#they are both flipping back and forth between evasive and earnest

[dcviated]

Had it not been for the words and considerations that followed, Zach very well might have bit back at her Dodongo remark. Descended into the usual bickering he was known for. Deflective. Defensive. Confrontational. But- it would seem- softness beget softness. Vulnerable as he felt after saying the small piece he did- prickly to boot- the retaliatory snark would get to stay in his pocket. There were things he felt like saying, and so too did she. One of the bottled thoughts from before rises to the surface. Freed from usually restrained lips.

"So... huh. So he freaks you out too? Well, how about that. And I just thought they were like that to me because of... me, I guess." Eyes turn upward, briefly distracting themselves with a colored banner that was strung between two eaves. Did he really want to get into the hows and whys? "I don't know why they're all such assholes. But if you see something in them too, then I believe you- just means I'm more right. You haven't seen the worst of it, back at the barracks. When they- but... yeah."

Zach trails off. Zelda wasn't exactly subtle with her distaste for the topic. What with the errant wandering of her tone pushing into her next words, which- certainly take Zach by surprise. He stops in his tracks as it all registers properly in his ears.

"You want to choose me?" The notion feels ridiculous, the sort of development that others may dream of but it was the last thing on his mind. Maybe he really was slow? Should he have seen this coming? Or did he just not recognize how much he was trusted by the Princess? "You have to kick me to do stuff like this, and that's... the kind of knight you want? I... really don't get it. But. You are weird. But I also keep going along with it, so. Pft."

The sudden lapse of levity feels good. It loosens the sudden restraint he had felt in his chest not to mention the bashfulness of what that sentence and request entailed.

"You..." There's more there that she isn't saying. In her eyes. In her words. If Zach squints his eyes maybe he'd even start to see it too. How the world was swirling around this girl like a dark cloud. Distrustful of the knights. Visions. And now the King? He'd heard through word of mouth about the banquet. "I trust you, Zelda..." The confession slips out so carelessly that even Zach looks surprised to have said it. And the loud ringing of the bell interrupts whatever chance he has to cover it up.

The true funny thing, is the sentimental mood has Zach more willing to go along with things than ever. Scam is entirely unnecessary. He just needed to get onto another topic, this is a welcome venue.

"Ahhh, yeah! Mm. Sure. That's not too far- this way, right?" As if he doesn't know, having been there multiple times himself for one assignment or another. Katelynn often wanted to visit as well. Zach's efforts are redoubled, and it's his turn to be all too eager to have the subject changed. Not that the thoughts had left his mind. Looming over his future just like the spire of the temple with its long shadow cast like the hand of a clock over the gardens. Ticking slowly with the arc of the falling sun.

"Wha?! Hey! Let go of me! It's not my fault your slower than slower than a Dodongo!" She grumbled. Although, he did have a point about it getting later. Still, that didn't mean he could grab her so carelessly! It gave her a fright! However, he seems to fall in line next to her once he's satisfied that she won't run back, and for a moment Zelda could swear he's being soft on her and not all bristly like he usually is.

She should treat him gently. It was a rare treat to hear Zachary not blustering over something dumb like he had something to prove.

"Well, I try not to waste your time on frivolous pursuits too much? And you were right in that it seemed like a waste to head back after being half way there," Zelda responded as gently as she could trying to resist the urge to tease him for this sudden bout of softness. Maybe she should return it in kind, "You're the only one I can ask for stuff like this. Impa won't take me, and none of the other noble children will bother with me anymore. They all think I'm weird after the last incident at the banquet...." Zelda muttered.

She wasn't aware of how aware Zack was of court politics, or how she was viewed, but he didn't really have to be. Zelda's odd behavior was well known. It hadn't taken long for the other children to start calling her a witch after she'd had a vision at the banquet table. It had basically ruined her social life before it had even begun.

"...And I don't want to ask any of the other knights. They'd... do it, but..." A frown tugged at her lips as she thought of Fulk. He wasn't the only one like that.

