#will have to check tonight if he actually crossed because i'm still having some dull pain

[a-room-of-my-own]

Well I can confirm the veil is thin this time of the year

[thrawns-babygirl]

Insufferable (Crosshair x Fem!Reader 18+)

Summary: After you and Cross have an argument, he takes care of himself in the shower and he can't stand it.

Word Count: 1064

Warnings: Masturbation (M), Gags, Jealous!Crosshair, pissed off!Crosshair

A/N: Still getting the hang of writing and am scared to do anything with a lot of long form dialogue because its HARD so have some self indulgent Crosshair Smut while I work my way up to longer fics. Please tell me if this is garbage lmao i want to improve

Also pls send in some Crosshair requests! I'm really keen to write for the community otherwise this blog is going to devolve into really derange self indulgent kinks lmao

Sitting down in The Batch’s barracks after yet another successful mission, the topic of conversation shifted to the competition that Wrecker and Crosshair had every time they engaged with separatist forces. Crosshair was sulking, which was not unusual when you two were in the same room together, you were constantly bickering with one another, sending teasing and oftentimes scathing remarks back and forth trying to get a rise out of one another. Tonight, however it was compounded by the fact that he lost their little contest by a rather large margin.

“Well maybe you would have won if you were actually in the fight with your brothers instead of hiding up on that ridge. But Wrecker won this round fair and square.” You smirk over at the grumpy sniper as you finish up your routine post mission check up of the squad’s vitals. You were rarely needed to provide any actual medical assistance, but you were there to ensure that the Kaminoan’s premier squad was kept in good health in between long stints off-world.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about being in the field, there is a lot more to it than you think, maybe try going out onto the front lines before you tell me I’m not doing enough, before you tell me I’m hiding” Crosshair bites out at you, removing the toothpick from between his lips and flicking it off to the side, earning him a chiding look from Hunter as it lands on the floor.

“Well I wouldn’t exactly call being a sniper up on a hill away from all the action ‘the front lines’ but whatever makes you feel better about losing Cross” You give him a sickeningly sweet smile as you input the Batch’s vitals into your datapad preparing to retreat to your own quarters for the night. You didn't mean it, the other boys knew you didn't mean it, but he always took the bait and getting a rise out of him was just so fun.

Glaring at you, Crosshair stood up and retreated into the refresher of the Batch’s barracks, grumbling various curses under his breath as he went. When the door closed behind him you turn to Hunter; “Too much?” you ask standing and walking towards the door to their barracks.

“Nah, he’s always dishing out way worse, needs to learn how to take it too” Hunter chuckles as he walks you to the door, he and the rest of the batch wishing you a good night as you turn and head towards the medbay to update their files before turning in for the night.

Closing the ‘fresher door he takes a deep breath his body betraying him as his concealed cock throbs against the hard plastoid of his codpiece.  He begins ridding himself of his armour, letting each piece clatter unceremoniously to the floor with a dull thud. Looking down to his traitorous biology he turned on the water, determined to have a cold shower and get you out of his head. Even if you would never know, he wasn’t going to let you have any power over him as he stands under the icy spray.

You were so utterly annoying, always sending cutting remarks his way, always trying to get under his skin, always trying to one up him. For a lousy doctor who had never seen the front lines you had an awful lot to say about how he and his brothers did their job.

So why couldn’t he get you out of his head? Why did your stupid fucking smirk make him want to tear your clothes off and shove his aching length into your cunt? Why did every back and forth send blood rushing south, ruining his resolve? He hated you… right?

Sighing and closing his eyes he tries to think about anything else to will his erection away, but you would not leave his mind’s eye. You were insufferable, a know it all, absolutely unbearable but also… exactly Crosshair’s type, quick witted, didn’t shy away from his abrasive personality and to top it all off you were gorgeous. Your uniform, while unflattering on most people, hugged your body in all the right ways, accentuating your curves and making you, at least in Crosshair’s eyes, utterly irresistible.

With a resigned sigh, his hand wanders down to his still rock hard, weeping cock. Now angrier with himself than you he begins running his hand along his shaft, thumbing his slit he releases a low groan as he began picturing you in more and more vulgar positions. He imagined you here in the refresher with him, on your knees, mouth open and QUIET for once as he shoved his length in and out of your mouth working up the tempo until he was fucking your face, head of his cock reaching the back of your throat as you gagged around him, tears streaming from your eyes as you struggled to take his girth.

Letting out a choked moan as he continued to fuck his closed fist, he let his mind wander further, to bending you over his bunk in the barracks while his brothers were out doing maker knows what, panties shoved in your mouth to muffle your moans as his hips piston in and out of your soaked pussy. Fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, making his bunk groan out in protest at the wild pace he set, he pictured your muffled whimpers and groans as you took everything that he would give you like a good little slut. Your muscles clenching around him as he grew ever closer to his own release.

He would let you speak only to beg him to let you cum, to beg for him to cum in your cunt, beg for him to claim you. Tell him that only he could give you what you wanted as he pounded into you. He would ruin you for other men. He knows for a fact you’ve fucked regs in the past and the thought made his blood boil. He could fuck you better than any reg ever could. He would leave his mark on your body and soul.

Vigorously stroking his aching length, he brought his hand up to his mouth as he neared his end, biting down as he sprayed the ‘fresher wall with his seed, wanting more than anything to paint your stupid annoying face with his spend as you looked up at him and thank him for his gracious gift.

You were insufferable…. But maybe he didn’t actually hate you.

[gra-sonas]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin, Isobel Evans Additional Tags: Minor Isabel Evans/Gregory Manes, Canon Disabled Character, Soulmates, Handprint Summary:

"Listen, darlin’. I don’t think because I say darlin’ that’s gonna bring you your soulmate. But, maybe I’m wrong, maybe I don’t fully understand and they’re gonna find you, darlin’." - recorded by Cowboy for Airmanes

Michael used to work for an anonymous, queer-friendly sex hotline (going by the nickname Cowboy) while he was in college, and Alex commissioned him to record a message for him while he was deployed. One day, their paths cross.

Alriiiiight, happy Malex Monday! I meant to write a short ficlet, inspired by Vlamis recording a message for a fan, saying darlin’ three times. For reasons unknown, this turned into a 5.5K fic I wrote this afternoon/evening. 

This is a soulmate AU, and there’s some handprint stuff going on. And while this is mostly fluff, the fic is rated Mature (I know, *gasp*). Uhm, enjoy?

~*~

"Listen, darlin’. I don’t think because I say darlin’ that’s gonna bring you your soulmate. But, maybe I’m wrong, maybe I don’t fully understand and they’re gonna find you, darlin’." - recorded by Cowboy for Airmanes

When Alex listens to the message Cowboy has recorded for him, he has a hard time (pun intended) keeping quiet and not scream into his pillow. It's a close call. Even though the need to get off is overwhelming, he's careful to move his body into a more comfortable position without jostling the bunk bed too much. He hears Ogden in the bottom bed grumble in his sleep once, but he doesn't wake up. Small mercies.

Alex feels like an hour passes before he can finally wrap his hand around his hard cock and take care of his needs with the tiniest movements. He keeps listening to Cowboys recording over and over again, and he manages to time his orgasm with the final darlin' of the message.

Wow, Alex doesn't want to exaggerate, but he thinks he's never come harder in his life. Cowboy's voice's just doing it for Alex, always, has. But the darlin'? Surefire way to get him off in no time. It's the first night in a long time that Alex sleeps so deep, that not a single nightmare haunts his dreams.

The recording continues to bring Alex comfort and orgasms in the middle of an ongoing war, and he can't help but dream up scenarios where he meets Cowboy one day, and they realize that they are indeed soulmates. A soldier can dream, right?

Months go by and after one fateful and utterly horrible day, the war is over for Alex. He returns home to Roswell via a short stint in Landshut, Germany. Half of his right leg is missing, but they give him a purple heart as a consolation price and a thank you for his service. Not that anyone actually thanks him.

It takes Alex another couple of months until he can walk again without the help of a crutch. He celebrates this newfound mobility freedom at a local bar, the Wild Pony. He's sitting at one of the tables, nursing a beer, when two people occupy the table next to his. A tall blonde woman, and a handsome man with curly hair that spills out under the brim of a black cowboy hat. A cowboy hat. Alex tries not to be too obvious, but he keeps looking at the man every now and then.

He can't hear what they're talking about, their voices a soft murmur, but then someone feeds the jukebox with a dollar, and suddenly the couple has to raise their voices.

"Come on, Michael. Don't be such a sourpuss. I want to celebrate that you're back home. It's been a dull year without you. I've talked to Max, he's promised to be on his best behavior," the woman says.

Michael. "Nice name," Alex thinks. He's just reaching for his bottle to take another sip when Michael answers.

