Sex me up right now

“Ugh, it's so hard to breathe in this,” Wolfram grumbles, rolling onto his back. Yuuri watches him take a deep breath, and the fabric stretches beautifully across his ribcage.

Not because Wolfram is actually a guy – even though Yuuri sometimes has to remind himself – and guys usually don't wear dresses, not even in Shin Makoku.

Wolfram sits up, noticing Yuuri's stare. For a moment, both just look into each other, until Wolfram scowls.

Wolfram just shouldn't BE in that dress. More like, out of it. On their bed.

“I can see what you're thinking. Your face is like an open book.”

Yuuri's face heats up, and he looks away. He's still ashamed, even after all these years, and all the weird situations they've been in. “S-sorry.” His hand is on the bedpost, his knees inches away from the mattress, so close to lean down and touch the velvet running down Wolfram's slender torso--

“Idiot,” Wolfram clicks his tongue, leaning back on his arms. His chest may be flat in the ocean blue dress, but the golden embroidery on his chest and sides conceal his lack of curves.

Not that Yuuri really needs curves when he's blessed with milky-white skin and slender legs peeking out of the ruffles from the long skirt that looks like water. When he saw Wolfram in the ballroom earlier, he had to take a really deep breath, because the sight was simply stunning. Now, with Wolfram slightly disshelved and lounging comfortably on the king-size bed, Yuuri needs to channel all his willpower not to touch. (Ravage.)

Frozen at the end of the bed, Yuuri's still staring at the bedding, and Wolfram hasn't made a move to change clothes just yet. It's this moment where the tension is almost palpable – both opponents ready to strike the other down, swords drawn, just waiting for the other to make a move.

Although Yuuri really can't bring himself to look up right now. Wolfram is the one in control, and it's always been that way. Throughout the years, it's become their personal dance. Push and pull.

Yuuri's waiting for Wolfram to pull. Just a word, and he knows what to do.

Wolfram sighs, and extends his hand, his cheeks heated, and--

“Come on.”

And Yuuri's resolve crumbles.

Pairing: Hunk/Keith

Summary:

“You like that?”

Keith nods eagerly, looking down on Hunk’s hands wandering to the inside of his legs. The skin is more tender there, more sensitive, and wow, Hunk’s complexion is a nice contrast to his own skin—

My entry for @bbtales

Summary:

After decades of living in Elysia, Mikleo gets an unexpected visitor telling him that a new Shepherd has been born. Meeting old friends and making new ones, the party is searching for the Grail—an artifact allowing to communicate with the gods. Along the way, Mikleo learns more about Zaveid who has taken a liking to him.

This is a mini-series of smutty Hunk/Lance oneshots (E-rated for a reason).

Summary:

Warnings: Mirror!verse, explicit content, gore

The squishing sound that comes from Bones’ hand forcing its way into Nero’s abdomen runs down Jim’s throat like honey. The doctor’s hands are drowned in red up to his biceps, and it kind of looks like gloves on him. It’s a beautiful sight.

“There is no escaping the Terran Empire,” Jim says. “And yet you attacked Vulcan.”

Nero still glares at him, because he can’t talk anymore - his jaw has been ripped off and thrown down the hallway, and Jim doesn’t like the defiance in his eyes.

A small touch to his shoulder makes Bones take action; he jerks out several wet organs out of the torso, not batting an eyelash. The flawless display of obedience of him makes Jim’s cock stir in his pants.

“You dared to lay your hands on something that’s mine, Nero... Just to avenge your people? Your bravery is foolish.” Jim steps into the puddle of Nero’s blood, closer to his remaining body, and kicks against the piece of bone that sticks out from his cut off arm. “You’re weak.”

His words ring with cold finality, and Bones takes his hands out of the slowly cooling down body to lay them on Nero’s neck. He smears blood all over the skin, but Jim doesn’t watch the expert fingers crushing his neck and spine, he can’t look away from Bones’ satisfied gleam in his eyes. Bloodlust has always riled Bones up to a point that promised desperate, hard sex against a wall the second they board their ship again.

Every second Saturday night, there’s a familiar face around the Black Piano, a bar he usually hits up to get hammered. (They serve this nice little drink here he likes that’s not on the menu and probably not very legal, either.) Sometimes, he gets to know someone, but there are other bars and clubs he frequents to hook up with people. And the bartender is pretty nice here, too. Jim likes debating with them over politics.

Anyways, back to the familiar face. Familiar face - or Bones how he calls him, since he’s never learned the guy’s real name - is always sitting on his own in the far booth from the door.

