#just a snippet really

[limboni]

"Children in the woods" 5/5

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[scriblesandbits]

So god created us in his image, right? And that’s cool and all but what if it turns out god, like, hates his own image??? What then????

[lace-tf]

daily koss #18: guy who totally doesn’t have deranged kinks due to unresolved issues he really should work through … bsky

Trying to do the ‘post-war redemption (-ish) arc relationship thing’ means indulging your (ugh) (shudder) (gag) partner when he calls in a ‘weird interface favour.’ Sadly, you are less dense about his feelings than you used to be. What the frag was all that about?! (…Maybe you’ll admit it felt good in the moment, though.)

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[kenchann]

uh oh

also change my yuus outfit www

[dreamybagel]

Rebellion is built on sleep (2/2)

All that love I have for him, I don't know where to put it now.

--Fleabag

was listening to Dawn Chorus by Thom Yorke for added feels :'(

[quadrantadvisor]

Ranch 2 has infected my brain and I blame u lol

LMAO WELCOME TO THE CLUB, it really does just do that. Someone needs to get this boy some ectoplasm I am so serious rn.

prompt | pt 1 | pt 2 | (inspo)

You inspired me to keep going for a bit, so here's a direct continuation from what I posted in pt 2!

“Did you see that?” Tim asks. “Uh, yeah,” Duke replies, unthinking. Tim is suddenly in his space, eyes wild. He grabs Duke by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Duke. Duke, you have to tell me what I just ate.” “I dunno, man!” Duke is at a loss for how to deal with this. He has the training to handle freaking out civilians, but it's somehow different when it's Tim. Tim's the one with the plan, the one who's supposed to know what's going on. But he doesn't, and Duke is embarrassed to realize that it's leaving him floundering. “They're just- I mean- there's these little pockets of energy, I see them floating around Gotham sometimes, I don't really know what they are! How did you grab it? How did you eat it?” Tim goes still and serious, and grips Duke's shoulders harder. “I don't know either,” he admits, “but that was it.” “That was what?” Duke asks, still feeling unbalanced by the manic gleam in Tim's eye. “That was ranch 2.” Duke gapes. “You're messing with me.” Tim shakes his head. “That was it,” he says emphatically. “It had the spark, the zing feeling I was looking for. Whatever sort of energy that is, my soulmate needs it.” Duke gulps, then nods. “Okay. Okay,” he says, trying to calm the both of them. “Then we'll get it for them.” Some of the tension falls out of Tim in what looks life relief.

[kuromimel]

loustat reunion in amc iwtv: heartbreaking, gut wrenching, tears all around

loustat reunion in tvl:

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[scarlettfevor]

I just saw this video talking about actresses who've had to wear sexualized outfits on film that made them uncomfortable (think Margot Robbie in Suicide Squad) and it brought up an ongoing concern of mine about how films and tv shows are way more explicit now than they've been before. Thinking about how many actresses have been topless or nude on camera when it's totally unnecessary) Like I know Hollywood is experimental and would show sex and nudity in their films, I don't have a problem with that it's just how disproportionate the amount of women vs men who have to be naked and sexualized in film is. It's misogyny, pure and simple. Forcing actresses to put their bodies and sexuality on display for the pleasure of male directors and a male audience. And I hate that you can never point out how many actresses have come out and said that no, they didn't like wearing sexualized outfits on screen, they didn't like going nude/being pressured to go nude, they don't like sex scenes or explicit rape scenes but still anytime anyone mentions this you have to fight puritan allegations because god forbid you question how a notoriously sexualized and objectified marginalized community seems to always be sexualized and objectified in media.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

villain has never had anyone to take care of them, they’ve always been self sufficient. they don’t know how to react when hero takes care of them and treats them well

sorry if this is too specific, love your writing!

"So—" the hero pushed the glasses they only wore when cursed with desk duty up the bridge of their nose "—according to our analysts...those guys are actually quite lovely, did you know I was supposed to stay in the IT apartment before I got transferred?”

The hero looked up from the file they were reading. Big doe eyes. Perfect hair.

“I did not know that, no,” the villain answered. It was strange to see the hero in office attire and not the suit. They didn’t look bad per se and the villain couldn’t tell if they preferred the suit, but it was definitely very different. The hero seemed like usual. More tired, maybe. They definitely smelled better, now that they weren't sweating their ass off in a tight suit.

The villain guessed no matter the kid of work, the hero always tried to give it their best shot.

"Well, that was until they realised they could actually send me on missions. Being good at fighting and all - they were surprised I wasn't on any sports team in high school." The hero gave one of their sweet smiles, as if they were cheering up a child they had just saved. "Not really my thing. Running around, teamwork. It's exhausting, but I decided it would be best to..."

The villain looked down at the handcuffs around their wrists, then back at the hero.

"According to your analysts…?"

The hero's eyes widened, embarrassed.