"...A lot of the knight's... aren't trustworthy, I think. It's... the way they look at me. It's hard to explain, but it's like I get the sense that I'm.... in danger..." She muttered, trying to explain things to Zack as they walked. However, no one truly believed she had a sixth sense within the castle. They all believed she was just an odd little girl who didn't like strangers, "It's... okay if you don't believe me though. I know it sounds weird."

"Anyyyyyway...." She wanted to move on from the topic as quickly as possible. Zack thought she was strange, but in a pleasantly annoying way, not... In the way other people thought she was strange, "You just gotta get used to me taking you places! I'll have to choose a personal guard soon, and you're the only one I have in mind! I can trust you! Your eyes aren't evil! If I'm allowed to. Father might end up choosing form me, but I really hope he doesn't. He hasn't really been thinking clearly lately. I'm afraid he'll make a poor decision."

There she went saying strange things again. Eugh, it was hard when no one understood what her powers were like outside of Impa.

They were just gonna get cream puffs and go home? Aw. Already? It felt like the day just flew by.

The distant chime of a bell catches her attention though and an idea hits her like a giant boulder crashing down death mountain! She has an idea to scam convince Zach to let them stay out a little longer!

"Well, I have one more place I'd like to stop before we get food, if you don't mind? I haven't been to the Temple in ages. I should say my prayers before we get food and head back. Sound good?"

[javocjovian]

Getting to Know You, SPN Bingo

Title: Getting To Know You Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/42254309 Square Filled: Friends to Lovers Ship: Sketch (Sam x Ketch) Rating: E Tags: Powerbottom Sam, Face Fucking, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Anal, Casual Sex, Hair Pulling, Improvised Lube, Humor Summary: Ketch doesn’t have any friends. Sam learns why after he offers him some company. Word Count: 1800

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Quote: Ketch may have been breathless and overcome with need in that moment, but his old stiffness returned to him in an instant, “Oh Hell.” He muttered, then unceremoniously grabbed Sam by the hair and shoved him onto the ground.

- gif belongs to me -

Getting To Know You

“21 January 2015 Lebanon, Kansas USA

British Men of Letters Attending Officer: Mr. Arthur Ketch Report Type: Class C Sub 8

 At 16:24 on January 20th, a type B spirit was reported in the home of Mr. and Mrs. White, 42 Oak Lane, Stockton, Kansas. Type C spirit was confirmed upon further investigation. Samuel “Sam” William Winchester and myself, Arthur Ketch, attended the scene under identification code 342. The subject in question was cremated and it was determined their spirit was attached to a self portrait, artistic taste notwithstanding. We returned to the house at 23:00. The portrait was burned by myself, while Mr. Winchester ran surveillance. Upon subsequent investigation, the spirit was determined to be evicted. We returned to Bunker 1A, where I proceeded to fuck Samuel “Sam” William Winchester in the artifact room.

See attached file for a full list of documents and expenditures.

...”

Ketch paused, a subtle smirk on his lips.

“...You know you don’t have to write those anymore.” Sam appeared beside him. “You don’t work for the British Men of Letters anymore.”

Ketch took a calculated breath. “Yes, well. These are for my own records.” He minimized the document and swiveled around to face Sam.

“Uh-huh.” Sam said, unconvinced. “Does it say anything in there about the artifact room?”

“Oh.” Ketch said. “In vigorous detail.”

Sam laughed. “Unbelievable.”

“Yes. I thought so, too.” He eyed Sam approvingly.

 The hunt had started off innocent enough. Ketch didn’t have any friends, you see. And Sam, well, as Dean put it, he had a habit of taking in strays. He was sensitive. Yes, that’s what it was, sensitive. Anyhow, Sam discovered that Ketch spent his evenings alone and decided to offer his friendship. These were trying times, he said, and it was important to stick together, previous complications and attempted assassinations aside. So Sam invited Ketch to join him on a local hunt. Nothing major, in case Ketch tried to murder him again or what have you.

