-Why would I bring a gun to your parents' Christmas dinner? В контексте тех двоих, уржался. Пожалуй, "Его Последний Обет" мне нравится. Может, даже больше, чем последние 5-10 минут "Скандала в Белгравии".
ОБОЖАЮ свою работу, сотрудники оставляют желать лучшего. Лэптоп забрать не смог - пошел ДИКИЙ ЛИВЕНь, и пришлось сидеть дома, а потом было поздно. Жалко.
И отдельный ржач:еще работа я уже уходил, когда до чорррной бабищщщи дошло собрать детей на ковре, а то со стола с конструкторами они разбегаются (еще бы, детям дай бог чтоб 2 с половиной года было, а на коробках от конструкторов написано 3+ - про "поперхнуться" вообще молчу). Так она сгоняет громкостью своего голоса человек 10-15 детей, от года до максимум 2,5 лет, на один ковер, и достает - свой мобильник! Причем даже не отсоединила кабель зарядки! И пытается показать на экране одного мобильного телефона мультипликационное видео алфавита на французском всей группе маленьких детей! Я к тому времени уже направлялся к двери (если будут идиотничать, то без меня), но навстречу мне вдруг вoшла пара родителей - и отец очень настороженно смотрел на мобильник, и даже переспросил неверящим тоном у девки, которая им открыла двери: "Это они мобильник смотрят???" Девка промямлила что-то насчет "получаса французской программы" (между прочим, песенка короткая, так что то видео не может быть длиннее полторы минуты). Отец сразу же отреагировал: "Мы не хотим, чтобы наша дочка так рано приучалась к экранам." Кстати, девка может сидеть плечом к плечу со мной, когда мы одеваем детей на улицу, но что этому отдельному мальчику нужны совершенно другие штаны вместо тех, которые на нём сейчас, она сообщит мне только после того, как я надену ему его черте кем придуманные ботиночки с кучей застежек. Прямо так и подмывает сросить, "А раньше сказать нельзя было?" То ли не наблюдательная, то ли просто тормозит, то ли действительно специально раздражает.
Я ОХУЕВАЮ. этика и практика професси, скучноСегодня, та чорррная бабища закатила мне лекцию, что у неё от моего "пения" голова болит - ишь ты, я все время разговариваю с детьми, ей от этого плохо, поэтому я должен молчать в тряпочку, или говорить в строго положенное время. Причем когда я сказал, что вообще-то разговаривать с детьми входит в наши профессиональные обязанности (предполагается, что нас специально обучают, что и как говорить детям - см. пост ранее о моем в высшей степени специфическом устном общении с маленькими детьми), она мне ответила, что да, она это всё знает, и это хорошо, но делать этого не надо, потому что во-первых, у неё болит от этого голова (к доктору не ходила? Таблетки не пьет?), а во-вторых, из-за этого мы опаздываем на ланч (ланч привозят утром, и контейнеры забирают на следующий день, так что я не понимаю, куда она торопится). Я не знаю, как на подобное отвечать вежливо, а это только моя вторая неделя там. Потом эта чорррная бабища повернулась к той девке and attempted to gossip about me, right in my presence! "Hey, you know, Julian? He comes in, and does this and that..." Кажется, даже та девка опустила глаза от стыда, и сменила тему разговора - но опять на то, что нам профессор лично говорила на четвертом курсе: не высказывайте отрицательных суждений о ребенке в присутствии ребенка! "Вовочка - тормоз", когда Вовочка на вас смотрит - НЕЛьЗЯ. В худшем случае, глядите Вовочке в глаза и скажите ему, что, допустим, "ты должен сидеть попой на стуле, а не бегать по комнате". В крайнем случае, можно сказать что "Вовочка не сидит попой на стуле и бегает по комнате" - потому что это факт, и тут нет вашего личного суждения, которое делу не помогает, и даже может навредить ребенку. Сaмое обидное, что они ВСЕ там так делают, каждая из них хотя бы раз обругала мне хотя бы одного ребенка (а некоторые - даже больше). Что чорррная бабища не уважает детей как личностей и, как тупое быдло, игнорирует их права (особенно на выбор), это я уже понял - допустим, она слишком "взрослая", чтобы я обьяснял ей про Права Ребенка (она по-английски-то говорит так себе). Когда та девка обьявила мне, что "Сейчас - время для activity for большой моторики" (из-за дождя дети не смогли пойти гулять), сложила руки на груди и отошла в сторонку, оставляя детей сидеть на ковре с книжками, я был в шоке. Причем самое обидное, что когда я попытался детей расшевелить на большую моторику, только пара-тройка обратили на меня внимание, остальные даже голов не подняли от книжек - в любой ругой раз, я бы был в восторге, но в этот... Ведь это значит, что они привыкли молча, тихо сидеть с книжкой, а им еще и трех лет нет... "Мотор в заднице" гораздо здоровей для людей их возраста, чем "дедуля профессор"... Вчера написал в ежедневной записке ребенку: "принесите еще подгузников, пожалуйста". Сегодня принесли, так что сегодня я написал "Спасибо, что принесли еще подгузников". Так чорррная бабища сделала глаза блюдечками, когда увидела, и зашипела "ТЫЧОНАПИСАЛ". Я пожал плечами: "Я вчера попросил, он быстро откликнулись, я благодарю." Она промолчала, но глаза остались блюдечками. Надо будет поблагодарить родителей словами, а то хрен знает, что она им наговорит. И сегодня та девка попыталась наврать бабище, что я, дескать, отошел от неё и не сказал, куда - а я ей трижды повторял, прежде чем собрать детей и выйти. И вообще, double standard: как я пою да разговариваю, так "из-за тебя мы опоздаем!!!", а как у той девки нет часов вообще и она не знает когда где быть, то хоть бы что.