"Oh, right. According to our analysts, you have committed thrice as many crimes as usual in the last month." They took off their glasses. "…is there any particular reason for that?"

The villain stared at them.

In this city, the hero was the sun and everyone else was just orbiting around them. Whether the others were big planet-like politicians or little asteroid-like citizens. The hero was the centre of everything, either admired or hated, criticised or followed obediently.

The villain’s original hatred for the hero was barely alive anymore. Years ago when they had met each other, they had somehow gotten along quite well. What could be considered a friendship had ended badly with broken bones and blood pooling out of each other's mouths, though.

It wasn't an easy relationship, if something like that even existed.

But now, the villain simply didn’t care that much about the hero as a concept.

"Dunno." The villain took in a deep breath. The lack of sleep was slowly getting to them. Their eyes burnt and they craved coffee, but honestly, it was somewhat better to be here in the hero's office than at home.

Home wasn't home anymore. Not really, not fully.

It stung to go through their door. Their bed felt hard and uncomfortable. Food didn't taste good. Their apartment was getting dirty.

"I mean, to be fair," the hero leaned back in the office chair, "you are highly skilled and trained. Your stamina is impressive and your creativity and endurance…"

The hero stared at the villain rather intimately.

Suddenly, their gaze turned somber and the villain was greeted with the hero that was ready to break bones again.

"I know you well enough to tell that it isn’t like you to go out and commit random crimes. I mean, what is this? Theft? Assault? Since when do you pick fights and draw unwarranted attention to yourself? You’re being sloppy."

Were they being sloppy? The villain couldn’t tell, they could barely recall this last month.

"What is it?" the hero asked, no, insisted. They leaned over the desk.

The villain’s eyes slowly went back to the hero, but they looked away quickly and focused on the desk decor.

That shining, wonderful hero. So bright. So scary.

"Nothing," the villain said, but their voice was so hoarse that the word barely made it out of their mouth. They cleared their throat. "It’s nothing."

“What is it?” the hero asked again. Their tone hadn’t changed, but it seemed more powerful, more demanding.

The villain felt like if they didn’t answer they’d be cut into pieces. The hero looked persistent, they looked determined. The villain knew what that meant. There wasn't any room for debate. The hero would get their answer eventually, one way or the other.

"My cat died," the villain finally said. To say it out loud was even more surreal than accepting it.

Hell, they had never considered themselves to be a cat person. They hadn’t even planned on getting a pet, but a few years ago, this very sweet and injured cat had run towards them on their way home, meowing and begging sadly in the rain. The villain had stared at that tired little creature, even though they themselves had come back from a fight, limping and bleeding.

They had stared at that drenched animal. Both of them bleeding, both of them soaking in rain water.

Of course, they had taken her home. Of course, they had bathed her, fed her, nursed her.

They looked at their handcuffs and expected the hero to laugh. After all, this was just a cat, right?

Not a family member, not even a pet they’ve had since childhood, not a cat they had found as a kitten.

Just a cat.

A cat that had always slept on their stomach when the villain had returned from an exhaustive fight. A cat that had hunted spiders and flies, a cat that had sat on the windowsill and looked out of the window.

A cat that was a little angel, whenever the beams of sunlight had illuminated her fur.

The villain blinked tears out of their eyes, but they were ready to be scolded by the hero, ready to be made fun of.

"Oh, God. You must be exhausted, then," the hero said. The villain managed to meet their eyes and the hero looked cruelly gentle.

"It's fine," the villain lied. "Just lock me up, get it over with."

"Losing a pet is very different to losing a person. That animal you provide for...you are their entire world, even when they don't show it to you." The hero looked at the papers in front of them. "You are everything to that animal. That pain never really goes away. For a time, it doesn't even ebb."

The villain refused to believe they had gotten that attached to an animal. They had never attached themselves to anyone or anything. Never.

And now, they were here, crying in the hero's office because their cat had died. Hell, that cat didn't even have a name, they had just called her the Cat.

They sniffled, refusing to let the tears drop.

They couldn't go home anymore. It was different, it was so very different now. So quiet, so empty.

The hero pushed a box of tissues to the middle of the table. Softly, they spoke the villain's name.

"...I can tell you are not doing well right now. Please…" The stood up and walked around the table. The villain didn’t process what was happening, didn’t even know what the hero was doing.

However, it did help a little when the hero leaned down and hugged them gently. When they guided the hero’s head to lean against theirs, when their cheeks touched.

"You're upset for a good reason, I understand why you acted the way you did," the hero whispered. They were closer than they had been in years. The hero definitely did smell better. The villain let the tears drop. "Let me hold onto you for a while. I don’t want you to be alone."

Eventually, the villain allowed themselves to let their tears drop and lean against the hero. It was beyond embarrassing, but they couldn’t deny that they really needed this.