"Ugh, Iz, do I have to come? I'd love to spend an evening with just you, but you know Max, he won't stop nagging me." 

Alex freezes. He knows that voice. Intimately (well, in a way). But the man can't be Cowboy, can he? In Roswell of all places? Alex tries to be subtle by moving his chair a fraction of an inch to get a better view at the neighboring table.

He keeps staring and  almost jumps up when the woman (Iz)'s phone starts buzzing. She checks the display. "That's Greg, I have to take this call outside. Please don't leave, I'll be back in a minute."

Michael demonstratively takes his hat off and puts it on the chair next to him. He smiles at her. "No worries, I'll still be here. Say hi to your beau and tell him I hope to meet him soon." She grins. "Not sure I should introduce him to you. He's your type, brother dearest."

Alex can't see Michael's face properly, but his voice sounds annoyed. His voice, that Alex is fairly certain, is that of Cowboy, the man of his (sex) dreams. "As if I'd ever make a move at someone who's involved with someone else, let alone someone who's dating my sister, who also happens to be my best friend."

Iz laughs. "Good boy. Now give me a minute, I have to talk to my boyfriend." She leaves. 

Alex's hands are sweaty because now would be a good moment to approach the man, but what would he even say. "Hi, you're that guy from the queer-friendly sex hotline, and months ago you recorded a message for me I like to get off to. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Not awkward at all. But he also needs to know what the man looks like. So far, he's only seen part of his face (there seems to be stubble, which Alex approves of) and lots and lots of unruly honey-golden curls. In an unplanned move, he accidentally knocks his beer bottle over and the remaining beer spills all over his table.

"Damn," he mumbles under his breath, patting down the pockets of his jacket in search of tissues to mop up the mess.

Suddenly, there's movement at the table next to him and Michael turns around, a squarely folded piece of cloth (a bandana?) in his hand. "Here, take this."

Alex feels dizzy looking at the man. Not in his wildest dreams did he imagine that Cowboy would look like that, but now? Even if this man turns out to be not Cowboy, Alex will forever have this visual when he plays the darlin' message.

Not the moment to think about that, though. He collects himself enough to say something. "Uhm, are you sure? That looks very nice and clean, I'm sure they have paper towels at the bar."

Michael's smile is almost blinding. "Don't worry about it, it's one of my oldest bandanas, it deserves to die in the most heroic way – drowning in alcohol."

Alex snorts. "Okay, thank you." He reaches for the bandana, and for a second, their fingertips touch. Alex's vision goes blurry and he tries his best to inhale, but there doesn't seem to be enough air to fill his lungs. He gasps.

When he feels a strong, warm hand clapping down on his shoulder, he can suddenly see clear again, his lungs expand without pain, and warmth is flooding his body.

He goes almost pliant under Michael's touch (because of course it's his hand).

"Wow," Michael says, and if that isn't the perfect word to describe the situation.

Alex tries to remember how words are formed. "Do you feel it, too?" Michael just nods. "In Roswell of all places," Alex says dryly.

Michael snorts. "You wouldn't believe how apt that actually is. All things considered."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm sure I'll find out eventually. I mean, I don't want to assume, but I will find out eventually, right?"

"Yes, beautiful stranger, you will. I never expected this to happen to me, but now that it did happen, I want to know everything about you. What's your name, handsome?"

Alex can't believe that this beautiful man is his soulmate, let alone that he found him in this godforsaken town he'd never expected to return to before he lost his leg.

"Well, handsome does have a name. It's Alex. And you are—."

Alex takes a calculated breath before he says "Cowboy," at the same time Michael says "Michael."

They stare at each other. Michael's eyes are wide. "How do you—?"

Alex blushes, and he considers not answering the question for a second, but this is his soulmate asking. "I'm—I'm not just Alex, I'm also darlin'."

Michael's eyes grow impossibly wider, then he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, that was you? I couldn't stop listening to your message either. It's been very – how can I put this – inspiring?"

"Well, in true Pavlovian fashion, I can promise you that calling me darlin' will get me hard and off in no time," Alex says, keeping his voice low. He should be beet-read, but he's beyond feeling ashamed. In fact, he feels emboldened, and if the glint in Michael's eyes is anything to go by, he's certain there's one hell of an orgasm in his near future.

Before he can put more thought into that possible scenario, Iz returns to the table. She looks at both men and raises an eyebrow.

"Michael, why are you holding hands with this man?"

Michael looks down at their clasped hands, apparently, he doesn't know either when they started holding hands. For a moment, Alex considers letting go of Michael to greet Michael's sister properly, but he can't bear the thought of losing the physical contact right now.

Michael kisses the back of Alex's hand, then he looks up at Iz. "Isobel, this is my soulmate. His name's Alex."

"He's your—Michael! I leave the table for five minutes, and I come back to you having found your soulmate? I didn't even know that we could until recently." She seems exasperated, but then her smile goes soft. 

She sits down across from them and looks at Alex. "I'm sorry, Alex, I didn't mean to be rude. This is just a lot to take in. Uhm, I've met with Michael tonight to convince him to come and visit me, and spend time with our brother Max tomorrow. And I haven't been quite honest with Michael."

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. "Michael, Max and I were going to tell you, that we met our soulmates this week. Max bumped into Liz who's in town to visit her dad, and I happened to meet Greg at an event I organized for his school."

Alex perks up. "Greg isn't Gregory Manes, though, right? Teacher at the elementary school up at the reservation?"

Isobel blinks. "How do you even know about him? Oh my god, you're his brother! You're Alex Manes!" Alex nods. Isobel looks at him more closely. "Now that I know, it's obvious, you look so much alike. This is wild. I think I need a drink. You in? Shots are on me."

Alex and Michael look at each other and nod. There are only so many earth- and life-shattering revelations one can handle without being at least a little bit drunk.

Isobel stands up and walks over to the bar to order. The bartender reaches for one of the top-shelf bottles. Well, they have something huge to celebrate, this definitely calls for the good tequila.

Michael nudges him. "So, I know this has already been a lot, but there's something else you need to know about me, but I'd rather tell you about it when it's just the two of us. It's nothing bad, don't worry, I'd just prefer to tell – and show – you in private."

Alex smiles. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. Just real quick before your sister comes back. Does she know about the hotline job?"

Michael shakes his head. "No, she doesn't, actually. I got my engineering degree at UNM, and I picked up the job to make a little extra money for all the things my scholarship didn't pay for, and those requested messages were paid really well. It's been a great job, I was actually quite good at it, too, but now that I have my degree, it's a thing of the past. I don't really mind anyone knowing, but I'd rather this stays our naughty little secret."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not overly eager to tell anyone that your voice has provided me with some of the best orgasms. No need to look so smug, Michael," Alex grouses, but he smiles.

Michael turns his head, his face is very close all of a sudden, and his lips look plush and moist and oh-so-kissable. They look at each other.

"Alex," Michael whispers.

Alex closes the distance between them and then they kiss. Stars align, the universe expands, and Alex knows he's finally home. Not in Roswell, they could be anywhere right now, on this planet, or in another galaxy. No, home is in Michael's arms, in the sweetness of his breath, the sound of his low moans, and the soft touch of his fingers caressing the hair at the nape of Alex's neck.

"Ah, first soulmate kiss. I remember. So intense," Isobel says, and places three shot glasses and a bottle of tequila on the table.

They don't want to stop kissing, but they do. It's the polite thing to do. But it's hard. Alex would rather be alone with Michael. As if he's been reading his mind, Michael leans closer and whispers "One shot, then we leave. She'll understand. But I need to be alone with you."

Alex closes his eyes and inhales deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves. Michael's scent is intoxicating, he smells like leather and rain. Alex wants to drown in the smell. When a cold shot glass is shoved into his hand, he blinks his eyes open again.

"Earth to Alex, are you back with us?" Isobel smirks, but her eyes are kind and understanding.

"Yeah, sorry, it's just a lot to take in, and Michael smells so good. I'm sorry, but can we get this over with? I really need to be alone with him."

Isobel nods. "You know what, why don't you take the bottle home with you, and some time this week, we all meet and celebrate."

Michael nods and picks his hat up from the chair. "Excellent idea. I knew you'd understand." He kisses Isobel on the cheek. "You told Greg though, right?"

Isobel nods. "Yes, he knows. Liz, too. And—," she whispers something into Michael's ear.

Alex thinks he hears Isobel mention a "handprint" (whatever that means) but he assumes they're referring to the thing Michael will tell him when they are alone, so he doesn't ask what they're talking about. It's comforting to know that his favorite brother knows, though. It'll be good to have someone to talk to he trusts implicitly.

They hug Isobel (who also smells like rain, Alex notices), then they head out to the parking lot. Since Michael's currently living at a motel, the decision's easy where to go. They leave Michael's old truck ("don't ask, we've been through a lot together, and I'd never give up on her") at the Pony, and take Alex's SUV instead.