2nd date, Welcome To NightValeRating: Mature, Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply, Category: M/M, Fandom: Welcome to Night Vale, Relationship: Carlos/Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Characters: Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Stats: Published:2013-07-30Words:2676Chapters:1/1Comments:136Kudos:1112Bookmarks:242
Second Date
dee
Summary:
Cecil might have had an awful day, but at least Carlos is there when he gets home. Carlos, standing in Cecil's apartment, wearing Cecil's boxers, cooking in Cecil's kitchen, making rather... amorous advances. Not that Cecil's complaining, exactly, but... isn't this all a bit forward for a second date?
That’s what it means, to be the Voice of Night Vale. To say so much, and know so little.
Notes:
This is nominally based on julstorres' post on Tumblr which, OMG! Spoilers for the fic, so read it at your peril. Or whatever.
Also possible trigger warning: I guess this might count as some kind of dubcon? I mean, Cecil is totally all into it and whatever, but the fact still stands that he doesn't exactly know what's going on, so... if you think that sounds squicky and/or triggering, this is the warning for it. Be safe everyone!
Work Text:
It’s been a long day.
They happen, every now and then. Days that leave Cecil’s limbs weak and aching, that give him ice pick headaches, straight through the corners of his eyes and up into his brain. The days of shouting and of endless sounds and pictures, looped over and over on screens in darkened rooms. Of a haze of repetition, of speaking until his tongue is a numb grey slug sitting in his mouth, crawling from the stripped-raw sand wastes of his throat.
A long day, but it’s over now. He’s home.
It’s late, nearly ten, and Cecil is ravenous when he falls hard against his apartment door. He hasn’t eaten since this morning, and his head swims, and he can’t remember which key opens his lock. He tries one after the other, until finally something clicks, and the door swings forward under his weight.
He’s home. He lets the door fall shut behind him, propped up against the wall until he can bring himself to move.
Dazed and exhausted, he doesn’t realise he’s not alone until the intruder is upon him.
“Welcome home, Cee. Dinner will be ready soon. How are you feeling?”
Cecil blinks. Then blinks again. There’s something warm and dark and large pressed against him, running gentle hands down his arms and nuzzling a slightly stubbled cheek against his own.
Through his broken throat, Cecil manages, “… Carlos?”
“Mm-hmm,” says the big, warm shape.
Cecil blinks again, and the blob resolves into a mess of dark and perfect hair, and two rows of neat white teeth.
“There you are,” says Carlos. He’s pulled back, just a little. One of his hands is settled in the small of Cecil’s back, the other is cupped against his cheek. Carlos is bright and perfect and smiling, but there’s something heavy about him, too. Circles around his eyes and a sadness on his lips.
Cecil says, “Um. Hi?”
Carlos is in his house. Why is Carlos in his house? His house that smells like garam masala.
“Hi,” Carlos says. Then, “I made rogan josh.”
“I… love rogan josh,” says Cecil, because he does, and because Carlos is right there, pressed against him. Touching him. And it’s beautiful and wonderful and perfect and completely terrifying because Cecil has absolutely no idea why it’s happening.
“I know you do,” Carlos says. He pulls back, which is awful, but he still has Cecil’s hand in his, which is amazing, and he adds, “C’mon. It’ll be about twenty minutes yet. How ’bout you go get changed into something more comfortable?”
“Uh. Okay?” says Cecil.
It occurs to him that the white coat Carlos is wearing is not, in fact, his lab coat. It’s a bathrobe, fluffy and slightly stained from the curry. Underneath, Carlos is wearing a t-shirt featuring some sort of science thing—all letters and connected lines—and what Cecil is adamantly sure are his boxers.
He lets go of Carlos’ hand halfway across the den—his skin feels cold from the loss—and by the time he’s stumbled into the bedroom, Cecil has decided this is obviously all some sort of dream or hallucination or time-skip or something. Not that he minds, because his head aches and he’s exhausted and Carlos—Carlos—is here to take care of him, hallucination or not, and this might not have been how Cecil imagined their second date going down… but he’ll certainly take it.
He strips out of his shirt and vest and pants, leaving them all in a messy pile on the floor and replacing them with a wifebeater and sweats. When he stumbles back into the den, hand rubbing at his forehead, Carlos is there with a smile and a beer and a willingness to curl up with Cecil on the couch, TV buzzing dimly in the background.
“Rough day?” Carlos asks. He’s very close, not shy with personal space at all. The sort of Carlos Cecil imagines in his mind, sometimes, when it’s dark and he’s alone. Perfect, beautiful Carlos, whose perfect, beautiful hair tickles Cecil’s cheek as he trails kisses up Cecil’s neck.
If this is a dream, Cecil decides, he might as well enjoy it, and he lolls his head back, eyes closed and arms and thighs open and beer dangling loosely from his fingers.
A hand—huge and hot and perfect—cups between his thighs.
“Yes?” Carlos’ question is a ghost against the shell of Cecil’s ear and a shiver down his spine.
“Yeah,” he says, and feels the worms squirming in his gut.
