#he’s so neat and proper and then my drawing makes him look like a disheveled caveman

[silentgrim]

maybe it’s going somewhere

[a-splash-of-stucky]

got a feeling (deep inside)

Read this on AO3 Square Filled: Butt plugs Ship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: E Major Tags: Bottom Bucky, Top Steve, Anal Sex, Rimming, Sex Toys Word Count: 2285 Summary:

"You went on the mission with this inside you?" Or: Bucky surprises Steve.

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Notes: Look, I had too many ideas for this square, so I just settled on a shameless PWP because who doesn't like one of those?

Stucky Masterlist

Steve’s hardly finished slipping the final deadbolt into place before Bucky is pouncing on him like a starving lion that is finally able to savour its meal. All notions of civility are thrown out the window as he paws at Steve’s body, shamelessly groping his pecs and sides. He tugs down the zipper of Steve’s suit urgently, ducking his head to kiss each patch of skin as it is revealed.

Steve moans breathily, feeling his body respond to Bucky’s urgent need. He reaches back to thread his fingers through Bucky’s long hair, working his fingertips through the strands, loosening them from the neat bun that Bucky has put them in. His impromptu head-massage earns him an appreciative rumble from Bucky, one that is equal parts filthy and endearing.

Bucky groans low in the back of his throat as he grinds his hips against Steve’s ass, making his desires blatantly obvious. Despite the heavy material of their combat pants, Steve can still feel the hard bulge of Bucky’s swollen cock.

“Bedroom,” Steve tells him. He thinks Bucky might have grunted in reply.

Bucky takes a half-step back, giving Steve enough room to turn around and face him.

Bucky looks gorgeously disheveled, with strands of hair clinging to his temples and his forehead already beaded with sweat. There is a minor abrasion decorating his cheekbone — a lingering battle scar from their mission this morning.

Steve is on him in a flash, frantically working at his uniform because they need to get naked now.

His fingers move on instinct, working at buckles, pulling at straps, yanking on zippers and loosening cinches. Bits and pieces of Bucky’s gear fall to the floor around their feet with gentle thuds and thumps. Not to be outdone, Bucky attacks Steve’s suit with equal vigour, his nimble fingers deftly undoing his harness, as well as the myriad of fastenings hidden within the red, white and blue.

They stumble through their apartment with the eagerness of horny teenagers, laughing into each others’ mouths as they bump into bits of furniture along the way. Their gear is strewn all over the floor, marking their path like some perverted trail of breadcrumbs. Both of them wind up naked before they make the bedroom door, and Steve can’t help but press Bucky against the wall so that he can savour that delicious slide of bare skin against bare skin. He shoves his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, kissing hot and wet and dirty, while his hands roam over the planes of his torso.

The mission had gone well, as far as missions go. They’d gone in, kicked some bad-guy butt, rescued the hostages and managed to leave with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises.

Traces of adrenaline are still pumping through Steve’s veins — it’s part of the reason why he’s so riled up. His skin is more sensitive than normal, and his heart is pumping a million times faster than average. Yes, he and Bucky might both be adorned with cuts and bruises, but they are alive and safe, whole and well, and Steve wants nothing more than to bundle his lover into their bedroom and keep him there for the next couple of hours.

(The next couple of days would be preferable, but that’s just asking for too much.)

He lets his hands travel over Bucky’s body, mapping out the familiar lines and curves of his form. Their tongues are tangled together in an unending kiss that’s going straight to Steve’s cock, making it throb with anticipation.

Steve lets his hand slide down Bucky’s spine, savouring the warmth of his skin with the tips of his fingers. That same hand slips between the cheeks of Bucky’s ass, seeking out his hole. Steve wants to tease it, trace it with his dry thumb and feel the muscles quiver under his touch.

What he finds is something completely unexpected.

Instead of warm skin, his fingers brush against something cool and smooth. Further exploration reveals that the object is slightly rounded and very firm, with what feels like a small handle in the centre. Bucky’s breathing hitches when Steve puts a bit of pressure on the mysterious object. It takes Steve’s lust-fogged brain a second to puzzle out what it is.

Steve pulls away, gaping at Bucky in surprise. He’s probably doing a pretty good impression of a stunned goldfish right now.

Bucky’s got a smug smirk on his lips, one that perfectly complements his flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes.

“What the hell,” Steve breathes, as his curious fingers map out the shape of the plug. “Did you — you went on the mission with this inside you?”

Bucky laughs, shakes his head no. “M’not that crazy,” he husks.

“When?” Steve demands, his hips shooting forward and pinning Bucky to the wall. “When did you put in in?”

Bucky bites his lip, leans in closer, looks up at Steve through those ridiculously thick lashes. “Decontamination showers,” he purrs, “Had it in my washbag for a while, decided it’d be nice to surprise you with it.”

Steve groans, low and heated in the back of his throat. “Surprise indeed,” he mutters, before grabbing Bucky by the shoulders and flipping him over, so that he’s facing the wall.

An exultant, startled laugh bursts out of Bucky’s throat as he lets himself be manhandled. He braces his hands against the wall, widening his stance and arching his back slightly, which draws Steve’s attention to the perfect curve of his butt. He clumsily sinks to his knees, never taking his hands away from Bucky’s skin.