He doesn't live too far from the bar, and they enter his house not ten minutes later.

There's just enough time for Alex to put down the tequila bottle on the dining table before Michael pulls him into his arms. They're still wearing their jackets, and Michael his hat. Before Michael gets close enough to kiss him, Alex nods in the direction of his bedroom.

"There's a very comfortable and very big bed behind that door. We both know where we're headed anyway, and I'd like to take the prothesis off," he says, holding his breath after the revelation. He knows that his soulmate won't reject him because of it, but it's still a very personal thing to disclose.

Michael doesn't even blink, he just smiles and leads Alex to the bedroom. He makes Alex sit on the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of him. Alex's breath catches. Michael takes off his hat and jacket and drops them on the floor to his left, then he turns back to Alex and unlaces Alex's boots. 

Alex opens the button and zipper of his jeans, and cants his hips to wriggle them down without having to stand up. He doesn't quite succeed. "Damn, I'm stuck, sorry. I have to stand up again."

Michael shakes his head. "No, you don't. Do you trust me?"

Alex stops and thinks about it for a moment. Does he trust Michael? The simple answer is, yes. He just knows that he can trust Michael. He nods. "I do."

Michael looks at him and holds his gaze, when Alex's butt slowly lifts off the mattress. He gasps, but he keeps looking at Michael. Michael smiles softly. Then he reaches for Alex's jeans and pulls them down, while Alex is floating a few inches above his bed.

Alex's thoughts are racing. He should be scared, his soldier instincts should kick in, and maybe he should fight, but he does none of that. Because he doesn't feel threatened. He feels safe. Michael won't hurt him, that he knows with absolute certainty.

As if by magic, he slowly descends, until he sits on the edge of the bed again. Michael kisses Alex's left knee, then he turns his attention to the prosthetic on his right leg. Alex is about to tell him what to do, when he feels the prosthetic coming off. He groans in relief. He'll have to pace himself and not go entire days without the crutch too often for a couple more weeks.

Michael removes the leg and pulls the liner down to reveal Alex's stump. Alex scrunches his face. Not in disgust of how the stump looks, but he knows how it probably smells. But Michael is unfazed, though. He leans forward and kisses the tender skin of Alex's stump. Alex is close to bursting into tears because of the tenderness of the gesture.

His voice sounds a little wet when he speaks. "I need to take some meds. Would you mind getting them for me from the bathroom cabinet? They are labeled 'evening'."

Michael nods and gets up from the floor. Before he leaves, he presses a soft kiss to Alex's lips. "Thanks for trusting me."

Alex wants to reach for him and tumble backwards with Michael in his arms, but he knows he'll regret not taking his medication, so he doesn't. Thankfully, Michael's back with the pill bottles in a heartbeat, and Alex uncaps the bottle of water on his nightstand and takes his pills. 

Meanwhile, Michael toes off his boots, pulls his shirt over his head, takes off his socks, and drops his pants in a heap on the floor. When he looks around the room wearing nothing more than his briefs, Alex pats the free space next to him. "Come here, sit down. I'm ready to listen to whatever you're going to tell me in a minute, I just need you close for a moment."

Michael almost trips over his jeans in his haste to sit down next to Alex. Alex immediately realizes how anxious he is, and somehow that soothes his own nerves. He reaches for Michael's hand and laces their fingers together. Michael's hand trembles, and Alex squeezes it.

"You don't have to worry, Michael. I know you're going to tell me something extraordinary, but I can handle it. I won't reject you. Relax."

Michael snickers. "Well, you could say extraordinary, extraterrestrial would be more accurate, though."

Alex swallows hard, but deep down he knows that Michael's not joking. He squeezes Michael's hand again. "The 1947 crash was real?" Michael can't do much more than nod.

"So, you're a descendent of a group of people not from this earth who crashed here some 70 odd years ago?"

Michael looks at him. "I guess you could say that, although I have to add that I was actually on board of the spaceship." 

Alex can't believe what he just heard. "Uhm, okay. You don't look like someone who's well over 70 years old, though. Does your species age at a slower rate? I this a Superman thing? Are you from Krypton? How old are you really?"

Michael laughs. "You're taking this surprisingly well. Uhm, so, depending on how you look at it, I'm either 30 years old, or I'm about 80. I don't think we're aging slower than humans, though. We were actually in stasis in our pods for half a century, and only hatched in 1997."

"You did what now?"

"Oh, sorry, uhm, our stasis pods look like glowing eggs, and we always joked that we hatched. I don't think that's how our people actually procreate, though," Michael explains.

Alex is trying his best to take it all in, but it's a lot. He takes a deep breath. "So, by 'us', you're referring to yourself, Isobel, and your other brother, Max, right? Don't you have parents? What happened to them?"

Michael's face falls, and Alex feels awful for being responsible for it. "We don't know, actually. We don't even know whether we're actual siblings. We were found together after we hatched, mute, wandering the desert. Max and Iz got lucky, they were adopted by a local family. I wasn't quite so lucky. I grew up in the system. But I've always been a bright student, so I was able to get a good education. I had to postpone my plans to go to college after high school because of Isobel for a few years, that's why I only graduated recently. But I have a good job lined up, I'll start next month. So, I'm not a complete failure."

Alex wraps an arm around Michael's shoulder and pulls him into a hug. "You could never be a failure. I don't know much about you, but you're not a failure. You hear me?" He feels Michael nod against his chest.

"Good. Now that the big secret is revealed. What did Isobel mean when she talked about a handprint earlier?"

Michael pulls back and looks at Alex. "You heard that? Well, as I demonstrated earlier, my power is telekinesis. Isobel can influence people with her brain, and Max can heal. What the three of us have in common, is that we can share memories with someone else by putting our hands on them. Skin on skin. It opens some kind of mental connection, don't ask me how it works exactly, but it leaves an iridescent glowing handprint on the other person's skin. It fades after a few days, and the connection shared during the handprint also breaks."

Alex squeezes Michael's hand. "So, you can share memories and emotions, but you won't mind-whammy me?"

"God, no, I won't. I swear. I wouldn't even know how to," Michael says.

Alex turns to Michael and they look at each other. "Okay. I'll sit down on the bed against the headboard. I don't have any medical exams scheduled in the next couple of days. Does the handprint have to be placed somewhere specific?"

Michael looks at Alex with wonder in his eyes. "How are you so fucking calm and cool about this? My entire life – well, since we hatched – I've been worried sick about revealing this secret to anyone and sicking military special forces on us. You are the first person I've ever told, and you're taking it like I told you I have a mole on my left butt cheek."

Alex raises an eyebrow. "You have a mole on your left butt cheek?"

Michael giggles. "Oh my god, I know it's probably too soon to say it not even two hours after we've met, but I love you. You're ridiculous, and hilarious, and brilliant. And I love you." He wipes at his eyes. "And no, I don't have a mole on my left butt cheek. Wanna find out where I have one?" He waggles his eyebrows at Alex. 

"You casually mention that you love me, and I'm supposed to play 'search the mole' with you? You are unbelievable. For the record, I love you, too. And I don't care that we only met two hours ago. You're about to put a spooky handprint on me that will tell me everything I need to know."

Alex lets go of Michael's hand and scrambles back on the bed until he sits comfortably, propped up by at least three cushions. He looks down at himself and pulls his shirt over his head and flings it in the general direction of the hamper. He winks at Michael. "Come here, alien boy, tell me your story."

Michael laughs and crawls across the bed until he's next to Alex. He likes what he sees. A smattering of dark chest hair, strong arms, a sculpted torso. Alex is gorgeous, head to toe.

"Is it okay when I put my hand on your chest? Low enough that the handprint won't be visible even if you open the top two buttons?"

Alex nods. "That sounds reasonable. Go ahead."

Michael places his right hand on Alex's chest. Michael takes a deep breath, and suddenly his hand starts glowing red. The palm of his hand is heating up against Alex's skin, but the heat doesn't hurt. They look at each other, and suddenly it's like a gate to another dimension opens.

Alex looks at everything Michael sends his way, he laughs, he sheds tears, he looks in horror at what some of the foster parents did to Michael. He sees Isobel, and another man, Max, most likely, he sees an old man with an eyepatch at a place that looks like a junkyard.

It's not just images Michael shares, though. There are also emotions. Alex can barely handle the loneliness radiating through the connection, the fear of someone finding out, Michael worrying about Isobel, and a million other things.

When they later look at the alarm clock on Alex's night stand, they realize the whole thing didn't take longer than maybe ten minutes, and yet Alex feels like he knows everything about Michael. Not every detail or secret, but he knows Michael now. 