He tells himself he has nothing to be nervous about. That this is a dream, and in this dream he and Carlos have done this a hundred times before. At least. In all different places and positions, in their homes, the lab, the station. In parallel dimensions and beneath the bright lights above the Arby’s, and behind his closed eyelids Cecil sees them all, clearer even than memory, one endless blur of dark fine skin and perfect hair and neat rows of grinning teeth.
Carlos, being perfect, has condoms in his pockets and deft hands with which to use them. No hesitation to strip off Cecil’s sweats and push up his shirt and work across his aching muscles with warm lips and pinching fingers. Cecil feels guilty, at one point, and tries to touch back, but he’s very tired, and Carlos sees it, and pushes him against the couch and says, “Ssh, it’s okay. You’ve had a long day. Just relax, let me take care of you.”
Cecil does, because he has had a long day, and boy did it suck. But not nearly as much—and in completely the opposite way—as Carlos now does, on his knees between the couch and coffee table, Cecil’s hand wound in his perfect hair.
Cecil is exhausted, but not too exhausted to enjoy this. The feel of warm, strong hands clutched around his thighs. The sight of dark eyes, gazing up with such a perfect adoration Cecil has to think this isn’t even something so gauche as a dream. That he must have died instead, and that in doing so some distant and benevolent god has granted him this perfect gift, a bright star of pleasure burning below his belly and the tongue and lips of a demon, brought up to Heaven and tasked with nothing but the fulfilment of Cecil’s lusts.
(Cecil dated a demon, once. Back when he was younger. The sex—if nothing else—had been very, very good, and of course Carlos is better. Because Cecil’s always dreamed he would be.)
When Cecil comes, it’s to a bright swirl of constellations, born behind his eyes, and the sound of Carlos’ name spilling forth like balm from his raw and broken throat.
Afterwards, he lies in a mostly boneless sprawl of post-sex bliss, huffing in lazy contentment as Carlos goes about the business of cleaning and redressing.
Then, he fetches them both curry.
They eat it on the couch, huddled together, idly watching the TV cycle through whatever random words and images it feels like broadcasting.
“We traced it this afternoon,” Carlos says, making conversation. “But I don’t think it’s dangerous. I’ll look into it tomorrow.”
“Mmph,” says Cecil, who’s full of sex and beer and curry, and whose evening is turning out far better than his day.
He zones out for a while, lulled by the dull buzzing of the broadcast and the steady drum of Carlos’ heart as it keeps time for reality itself. At some point, Carlos disentangles himself, and Cecil hears him banging around in the kitchen, tidying dishes and putting the remaining dinner in the fridge. (Not for Cecil: there are some things in Cecil’s fridge that look poorly on him stealing food. He’s worked out a sort of truce with them over the years, meaning they get to eat the leftovers.)
The next thing Cecil is really aware of is Carlos returning, saying, “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you showered and into bed.”
“Mmm,” is Cecil’s reply, as he lets himself be pulled up off the couch.
Carlos leads Cecil to the shower, undressed him, undressed himself, then positions both of them underneath the spray. Cecil thinks this is all just perfect, until few minutes later, when he finds his cheek pressed up against the tiles, held upright almost entirely by Carlos taking him slow against the wall, and that’s the thing that’s perfect.
Cecil is too exhausted to reciprocate much of the sex, other than by huffing his appreciation and lacing his fingers with Carlos’ own. He’s warm and half-asleep and full in more ways than one, and when Carlos’ comes he cries Cecil’s name with such reverence as to make the previous twelve hours melt away to nothing.
They stand, pressed against the shower wall, for a while after that. Carlos’ breath is heavy where he nuzzles the nape of Cecil’s neck, and they only drag themselves away when the water threatens to go cold.
After that, they brush their teeth, crowded together around the basin.
Then they fall into bed.
“It’s a shame,” Cecil says, shifting around to try and find a place against Carlos’ chest that doesn’t tickle his nose with hair.
“What is?”
“That’ll you’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“Will I?” Carlos’ voice is a deep rumble in Cecil’s ear.
“Mmm. Since this isn’t real and all.”
The rumble turns into a laugh. “Cee, this is real. I’m real. You’re real. I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Cecil huffs. “Nice try, Mr. Hallucination,” he says. “But this is not our second date.”
And Carlos says:
“No. Not our first second date, anyway.”
And Cecil says:
“… Oh.”
“Think about it,” Carlos continues. “When was our first date? Nearly a year ago, right?”
Cecil’s eyes are open, all fatigue drained from him like the starched water from a can of beans. Because Carlos is right. The date at Gino’s had been months ago. Nearly a year’s worth of months. And, sure. Both Carlos and Cecil were adults and had jobs and got busy sometimes… but a year between dates? That was a bit… odd. Right?
Carlos is moving. Reaching over to the nightstand, where he’s left his iPad. Cecil sits up, unease churning in his gut—the gnawing feeling of having forgotten something, something really important—and Carlos taps at the iPad’s screen, then hands it over.
“Here,” he says.
It’s the calendar app. It’s dominated by two colours, red and blue. The red bubbles take up whole working days, and come from a calendar called Cecil: Negative Indices. Every event is titled RE-EDUCATION. There are two this week alone, including the one from today.
The blue calendar is called Personal. There’s a bubble tonight, right after the red, and it’s called Second Date: Eat In. The notes say: He’ll feel crap. Make rogan josh, it’s his favourite.
There are a lot of blue bubbles. More by number than the red, if not more by time. Cecil scrolls back through the weeks, sees a litany of Second Dates, plus a few Third Dates.