“Jesus,” Steve whispers, throat going tight when he gets his first peek at the plug. All he can see is a flash of black between Bucky’s cheeks, but that’s more than enough to send heat flooding to his cock. The dark colour is a stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin.

Steve bites his lips as he roughly cups Bucky’s cheeks, squeezing the plump flesh in his hands. A shiver runs through his lover’s body.

“Fuck,” Steve swears, as he spreads Bucky open and gets a proper look. The plug is of a decent size, just a little less girthy than Steve is. Bucky’s rim is beautifully stretched around the black toy, his skin still glistening with traces of lube.

Bucky whines softly under Steve’s attention, subtly tipping his ass back, pressing it into Steve’s hands.

“Stay,” Steve growls, digging his fingers into his flesh roughly. He pushes Bucky’s cheeks even further apart, exposing his hole in all its glory.

There’s a thump from above as Bucky rests his head on the wall. “Steve,” he whimpers, “Please—”

“Tighten,” Steve orders, his voice dark and gravelly.

He watches, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as the muscles in Bucky’s stretched rim flutter around the plug. Bucky groans softly, no doubt as a result of the toy nudging his prostate. Steve rumbles his approval, and gives Bucky’s left butt cheek an affectionate nip.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” he mutters, before diving right in.

He gets his tongue right in there, licking all around Bucky’s stretched-out rim, teasing the delicate skin. Bucky gasps and whines and stutters out a shocked breath, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth wall.

“Ste-eve,” he gasps, voice shaky.

Steve moans in response. After a final, proprietary swipe of his tongue, he pulls back to sit on his haunches, then uses his thumb to press the plug into Bucky’s body, relishing the drawn-out groan that spills from his lover’s throat.

Bucky’s cock is hard and leaking between his legs, probably smearing pre-come onto the wall. Steve reaches around and gives his length an experimental stroke. He chuckles at Bucky’s surprised yelp.

“Steve, c’mon,” Bucky begs, the muscles of his hole twitching around the sleek black plug. “Don’t tease — c’mon.”

“Bed,” Steve manages to say, “Bed — now. Move it.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky practically leaps into their bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed with little finesse. He rolls over onto his back and brings one leg towards his chest, letting the other drape over the edge of the mattress. The position naturally stretches his ass cheeks apart, giving Steve an unobstructed view of that pretty little hole.

He looks like every wet dream that Steve has ever had, with his tousled hair, heaving chest and kiss-bitten lips. Steve swallows, feels his balls tighten and his cock jerk in interest. Bucky shoots him a sultry grin as he teasingly smooths his metal hand down his chest. Steve can do nothing but watch as he flicks his thumb over his nipple, then slides his hand further down, until he’s curling it around the base of his cock.

“You gonna fuck me, Stevie?” he purrs, as he gives his dick a languid stroke.

Steve nods, at a loss for words.

“Hurry up, then.”

Steve crosses to the bed and falls to his knees between Bucky’s legs, wrapping his fingers around his muscled thighs. A shuddery exhale rattles out of Bucky’s chest, and his eyes flutter shut as Steve’s fingers dance over his skin.

“You’re so—” Steve breaks off with a self-depreciating chuckle. He drops his head to press reverent kisses along the soft skin of Bucky’s inner thigh.

Bucky laughs softly. “That tickles,” he murmurs.

Tentatively, Steve grips onto the plug’s sleek handle, then gently eases it out of Bucky’s hole. He’s nothing if not a punk, so he teases Bucky for a bit, pulling the plug out partway, before using a single finger to push it back in. Bucky whine and huffs in frustration, but he spreads his legs wider to give Steve better access, so he can’t be that annoyed.

Steve is captivated by the sight of Bucky’s muscles clinging to the sleek black plug; it stirs something inside him, a wanton hunger deep within his belly.

When his patience has worn thin, Steve pulls the plug out of Bucky completely — ignoring the discontented whine that Bucky gives him — and sets it on the floor for him to wash later. He turns his attention back to Bucky.

More specifically, he turns his attention to Bucky’s ass.

“Jesus, Buck,” he breathes, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. Steve inches closer, knocks Bucky’s thighs apart with his shoulders. “I can—I can see inside you, sweet Christ, baby—”

“You like it?” Bucky asks, voice low and husky.

Steve nods fervently, unable to answer in any other way.

Bucky looks — indescribable. Sinfully gorgeous. Like every single dirty fantasy that Steve has ever had rolled into one. His pink hole is loose and stretched out, and Steve’s cock aches to bury itself inside it. The muscles are so weak and relaxed that Bucky’s efforts to clench up only manifest in a half-hearted flutter.

Steve can’t take it anymore. He’s been hard ever since he shut the front door, and his balls are aching for release.

“Lube,” he says gruffly.

Bucky stretches an arm above his head and retrieves a bottle of lube that had been stashed under his pillow, tossing it to Steve with a mischievous wink. Steve snorts.

“I thought you said you didn’t plan this,” he says, as he flips open the cap.

“I never said that,” Bucky retorts, one side of his lips quirking up into that infuriating half-smile.

Steve shakes his head, but chooses to drop the subject.

He squeezes some lube onto his fingers, then eases two of them into Bucky’s hole, keenly watching his face for any signs of discomfort. It’s clear that Bucky has prepped himself enough to take Steve’s cock, and the plug has certainly done a lot of work in terms of loosening his muscles, but there’s no such thing as too much lube, in Steve’s opinion.