It's overwhelming, and terrifyingly wonderful. Alex doesn't know how else to describe it. They lie down next to each other, knees knocking, hands exploring, their mouths almost touching.

"Wow," Alex breathes out.

Michael kisses him. "Yeah," he whispers.

Alex does what he's been dying to do since he met Michael. He runs his fingers through Michael's hair and enjoys how soft the curls feel. Like the finest silk.

"You are incredible, Michael. Thank you for sharing this with me. I'll have a million questions for you in the coming days, and I'm sure you'll also want know more about me, but I need to not talk for a while. Can we do that?"

Michael nods. Alex barely blinks an eye, when they both float up, comforter and duvet getting pulled out from under them, and soon they sink back down into the soft mattress again. "This ability of yours sure comes in handy," Alex praises.

Michael pulls the duvet over them, and Alex is grateful for the heat inside of their little cocoon. "It does. You have no idea what it means to me to being able to use it in front of you."

Alex notices the emotion in Michael's voice and sees tears glistening in his eyes. He wraps his arms around Michael as good as he can and pulls him close. Michael hugs back, and then they just hold each other for a long time. Breathing each other in and trading lazy kisses.

Once their bodies and minds relax, their kisses get heated. They are both hard, their cocks brushing against each other through the thin fabric of their underwear. Alex wriggles his hand between them to wrap it around the tips of their cocks peeking out. There's no time (or room) for finesse. Heat and friction are doing the job for them. Their kisses get more and more wet and sloppy, they pant into each other's mouths, and just moments before Alex is ready to come, Michael looks at him, his pupils blown wide. He presses his hand on the glowing mark in the middle of Alex's chest.

"I love you," he says. A short break, then he adds, "Darlin'."

Alex lets out a guttural sound, something between a scream and a moan, and he comes in hot and almost painful pulses between them. Michael follows only moments later, adding to the mess. But they don't care. 

The connection between them is blown wide open, and Michael gasps, when he's receiving memories and emotions from Alex suddenly. An abusive home, his mom leaving, loneliness, gruesome years in the military, the immeasurable pain of losing a limb, Michael feels like he's about to pass out from it, but he holds steady.

Alex took in everything he shared with him earlier, now he wants to take in everything Alex is sharing. It's a lot, though, and when the flood of impressions subsides to a mere trickle, he realizes he's panting and sweating like he just ran a marathon.

Their foreheads are touching, and they cling to each other like they're afraid to let go of the other.

Later, they won't recall exactly for how long they stay like that. At some point, Alex musters enough energy to tell Michael where he keeps a bottle of nail polish remover in his bathroom.

"How do you—,?" Michael starts, and Alex just places his hand on Michael's chest. Michael blinks. "Wow, I think this experience has fried some of my brain cells, of course you know."

Michael closes his eyes and concentrates, but he's not strong enough to make the bottle come to him with his telekinesis. Reluctantly, he lets go of Alex, who grumbles and makes grabby hands at Michael.

"Just a second, sweetheart, I'll be back in no time. Don't go anywhere."

"Har, har," Alex makes. He's slowly feeling like he's fully conscious again. He's about to call for Michael's attention, when the man in question returns from his quest in the bathroom. He's sipping from a plastic bottle he's holding with one hand, and there's a wet towel in his other hand. Bless him.

He hands the towel to Alex (who notices that Michael soaked it in warm water, bless him more!), and he quickly wipes himself down. When he's finished, Michael takes the towel and returns to the bathroom.

When he comes back, he smiles at Alex. "Pajamas, or shirts and sweatpants?" he asks, pointing at the walk-in closet.

"Door on the far left, there's both, pajamas and other comfy clothes. I'll take what you take." He only feels silly for saying something so sappy for a second, because Michael beams like the sun. "Partner look, I like it."

Michael vanishes for half a minute and returns with two pairs of blue sweat pants and plain white shirts. He dresses himself first, while Alex puts on the shirt, then Michael's there to help him put on the sweats. Without being prompted, Michael asks "Your crutches, where are they?"

Alex smiles at him softly. "In the living room, leaning against the wall next to the dining table."

Michael goes to fetch the crutches and leans them against the wall next to Alex's side of the bed when he returns. "Anything else I can get you before we sleep?"

Alex shakes his head. "Nothing I can think of right now. Come to bed, Michael."

Michael smiles, his grin almost devilish. "It'll be my pleasure, darlin'."

Alex is tempted to throw a pillow at Michael. "You're not playing fair, Michael. I'm exhausted, and you know what you saying it does to me. I don't think all the darlin's in the world will be able to make me hard again right now, though."

Michael crawls into bed and under the covers. He pulls Alex close and kisses the tip of his nose. "Don't be sad, sweetheart, there's more than enough time for that in the morning. Unless you have to be somewhere tomorrow?"

Alex shakes his head. "No, there's nothing on my schedule tomorrow. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other with more words. Don't get me wrong, what happened tonight has been the most incredible experience of my life, and I'm grateful that we already know so many things about each other, especially the bad things that are much harder to talk about. But I still want to talk to you."

Michael nods. "We'll do that. Tomorrow. But now, let's sleep. The acetone helped, but I still feel a bit like I was hit by a truck. Big spoon or little spoon?"

Alex thinks about it for a moment. "If you don't mind, little spoon. You're just so warm, and I'm freezing. I'm always up for big spoon duty, though. I want to hold you, too, you know."

Michael's smile is the sweetest, and Alex's heart almost bursts with how much he loves him. "I know," Michael says. "And now, turn around and get comfy."

Alex does, and as soon as Michael's inhuman warmth engulfs him, his eyes start to droop. A moment later the room goes dark, and Alex feels Michael's lips peppering the his neck with little kisses. He pulls Michael's arm closer around himself.

"I love you," he whispers into the dark.

"And I love you. So much, Alex. So, so much. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Michael."

And then, they sleep.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Five [PT. 1]

Part Eighty-Five [PT. 2]

Words: 5.5k

Warning(s): explicit language, explicit sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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NIKKI

My lawyer looks completely unimpressed with my lack of shoes, shirt, and dignity as he leans back in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his temples. 

"It doesn't work like that, Nikki, I'm afraid." He informs me finally, sitting up and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. 

"I was declared dead for two minutes. I died. My wife's technically a widow." 

"You can't annul a four year marriage on the basis of 'I died for two minutes.' Some cases of actual death, it can take an act of congress for widow or widower to have an annulment for a marriage where their spouse is no longer alive, legitimately." He explains and I roll my eyes. 

"So, what, I just get some divorce papers or something?" 

"Unless I declare mental incapacity given that you went through a traumatic series of events within the last twenty-four hours and this could possibly be a very serious lapse in judgement." He argues and I stare at him.

"Stop pulling my dick." 

"I'm not 'pulling your dick.' I just don't want you to make this decision and then regret it when your head clears." 

I managed to wear him down and by the next morning, he left the papers by Tommy's door after Vince mentioned to me that Viv stayed over there with Tommy and Heather.

When I get home, Karen opens the door and looks at me, wide eyed and confused. 

"H-Hey?" She says as I push past her and go to the phone, opting to change my answering machine. 

"Hey, it's Nikki." I say. "I'm not here because I'm dead." 

Karen just looks at me, astounded, and I go to my room, slamming the door. 

I was good and tired and glutton for punishment because I got home that night and loaded up the biggest shot of smack I could muster and pulled the trigger.

I wake up with a sharp pain in the crook of my arm, a needle still in my skin as blood trails my forearm to collect in my palm...Jesus fucking Christ, I've officially lost it. 

I take the needle out and force myself up to trudge to the living room to check my messages. 

Things like, "You're an asshole," and "that's not funny," tend to be the common theme. 

I guess I need to change my answering machine. 

I comb through to see if I have anything from Viv. 

Now would be a good time to hear her bitch me out for almost making her kill herself--because, lets face it, she's gonna blame it on me, anyway. 

Nothing's found, though. 

"Fuck, Vivian." I sigh out, sitting on the carpet in the living room, rubbing my forehead as a new message comes on…

"You fucker, you would be the one to fucking OD and die and then get up right after and file for divorce as if she doesn't have enough shit going on, already." 

I furrow my brows at the voice. 

"Axl the Twat?" I say aloud, confused, as he finishes with, "fuck you, you fucking fuck." 

He hangs up and I raise my brows. 

Did I die and wake up in a parallel universe? Axl defending Vivian? 

Is this hell? 

It cuts to the last message. 

"Hey, umm...I don't know if you'll get this or not or if…" Vanity. "...I don't know what's going on but I heard something terrible on the radio and I suppose it was true--well, kind of, um…" she sighs. "We're not together anymore and I get that I just hope you're o--"

"Fuck that." I grumble, hitting delete. 

I fall back and I look up at myself. 