There are no fourth dates. The red bubbles always cut them off.
“It made me angry, initially,” Carlos says, as Cecil scrolls. “The first time you asked me out, you stood me up. And I thought, ‘Oh, well. This is Night Vale. Who knows, right?’ Except the next day, you acted like the whole thing had never happened.”
Cecil feels something small and frightened, clenching in his gut.
Carlos continues: “It took me a while to figure out what was going on. When I did… I thought I couldn’t deal with it. I swore I’d never make the same mistake again, not with you. That lasted all of about a week.”
Cecil’s hands begin to shake.
“You stood me up a few more times,” Carlos says, and Cecil feels his heart might split in two. Except Carlos’ voice is light when he adds, “Finally we managed our first date.” He laughs. He actually laughs, pulling Cecil closer and laying a single kiss upon his temple. “You got taken away the next day. I thought to myself, ‘Well. Here we go again…’ I was ready for it,” Carlos adds. Then, “Except… It didn’t happen. You came back, that night, and you still remembered. So we had our first second date, and it was alright, and we were planning our third when you got taken again. You forgot the second, but not the first. That’s when I started keeping the journal. I don’t know yet why you forget some things and not others, but…” Carlos shrugs, and finishes, “I’m working on it. In the meantime, you never forget Gino’s, and you never forget you love me. It’s enough.”
Carlos’ speech is practiced, Cecil realises. Polished. He’s given it before. Many, many times before, if the scroll of blue and red is to be believed.
So many dates, so much time. Forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” Cecil manages, throat choking and tears running down his cheeks.
But all Carlos says is: “I know.” And he kisses Cecil’s skin once more. Takes the iPad away, puts it back on the table, and lays them both down in the bed. “Believe me, you’ve made it up to me. More than once. I used to get angry, but you told me that if it wasn’t you—“
“It’ll be someone else,” Cecil finishes. He knows. Oh, but how he knows.
He says things. On the radio. Sometimes—often—others people don’t like them. So they send men in black vans, and they take Cecil away, and they do things to him. Things to make him forget.
He still says things. Because he’s a journalist, and that’s what he does. But he doesn’t listen to his old broadcasts, and the men in the vans makes sure he doesn’t remember the things he says. So he can’t draw any conclusions.
Cecil’s life is like that. An endless, drifting sea of disconnection. Of holes and blank spaces. He lives for the next broadcast, always. Not the last one, not any of the ones before. Just the next.
That’s what it means, to be the Voice of Night Vale. To say so much, and know so little.
“I’ll figure it out,” Carlos is saying. “One day. I’ll figure out why you remember our first date, but nothing else. Until then… I get to practice my second date skills.” He tilts Cecil’s face towards his. When Cecil meets his eyes, Carlos is grinning. “How did this one go?” he asks. “Out of ten, say.”
Carlos kisses him, deep and vast and perfect. When they pull apart, he says, “You always say that.”
Cecil chokes back a sob, and wonders how it is that such benevolence exists within fate’s heart that it could give to him someone like Carlos.
They kiss, tangled in Cecil’s sheets, and Carlos is perfection. Murmuring soft words until Cecil’s tears are dry and his heart no longer aches from the empty pit within.
Carlos is here, and Cecil loves him. Cecil might not remember a single other thing, but he knows that will be one that always stays.
Eventually, they sleep. As darkness creeps over the room—as Cecil’s arms hold fast and Carlos’ do the same—these are the words he doesn’t say:
There are some things they promise not to take: your name, your address, your parents. For everything else, there’s a list. It’s vetted, and exactly four things can go on it. They promise not to take those, either.
Cecil’s first two things are as follows: one, his job at the radio station, and two, that he loathes Steve Carlsberg.
A little over a year ago, he swapped in a third thing: he loves Carlos. Not so long after, the forth thing got added: their first date at Gino’s.
Cecil doesn’t know, almost by definition, what two things those facts replaced.
He figures it doesn’t matter. Not any more.
Because Carlos is real, and he’s there when Cecil wakes.
first time writing a three way, let alone DP, so it's not my best work. but I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here it is.
The first thing Steve feels is...a little bit hurt. When Tony says “I want both of you,” he has to wonder why because, he was under the impression he and Tony were like, going steady. But then Tony added the ”-at the same time.” a few moments later, and something had clicked when Thor chuckled. He did have to clarify, though, and even their resident thunder god had laughed at Steve for not knowing. Tony had elaborated though, and Steve...didn’t really know how to feel. He said yes anyway, but he still wasn’t sure.
So that’s why they’re here in Tony’s gigantic room, on Tony’s enormous bed, and that’s why he’s letting Thor coax him back into sitting against the headboard as they kiss. He’s fine with it then, because not only is Thor touching him, thick, hammer-worn palms sliding over his chest, but Tony is too, those nimble fingers stroking gently through his hair. Steve shivers when Thor kisses him a little deeper, still undemanding and slowly sensuous. Even Tony doesn’t kiss like that, the super-soldier thinks. He should kiss Thor more often. If that’s okay with Tony.
“Alright, easy there thunder boy, my turn,” Tony murmurs, and even though by now all three of them naked and at half-mast, he’s still a sarcastic little shit. But Thor backs away any how, smiling as always and lets Tony crawl into Steve’s lap, “Hi,” Tony smirks as he settles against Cap’s hips, ass nestled flush against the blond’s gradually stiffening length. With a breathy “hi” in return, Steve slides his hands up Tony’s thighs as the man above him leans in to press his lips to the side of Steve’s neck.