Ketch had to admit he was curious. He had never truly seen Sam work a case, and he’d been told that Sam was simply the best. As it turned out, these rumors were vastly understated. Sam was a convincing and effective liar, proficient in both evasion and combat, and a natural born killer. In other words, everything that made Ketch’s nether regions quiver.

Once they hunt was over, they didn’t made it three feet into the bunker before they were making out, hard and severe against a storage cabinet. Sam was always Ketch’s favorite. Sure, Dean was hostile and aggressive with the mouth of a sailor, suggesting he’d be quite the bed mate. But Ketch had a secret fetish for damaged goods, and Sam was the perfect balance of broken yet unbreakable that made Ketch want to see just how far he could bend him.

It hadn’t been entirely Ketch’s fault. Sam had certainly played his part.

“So much for friendship.” Ketch muttered smartly, directing Sam’s hips to rub against his erection as they made out against a table in an unused artifact room.

Sam huffed a laugh, grinding against him gladly. “Yeah. Wasn’t it you who said you don’t have friends because you end up either killing them or sleeping with them?”

“Mm.” Ketch hummed approvingly. He grabbed a fistful of Sam’s luxurious hair and pulled his head back, “And what was it you said in return?” He kissed Sam’s neck, holding back a prideful smile. “That it ‘had better be the latter’?”

Oh yes, it was all Sam’s fault.

Sam smiled breathlessly. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d be all talk though.” He goaded him.

Sam was even more resilient than Ketch had expected. He immediately understood what Lady Bevell saw in him, as regrettable as it was to be reminded of her in such a moment.

Ketch planted his hand firmly on Sam’s ass and rolled their hips together. “Are you challenging me, Mr. Winchester?” He rose a brow.

“What if I am?”

Ketch smiled, then pushed Sam down onto his knees, “Then I’d have to put you in your place.”

Sam gave him a dangerously flirtatious look and began unbuckling his pants.

“That’s a good boy, Sam.” Ketch watched him fixedly, “Perhaps you American hunters are a smart lot after all.” He teased, although his voice was heady and breathless.

Sam sprung Ketch’s cock free of his trousers as casually as if he were flipping through a page of lore in the Men of Letters’ library. Ketch’s breathing went shallow. Sam flashed him another one of those promising looks that made Ketch’s knuckles go white on the table, then he opened his mouth and dove in.

Ketch swallowed and groped a hand through Sam’s hair, “Although, if you were truly smart, you’d have shorter hair. Harder for an enemy to pull.” He seemed to be speaking more to distract himself, but Sam wouldn’t let him get distracted. He licked a broad stripe up the underside of Ketch’s cock.

“What if I like it pulled?” He licked his lips.

Ketch had a response prepared, until Sam swallowed Ketch’s back into his mouth and sucked. Ketch sighed in pleasure instead.

“That’s it Sam...” He clenched his jaw.

 Ketch’s hand tightened in Sam’s hair as he bobbed about him. He found a steady, comfortable pace, making Ketch melt against the table. Soon Ketch was pulling his hair in earnest, forcing his cock down his throat. Sam craned his neck and closed his eyes, but he wasn’t just letting Ketch face fuck him – he was fucking him back. While Ketch thrust his hips off the table, making Sam’s lips brush against his hot skin, Sam’s fingers were woven into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him back and forth.

“Sam, that’s so bloody good.” Ketch panted.

Sam grinned inwardly. He could taste Ketch’s precum dripping down his throat and thickening his saliva. Sam gave Ketch a firm, claiming suck and enjoyed the shudder of Ketch’s hips and the shameless groan that followed. It made all the discomfort worth it.

“Oh, I knew you’d be naughty.” Ketch breathed. “Oh Hell. I’d take you right here, Sam, if you’d let me. Show you what it’s like to be fucked by a proper Man of Letters. Hm?”

Sam swallowed a rush of arousal. That was the most polite way anyone had ever asked to fuck him, and yet Ketch said it so savagely that Sam could feel the lust dripping off his lips.

“Can a ‘proper Man of Letters’ get the job done?” Sam flirted, enjoying the sight of Ketch so uncharacteristically riled up.