“Inside me. Now,” Bucky grits out, when Steve spends too long slicking up his insides.

Steve huffs, but swiftly moves onto the next item on the agenda. He squirts more lube into his hand and gives his cock a perfunctory stroke to slick it up, biting his lip when that brief touch sends sparks of pleasure radiating outwards from his groin.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Bucky chants, impatient as ever.

Steve crawls up onto the bed and hooks Bucky’s thighs around his waist. He leans forward, planting one hand on the bed beside Bucky’s head to take his weight. His other hand grasps the base of his cock and guides it to Bucky’s entrance.

Just as Steve pushes his hips forward, Bucky yanks him down by the shoulders, capturing his mouth in a filthy-hot kiss. It’s mind-blowing, the fact that Bucky’s loose hole puts up almost no resistance against Steve’s cock. That sensation, combined with Bucky’s tongue in his mouth means that Steve has to take a second to calm down, for fear of shooting off too early.

Bucky moans against Steve’s lips, tangling his fingers into Steve’s hair.

“Fuck me, Stevie,” he says, the challenge evident in his tone. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

—

Later, when they’re covered in come and sweat from head to toe, when they’re sprawled out on their backs and gasping for breath, Bucky will roll over onto his hide and prop his head up on his elbow. He’ll smile at Steve and Steve will look at him with an equally dopey grin on his face.

“So. Butt plugs, huh?”

Steve’ll bark out a laugh, shake his head ruefully and bite his lip. His cheeks will flush with embarrassment. “Yeah,” he’ll reply, voice hoarse. “Guess we can add that to the list.”

Bucky will hum thoughtfully. “I bought a vibrating one too, y’know?”

“Gimme twenty minutes and a protein shake, and then we can try it out.”

[radishface]

Scientific Methods | Chapter 2: Questioning

Summary: It’s not really Ong’s birthday, but Daniel has a hunch about how things might go.

Read it on AO3 ➡

________________________

The flush starts on Ong’s neck.

It began as a thumbprint-sized pink mark, just below and to the right of the hollow of his throat. If you weren’t looking for it you might not see it. But the soju had made it hard not to look. It had made the flush crawl and spread into something a little bigger. Pinker. Slightly heart-shaped, if you tilted your head. Difficult to ignore.

Daniel has been fixated on that flush since.

Ong left his boots by the door when he came in. Daniel had made him take them off. Once Ong was properly seated, Daniel revealed the bottle of soju and flashed a grin. The look Ong gave Daniel was skeptical.

“It’s not even my birthday,” he’d said, in mock outrage. “Are you trying to get us kicked out?”

Daniel shook his head, smiling, “We won’t.”

Ong touched his pinky finger to the tip of his nose, expression stern. And Daniel suddenly saw him as a dirt-smeared ten year-old boy, mischief in his eyes as they dreamed up ways to get in trouble. *Promise?*

Daniel couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He returned the gesture, lightly pressing his little finger to his nose, and Ong’s grin lit up the room.

They hitched pinkies and shook. Then Ong untwisted the cap on the soju, and they were off.

It was a rare weekend without activities. This weekend they weren’t filming; there wasn’t even any practice scheduled. There weren’t even many of them left; following the second elimination, they were down to thirty-five members. Most of the other trainees had chosen to go home for the weekend, and a few had decided to bunk in other rooms to hang out with friends. Daniel had suddenly found himself in the delightful situation of zero roommates for 48 hours.

He’d texted Ong. What are you doing this weekend?

The reply came: Attending to filial duties.

How’s your mom?

She pines for her only son.

So what have you planned?

I will listen to her speak to me about the right way to live my life, elude questions about when I plan to settle down, all while affecting the most filial expressions of sincerity. Etc.

I’ve got a bottle of soju. It’s got your name on it.

Oh?

And everyone in the room has left for the weekend.

Oh?

And the cameras are off.

The reply took a moment to come. Who do you think you are?

I asked one of the staff if they wouldn’t mind doing me a favor in return for one later.

Does this favor, by any chance, involve the transmission of bodily fluids?

What?

I see. Well, it seems that my mother has suddenly booked a flight to Jeju for the weekend. So I have a rare vacancy in my schedule.

Daniel grins. See you tonight.

Likewise, sir.

Now Daniel is sitting on the edge of his bed, passing the bottle of soju from one hand to the other. He is thinking about Ong’s real birthday. Thinking about what he’d want to get him. Does Ong even like gifts? Maybe they could drive somewhere instead. Being in a car would be fun. Daniel would make sure it was one that looked neat. It couldn’t be too obvious. But it needed to be cool enough. He imagined pulling up in Ong’s driveway. Ong would have a great reaction, for sure.

“What’s on your mind, loverboy?”

Ong is sprawled out on the bed, but when he speaks, his words are clear. His tolerance for alcohol is actually quite admirable—a result of tedious dinners with his politician father and his socialite mother, he explained. Ong sits up and joins Daniel at the edge of the bed now, his hair mussed and face rosy.

Daniel tries not to look and deflects the question. “Happy birthday.”

Ong wrinkles his nose. “Yes. A full day of celebrations followed by a delightful dinner with my father and esteemed guests.”