From this vantage point, he can see Thor leaned back on his haunches, still grinning languidly, hand pumping over his now tumescent length. It’s big, is the first thing Steve thinks, and...he doesn’t really think a second thing because the God of Thunder is sliding two fingers into his mouth obscenely, and Steve absently licks his lips in return. Meanwhile Tony is grinding into his lap, thumbing over his nipples and nipping gently at his earlobes, making Steve shudder, then his eyes slide shut.
He turns his head to kiss Tony full on the mouth, their tongues slowly sweeping together.
“Ohhnn-fuck...” Tony grunts suddenly, surging forward into Steve’s chest, “A little warning....would be nice.” He rumbles as he looks over his shoulder at Thor, who has his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into Tony’s entrance.
“My apologies,” Thor quips, shifting up onto his knees to run a hand over Tony’s lower back, “This is...optimal, though, is it not?” He asks, in that curious tone Thor uses when he’s not exactly sure if he’s doing one of “these Midgarian practices” correctly. Tony licks his lips and cants his hips back.
“Very optimal,” He sighs, eyes fluttering shut, “A little..mmh, a little lube would be nice though, if you don’t mind.” Steve snaps out of some sort of daze he’s been put in by the sight of Tony’s hips grinding back into Thor’s hand, and moves a very reluctant hand to the bottle of lube that had rolled against his thigh.
“Here,” He says, voice a little thick as he hands the bottle back to Thor and watches the god pour some of the gel over his fingers. The thunderer bites the corner of his lip, and that makes Steve want to kiss him all over again, before pushing both thick fingers back into Tony’s now moistened hole. Of course that sends him bucking into Steve’s lap again with a pleased sound, “Better?” Steve asks, moving his hands to Tony’s sides, mouth very nearly pressed against his shoulder.
“Mmmuch..” It’s not quite a moan, not a whine or plain statement either, but somewhere in between. Tony sits up a little to bring one hand down between the two of them to wrap around the super-soldier’s hard cock. For a few, quiet moments Tony strokes him to almost painful hardness as Thor fingers him, gently stretching and coaxing open the tight ring of muscle with two fingers, then three. He doesn’t go too deeply, or else risk bringing Tony to completion which was explicitly indicated wasn’t allowed to happen until both Thor and Steve were...inside of him.
“Tony,” Steve breathed, pawing away Tony’s hand, “Alright, stop I’m...stop..” He smiled lopsidedly as Tony mimicked the expression and leaned in to slant their mouths together sloppily. The kiss is wet, all tongue until Tony sucks Steve’s full bottom lip into his mouth and lets his teeth rake over it gently as he releases it.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, friends, but is this...” Thor thumbed the rim of Tony’s asshole for emphasis. Tony makes a soft noise, the sound vibrating into steve’s lips, “Sufficient preparation?”
Tony snorts and laughs, which tears his lips from Steve’s.
“I don’t think any preparation would be sufficient for what we’re going to do,” Tony sits up to his knees, and shifts back a few inches so he hovers over Steve’s lap, ”but I do have an idea,” He murmurs, staring holes into Steve as he reaches for the bottle of lube.
“Care to elaborate?” The super-soldier asks breathlessly while Tony pours an ample amount of the lube into his hand. Thor decides then to sidle up behind Tony, hands on the smaller man’s hips and chin on his shoulder so he can look down at Steve as well. With a sly smile, Tony slicks Steve’s cock liberally with the lubricant, warming it with a few strokes and delicious twists of his wrist. Steve makes a quiet noise, and then Tony is reaching back to rub the remaining lube against his fluttering hole.
“Sure,” He smiles brightly as he takes Steve’s cock gently in hand once more, and guides it to his entrance, “So,” His thighs relax enough to let him slide down an inch or two, the head of Steve’s cock breaching his body, “No offense, but Thor’s bigger, which is why you’re first,” How he’s stringing a sentence together, Steve isn’t sure, because his world has narrowed down to the heat and grip of Tony’s body around the tip of his cock. His eyes close and his pink lips part as Tony lifts and lowers himself very, very slowly and shallowly to boot, “If you catch my drift.”
“Indeed.” Thor chimes in cheerfully, nuzzling against Tony’s neck as he watches Steve try not to buck up into Tony’s body. He trails a hand down the taught expanse of Tony’s stomach, to the neat thatch of black hair at the base of his stiff cock, and then down to his balls, where the thunderer decides to squeeze. Tony moans wantonly and lets his head tip back onto Thor’s massive shoulder.
“That’s....nnh yeah, keep...keep that hand...there.....” He pants and rocks his hips down a little faster now, twisting as much as this angle will allow. Thor obeys, his fingers tightening just this side of painful around Tony’s sac.
Although the super serum had worked wonders for Steve’s stamina, he wasn’t sure he was going to last long enough for what Tony had planned out. The sight of Tony and Thor was almost overwhelmingly arousing, but the fact that he was still actually fucking Tony was...too much.
“Tony,” He pants, “I think-..I-mmmm..should I wait....” It’s a stupid question, Steve thinks, and Tony acknowledges that with a smile.
“Yeah....not yet Cap...” He looks down at Steve with a hand bent back and clenched in Thor’s long hair while the thunder god lavishes his neck with wet kisses.
“Oh god...” Steve moans and his blue eyes nearly roll back when he feels the pads of two fingers nudge against the underside of his cock where he slides into Tony. Clenching his jaw tight, the super-soldier grinds his teeth together until it hurts.