Jim has never approached him so far; he could, because puking on someone’s shoes is far more intimate in Jim’s book than a visit to the glory hole in Snabers down the street, but he doesn’t want to pester the guy. He seemed to like brooding on his own, so Jim lets him.

It’s quite the surprise when Bones initiates the first conversation one night.

“Hey, kid.”

Jim looks up from his drink to 6 feet of seasoned man in a leather jacket. He smells of desinfectant and cologne, which is certainly not unpleasant.

“You‘re the one from the shuttle incident earlier this year, right?”

Jim can feel his throat dry up at Bones’ gruff voice, so he tries to play it cool. "Oh, yeah, you’re right. Didn’t recognize you right away, Bones. How’s it going?”

Bones throws him a confused glance at the nickname. “I actually wanted to thank--”

The door flies open and meets the wall with a loud thwack. The bartender nearly drops their glass, and Jim’s head snaps around to see who... “Oh shit.”

“Kirk.”

It’s that ridiculously tall guy whose girlfriend broke up with him for Jim - even though Jim assured her that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship and just wanted sex with no strings attached. (She was one of those people who thought they could tie him down and change him.)

Seems like Mr Dumped brought friends with him, too. Oh man. Could it get any more clichéd?

Bones seems unfazed at the overly dramatic entrance. “He’s after your hide?”

Jim shrugs and tries his best to look innocent. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

And while he tries to steel himself mentally to beat that asshole into the ground, Bones stands up, too, taking his jacket off. “Didn’t have a good brawl in quite a time,” he chuckles.

“Let’s take this outside,” Mr I-have-a-stupid-anchor-tattoo-on-my-biceps says.

Jim frowns at Bones, who bumps his shoulder. “You sure?”

“I’ll have your back, kid.”

And oddly enough, (even though he doesn’t know that guy,) Jim believes him, trusts him, even. (It was their puking/bonding moment, Jim is sure of it.)

“If it goes downhill, I can always patch you up.”

Bones thinks love is something calm and steady, because his parents were happy and never argued.

With Jim it’s not calm or steady at all; it’s nerve-wracking and worrying every waking minute about the hot-headed captain who got captured on an alien planet. Again.

Love, he knows, is born out of loneliness. Two lonely souls fall into each other when they need each other, like it was with him and Jocelyn. They depended on each other, and it hurt them so much when then broke up.

With Jim it’s a one-way street; Bones has fallen for that cocky grin and twinkling eyes years ago, and yet, Jim didn’t acknowledge his advances. During work hours, everyone depends on Bones to fix them up and keep them alive, and everyone depends on Jim to not kill them for another day. It’s not like they necessarily need each other.

Love is...

Bones huffs, feeling a pounding headache coming up. He’s not a philosopher, and he has patients to care about. This shouldn’t bother him so much.

A warm, steady hand on his shoulder makes him flinch slightly.

“You don’t look too good.”

Bones wants to snipe back how it’s Jim’s fault (as usual), but he leans into the touch and closes his eyes. “...Maybe,” he says.

The comforting touch is gone, and Jim makes his way to the bridge without another word. Bones tries to pull himself together. (He already longs for the touch again. ...He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to do this.)

In space, love is futile.

When Bones makes his way to his quarters, he undresses lazily and immediately falls into bed. The fatigue is resting in his very bones, and he needs more than 5 hours of sleep, but...

He has drifted off into a dreamless sleep, but a noise brings him back from Morpheus arms. Before he can register what woke him, someone lifts the blanket and crawls under it, pressing against Bones’ back.

He knows this cologne. “Jim...?”

But he doesn’t get an answer, just strong arms encircling him and a warm breath down his neck. A warm tingling feeling blossoms in his chest, but Bones’ mind doesn’t really want to think about this right now.

This is the first time that Jim gets closer to Bones, and he won’t question his motives or intentions. He will take what he can get.

There’s a smug grin plastered on Jim’s face, and it didn’t fade the whole evening. He and his friends have been celebrating his acceptance into Starfleet Academy with lots of questionable alcohol, and it has been AWESOME.

He patted the back of his best mate when he dropped Jim off on his doorstep. The door opened with a bit of work and clumsy fingers, and Jim stumbled in, crashing is elbow god-knows-where.

“Fuck, ‘t hurts,” he cried out, slamming the door shut.

There are lots of other parties living in this apartment complex, but he doesn’t care about waking anyone. It’s technically morning anyway.

One step at a time, Jim climbed his way up to his room under the roof (which isn’t technically a flat, but just a makeshift space - he can’t afford to live in this complex in an actual flat).