[loveandleases]

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

If you were sober, you would see the war within them. So many unspoken questions linger - why you showed up drunk at their door, why their bed became the one you choose to fall into, why your scent now lingers on their sheets.

Maybe tomorrow.

"Please," G whispers, their voice barely audible and laced with pain. So much pain that you don't notice. Nor do you catch the way their fingers hesitate, aching to cup your face. "Just one... just one-"

Sip, they want to say, only for the word to be lost, the glass of water in their hand forgotten. Their lips hover near yours, close enough for their breath to graze your skin. Green tea, you think in the haze of your mind. G.

Why would you be smelling green tea if you're home in bed? It must be a dream - it has to be. And if it's a dream, then what you do next is alright.

Your hands slip around their neck, fingers threading into their dark hair. G's breath hitches, and you pull them closer. Soft pliable lips, brush yours. Their gasp dissolves into the kiss, followed by a soft moan. The sound sending a shiver through you.

[cod-thoughts]

“Thought you’d sleep in for once,” Ghost muttered, leaning down to meet Price’s lips in a lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed—just a slow, easy press of their mouths, like they had all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t,” Price murmured against him, his hands finding Ghost’s hip. He tugged him closer, their noses brushing together as Ghost kissed him again, deeper this time. Price’s grip tightened, but there was nothing hurried about it, just deliberate and steady, as if he was memorising every detail.

Ghost huffed softly when they pulled apart, the sound low and amused. “You’re insatiable, old man.”

“Damn right,” Price shot back, his thumb tracing slow circles against Ghost’s hip. “You’re the one who came in here lookin’ like that. Can’t be helped.”

Ghost shook his head, but there was no real heat behind it, just the faintest curve of his lips, knowing he wasn't wearing anything special. He leaned in again, his fingers slipping under the collar of Price’s shirt, brushing against bare skin. Their mouths met in another kiss, slower this time, like the kindling of a fire, warmth spreading between them with every touch.

Then it happened. Ghost shifted his weight, leaning into Price a little too much as Price tugged him forward. He stumbled, landing hard in Price’s lap, chair creaking underneath them, his thighs bracketing Price’s hips as the two of them froze for a moment, faces inches apart.

“Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered, his hands braced on Price’s shoulders as the faintest flush crept up his neck.

Price, for his part, looked completely unbothered—if anything, the grin spreading across his face was downright wolfish. “Now this,” he said, his hands sliding up to Ghost’s waist, “is a sight I could get used to.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes, his voice low and rough. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Price replied, his gaze flickering over Ghost—his broad shoulders, the way his muscular thighs framed Price’s hips, the faint pink staining the tops of his cheeks. “Should’ve done this soon as you came in. Hell, I should have you like this all the time.”

“Thought this morning was enough for you,” Ghost shot back, his voice a teasing growl, though the flush on his face deepened.

Price’s eyes darkened, his grin turning into something hungrier. “Not even close.” Wrapping his arms around Ghost’s waist, pulling him down just enough that their bodies pressed together, the solid weight of Ghost against him making Price groan softly. “You’ve no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Ghost opened his mouth to retort, but Price didn’t give him the chance. He surged up, capturing Ghost’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was feral, desperate, all teeth and tongue as if Price couldn’t get enough of him. Ghost let out a low, surprised sound, his hands slipping up Price’s shoulders to his jaw as the kiss deepened.

Price’s hands roamed, one sliding up Ghost’s back to tangle in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, fingers digging into muscle as if to anchor him there. Ghost groaned, the sound muffled against Price’s mouth, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. His hips shifted instinctively, pressing harder against Price, who growled in response.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Price muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to drag his teeth along Ghost’s jaw. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath Ghost’s ear, biting down lightly before soothing the mark with his tongue.

Ghost shivered, his fingers slightly tightening around Price’s jaw. “Thought you could handle it, Captain.”

“Handle you?” Price’s laugh was dark, his lips brushing against Ghost’s throat. “Barely.”

The room felt hotter, the air between them thick with want as their movements grew more frantic. Price’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of Ghost’s spine, squeezing his thighs, pulling him impossibly closer. Ghost leaned into it, his breath hitching as Price’s teeth scraped against his collarbone.

“John,” Ghost rasped, his voice strained, his usual composure cracking under the heat of Price’s attention.

“Tell me,” Price said, his voice a low growl as he kissed him again, biting at his lower lip before dragging him impossibly closer. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Ghost didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed Price with a desperation that said everything, his body pressing against him as if trying to fuse them together. Price groaned into his mouth, his hands sliding to Ghost’s ass, urging him to roll his hips into a sinful grind.

Whatever playful teasing had been between them was long gone, replaced by something raw and consuming. Snaking a hand into Ghost's hair, Price pulled him back with a gasp and looked up at Ghost, his chest heaving, his brown eyes burning with want as he took in the sight of his lover—flushed, ruffled, and completely his.

[northern-passage]

[moonlitkissing]

Whimpery men, gimme