“Sweet fuck-...” Tony gasps, and Thor glances up as his already wet fingers slip into the smaller man alongside Steve’s shaft. The burning stretch is just this side of aching, so Tony can take it. He’s had bigger, which isn’t an insult to Steve, his cock is perfect--anyway, not the point, “Do you-...shit....do you do this often?” Tony sighs, and Thor chuckles. He’s disconcertingly at ease, and alarmingly..practiced at this.
“I am not inexperienced, Anthony. Copulation with multiple partners is....common place in Asgard.” He explains in an incredibly calm voice, but then again he’s still smiling as he moved his fingers delicately with each roll of Tony’s hips. Steve doesn’t get it, how they’re both still so composed; his own face is twisted in pleasured agony as he forces himself not to come. Tony merely hums, which might mean even he is out of words at this point. His thighs are trembling with effort under Steve’s hands, his downstrokes shallow enough so the super-soldiers length won’t press against the delicate bundle of nerves inside of him.
Steve sighs with odd relief when Tony pulls off and slumps forward onto his chest again. He wriggles a little though, arching his back and presenting his ass for Thor as the super-soldier brings his hands up to Tony’s biceps. Of course the god smiles as he (taking notes from Tony) squeezes even more lube into his hand before rubbing it over his engorged length. Tony merely presses his face into Steve’s neck and breathes slowly, making himself relax. Again Steve watches Thor move into position, guiding the purpling head of his impressive cock against Tony. As he presses in, Stark gasps a little and Steve’s hands grip his arms in an almost protective way. He watches, though, as Thor watches himself ease into Tony’s slick hole.
“Fuck..yeah...” Tony groans suddenly, into the overheated skin of Steve’s neck. The super soldier frowns a little, because honestly....he feels a twinge of jealousy. He narrows his eyes just so at the God of Thunder, who isn’t paying attention anyway; he’s flipping his mane of blond hair back and grappling at Tony’s hips for better leverage. Steve turns his attention back to Tony as Thor begins to move, and kisses the side of his neck beseechingly, wanting Tony to turn his head. After a few moments adjusting to Thor, he does and presses a filthy open-mouthed kiss to Steve’s lips.
Thor fucks Tony shallowly, teasingly, agonizingly for the long moments that Tony and Steve kiss lasciviously. The thunderer definitely enjoys this, enjoys watching his teammates bite and suck at each others lips, likes hearing the little noises they both make (Tony’s might be more from the fucking, Thor thinks). In no time though, the kissing dissolves so Tony and Cap merely pant into each others mouths, too aroused or keyed up to do much else. Steve is fully aware that he’s fucking aching to come, the tip of his cock weeping for it. Tony is as well, the wet rubbing against Steve’s belly.
Like he had when it had been Steve inside of Tony, Thor slips his fingers alongside his own cock not-so-discreetly. Tony whines into Steve’s mouth and presses against him harder like he’s trying to get away from the stretch and burn. Instead of snapping at Thor like he should, Cap just runs his hands up Tony’s sides and over his back as soothingly as he can manage. But Tony leans back a little, bites his lip as he shifts his knees forward a few inches so they’re pressed tight against Steve’s sides and he’s spread wide for Thor.
“You okay?” Steve breathes against Tony’s cheek, wound too tight to press a kiss there, but Tony nods anyway.
“God yeah...” His voice is tight, words clipped and sounding like they’re forced out. Behind him, Thor grunts at a twist of his own fingers. He keeps them still as he thrusts into the vice-grip of Tony’s body, which, he thinks absently, should be slack enough soon, shouldn’t it? As he had asserted before, Thor was more than practiced at this sort act. In fact he quite enjoyed it, and was more than looking forward to having Steve and Tony as his bed-mates.
He slides in two fingers, then three above his cock which makes Tony buck and whimper and whine in a very lovely desperation. From Steve’s vantage point their billionaire philanthropist blah blah blah (does it really matter now?) looks every bit taken apart as he does all the other times Steve had fucked him. And if he’s already got that glazed, pupil-blown lust in his eyes, then what he’ll look like at the end of this is sure going to be something. Steve is almost looking forward to it. He bites his upper lip to stop a smile and reaches down to touch himself even though he probably shouldn’t, it’s not like he’s going soft any time soon. Thor smiles in his usually self-satisfied way, and curls his fingers just a little--
“Alright alright,” Tony snaps desperately, breaking Steve out of another lust-driven reverie, “Enough I’m...lets.....ready....” He moves his hands, everything, slowly, until his arms are bracketing the super-soldiers torso and he’s sitting at a good angle to take them both in. Well, there’s not really going to be a good angle, but this is as good as any. Thor obligingly pulls out and Tony lets go a small sigh.
“Steven, may I?” The god asks, one eyebrow arched as he reaches down beneath both Tony to unsteadily grip Steve’s cock. Steve licks his bottom lip at the sensation, and honestly he just wants Thor to touch him right now, man he’s got sinful hands... He can’t find it in himself to answer really, he’s not even calling the shots here, so he just looks to Tony for the reply. He may be the one getting fucked tonight, but he’s definitely calling the shots.
“Before you anything.....More lube....please...” Tony sighs, then pins Steve with a look, and shoots one over his shoulder that makes Thor release Steve’s cock in favor of the bottle of lubricant.