Daniel quirks an eyebrow.

“Future wives,” Ong says.

Ong says it like he has a bad taste in his mouth, and he pulls the wine bottle from his hands. Daniel watches him as he tilts it up to drain the very last dregs from the bottom. It’s difficult to imagine Ong as a married man. He’ll always be a kid to Daniel.

… especially, when his hair is disheveled and his cheeks are pink and he has that heart-shaped flush on his neck and his tongue darts out to lick away a stray drop of soju—

“Do you think you’ll get married?” Ong asks.

Daniel mulls over the question. He takes the empty bottle back from Ong and sets it on the floor, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really? Even after your army service turns you super buff and your fame catapults you to the stars? You’ll have the phone number of every fair maiden in this land and then some.”

Daniel shrugs again. He hasn’t really given marriage much thought. He always figured he’d live out his days dancing and singing and going wherever his agency wanted him to go. Marriage had never quite factored into the equation.

“You’ll be in the top seat soon,” Ong says suddenly, pulling him from his inebriate thoughts.

Daniel gives his a look. “Soon?”

“You will. Trust me. You’ll be so important and busy.” Ong pokes Daniel’s shoulder and bats his eyelashes. “I hope you’ll still have time for just me.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything, just gives Ong a smile and touches his pinky to the tip of his nose. Ong beams.

“You’ll have to stop wearing this, though,” Ong quips, and playfully bats the brim of Daniel’s baseball cap like a kitten.

He swats Ong away, grinning. “I like my hat.”

“I like it too!” Ong says. “But you’ll be center—” his hand darts out in an attempt to snatch the hat off his head, but Daniel deflects him easily— “and you need to be a role model—” Ong goes for it again, only for Daniel to catching his arm— “for the adoring masses.”

Ong makes one last attempt, reaching out with his other hand, but Daniel grabs that wrist too. Ong struggles fruitlessly against his grip for a moment before giving up. “Stupid,” Ong says again, and huffs theatrically.

It isn’t until Daniel feels that breath on his face that he realizes exactly how close they are. Close enough that Daniel can almost feel the heat of Ong’s flush. Close enough that he can see how deep set his eyes are. Close enough to count the constellation of freckles on his cheek.  

When Ong lowers his gaze, that heart-shaped flush is still there on his neck, close enough that Daniel can see how the edges are jagged and blurred. Close enough to touch.

“Niel,” Ong says, and when their eyes meet again it drives all the breath from Daniel’s lungs.

Daniel can’t move. He doesn’t want to. He counts Ong’s freckles. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Ong tilts his head and leans forward. It’s almost nothing. Just a puff of breath on his lips, but Daniel feels it everywhere. He had a hold on Ong’s wrists but now he’s let go and now their fingers are touching on the bedspread. Ong exhales slowly against Daniel’s mouth. Intentional. Decisive.

Daniel can’t move. Their breath mingles together, very deliberate, very controlled. The air smells like soju. He can barely hear over his heartbeat pounding but neither of them move. Daniel’s fingers are tingling from where they are touching Ong’s. Ong’s eyes are deep and black. This is a different kind of intensity altogether. Daniel realizes he’s seen it before. Actually, Ong looks at him like this a lot. Why didn’t he notice it before?

Daniel feels something slip from his head.

Ong draws back, cheeks rosy, Daniel’s hat clasped in his fingers. His other hand runs through Daniel’s hair, tousling it. “Thank you for your cooperation,” Ong whispers. “Now you’re a proper center.”

The sudden noise of a fire alarm blaring through the room drives them apart. Daniel bumps his head against the top bunk and falls back, dazed.

“There’s no fire drill scheduled at this hour.” Ong jumps forward snatches the bottle of soju off the floor, stuffing it down his pants. “This is the real thing.”

Daniel is still seeing stars from bumping his head. The fire alarm is full blast.  The sight of a huge, bottle-shaped bulge in the front of Ong’s trackpants is out of this world. “Ongi, what the hell are you doing?”

Ong shoots him a look that is playful, mollified, and disdainful all at once. “One. If this is a true fire drill, we need to get rid of this before they see it. Two— even if we’re caught on camera, there is no way that Mnet will air any footage of me with this thing in my pants. And three, if I didn’t have this thing in my pants, it may lead to a misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding?” Daniel asks, the same time that he realizes what it is. “Ongi,” he says, breath caught in his throat. He wants to laugh, because it's funny, because the whole thing is funny, because Ong is funny. Ong is so quick. Too quick for him. Daniel can't keep up. But part of him wants to say something before this slips away.

“That's my bottle,” Daniel says.

“Sorry sorry sorry sorry,” Ong sing-songs, already halfway out the door, pants jangling. “I guess you should have been better prepared!”

The fire alarm stops ringing by the time Daniel hurries outside. There’s a small crowd of them gathered outside the dormitories.

After some asking around, it turns out that Yongguk’s quest for a midnight snack was the reason behind the fire alarm. In a bid to make stir fry, Yongguk added too much oil to the wok, the oil had caught fire, and then the stack of paper towels next to the stove had caught fire, and a bid to fan out the fire had only created more smoke. So here they all are now, with Yongguk looking sorrier than ever as he apologizes profusely to everyone.

The night guard comes out of the building minutes later and tells everyone it’s safe to go back inside. Ong comes up behind Daniel and loops his arm around Daniel’s neck.