It's fucked that I bought this fucking house for Viv, and she's not even staying in it anymore. 

I feel like I promised her so much and haven't given a damn thing to her except reasons to want to throw herself off of balconies.

I look down at my arm, dried blood still on my skin. 

I'm fucking tired of this shit. 

I let my complete exhaustion of being sick fuel me to dig through everything I own and throw out all of my rigs, any other drugs in my path, and even pour everything to get drunk off of down the sink--even the fucking cooking-wine. 

Vivian's somewhere catching the holy spirit, probably, just sensing I'm finally fucking done. 

Or she's somewhere in tears over me finally taking the final step to end our relationship. 

I feel like it's dead in every way aside from legal. 

Whisky's laying by the door, whining when I step over him to go throw the big garbage bag out. 

I'd get down there and whine for her, too, but I know this is what needs to be done. 

Our entire relationship has just been one giant clusterfuck, and I don't want to put her through the bullshit of having to try to forgive me and trust me, again. 

I think I've already stolen enough of her peace of mind. 

She'll be happier with Duff, anyway. He's a good guy. A hell of a lot more suited for her than I am. 

My hand rubs the back of my neck and I realize I'm still wearing the small crucifix of her's. 

I'm tempted not to give it back. 

I just sigh and throw the trash out and get back in the house, getting in the shower. 

When I get out, I ruffle a towel through my hair, seeing the light blinking on my answering machine. 

I go over and try to keep myself from getting too excited at the thought of it being Viv before I hit play on my messages. 

"Nikki, it's Doc. I know you feel like horseshit right about now but I need you to come down to the office at 5:00p.m., we're getting you guys together because we need to talk. See you then--preferebly kinda sober and coherent." 

Turns out I'll have my ass chewed by Doc before Viv, after all. 

I know he came down to the hospital and tore Slash and the guys new ones while I was unconscious. 

I'm digging in my garbage for a couple pills to dull down my future shakes that I just know are gonna be coming before sundown. 

Despite being not in shape to fucking drive anywhere, I still go because I know if I don't go, Doc will come here and I don't need him here. 

It's morbid walking into the office to see Vince, Tommy, and Mick sitting and waiting for me while Doc sits behind his desk. 

"Fuck me." I complain out loud, dreading what Doc's about to go on about. 

"Sit." Doc tells me and I plop down beside Tommy, sighing, and Doc waits a minute before saying, "I canceled the European tour."

"What?" Vince asks and Mick furrows his brows. 

"What the fuck, Doc--"

"--Shut the fuck up and listen." He cuts me off while Tommy nervously shakes his leg. "If you bastards go to Europe, one of you will come back in a body bag. And I'm not gonna be the fucking manager that runs Mötley Crüe into the ground." He states harshly. 

"That's a fucking first." I laugh out, meanly, and Doc glares at me. "Guess dead rockstars don't make as much money as alive ones, huh? I coulda told ya that after Razzle--"

"--Nikki." Mick states. 

"Where's my wife?" I snap next. 

"Oh, the one you so stupidly filed for divorce from without giving me a heads up first? Probably with her friends that haven't put her through the ringer and fucked her over time and time again." He states. 

"I didn't know I needed permission to make decisions in my personal life--that have nothing to do with Mötley Crüe." 

"Are you two just gonna argue or are we gonna actually talk about why we're here because I have things to do." Vince grumbles. 

"Tommy came to me and told me he's thinking about rehab." Doc tells us and I glance at Tommy, who's avoiding looking at anybody. "I'm not taking Mötley Crüe on tour again, in a studio, whatever, until you guys get your act together." 

We all look at each other, exhaling, and I rub my lips together. 

"Fine." Vince sighs, and Doc looks at Tommy.

He nods. 

"Nikki?" Doc asks and I just stare at him. 

The guys are gone in a few minutes, leaving just me and Doc and I stand up. 

"I wanna see Viv." I tell Doc as he digs through some files, and he looks up and blinks from behind his desk, 

"She said she's not seeing you until you get help." Doc states. 

"She says that but I bet I could find her tonight and still get her under me in less than three minutes." 

"Assuming she's not still under Duff." Doc says and I tense up. "You think I didn't notice how questionably close they got on tour?" He adds. 

"She's going through a crisis." I reply. 

"Can't imagine why." He mumbles. 

"Just tell me where she's at, Doc." I snap. 

"You look like shit. You need to go home and get some fuckin' rest because you're all checking in tomorrow afternoon." He adds. 

"I'm not going anywhere until I see my wife."

"You mean the wife you filed for divorce from?" He questions and I roll my jaw. "Your wife is resting. You should, too."

1981

I fumble for my key to the apartment, cussing under my breath when I can't get the door opened. 

"Motherfucker." I hiss, finally getting it unlocked and shoving it open…

I slam it shut and toss my keys across the room, hearing Tommy and Vince's room door creak open. 

Vivian crosses her arms, a scowl on her face, her hair tousled from sleep. 

"Could you be any louder?" She snaps, shutting the door behind her, going to the kitchen.

My eyes run up and down her long legs as she heads that way, only in one of Tommy's t-shirts and panties. 

Fuck. Me. 

I go to grab the bottle of Jack on the counter, taking a sip as she gulps some water down, a droplet escaping the glass as she drinks, rolling down her chin to her neck and I watch it, my burning throat getting dry as I try to pull myself together, my prick starting to push against my pants. 

Damnit. 

It's like the sane part of myself is trying to slap the hopelessly horny part of me. 

She's fucking evil, dude, fuck off, I tell myself. 

She's hot. 

You hate each other. 

I wonder what weird shit she's into in bed. 

She's a bitch. You know she's a bitch. Leave her alone. 

Oh, I forgot she's supposedly a virgin.

Go to bed, dumbfuck. GO TO BED. 

That means I get to watch her experience stuff for the first time.

I end up chuckling, amused at the thought of seeing her pretty eyes roll in her head as pleasure bombards her for the first time. 

"What?" She snaps, and I realize I've been staring at her. 

I'm about to answer until I get caught up at the sight of her nipples peering through her shirt...fuck me. 

"Nikki," she shoves at my shoulder, making me take my eyes off of her chest.

She just scoffs. 

"Go touch yourself in the bathroom or something. Jesus." She puts the glass down and walks past me to go back to Tommy's room.

See? Evil. 

I ignore the voice of reason and I catch her wrist and stop her, yanking her closer to me. 

She looks like a deer in headlights for a minute before I'm grabbing at her hair closest to her neck and pulling her to me, kissing her. 

It's a pretty clean kiss, no tongue, no mess, just testing the waters. 

She doesn't push me away or beat me up like I always thought she would do, instead, when I pull away for a moment, she takes a breath, wide eyed, before grabbing me by my jacket, pulling me back in. 

I'm surprised but I don't let it get in the way, taking lead a little to guide her. 

For someone who's never been kissed before (again, allegedly) she's not awful at it like I expected--well, I didn't expect her to be awful because she's never kissed anybody, I expected her to be awful because she's so mean to me. 

Her hands push my jacket off my shoulders and I push my tongue past her lips, coaxing a quiet moan from her. 

Holy shit. 

My hands go to her ass and she grasps at my hair as I pick her up, her legs wrapping around me. 

Just to see if we're on a standard starting basis of common interests, I lift one of my hands and bring it back down, not too hard, but hard enough, and she hums, fucking biting my bottom lip and grinding into me a couple times. 

I have to keep from creaming my pants just by her moving against me. 

You're being stupid, I tell myself, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone now. 

She's been the forbidden fruit or whatever for months now and I just gotta have it. 

I take her to my room and kick the door shut with my foot, taking her to the shitty mattress on the floor. 

I drop her onto it, seeing her in the glow of streetlights. 

"Take your shirt off." I say, lowly, and she rubs her lips together and slowly pulls it over her head, her bare chest exposed and my dick's practically throbbing at this point. 

I take her crucifix in my hand, and she looks down at it as I lick my lips. 

She unfastens it and throws it aside. 

I lean down and kiss her again, trailing down her neck, my tongue against her skin and she gasps out a sharp breath, her hands pulling at my shirt. 

I take it off and she's sitting up and running her palms over my shoulders, down my chest, and I grasp her around her throat, pushing her back to the mattress and I feel a little shiver go up her spine. 

My tongue circles one of her nipples and she lets out bated breaths as I take it between my teeth. 

She moans, loudly, and I move my hand to her mouth. 

"Shh!" I say. "You're gonna wake them up." I add and she nods. 

I do the same to her other breast, with my hand over her mouth, but then I get an idea. 

A glorious, completely selfish idea. 

I take my hand off of her mouth and smirk before kissing the middle of her chest, one of her top ribs, biting into it, hard, making her scratch at my shoulder while covering her own mouth as a sharp moan is forced from her.