“This is an interesting invention,” Thor muses as he squeezes the bottle, yet again, directly into the cleft of Tony’s ass so it oozes down to his clenching pink hole. The thunderer smiles as he watches the ring of muscle pucker reflexively from the cool liquid, “We only have oil at our dispo-”
“Thor,” Steve bites out, because he’s really sick of Thor’s little anecdotes; he just wants to be inside already, “Just-...” He doesn’t know how to say shut your mouth and slick us both up politely, so he tries to convey it with a stern look. Thor gets it.
“Thank god..” Tony mumbles with a little smile as he breathes deeply again and nips at the curve of Steve’s shoulder.
With a little maneuvering and shuffling around and a spreading of legs on Steve’s end, Thor moves in close like he’s going to be fucking Steve instead. He takes the super-soldiers length in hand once more, gripping it close to his own so the underside of their cocks are pressed together. From there Thor pours even more lube over them both (this shit is going to be absolutely everywhere by the end of the night), rubbing his own erection with the liquid, then repeating with Steve.
“You’re sure about this?” Cap asks Tony suddenly, one hand reaching up to cup the side of Tony’s face, “Like...We couldn’t just.....take turns?” He asks meekly, but really, that’d be a safer alternative, wouldn’t it.
“I can take it,” Tony breathes the words hot against Steve’s moist lips, and that seems to get him on board 100%. He’s a little...no, not nervous, just ready, brightly anxious maybe, because he’s never done this, and who better to do it with than THE God of Thunder, and Captain America? Who would’a though?
“Stop talking now.” Tony smiles (smirks) and hushes Steve with a kiss as Thor lines them up once again. It’s a bit clumsy, trying to press them both inside at the same time, but it’s also easier this way. Thor holds his prick steady against Steve’s as they slide into Tony’s obliging hole, sopping wet and red from being worked open so quickly. His body presses against them both, denying the thick slide, and Tony cries out into Steve’s mouth with an edge unmistakable pain.
Cause fuck yeah it hurts, but it’s a good hurt.
“Shit...” Steve half-moans as he worms a hand between himself and Tony so he can guide himself in better. He had expected this to be good, because hell sex with Tony is great, but not only is that familiarly tight sensation drawing him in, Thor’s cock is sliding wetly along his own. They’re squeezed flush together by the clench of Tony’s ass, and pushing in all the way is out of the question--the angle is all wrong--but right now that seems totally, totally okay. Thor’s sunny resolve finally fractures, and he moans long and low, and deep in his throat. It’s a beautiful sound.
“Nnnngh....” Tony mumbles, or something, as he rests his head on Steve’s sweat-damp shoulder. He’s way too keyed up to even want to kiss his super-soldier boyfriend right now, he just--he doesn’t want to think get it over with but that’s kind of what comes to mind. Tony wants to enjoy this, and he’s totally going to once he gets adjusted to the impossibly wide spread of his asshole around them both. As he calculates it, Thor’s angle will press the tip of Steve’s cock against his prostate, and thinking about trajectory now is probably stupid, but if the shoe fits.
“Tony,” Thor growls and grips Tony’s hips tight, because he’s apparently chomping at the bit.
“Just....” Tony croaks, “Gimme....a second....” He can hardly get the words out, can’t get his mind around much else besides the overwhelming fullness he feels. There’s really no way to describe it, but then again, it’s easier to just call a spade a spade. Steve whispers something to him that he doesn’t register, but there is a heavy hand smoothing down his back, and Tony thinks it’s enough to ground himself on.
After a few tense moments of held breaths and muscles twitching with restraint, Tony exhales with a sigh, and whispers ”Alright.” Steve’s so fucking thankful he whimpers and cants his hips up to press his cock further into the man above him.
They can’t move fast--hell they can barely move at all at first, but slowly (and with the help of, surprise, more lube) Steve and Thor (but mostly Thor) set a gradual rhythm as Tony’s muscles relax. The pressure is still...incredible, as are the sounds Thor makes, which only spurs Steve on. Tony on the other hands is almost disconcertingly quiet, save for the soft whimpers he makes in the back of his throat. It’s then that Steve gathers himself enough to slide a hand between his and Tony’s now slick stomaches to take Tony’s neglected cock in hand.
“Oh fuck--Steve...yes,” He pants and it makes Steve moan to finally hear him. Tony lifts his head a little to smush his lips against Steve’s lazily, because he’s already feels boneless, “Hhhmmhh...” He mumbles into Cap’s mouth, and behind him, Thor frowns.
“Huh?” Steve asks, bewildered. Tony squints his eyes closed and, surprising both Thor and the super-soldier, rolls his hips just a little. The two blonds gasp or grunt.
“Harder.” Tony articulates his need, because by now his hole is loose and just this side of numb. He opens his eyes to look down at Steve, at the blotchy flush on his cheeks and the way a lock of his blond hair has curled over his moist temple.
“Wh-Tony...I-..”
“You-you’re right...there just.....c’mon.” Tony grits his teeth and rocks his hips again because if Steve’s going to protest, fine, he’ll do the work. Except Thor isn’t exactly the most passive lover, so he pulls out until the head of his cock catches under the rim of Tony’s entrance, and presses back in.
“Oh-....Thor...” It slips out before Steve can stop it, but apparently it’s not an error anyone else notices. Tony’s eyes are closed in some sort of pained bliss as Steve jerks him off, and Thor is thrusting with a steadily increasing pace, making Steve arch his back then push up into Tony. It’s still too slow, but the pressure builds and builds, where before it had merely been..simmering.