"You made it out alive."

"You did too." Daniel casts and eye sideways at Ong's pants, looking for the bottle.

Ong covers himself with his free hand. "Please, Niel. My modesty."

“Oh, did you leave it behind in the fire?”

Ong sticks his tongue out. Daniel is caught by that flash of pink. "Hey," he says.

Under the light of the street lamp, the shadows on Ong’s face make his expression inscrutable. Dark eyes, glistening lips, that's what Daniel sees. He wants to say something. But their bottle of soju is gone. There was still some left, too. And it wasn't even a real fire. The brisk cold of the winter night has cut through his buzz. Daniel feels bare. He wants to say something to Ong. It feels important to. But he doesn’t how to say it.

"Poor Yongguk,” Ong murmurs, releasing Daniel from the hook of his arm. His lip curls up in a half-smile. “What do you think is left of his chop suey disaster?"

Daniel shakes his head. He doesn’t know.

"Shall we go salvage what's left?" Ong's voice is soothing. It has that same sound as when he’s singing. "We should get there before the others. I bet everyone has the same idea."

Daniel grins. It's easy to think about food. It’s way easier to think about food than anything else.

________________________

[luminis-infinite]

battle hard, play hard

Kinktober day 10 - Wandplay. Credit to @wanderingnork for this idea! Tagging @funkzpiel, @headsindreams and @fantastic-beasts-smut because I know they like their Gramander. 

“Do you duel, Mr. Scamander?” There’s a tease in Mr. Graves’ voice, hidden under gravel and wit, a tease and a challenge. Newt straightens, dusting off his hands. He’s investigating mites in the Graves’ Estate’s sprawling gardens and vegetable patch, looking for anything that might cause those interesting marks on leaves. Graves levels him with a look, head cocking to the side ever so slightly, causing the sun to reflect off his neat, glossy hair. It shines the deepest black and Newt longs to run his hands through it. “Not for sport,” Newt replies, shrugging a little helplessly. When he looks, there is dirt under his nails. He tries to remove it, feeling very much like a naughty school boy caught playing in the muck, “Why do you ask?” “Your brother was telling me you’re a skilled duelist,” Graves murmurs, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if Newt’s movements have made him aware of his own. Newt cocks his head now, “Where is my brother?” “Off with the hunting party.” Newt purses his lips, eyes flickering to the woodland beyond the boundaries of the gardens. It’s ancient forest, older than the house or the gardens or either of them, as old as the hills. It’s ancient forest – full of wonders and unspeakable evils. One treads carefully in the forests around the Graves’ estate, one doesn’t dare go alone. Only the foolhardy dare to go without a Graves’ to guide them. And yet the Graves is standing in front of Newt, and not with the roaring bunch of morons probably disturbing the wildlife on horseback. “You didn’t go with them?” Graves chuckles, shrugging and shaking his head, “No. There are far more interesting things to be seen on the estate.”

Many a time, Newt has been caught in the gaze of a predator. He gets that feeling right now, staring down Graves. The man’s eyes are dark and liquid, the centers radiating outwards, threatening to swallow up his entire eye. If Newt were to catch him out of his periphery, he’d see a Wraith – impossibly pale, sharp ears and jaw and wicked teeth. Beautiful and dangerous. As he is now, in front of Graves, he sees a man with ancestry more than human, a man who wants to play. 

Newt’s wand slips from his sleeve into his palm. He grips it tightly, taking a deep breath and readies himself. Graves grins, sharp and a little feral. He assumes proper stance – probably learned while in school, and waits. So this is how it’s going to be? Newt thinks. He doesn’t want to strike first, but he knows the Director and he knows how he plays. Newt lurches forward and then goes left, firing off a crackle of blue light. Graves deflects it with a flick of his hand. His boot digs into the soft earth as he spins on his heel to track Newt, eyes locked onto prey. Already, white-purple energy crackles around his hand, flickering up over that monster of a wand like a threat. Newt knows he’s going to have to make it difficult. Moving targets are harder to hit, even for Graves. So he disapperates. He reappears behind Graves, pointing a particularly nasty hex right at the center of the man’s back. To his surprise, it rebounds and he barely has time to get out of the way. “Clever,” Graves growls, turning around again. He moves like lightning, flinging himself at Newt. The magizoologist squeaks and closes his eyes, feeling the pull and twist of apparition before he spits himself back out a few feet away, just in time to see Graves go sprawling and rolling through the tomato plants. Newt grants himself a millisecond of pride before a sweeping disk of white comes arcing at him. “Merlin’s beard, Graves!” Newt roars, throwing up a protective shield, “Are you trying to decapitate me?” Graves grins, picking himself up and shaking the dirt from his clothes. They’re both panting a little, adrenaline buzzing through their veins. Newt grits his teeth and assesses his options. He isn’t expecting Graves to bolt, running straight at him. With a squeak, Newt tries to disapparate again, only to feel a hand wrap around his wrist before he fully completes the spell. “Oof!” Two bodies go rolling across the lawn just in front of the manor. Newt has the wind driven from him by an accidental elbow, and he lies there on the grass gasping for a moment. The sun shines down so nicely, a gentle breeze against his face. Beside him, Graves groans softly, rolling over. “You absolute arse,” Newt growls, “You could have been killed! I expect that sort of recklessness from my brother, not from yo-mmf!” Graves’s lips are warm and dry and soft against Newt’s, his tongue licking into Newt’s mouth with barely a request for entry. Newt’s fingers tangle in the man’s waistcoat, gripping the fine material tight, keeping Graves close. Graves sighs and groans when Newt nips at his lower lip, drawing the flesh between his teeth to worry it. “You’re an arse,” Newt repeats. Graves, now straddling his lap, is a disheveled mess, hair falling into his eyes, chest heaving and smeared with dirt. “If you wanted a fucking, all you had to do was ask.” Graves moans. His hips come down against Newt’s groin, the swell of his ass hot and promising against Newt’s quickly thickening cock. Little sparks wash over Newt – teasing at what is to come. “It’s no fun, asking,” Graves murmurs. He twists his hands in Newt’s collar, yanking open the fabric so the buttons pop off. Newt just rolls his eyes, waving his hand and finding the fastenings on Graves’ trousers. “You wanted me to force you, hmm? Why didn’t you let me best you then, darling? Let me put you on all fours and fuck you into submission? Or is that no fun either? I know how you like to win.” As he speaks, Newt rips Percival’s trousers down powerful thighs, letting the sun warm the glorious, pale globes of the man’s ass. His cock springs free, eager and flushed and already wet at the tip. Newt curls one hand around it, the other ghosting over skin to press between cheeks. Graves’ hole is wide and wanting, slick enough for Newt to press two fingers inside. He raises a brow, massaging the velvety heat. “Did you really prep yourself and then come out here to play fight? Percival, you utter whore.” Graves’ laugh starts out as a laugh, but devolves into a moan when Newt’s hand twists viciously around the head of his cock and the clever fingers inside him catch that spot.