I run my tongue over the bite mark and continue down her stomach, stopping at the top of her panties, glancing at her. 

She's still breathing heavy, hands covering her chest, tilting her head to see me. 

I run my hand over her clothed core, a little noise coming from her throat, feeling a big wet spot over her cunt. 

She lifts her hips and starts pulling them down and I take them and discard them, running my fingertips up the inside of her thigh before I rub my thumb around her clit that's slickened wet. 

Her hands jolt to mine between her legs, her back arching, trying her hardest not to be loud. 

I tug her to the edge of the mattress, and grab one of her hands, replacing mine with it before I'm looming over her for a moment. "Touch yourself." I tell her, my lips brushing against hers and I can tell she's blushing under the dark of the room. "C'mon, it's hot, just do what feels good." I add, my lips pressing against hers for a moment before I feel her hand move, a delicate gasp coming from her and I pull my lips from hers to watch her face. 

Her eyes close, her head tilts back while her other hand tangles in her hair. 

I stand up to take my pants off, grabbing at my painfully hard cock when she bucks her hips against her frail fingers. 

"Nikki," she says, eyes still shut, head back, and I rub my hands down my face. 

We haven't even fucked yet and I can already tell she's gonna make me a fucking idiot. 

I get my pants off and run my thumb over my tip and get some precum on it, leaning down and holding it up to her lips. 

"Hold your tongue out," I tell her and she opens her eyes and looks at me, before doing as I say. 

The pad of my thumb rubs it over her tongue and she lets out a satisfied sigh, looking up at me as I lick her spit off my thumb. 

I get back up on my feet for a moment and she gets up and crawls to the foot of the bed, her eyes on my prick, hunger in her eyes…

Nice try, evil bitch, you're not stealing my soul by sucking it through my dick. 

I grab her hair and make her look at me. 

"Lay down." I tell her and doesn't argue, eyes still ravenous…

I kiss up her kneecap to her thigh, sliding up and up until--

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpers out when my tongue swirls her clit around, getting the first taste of Saint Viv. 

My eyes are the ones to roll back, now. 

Holy shit. 

It's good because she's Satan and needs something to trap you with, that little voice comes back. 

Her hands find my hair, her lips find my name and if I don't get ahold of myself, I'll be finding God based on this experience alone.

Apparently she's finding him right now because all she can muster out is, "oh, God." 

I find a good rhythm with my tongue, her pussy starting to grind against my face as teasing, little sultry moans flutter through the room. 

After a minute I feel her body tense up, and I pat myself on the back as she comes, my tongue lapping at her entrance to get drunk off of her, my hands running over her stomach and thighs. 

Vivian claims we just went right into sex without doing anything aside from making out before hand but I distinctly remember going down on her. She must've blacked out once she realized we were about to fool around or something but I remember that happening because it was something I'd dreamed up doing ever since I met her, creepy but honest.

I pry myself from her to grab a rubber behind the head of the mattress, the both of us pulling ourselves up there.

I get it on and turn over, getting on top of her. 

She's already hooking her legs around me before I even line myself up with her. 

She looks like she's high or drunk, eyes nearly shut, her lip between her teeth, her head tilted slightly, exposing her neck. 

I lean down and kiss her neck, her skin damp with sweat and she sighs. 

I rub my tip against her opening and she closes her eyes. 

I push into her, having to coach myself through because fuck her pussy is tight, and she winces, her mouth opening but nothing coming out. I'm about to ask her if she's alright when she speaks first. 

"Take it off." She tells me. 

"What?" 

"The condom, take it off." 

"Are you trying to trap me or something?" I snap at her. 

"I wanna feel you." She tells me softly, and I guess it's kinda sweet, or primal, whatever. 

I pull out of her and take the condom off, dropping it by the bed before I'm pushing back into her. 

We both moan, and I can feel her body stretching to accommodate my entrance, her face showing pain. 

I pullout again, but before I can get out completely, she pulls me back in with her legs, letting out a high pitched breath. 

More of her juices coat over my cock. 

"Fuck, Vivian," I say it, thrusting into her again and she wraps her arms around my back, hugging me to her, and my lips find hers as I push into her again, and again, roughly, the feeling of heaven washing over me each time I go back inside her. 

I make her take every inch, forcing myself to fit the last inch and a half despite her body not having room, and she writhes underneath me. 

"I think I'm bleeding." She tells me breathlessly and I think she wants me to back off or get off her, but when I go to, she says, "No, keep going, it feels good." 

The look on her face is a clear indication that she's into it. 

I'm kind of shocked that churchy Vivian is into the same shit I'm into, and I grab her throat, again, and kiss her, our tongues moving together. 

"I wanna get on top next." She tells me through moans. 

"Why?" I ask. 

"I wanna see it." She says and I furrow my brows for a second before I catch on. 

I'm rolling off of her and onto my back, my hands running up her thighs and waist when she gets on top of me, and I grab myself as she straddles me, pushing it against her before my hands pull  her down onto me. 

She screws her eyes shut, as she sinks down to the hilt, her thighs shaking, and I hit her ass cheek as hard as I can and she gets so tight around me I can't pull out until she relaxes. 

"You can't do that shit." I tell her harshly, biting back my urge to go ahead and come, and she relaxes a little more as my hands hold at her waist, guiding her movements since she's never done this before. 

"Does it feel good?" I ask her, her little moans and whimpers getting me even more hot and bothered. 

"Yes," she nods, tipping her head back. "So good."

I look between us, clear view of her pussy taking it, and I sigh. 

"It looks good, too." I tell her and she leans down over me, her forehead against my chest as she watches me fuck her for a moment before looking at me, kissing me sloppily, her chest pressing against mine making her sigh when her nipples brush against my skin. 

When she pulls away, I'm sticking two fingers in her mouth, taking her by surprise but she starts sucking on them in a second, and I force them down her throat, making her gag, as I start pounding into her, making her nearly shriek out but I gag her with my hand around her throat. 

"You're so pretty." I tell her, spit all down her chin from choking on my fingers, eyes nearly shut, my hand around her throat, and I glance down between us, licking my lips. "That pussy's pretty, too." I add and she cries out when my other hand starts rubbing at her clit. 

I take my hand from her throat and she gasps for air. 

"Nikki, I'm--" 

She can't finish. 

I roll onto her again, getting on my knees and lift her hips, continuing to hammer into her roughly and her eyes go to the back of her head, as her cum soaks the both of us. 

Why the fuck didn't she tell me she can come like that? 

I feel myself reaching my own end and go to pull out but she tugs me onto her, kissing me, her legs snaking around me. 

At first I don't think she realizes I'm about to blow my kids everywhere, then when I try to pullout, she says, "do it in me, I've heard it feels good."

I look at her like she's crazy because it's something I'd never expect her to say. 

"Please, Nikki, let me have it." 

I don't have time to argue because I'm finishing with a grunt and a satisfied smile at the sight of tears of pleasure in her eyes before her lids screw shut, her mouth open as a moan leaves her, her body sparking off with shivers. 

I let her have it.

"You're a slut." I tell her, thrusting into her a couple more times and she hums at my words. 

"Shut up." She says next and I kiss her one last time before rolling off of her. 

She pulls the covers over her chest and closes her eyes, tired, and I watch her for a moment. 

Okay, she may not be a slut, but I know she's gonna be able to get away with murder and I'm gonna let her because she's fucking Vivian. 

I ran myself into my own grave, but heroin and Vivian were major catalysts, but I know I was a catalyst for her own rock bottom, too. We were just too fucking young to know better, I guess. We fell in love and got hooked on playing house without actually stopping to think what all it would look like. Of course, neither of us expected me to be on smack, neither of us expected me to reach the level of stupidity that I reached with Vanity, and neither of us expected her to be conceiving a lovechild while I was next door dying, and I certainly didn't expect to file for divorce first, if at all. I remember that first night together in that shitty apartment got me hooked on her. Not just sex, I actually started listening to what she had to say after that, and wanting to have conversations, and hangout...I fell in love and she made it easy for me to. It was like boiling a frog. Things got worse and worse slowly overtime until BAM! I had Vanity, crack, and junk, and Vivian had Duff and a secret savings account she didn't think our lawyer would get record of. I was pissed, but I knew it was my fault. 

All of it was. 

I had promised her the world and instead stole everything from her like a life-sucking demon. 

She wasn't the evil, manipulative bitch. 

I was.

[dunkshotdreaming]

Sugar

Pairing: Jaemin x reader

Genre: tooth rotting fluff; the classic best friends to lovers trope

Word Count: 1,584

Warnings: rated c for cheesy. (also there is like one cuss word, that’s it)

✎ A/N: Was influenced by my first ever blurb over on @hourly-dreaming + Jaemin's self professed sugar eating habit. Probably lame and cliché as hell. Self indulgent, sorry not sorry. (Did try to keep it entirely gender neutral though👍🏻)

You've just finished your nightly routine as you crawl into your sleeping bag, excited that your best friend Jaemin is staying over. As you both have some time off for the summer anyway, Jaemin pretends to be feeling "too lonely" to stay home alone while his parents are off on some business trip, the perfect setup that gave way to your week-long sleepover.