Their moans, whimpers, grunts, all the little sounds blend together, and Steve isn’t sure whose is whose. He can feel the tightness of his orgasm coming on, the pleasure shivering through him and pulling his balls up snug against the base of his cock. Thor too just looks like he’s almost there, the expression on his face lost with slack-jawed abandon as he fucks into Tony. His body is tight, and clenching tighter as he inches toward the edge, and Steve can tell. He starts to pump Tony’s length faster, thumbing at the head or squeezing at the base in quick succession, eager to bring him off soon.
“Tony, Tony-” Steve whimpers as his eyes search Tony’s face. It’s open like it never is, Steve thinks, even though his expression is an indefinable mix of ecstasy and discomfort. But suddenly, very suddenly when Steve gives him a very basic stroke and thrusts up into him, Tony is coming with a deep, long keen as he stripes the super-soldier’s chest with his release.
Thor’s grunts are being strung closer together as Tony clenches around him and Steve, the slide of their lengths against one another completely foreign in the best way possible. In the aftershocks of his climax the confines of Tony’s body tense even tighter, making Steve groan and arch as his own orgasm rolls over him, completely out of left field. He grips Tony’s hips tight as he comes inside of him, Thor still thrusting against him all the while.
It doesn’t take long but soon Thor lets out a very indulgent moan as he finishes inside Tony as well, and just as fast as they had all come, the thunderer is pulling his cock free. Tony cries out again, alarmed by the feeling as his hole begins to flutter, unused now to the lack of flesh filling him. Steve follows suit and lifts Tony’s hips enough so his cock slips free with a wet, satisfying sound. Cap barely registers Thor falling to the pillows next to them with a contented sigh, hands folded behind his head and looking quite like the prince he is.
“Tony...” Steve murmurs, running a hand through the smaller man’s sweat-damp hair. Tony merely hums too boneless and utterly, completely fucked out to give much more of an answer. Steve reaches a cautious hand to Tony’s ass and very gently probes at his ass, making him flinch. His hole is swollen and leaking Steve and Thor’s mingled fluids, but when the super-soldier looks at his hand, theres no blood. Tony hums or mewls or something yet again and Steve let’s his head flop back onto the pillows.
“Steven, would the two of you mind if I slept here tonight with you?” Thor asked, his clear blue eyes bright and boyish as usual. Tony opens his eyes as he grins, and reaches out a hand to pat the god’s thick shoulder.
“Of course you can big guy.” He mumbles, letting his hand rest against Thor as he closes his eyes again.
I hate the "falling asleep after sex" ending but I didn't want this to drag into a novel. :3 hope you liked it!
Меня вконец заебало, что теряю фанфики, которые понравились. С сегодняшнего дня, буду не только копипастить в лэптоп через Ворд (может быть, даже и в этот), но и в дайр, может даже в закрытки - а то РЕАЛьНО ЕБЕТ МОСК, когда что-то, что мне ТАК СИЛьНО НРАВИТСЯ, вдруг исчезает, и я ничего не могу поделать. upd: жизнь - несправедливая сволочь, и первый же фик, который я захотел сохранить, превысил своими 125000 знаков дайровский лимит записи на 62000 и потом мне позвонили сообщить, что лэптоп можно забрать, и на нём поставлены Гугл-Хром и ай-Тьюнс - что я тут же "попросил" удалить к дьяволу (уж айТюнс мне нахуй не нужны, но чтоб еще и Гугл совсем во все дыры???)
Плюс сегодня снилась нынешняя работа, причем настолько реально, что когда я услыхал будильник, относительно долго не мог понять, что происходит - почему я слышу свой будильник на работе (перед началом рабочего дня мобильник выводится в режим молчания), и почему вдруг стало темно и я не двигаюсь - ведь только что же детей направлял...
А этот комп хочется сломать голыми руками, ибо ВИСНЕТ. Как мне нарыть видюшек на завтра? Как мне распланировать встречу с Коммандиром и Пеппер? Проблемы белого человека.
Теоритически, заплатили. Причем начальница написала чек на столько, сколько я показал в своих записях, а не на столько, сколько написала та девка, наехaвшая на меня из-за счета по-русски. Но самое приятное то, что девушки, работающие со мной в комнате (т.е. не та чорррная бабищща) начинают копировать мою речь в обращении с детьми, а это, конечно же, безумно льстит мне лично, и гораздо полезнее детям в целом. Так что подписал "контракт" на два месяца и до 30го сентября я принадлежу им.
Продам кожаные браслеты Мягкая толстая кожа, стальные застежки и карабины. Браслеты комфортные, прочные и надежные. Сделаны на заказ. Почти не использовались. Ручные на запястье 17-20 см, ножные на щиколотку 22-25 см. Плотность обхвата регулируется. На полную даму или на мужчину. Хочу за них 2000 р. Нахожусь в Москве. Фото под морем. Дополнительные фотографии по запросу.
читать дальшеЧот-то я не заметил, чтоб тело засунули в машину скорой... Даже дважды промотал. Такая расцветка, с бледной кожей, черными волосами, красной кровью, что глаза кажутся пиздец как ненатурально, almost creepily, светлыми... Но Джон так и не узнал, что в него целились. Что и было нужно. Кажется, было продолжение... На этом компе будет больно, но, пожалуй, нарою посмотреть. p.s. искал ссылку, увидел это, вспомнил, что этот Холмс тоже говорил, что "это не вода в кране, которую можно выключить".