“Don’t tease,” he hisses, “’m ready, just fuck me.” Newt hisses back, hand and fingers stilling. Graves growls and whines, gyrating his hips backwards to fuck himself on Newt’s hand. It’s enough to make one’s head spin – naught five minutes ago, they were dueling, and now the Director is coaxing Newt into taking him on the lawn in front of his ancestral home. But Newt is good at going with unexpected twists and turns. Getting his feet under his knees, Newt throws himself upright and unbalances Percival. Graves yelps as they roll, the sky spinning, and then finds himself pinned against the soft grass with Newt at his back. The magizoologist hums and noses along that neat hairline before biting at Percival’s earlobe. “Whores don’t get to make demands,” he croons and hikes Percival’s hips high, until his ass is in the air in prefect display, “Whores take what is given to them. Especially ones who think they can come out here and disturb my research by dueling.” Newt lines the head of his cock up with Graves fluttering hole, feels the muscle clench around him, as if trying to guide him inside. The hand not steadying Graves’ hips slips over narrow flanks to splay across the man’s chest, reaching inside that expensive shirt to pluck pert nipples. Percival whimpers, pressing back into Newt, urging him deeper. When he bottoms out, Newt stills, letting the Director quiver and pant beneath him. “Newt,” Graves whines, “Move. S’not fair.” “Oh, it isn’t fair is it? You weren’t very fair, teasing me earlier. I’m afraid your actions are coming back to you, darling.” But even as he teases, Newt gives in to Percival’s demands, digging his fingers into those thin hips, feeling the muscle and bone, and then surges forward. Thrust after brutal thrust, until Percival is a stream of noise and clawing at the ground beneath him. The air fills with his cries and the slap, slap, slap of skin on skin. Newt can just imagine the beautiful shade of pink those cheeks are turning – he longs to bite and suck and leave them purple. “That’s it, darling,” he whispers, arching forward so he can speak in Percival’s ear, “I wonder if the hunt can hear you. Maybe they’ll come back, watch their feared leader be fucked into the ground.” Percival twists his head, until Newt’s mouth is moving over the corner of his own, practically begging for a kiss. It sends a thrill through Newt, to have such a powerful figure underneath him like this, pleading for his affection. He leaves a chaste kiss on Graves’ lips before sucking back, palm against Graves’ shoulder blades and pushes Graves’ chest into the ground. Graves wails, as Newt hits his prostate over and over again, cock filling him to the brim. He clenches and jerks around the Brit, fists curling in the grass. “Newt! Newt! Oh – oh – oh Merlin… Newt!” Newt’s orgasm tears from him unexpectedly, when he glances up and finds their reflection in the glass of the library windows. He snarls, pressing into Percival one more time and spilling deep inside him. Percival cries out, hole clenching down, and goes still like a statue. His own cock hangs thick and heavy and forgotten between his legs, dripping onto the green of the grass. When the magizoologist pulls away, Graves moans, trying to follow. Newt smacks him on the ass for it, and then pinches one cheek. “Enough. Up.” He guides Percival until he’s on his knees, back to Newt’s chest. Newt wraps a hand around the man’s prick, thumb dragging across the weeping, purple head. As he begins to pump, using the man’s own pre-spend as lubricant, Newt leaves little bites and kisses across Percival’s throat. Their gazes lock in the reflection off the glass, some rendition of the way they had earlier. The hunger in Percival’s has faded into pure bliss, those dark eyes hazy with lust and pleasure. Little pants leave him now, constant cries of “agh, agh, agh”. Occasionally, he cries out Newt’s name. “Look at yourself, best duelist in America, hmm? Most powerful wizard? Brought low by a magizoologist and a foreigner at that? What would they say, if they could say, if they could see you like this? Fucking into my hand.” “Newt.” “Sometimes, I think about fucking you with my wand. You’d-“

Graves comes with a cry, hot and thick. He jerks in Newt’s arms, muscles seizing. Newt gets to watch the way his mouth stretches wide around the sound, the way those eyes clench shut and his brows furrow. Like he’s in pain. It’s glorious, absolutely beautiful. Then Graves goes limp like a rag doll. Newt has to catch him before he smashes his face off the ground.