Ketch may have been breathless and overcome with need in that moment, but his old stiffness returned to him in an instant, “Oh Hell.” He muttered, then unceremoniously grabbed Sam by the hair and shoved him onto the ground.

Sam could have laughed. “There’s the Ketch I know.” He swallowed, tasting him again.

“Hm.” Ketch smiled. “I thought you hated ‘this’ Ketch?” He said, making quick work of Sam’s pants and boxers.

Sam looked sideways at him. “I do. I mean, I did. You were such a dick...”

“Apology accepted.” Ketch replied. His gaze softened as he eyed Sam’s toned ass and proud cock jutting between his legs.

“...But I always knew you’d be good in bed.” Sam finished.

Ketch’s gaze sharpened. “Very impressive, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam smiled in amusement.

 It took a while for Ketch to get Sam loosened up (“And you call me a tight ass.”), but he turned out to be quite good with his hands. Sam thought so, anyway. Ketch found some oil in a supply cabinet, and soon he had one hand on the back of Sam’s neck and three fingers inside him. Sam groaned shamelessly on the floor, but it seemed that not even Ketch’s fingers could wipe that look of defiance off his face. (“Where’d you find lube?”) Ketch didn’t mind at all. He actually preferred it that way.

At last, Ketch slid a condom on (“You just keep those on you?”) threw his tie over his shoulder, and sunk into Sam’s ass. Sam’s defiance faltered at last. Their groans fed off one another as Ketch pushed in hot and slow. Within minutes, Ketch was fucking him hard. He gave Sam all he had, while Sam shouted his approval on the floor. Ketch grit his teeth and goaded him on the whole time.

“You’re so fucking tight, Sam. Oh bloody… you feel incredible.”

“Too many… syllables… fuck harder.”

Ketch didn’t hesitate to, not when he was buried to the hilt and Sam was still talking back; still fucking back. Ketch grabbed Sam’s knee and bent it against his chest, removing his leverage. The sideways position finally seemed to do the trick. Sam gasped and grabbed a chair leg for support, knocking it over, while his other hand flew down and began stroking himself.

They were both down to one syllable in no time.

“Oh, yeah… there… fuck, Ketch!”

“Yes… that’s it, so good, Sam.”

Sam was stroking himself, tight lipped and eyes shut, while Ketch ravaged him. Ketch himself was only slightly disheveled, but that alone did wonders for Sam. He could see the lust in Ketch’s eyes and hear it in his voice. He loosened his tie as he began to sweat and threw his jacket off, redoubling his efforts. Sam groaned in encouragement.

Ketch’s hips pumped hungrily into Sam’s ass while Sam stroked himself faster than ever. Within seconds, they were both seizing up and trembling. Sam came first, spasming in bliss with his cheek pressed against the tile floor. He moaned hotly and arched up like he couldn’t get enough of Ketch’s cock. Ketch came within seconds. He pulled out quickly and stroked himself through it, groaning heavily. He sank down into a sitting position against the table leg while he caught his breath. It took him longer than Sam.

Sam sat up groggily, noting the mess they’d made.

“Why did you pull out?” He asked. “I thought you had a condom.”

“I did.” Ketch nodded breathlessly. “But olive oil breaks down latex you know.”

Sam considered this as he tossed Ketch his clothes. He had taken off the most, yet was still the more fully dressed. “We had olive oil? In the artifact room?” Sam asked, getting dressed.

Ketch took a deep breath, then smirked slightly. “Well, holy oil is derived from it so... I’d say yes, you do.”

Sam blinked. “Holy oil? Really?”

Ketch rose a brow.

Sam scoffed. “Well at least I’m angel resistant.”

 After the room was cleaned, Sam and Ketch decided that what happened in the artifact room stayed in the artifact room. Frankly, it was nobody’s business except theirs. Well, theirs and the report filed away on Ketch’s laptop. But it was like Sam said, Ketch didn’t work for the British Men of Letters anymore, so there was no reason anyone needed to find out at all.

[what-is-sibling-test]

More Garcy authors wanting to do kiss prompts??! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven! Ok, take your pick from 7, 72, or 75.