"Scoot over, I'm not going to bite," Jaemin states, impatiently dragging your sleeping bag closer to his. In all honesty, you both could have slept on the bed or couch just fine, but there was just something nostalgic about busting out your bags like this, something about making blanket forts and having pillow fights and staying up watching cartoons together, just like the good old days.

He laughs softly at the way you sleepily hug your teddy bear close to your chest, a sight he never grew tired of. As he leans over to speak to you, the gentle scent of brown sugar permeates his senses, and suddenly, Jaemin is reminded of the precious sugar cubes he's forgotten back at home.

"You smell sweet," he mentions offhandedly, distracted by how soft and beautiful you look in the dim glow of the night light you'd plugged in earlier.

After a beat, you nod to yourself before responding, "Must be my new sugar scrub."

"And here I thought it was just because you were a snack," Jaemin retorts, his eyes turning up into a nearly crescent shape at the way you cover your mouth, a poor attempt at stifling your laughter. He almost hated to admit it, but clichés were clichés for a reason; after all, it had to be something that happened often enough in the first place, right?

It had been earlier in the year when he'd noticed his feelings for you might not be exactly platonic, but he decided he'd rather stay quiet than risk losing you, the best friend he cherished more than anyone else in this world. But everyone slips up sometimes, and tonight, as he lays by your side, the part of his heart that wishes it could be like this every night decides it's high time it takes control.

The wave of feelings he's hit with successfully manage switch off his brain for long enough that he doesn't realize he's caressing your cheek until your eyes shoot open, eyeing him curiously. Jaemin had always been affectionate, and you were no exception to his ways, however... things felt different. There was tension in the room, a thick atmosphere created of unsaid words and pent-up emotion.

You'd swear Jaemin was staring at your lips, but there was no way that was possible, you're convinced it isn't. Your best friend you'd been hopelessly pining over actually returning the feelings? ...Yeah, right. This wasn't a Hallmark movie.

"Would you mind if I tasted your scrub?" The words are out of his mouth before he can reel them back in, hand freezing on your cheek, still not withdrawing from its position as his heart falters.

"Tasted? Uh, well... it's in the bathroom, if you wanna-" your words are cut short as he cautiously places his lips on yours, merely a brief touch before he pulls away. Stuck in a stupor, you have to blink yourself back to reality. A quick pinch to your cheek confirms that you're wide awake, hissing at the pain as you eye Jaemin with furrowed brows.

The boy in question rolls onto his back, covering his eyes with one arm as the other lays between your bodies on the floor. "Ah shit, it wasn't supposed to go like this... I messed up. To think after so long, I ruin our friendship because I couldn't keep my feelings for you in check." He scoffs, furious with himself... yet he can't find it in him to wish it had never happened, having been able to satisfy his curiosity for your lips at long last. "I totally understand if you're mad at me, or if you wanna kick me out, or-" This time, Jaemin is the one who gets cut off, the softest press of your finger to his lips as you then envelop his free hand in both of your own, your plush bear forgotten with the wind.

"Are you telling me that we're both so cliché... that we fell for our best friend and chose to suffer in silence because... we couldn't bear the thought of splitting apart?" Your breathless confession makes him go cross-eyed for a moment, his arm leaning against his forehead now, all the while processing your words carefully, until his eyes land back on your face.

"That we both?.." is all he can manage to mumble out. "Wait, you like me too?" his voice cracks towards the end, the lilt in his otherwise rumbling voice making the two of you giggle like school children.

"And here I was worried it was painfully obvious... you really are so oblivious, Jaemin."

"You didn't notice either though!" he shoots back, almost as defensive as it was reflexive.

"Touché," is all you can offer in return. He looks over at you, at the way you're nervously chewing your lip because the smile threatening to break out would simply burst your cheeks. Decidedly, he brings his arm away from your face before returning it to where it had previously rested, cupping your cheek to force himself into your line of sight once again.

The dull thrumming of blood in his ears is all he can hear, senses heightened due to the surge of adrenaline. "Can I try again, for real this time?" he seems more confident this time, but still wary of potentially scaring you off, the skittishness making it hard to read your true emotions. Much to his relief, you lean in, a quiet sign of approval as you fear your voice may betray your deceptively calm expression.

There's no hesitation from there on out, and Jaemin kisses you the way you thought was only possible in fairytales. If it wasn't midnight, you'd swear the birds would be chirping at your windowsill, ready to help you get dressed for the day ahead. His pillowy lips press against your own heavily, but the he moves them against the skin of your lips is the complete opposite, gentle warmth spreading our from your chest. Not wanting to overdo it on the first kiss (of many more, he hopes), he draws away from you, chest heaving as he takes ragged breaths; moreso due to the overwhelming emotions blossoming in his bosom, truth be told.

A silent question lingers as he looks at you expectantly, wondering how you felt in the aftermath. "Much better the second time around," you say with a smile before it turns lopsided, "though you kinda hit my eye with your nose." Much to his chagrin, Jaemin's hopes of a picturesque first kiss with you shatter before his very eyes, only to realize that if it didn't bother you much, then why should he let it get to him?

"Would you do me the honor," he lifts both of your hands in his, lifting them towards his lips to place a peck on the back of each, "and go out with me? Anywhere you want to go tomorrow, it's on me."

"Kinda backwards, isn't this? First you stay over, then you kiss me, and then you ask me out?" you tease, taking pleasure in the sight of a pouty Jaemin scrunching his nose at you. "But yes, I will do you the honor and grace you with my presence. If and only if," you pause for dramatic effect.

"If?" the boy hangs on to your every word as his heart hammers in his chest, still in disbelief that you would actually be his to cherish and shower with love, even moreso now than ever.

"If you promise not to eat my sugar, scrub."

"Did you just-" he scoffs at your unbearably lame pun, groaning as he rolls his eyes. "Is it too late to un-ask you out now?" he raises a single brow in question, laughing at the mock hurt on your features.

"Guess someone isn't getting a good night kiss," you send a jab his way before facing away from him, collecting your bear in your arms as you try to quiet the rabbiting of your heartbeat enough to get a few hours of sleep.

A hand on your waist calls your attention as Jaemin comically scoots from within his sleeping bag, not unlike a caterpillar's movements, until he's hugging you from behind now, breath fanning over your hair as he sighs.

"I lost my teddy bear... can I sleep here with you instead?"

"Is it too late to un-agree to go out with you?" you parrot his earlier jest.

His next words aim for your heart and strike with dart-like precision, "You're stuck with me for good now, sorry sugar." Now, you could pretend your heart didn't just somersault from beneath your ribcage, but you'd be lying through your teeth if you did.

The rays of early morning sun cast stripes of golden light across your sleeping forms, bundled up in your own bags yet all curled up together. As your parents awake and go to check up on you two, they decide the peaceful sight before them is simply too precious to disturb. Turning to face the other, one of your parents quietly whispers, "I told you they were a thing! You owe me twenty."

[littleplebe]

Heeeey! I'm in love with your fics! How about a Darcy meets Peter Parker/Spiderman

Hey, thank you! I’m happy you like my fics. Here’s the Darcy-Peter meet cute you asked for. Hope you like it.

Darcy Lewis pulled out apocket mirror from her bag and held it strategically before her face. A dark,almost deserted street stretched out behind her, lit only by the dull glow ofthe ancient street lamps lining the old Queens neighborhood.

A short dude in a hoodie wasfollowing her. He had been on her tail since she had walked out of the movietheater, where she had waved him off as another moviegoer headed in the same direction,but once her friend hugged her and they separated to go their own ways, Darcybegan to fret about the steady thump of footsteps behind her. They were carefuland not that loud, but in the silence of the night, with only the softpitter-patter of raindrops hitting the pavement, the footsteps sounded clearand ominous. Whenever she stopped, they faltered, and Darcy knew this was nonormal guy trying to hit on her by being a persistent stalker.

She couldn’t exactly turnaround and confront him—in her line of work, it was better to either keepwalking or give them the element of surprise—but once she caught a glimpse ofhim through her handy mirror, she knew what to expect. She wasn’t able to seehis face under the hood, but he was short, not too bulky, and carried abackpack. If it wasn’t for his confident, purposeful walk, Darcy would haveassumed he was a young student.

She drew her phone from herjacket and quickly dialed Tony. The call went to voicemail.