“Easy, easy, darling.”

Newt lays him down and scrambles for his wand. It’s a few feet away from them, where it fell when they initially rolled across the grass. He cleans both of them up with a flick of it, righting their clothing before hauling Percival back up into his arms. Graves nuzzles his forehead against Newt’s throat, now much more like a domestic housecat than a jaguar looking for a meal.

“Well, that was certainly something,” Newt says, dragging his hands through Percival’s hair. The man hums, eyelashes fluttering against Newt’s skin.

“But in all seriousness, where are my brother and the rest of them?”

“Hunting, like I told you.”

“Alone? Are they still alive?”

“My grandmother is with them.”

“Darling, your grandmother may be the reason they aren’t alive. Come on now, up you come. We should find them before they get themselves into too much trouble.”

Graves groans again, but lets Newt coax him upright and drag him out into the forest. It’s dangerous to go without a Graves, after all.

[elesianne]

I wrote a second chapter to one of my Fëanorian week fics!

Story summary: Curufin tries his best as a father and Celegorm as an uncle but sometimes there are little blunders, such as treating a toddler like a baby animal.

Chapter summary: I kept thinking about how it would go when Curufin's wife Netyarë came home in the evening and found out about Tyelpë's adventures.

Chapter length: ~1,700 words, Rating: General audiences

A/N: Like the original fic, this new chapter is a little family scene that is a mix of fluff, light humour and very slight angst in the form of adjusting to parenthood. There is less Tyelko and more Netyarë though, so the chapter is titled ‘Maternal worries’ (aren’t I clever? no, I’m not). Thanks to @maedhrosrussandol for looking this over.

If you haven’t yet seen @acommonanomaly​‘s cute&funny comic about the first chapter, check it out!

(AO3 link)

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Chapter II // Maternal worries

Netyarë arrives home a little later than usual, just in time for dinner. She makes her way straight to the dining room, the bright sound of Tyelperinquar's voice that she hears already in the hallway bringing a smile to her face.

She loves her art deeply, which is why she hasn't given it up even during these early years of her son's life, but she loves Tyelpë more. The moment of coming home to him is the best part of her day: seeing the delight on his face always makes her heart constrict in overflowing joy tinged with a little pain.

Next week, she reminds herself. Next week I'll be staying at home with him again while Curufinwë goes out to work. Their system of alternating weeks taking care of Tyelperinquar works well for the most part.

'Mama!' Tyelpë shouts joyfully when she steps into the room. He would jump down from his chair if his father didn't stop him.

Netyarë drops a kiss on her husband's cheek and another on Tyelpë's and takes a seat on her son's other side.

'How was your day, Tyelpë darling? I see you've had a bath already.' Netyarë's gaze takes in Tyelpë's damp hair and clean clothes as well as Curufinwë's dishevelled appearance.

Her usually very neat husband has messy hair and his tunic seems damp in places as do the rolled-up long sleeves of his undershirt. She doesn't wonder about his appearance for long, though, for she'd also noticed that Tyelpë doesn't seem quite all right. There are small cuts on his face, one of them bandaged, and a small bruise on the side of his jaw.

Before she can ask Curufinwë about the injuries, Tyelpë answers her question with effusiveness that reassures her that his high spirits, at least, are undamaged. 'I took two baths today!' he announces proudly.

'Did you, sweetheart? Come here, sit in my lap for a while.' Netyarë's tone is light, but she is very careful when she lifts Tyelpë to her lap and goes over every graze and cut on their son.

Curufinwë wants to tell her that there's no need, that both he and Tyelkormo have already tended to Tyelpë, but this much he has learnt of parenthood: it is no use telling a mother not to worry for her child. She will only get angry with the father and sleep with her back turned to him.

Keeping his voice suitably nonchalant, he explains, 'The first bath was a mud bath in the garden pond. He scraped himself on the rocks in the bottom.'

Netyarë raises her brows as she deposits Tyelpë back in his own chair and encourages him to get back to eating his carrots. She strokes his hair gently and asks her husband quietly, 'How did he get in the pond? He's been very good so far about keeping away from there as we've told him to.'

Curufinwë bites his lip and admits, 'He was playing with Tyelko's puppies and ended up losing his balance when the playing got rough.'

'I see', Netyarë says, and Curufinwë is afraid that she does. 'Tyelkormo came for a visit, then. You know I don't mind that, Tyelpë enjoys his company and he loves playing with Tyelko's animals, but proper supervision is needed. Your brother isn't always very careful –'

'I know', says Curufinwë, gritting his teeth.