I’ll see about also getting 72 and 75 done, but here’s 7 for you in a combo platter with 52 requested by an Anon.  Set sometime in early 2019, and have some bonus Riya feels? ~~~~~~~~~~ 7: “I’ve missed you kiss”/52: Accidentally witnessed kiss The best and worst thing about the Alaska safehouse was its remoteness.  Getting anything up there was a pain, and very specific technological equipment wasn’t exactly easy to just click and ship from Amazon.  After two weeks round-trip with Connor to find, purchase, and then get parts getting shipped up from Seattle, Jiya was about ready to crack some skulls if any of it got damaged en route.  She’d waited long enough to get the final parts to complete this Lifeline update.  Rebuilding the Lifeboat piece by piece, then repairing the damage from the Great Chicago Fire mission, and now finally taking it painstakingly slow, checking and testing every single part put in.  They were in uncharted territory again, like when they first built the Lifeboat and made those first forays through time.  The last thing any of them needed was to get turned into goo by doing it wrong. Denise and Garcia, meanwhile, had made their own foray out east to DC.  Shaking the federal agent trees, as usual, to see what latest info might drop on Rittenhouse.  They’d gotten back to Anchorage only an hour or two after Jiya and Connor, and loaded up the bush plane, Garcia grumping as usual about folding himself into the tiny seats, especially with the load of supplies.  Wyatt, Jessica, and Lucy apparently had kept busy binge watching “Black Sails” and “Breaking Bad” in the meantime. After dinner she headed out to the warehouse, eager to unload the crates and get started.  Connor would be along soon after a nap. She opened the door, and saw the gym portion of the building was occupied.  Lucy and Garcia, busy at their sparring practice.  No big deal.  Their all-purpose gym/storage shed/Lifeboathouse/workshop inevitably meant sharing that common space.  The rules more or less amounted to “first one into the warehouse gets to pick the music”, “don’t be a dick”, and “wipe down the gym mats and the bag if you sweat on them.”   They didn’t seem to notice her as she slipped in, headed for the Lifeboat.  He’d been a good enough teacher to her own half-formed skills from the 1880’s, and she’d seen Lucy could kick some ass now out on a mission, because she’d taken to learning with a vengeance.  Her bruised and swollen face after Chinatown was all the explanation Jiya needed there.  She’d known what it was like to be an untrained, vulnerable woman herself.  Lucky she’d found some friends in that time and place to help look after her until she got tougher, before she became just another statistic.  Though they wouldn’t have actually kept the crime statistics on that side of town. “You’re still dropping your guard sometimes when you kick,” Garcia told Lucy.  “What, you want your clock punched?”  She wouldn’t laugh.  Her parents had screwed up their English idioms often enough.  Anyone who wants to make fun is welcome to revel in monolingual ignorance. “No, I don’t want my clock cleaned,” Lucy corrected him calmly, snapping a quick kick at his left knee.  He dodged aside from it, saying something to her in Croatian that had her snap something back in the same language, even as he swung a punch at her.  Equally light-footed, she skipped aside from it and threw her own punch into the space he created, which he blocked and countered.   Sitting at the desk, Jiya turned to the schematics, reviewing it with the mental inventory in her head of the newly-arrived parts, cross checking.  Lucy made an exasperated sound in the back of her throat.  “You’re half-assing it today, Garcia.  Quit it. You know I can take it.” “Lucy, I’m wounded.  Have you ever known me to half-ass anything?”  Jiya couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Sarcastic comment from Garcia, even if only overheard: check.  Quota done for the day. She heard Lucy’s snort of amusement. “Fine. I stand corrected.  Garcia Flynn: one hundred percent ass, every time.”   “I see you missed me,” he chuckled.  “I’m not going easy, Lucy.  Just jet lagged.  Denise and I spent sixteen hours between planes and airports.  It’s a four time zone difference.”  Jiya could imagine.  She’d been tired enough from the West Coast flights.  Funny how they could skip merrily through the centuries, seasoned enough now that only Wyatt still got dizzy sometimes, poor bastard, but the fatigue of mundane airplane travel still undercut them just the same as everyone else. She glanced up to see Lucy bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, guard up, rolling her head from side to side to keep her neck loose.  “Poor thing.  Well, just do your best to try to keep up.”  She threw a quick right jab. Sliding aside from it, fingers raking through his hair, Garcia laughed, a sound of sheer delighted joy like Lucy was the best thing he’d ever seen.  “Don’t go easy on me, now.” That was that, and then they were sparring in earnest, and some of it was the same tactics Garcia had taught her. Bad news is a man’s going to be able to beat you on reach and power almost every time.  Good news is most men tend to be big dumb buffalo who go for the wild overkill punches.  Leaves you a wide open counterattack.  Focus on evasion, focus on coming in from the side and finding that opening.  Use quick and focused strikes, use your kicks, elbows, knees, whatever.  Get in, hit, get the hell out of reach again. Lucy was doing that, nimbly dodging his attacks, darting in for an attack of her own and then back out, but he was fast too, making himself an elusive target in return, turning her attacks aside, leaving virtually no break in his guard.  The two of them circling, dodging, dancing in and out of range, acting almost flawlessly in concert.  She had the odd sense that something had shifted, and they weren’t trying to hit each other so much as just turning around and around in an ever-tight circle with each other as the magnetic north, teasing and chasing in a game of tag that was anything but childish. She’d seen them waltzing a few months ago in Zurich when they’d been chasing after Mileva Marić and Albert Einstein, all highly formal white tie and beaded evening gown, and there was something of that same air between them now, even with the two of them sweaty and in gym clothes.  Most people thought the waltz was a romantic ethereal dream, but she’d seen why that original faster-paced Viennese waltz had scandalized the Victorians with the exuberant energy and intimacy of it. This was–something like that, something with those few layers of formality stripped off, whose pulse beat a little closer, a little more raw.  And Garcia most definitely wasn’t always leading the dance.  That sense of back and forth on taking charge, call and answer, one of them responding instinctively to a change in pace or a new move was too familiar.  Like a gathering thunderstorm, friction building and building the electrical charge until it sparked, ready to explode.  Private as those two were about it, she had the weird feeling she could now guess a bit more about their sex life than she’d have liked. Jiya wasn’t sure whether Garcia pressed at just the right moment or if Lucy deliberately misstepped, but she saw the moment Lucy lingered a moment too long inside of his reach.  Then he’d snagged her with an arm around her waist, pulling her in, other hand lighting on her shoulder, dark head dipping as gave a victorious laugh and kissed her soundly.  Lucy’s arms went around his neck, raising herself on her toes, giving it right back to him measure for measure. Then something flipped again between them, and Lucy broke off the kiss, brushing his cheek with the backs of her fingers, touching her forehead to his.  His own hand came up and gripped hers, dropping from his face but still holding on tight, the interlacing of their fingers an oddly gentle contrast to the fighters’ handwraps they were both wearing.  Lucy murmured something, and he answered in a soft rumble.  She couldn’t hear clearly, but she couldn’t help but try to guess.   Maybe: So you did miss me.   Of course.  Or Always.   She remembered that feeling, that tenderness.  What it felt like to hold on so tight to each other when Rufus came back after a mission, that bright fierce joy of reunion, unable to let go.   Being so content to drink in the feeling of simply standing there in each others’ arms with that little gentle sway, breathing in each other’s scent, feeling each others’ heat and heartbeat.  Closer than anything, closer than sex.  Being adored, cherished–loved. She slipped out from the warehouse, leaving them to the moment.  Not out of bitterness, only not wanting it to be awkward if they’d realized they’d had accidental company. Maybe it would have hit her with melancholy months ago.  But she couldn’t resent her friends finding that kind of happiness, given how much they’d both lost.  They were close.  They’d get the Lifeline done.  She’d see Rufus again soon, and take him in her arms just like that, and never let him go again. 

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless https://ift.tt/2taHmLq via Istudy world