“Hey,” Darcy began in awhisper. “So, I’m being followed. It’s just one dude, and I have my taser. So,there’s nothing to worry. But just in case I don’t return home tonight,organize a nationwide search for your favorite lab manager. Got it? Great.”

She was joking, of course.There would be no nationwide search. Darcy’s phone had a tracker which wouldlead Tony straight to her in case of an unfortunate assault or kidnapping.Granted, it wouldn’t do much good if she lost her phone or her attacker threwit away before dragging her to his evil lair, but there was no way Darcy wasagreeing to Tony’s suggestion of being micro-chipped for safety.

“Being injected with a trackerdoesn’t guarantee safety,” she remembered arguing with Tony months ago. “Itonly guarantees rescue. And I could very well be dead by that time.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. She wasbeing dramatic thinking about the worst possible outcome. She was going to befine. Her fingers gripped the smooth surface of the taser in her bag as shewalked determinedly toward the entrance of a side alley some distance ahead. Shewould have her element of surprise even if it killed her.

Again with the melodrama, Darcy.

As casually as she could, sheslipped into the alley and flattened herself against the building. Her prizedweapon was out and clutched tightly in her hand. She stood at the ready, takinga deep calming breath which did nothing to soothe her racing heartbeats. Justas she’d predicted, the hooded figure came to an abrupt stop at the entrance ofthe alley, and Darcy let out an unintentional battle cry, launching herself athim and taking him down with the force of her tackle.

It wasn’t exactly her plan tojump him. She had only wanted to make sure he really was following her before letting her taser do all the talking. Notfor the first time, though, her body decided to betray her for an adrenalinerush.

She straddled him and rainedblows on his back. “Going to stalk me, huh?” Punch. “Gonna rape me, huh?”Another punch. “Not today, pal.” Thefact that he wasn’t trying to fight her didn’t even cross her mind. She grabbedhis shoulder and raised her hips just enough to roughly turn him around, thenpointed her taser at his chest and huffed triumphantly, “You picked the wronggirl to mess with.”

“Hey, no wait!” A high-pitchedsquirrely voice shouted and Darcy thought she recognized that voice, before herrestless finger twitched involuntarily against the trigger and the electrodesshot out, hooking into his chest, making him squeak and convulse beneath her.

The hood slid back from hisface and Darcy gasped, shooting up and away from him. The taser dropped from herfingers as she gaped at the familiar face. He was an intern at the tower. Shehad seen him following Tony around on a couple of occasions. Oh God, had shejust beaten up a… a kid?

“Ms. Lewis,” he rasped,sitting up. And Darcy jumped into action, crouching by his side but nottouching him.

Still jerking ratherunpleasantly, he pulled the barbs from his chest and turned watery eyes in herdirection. “That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.”

Darcy’s face scrunched up andshe slumped dejectedly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I thought you were goingrape me or kill me or something…”

The kid looked scandalized.“No!” he exclaimed in his adorably high-pitched voice. “It’s late. But I didn’tthink you’d want my company, so I was just keeping an eye on you from adistance.”

If it had been any othersituation, Darcy would have laughed in his face. An unarmed teenager trying toprotect a grown-ass woman with a weapon? That’s cute.

Considering she had justbeaten up and electrocuted a fifteen yearold, Darcy didn’t see the humor in his words. “That’s very… chivalrous ofyou,” she said dubiously. “But, as you can see, I can take care of myself justfine.”

“Yeah,” he said absently,looking at his hands. “You fried my web slingers.”

“Your what?”

“Uh… never mind,” hestammered, curling his fingers into fists and stuffing them in his pockets.

“Can you stand?” Darcy askedkindly.

He nodded and hopped up,leaving her stumped. She had never seen anyone recover from an electric shockso fast. Not just any kind of electric shock; the kind which comes from aStark-powered megawatt taser.

He must have guessed herthoughts because he hastened to explain, “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Oookay,” Darcy said slowly,getting to her feet and giving him a onceover. “You’re far away from hometoday, aren’t you? You’re Tony’s intern.”

He shook his head. “I livehere, actually. In Queens. Mr. Stark is my mentor.”

Tony… a mentor? “Right,” she murmuredwryly. He was more likely to corrupt little kids than guide them.

“What are you doing here?” the boy asked curiously. “I have on good authoritythere are movie theaters in Manhattan too.”

Darcy snorted. The kid wasfunny. “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” he said, his cheeksgoing pink for some reason. “And you’re Darcy. I know everything about you.” Hisbrown eyes widened and he whispered to himself, “Didn’t mean to say that.”

Darcy laughed and checked herwrist watch. It was one thirty in the morning. “Come on,” she said, swiping hertaser from the ground and tossing it in her bag. “Let’s talk on our way home.”

Peter nodded. “Cool. Thesubway’s that way. I’ll drop you to the tower.”

“What, no!” Darcy saidincredulously. “I’m dropping youhome. Where do you live?”

“Not far,” he replied, lookingaffronted. “I can get home without an escort, trust me. But if Mr. Stark findsout that I let you—”

“Oh, God,” Darcy interrupted.“Please tell me Tony didn’t put you up to this.” Because if he was recruiting frikkingteenagers to follow her around likebodyguards, then he had one hell of dressing down coming his way.

“No!” Peter said immediately.“He didn’t. I just… know you, and I can’t let you go off into the night alone.This is a dangerous neighborhood.”

Darcy looked aroundskeptically. It was a residential area, and it was deserted. It didn’t lookdangerous at all. In fact, combined with the soft yellow glow of the streetlamps, the slight drizzle of rain, and the occasional stray cat jumping fromrooftops, the sight was really quite picturesque. It would make a lovely painting.

Darcy gave Peter a flat look.“And I suppose you can protect me from danger?”

“I most definitely can.”

“Remind me again who taseredwho right now?” she teased.

“That was…” Peter flushedindignantly. “That was just me trying not to hurt you. I have awesomereflexes.”

“And yet you didn’t stop mefrom jumping on you and pummeling you with my fists.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he saidin a small voice, looking down.

Darcy grinned and resisted theurge to pinch his cheek. He was so cute, she wanted to hug him. “Come on, let’sget you home, and then I can go and tell your mentor the kind of heroic stunts you pull after school.” Shescoffed softly to herself. “Keeping an eye on you, he says.”

Peter huffed and slunk downthe road beside her.

After a moment of silence, Darcyglanced at him sideways. “Wouldn’t your parents be worried that you’re out solate?”

“I live with my Aunt May,”Peter replied casually, kicking a stone with his foot. “My parents are dead.”

Her heart twinged painfully athis words. “I’m sorry.”

At that moment, Darcy’s phonestarted vibrating and she pulled it out to see Tony’s face on the screen. Sheshowed it to Peter, who sighed, before taking the call. “Hey, Tony. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” came hisurgent demand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m heading home. I’m fine.But look who I ran into!” She turned the screen to face an awkward lookingPeter.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.”

Tony looked surprised, andsuspiciously relieved, to see him. “Pete, hey. Did you save Darcy from herstalker?”

“I saved myself!” Darcy huffedpetulantly.

Peter grinned. “There was nostalker, Mr. Stark. Ms. Lewis thought I was the bad guy and beat me up.”

“What?” The billionaire shotDarcy a look of disbelief. “You beat up a fifteen year old?”

“His hood was up,” sputteredDarcy defensively. “And he was freaking me out!”

Tony shook his head, thenburst out laughing. “You all right, Pete?” he asked between snorts.

“Yes, sir,” smiled Peter. “ButI need to talk to you about my slingers.” He said the last word in a whisperand Darcy narrowed her eyes at him.

“No problem. Come by the towerafter school tomorrow.” Tony’s gaze swept to Darcy. “Stay with the kid. I’llhave Happy pick you up.”

“Tony, wait…” Darcy began toprotest, but he had already hung up. “Shit!” She turned to Peter with a puzzledfrown. “He seems to think I’m safe with you.”

Peter nodded earnestly. “You are safe with me.”

Darcy pursed her lips inspeculation. First, there was the idea that Peter had seen her strolling aloneat night and had decided, without fear or hesitation, to keep an eye on her.Second, there was the really disturbing way he had easily pulled the taser barbsfrom his skin, like he was simply plucking a hair from his brow. Third, the wayhe had jumped up jauntily the very next second. And fourth, Tony thought shewas safer with Peter rather than alone.

“Who are you, exactly?” Darcyasked him with narrowed eyes.

Pat came his reply. “PeterParker, science nerd, class loser, fortunate SI intern.”

Darcy hummed, unconvinced. Shedidn’t press him though. She’d discover his secret eventually. “Cool. So, youwanna hang out with me in Jane’s lab tomorrow?”

The immediate shift in his facialexpression was incredible. His eyes fairly lip up and he noddedenthusiastically. “Can I call you Darcy?”

Tell me what you wish me to write. I just might write it.