once she starts talking about the thrill of getting this callback while she was doing that read-through, or interrupting a backpacking holiday in Croatia with her brother to travel for 50 hours by plane, train and catamaran to an audition in New York, it's best to just to let her finish; it's also highly refreshing to find that she has not yet had the ebullience ground out of her by promotional duties.

Near the end of our interview, the studio PR pops her head round the door to wrap things up, and I have to confess sheepishly that I will need a little longer. We've been talking for 45 minutes and we haven't even got round to discussing the film that Robbie has been flown here at great expense to promote: Curtis's time-travel romcom About Time. It's not that I didn't try. When Robbie mentions her habit of people-watching, I ask how this came in useful in About Time. When she tells me that it's unwise to finalise a character's backstory in your mind – "The director might say, 'We're gonna make it that she had an abortion two years ago,' and you'd be, like, 'Really? I had her down as a virgin'" – I ask whether she and Curtis differed at all over her About Time character.

But on each occasion, she steers the conversation round to Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street, which she recently finished shooting opposite DiCaprio. He plays the drug-addled stockbroker Jordan Belfort, who served time for fraud and money laundering; she is his tough-cookie wife, who gets to kick and flail and to scream "You're not taking the fucking children!", or variations on that sentiment. About Time, on the other hand, provides her with a small, decorative role as the woman of the hero's dreams.

It isn't that she's not proud to be a part of Curtis's film. "You fall in love instantly with his characters," she says once we are all Wolfed out. "You want everything to go right for these people two minutes after meeting them." She has a bright, moonlike face, open and direct, with blond hair scraped back; she could pass for Denise Richards's naive kid sister.

She's sparky enough in About Time, but there isn't very much for her to play. It doesn't surprise me when she reveals how her character was described in the script. "It was so intimidating to read: 'She steps out of the car and she's the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen, she's got these beautiful long legs …' I'm thinking: 'Oh no, my legs aren't like that …' You just hope Richard's going to use reaction shots to convey all that, so it takes the pressure off me. Seriously, there were two whole sentences about how stunningly attractive she is. It was the same with Wolf …"

There is a faint air of disbelief in the way she talks about The Wolf of Wall Street. She keeps examining it from different angles, as if to confirm that it really happened – that she isn't going to wake up and still be starring in Neighbours, on which she was a regular for three years. Not that she has any shame about that. Why would she? Now that Guy Pearce, Russell Crowe, Kylie Minogue and Jesse Spencer (from House) have all passed through, it is practically the Australian equivalent of the Actors Studio.

She landed the role of Donna Freedman, Ramsay Street's fun-loving bisexual in search of her biological father, after cold-calling the show's production company for an audition. "That is not the way it's supposed to happen," she says, visibly embarrassed. It turns out her agent at the time, who advised her to get on the blower, was less than tip-top. "A proper agent does the calling for you," she huffs. "I didn't know that." Still, it got her the part, and a lot of attention. "Do you know who Slipknot are?" she asks. "Well, I was at a Slipknot concert once and I've never had so many people coming up to me. These huge burly goths with tattoos, they were all asking me: 'What about the baby? What about Susan Kennedy?' I didn't see that coming."

Soap opera actors don't get enough recognition for their technical skill, she insists. "It's harder than anyone gives it credit for. A movie shoots six months for two hours of film. We shot an episode a day." She lets that sink in, but I don't think my mumbled "sheesh" placates her. "There are three cameras, booms everywhere, you have to hit your mark perfectly every time. There's no room for error: if you screw up, that's tough, it's going on air. And all people say is: 'Oh, it's just cheesy melodramatic acting …" Anyway: The Wolf of Wall Street, you say?

Robbie was still a television actor when Scorsese called: she had been part of the ensemble cast of Pan Am, the Mad-Men-in-the-air retro-chic drama that experienced a severe loss of cabin pressure around the fourth or fifth episode. That is when the network realised that the ratings were plummeting, and tried to pull the show out of its nosedive. "They said we had to make it more like Desperate Housewives," she says ruefully. "That's not what the show was. There were so many historical points we were going to cover."

Still, silver linings and all that: if Pan Am had continued, she wouldn't have been free to hurl herself at doors and walls under Scorsese's direction, or to tear her vocal cords to shreds howling like a banshee at DiCaprio for weeks on end. If you want a measure of how gruelling the production was, Robbie has one at the ready: "The most relaxing point was when we had to stop shooting for 10 days because the hurricane hit New York. That was my vacation. No power or water. All you could do was sit there and chill." As taxing as the film was, she wouldn't have had it any other way. "That's why I love this job. I love getting drawn into it. And most of the time I'm doing my best work when I'm in that vulnerable state."

Keeping up with Scorsese and DiCaprio, who had already made four films together, was possibly the biggest challenge. "They're telepathic," she says. "You'd be sitting there discussing a scene and they'll be like, 'Do you think …?' 'Hmm.' 'But what about the …?' 'Yeah.' I'm going: 'Hello? Did I miss something? Are we changing anything? I have no idea what we're changing.' Honestly, I just put all my energy into keeping up with them because they are both powerhouses in their own way; if you don't keep up you get left behind. They just won't cut to you and your part will get smaller and smaller." I give another "sheesh", but I really mean it this time.

It is around this point that the door creaks open and Richard Curtis lopes in unexpectedly, snowy-haired and pink-faced in a comfortable jersey. As the PR beckons me out to allow actor and director some privacy to shoot the breeze about the previous evening's premiere, I find myself hoping for Curtis's sake that their conversation doesn't swing round too quickly to The Wolf of Wall Street. Let the film-maker enjoy his moment. It'll be Margot Robbie's time soon enough.