'– though I do appreciate that he gives his time and attention to our son. He's a good uncle in many ways.' Netyarë adds peas to Tyelpë's plate and directs him to eat them with a spoon rather than try to spear them with a fork and send them flying in all directions. Almost casually she asks, 'Where was Tyelpë's father when he fell into the pond?'

'Grandpapa's forge!' pipes up Tyelpë, startling his parents and reminding them that he is getting too old for them to have conversations over his head. 'He had to go to help grandpapa so uncle Tyelko and Huan and the puppies played with me in the garden. I got to ride Huan!'

'That must have been exciting', replies his mother gently while aiming an anything-but-gentle look at her husband.

Tyelpë explains about his wonderful afternoon with his uncle and his hounds while his mother keeps shooting his father looks as dirty as the ones Curufinwë gave his brother after coming home and finding Tyelpë injured and smelling of horse liniment. Curufinwë hadn't expected anything less from her.

As soon as Tyelpë stops chattering to draw breath, Netyarë says to Curufinwë in a low voice, 'We need to discuss you leaving him alone at home during a week when it's your turn to take care –'

Curufinwë interrupts her, something they both knew he would do. 'He wasn't alone, Tyelko was here.'

Netyarë strokes Tyelpë's cheek, her fingers skipping lightly over the bandage there. Without thinking about it Curufinwë finds himself saying he's sorry and then realises that he doesn't regret it, though apologies always taste foul on his tongue. It is both true and the most useful thing he could say to placate his wife.

'I thought about it, after I came home and found him – found that Tyelpë had fallen into the pond, and I've decided to make fewer visits to the forge while it's my week home. I don't want us to have to reconsider our decision to not have a nurse for Tyelpë. I still want us to raise him ourselves.'

Netyarë studies her husband for a moment and, finding no pretence in his eyes, leans back in her chair in relief. 'I am glad to hear that.'

Tyelpë is staring up at them, brows furrowed. 'What are you glad about, mama?'

'That I am here, at home with you and papa.' She drops another kiss on Tyelpë's head and finally picks up her own knife and fork.

'Did you not have as good a day as I did, then?'

'Probably not, Tyelpë dear. I had to deal with irritating people, and you only had to play with puppies.'

'What did lord Cammíron do today? More helpful suggestions?' Curufinwë knows of the infuriating habits of Netyarë's current client.

'Oh yes, he had many to make, several of them on parts of the painting I had already finished. It is truly remarkable that even after commissioning me several times, the man still doesn't understand that once a fresco has dried, it's final. I refuse to make any late changes by a different method.'

'You need to tell that idiot that you won't do any more paintings for him after this one.'

'I will avoid his commissions if I can. Tyelperinquar, don't fuss with your cup, just ask for more milk if you want it.' She fills his cup and continues, 'I'm relieved this week will be over soon. Tyelpë is much better company than a client who hovers while I paint and still doesn't make his suggestions in time.'

Tyelpë flashes a wide smile, warm and enchanting, much like his uncle Maitimo's smiles, or his mother's if his father is to be believed. 'I am very good company.'

He is a little bewildered when both his parents laugh at his words, but he laughs along with them and then asks, 'What are we going to do next week, mama? Can we paint together again?'

'Of course we can', Netyarë promises, delighted that at least for now, Tyelpë is an eager student to her, even though he is so young that painting tends to be very messy. From all the interest he has shown towards his father's craft she has a feeling that once Curufinwë judges Tyelpë old enough that it is safe to take him along to the forge, it will be very difficult to get him out of there again.

'Can we paint puppies on my wall?' Tyelpë's voice returns her to the present from thoughts of the future.

'Are you bored of the bunny rabbits, then?' Curufinwë teases Tyelpë, and Netyarë too, for he had told her  that subject matter was too whimsical even for a child's bedroom. He hadn't really tried to stop her painting the rabbits though, unusually gentle as he was during her pregnancy.

Tyelpë scrunches up his nose as if he was a bunny rabbit himself. 'The rabbits are nice, but puppies are nicer. Even when they lick my face and it tickles.'

'I can paint puppies on your wall, alongside the rabbits perhaps. We'll make plans for it together next week, sketches and watercolours. Do promise me though, darling boy, that you won't splash with the watercolours as much as you splashed tonight in the bath.'   Netyarë throws a teasing look at her husband whose shirt is still damp.

'But there were whales in the tub', says Tyelpë very solemnly, and Netyarë purses her lips, trying not to laugh at his remarkable imagination.

She knows that there is a serious conversation she and Curufinwë need to have later tonight – in spite of his already having promised to make fewer impromptu visits to his father during his childcare weeks, she still wants to make sure that he is committed to taking care of Tyelpë.

Yet it is difficult to worry about that now, seated next to her happy son and smiling husband. In spite of small grievances she feels blessed by all the powers, blessed with both family and work that she loves.

Tiredness and happiness combine into a quiet relaxation while she eats her dinner, lets her husband pour her wine and promises Tyelpë that she'll include Huan in the fresco, too.

'Good!' Tyelpë beams. 'Because he looked after the puppies today as well as uncle Tyelko looked after me.'

'Better, I think, since none of them ended up in our pond', Curufinwë mutters under his breath, and then chokes on his food when Tyelpë asks, 'Can I have a puppy?'

Netyarë pounds on her husband's back and smiles at her son.

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A/N: Do let me know if you enjoyed this :)