Jim’s humming the latest charts when he tripped over something large, and his brain was too slow to pick up on the sudden movement, so he toppled over with the absolutely graceful elegance of a drunk.

A door banged shut, accompanied by loud shouting. “Joce, please! Listen to me, I--”

Jim raised his head. Apparently he’s landed in a stack of clothes. Yeah, he’s lucky.

The other guy groaned n frustration. “This can’t be happening...” After a deep exhale, the guy turned and froze up, seeing Jim blinking at him from his pile of thrown out stuff. “What the...”

It’s good that Jim is quick on the uptake, and always ready to improvise for a handsome face like his. “Hey there,” he grinned. “Sorry for crashing your mess of a life, but... You need help? I got a room upstairs. You can crash if you wanna.”

And all of that without stumbling on the words with the slightest hint of a slur. Good job, brain and mouth.

Jim’s absolutely not drunken smile didn’t seem to convince the guy, so he held up a hand. “The name’s Jim.” It didn’t occur to him that he’s still laying in that pile of clothes.

“Ugh,” he sighs and shakes this weird feeling he gets everytime he just passes through solid things, like a wall or door, off. Not that he’s actually feeling it, but it’s still unnatural. Or should be.

Yes, he’s a ghost, thank you very much.

He doesn’t know how long he’s already looking over other doctor’s shoulders and bitches about their wrong diagnoses, or rolling his eyes at the gossiping nurses during breaks. It’s all the same to him.

Until that one guy, who stares right at him with wide eyes.

Bones wasn’t even doing anything remotely interesting; just floating through the hallway, dodging wandering patients and nurses.

“Please tell me you’re an actual ghost and not something I see because of the drugs they gave me.”

Isn’t that a romantic approach.

It only takes a raised eyebrow and a shit-eating grin so they become something like friends, because Bones has been lonely and Jim really is a medium. Ghosthunter actually, but he won’t hunt Bones, because it’s hard with a broken leg and a concussion.

So they talk a lot about other ghosts haunting the building, about Jim’s job, about Bones’ life and his daughter. “’Bones’ is not your real name, is it?” - “I don’t know anymore.”

And even after Jim gets out of the hospital, he doesn’t exorcize Bones, because of various reasons - ‘You don’t deserve that’, ‘Why should I?’, and even ‘Not today, I’m having a headache’.

“Come on, kid, don’t you have a job to do?” Bones is not annoyed, just anxious that Jim will get rid of him this time.

But Jim looks away sheepishly. “Maybe I like your company.”

The warm feeling in his chest shouldn’t be there, he’s a ghost, damnit, but Bones smiles. “Remember that time when you wanted to know my name?” And sharing his name feels like sharing a secret, the way Jim’s face lights up.

Leonard sighs aggrevated after a glancing into the rear mirror, because he really hasn't got the time to deal with this shit right now, he already is 30 minutes late because of work and he doesn't want to let Jo hangin', damn, he only has her for two weeks!

He slows down and pulls away from the road, the frown on his face deepening with every step the cop takes towards his car. He slides the window down.

"G'day, sir," the cop grins with too much satisfaction and Leonard really wants to punch these stupid pilot glasses from his nose, "you know why I stopped you?"

Well, in retrospect, it'd been better the kid's glasses would've stayed on, because now that they are on his stupid hat, bluelbue eyes stop Leonard's track of thought. Shit.

"...no?" Did his voice come out as breathy as he thought?

The officer leans onto the rolled down window. Leonard totally doesn't check him out that second. "Thought so." Why doesn't this hot piece of ass stop smiling?

Leonard's eyes widen as the blond leans into the car, reaching for him, he can smell the aftershave and musky sweat, sending shockingly amounts of blood into his groin -

The seatbelt clicks and the officer retreats. "There you go," he smiles and eyes Leonard's name tag from the hospital, which he had forgotten to take off, "Mr. McCoy."

And Leonard totally doesn't swoon, but tries his hardest not to blush like a fucking schoolboy. "Thanks," he huffs and can't take his eyes off the other.

They don't talk. The silence becomes unbearable.

The corner of Leonard's mouth twitches into a grin. "Need anything?"

A lick on plush lips and Leonard is transfixed. "Maybe an appointment?" The officer sounds casual, nothing sexual harrassing, but Leonard catches the hint and acts.

He grabs a business card and hands it over. "Come in tomorrow, 4pm."

And he really likes the kid's face. And eyebrows. And neck. Especially his eyes.

His ex-wife should have taught him that pretty people are not like that on the inside. But he was is old bloke with too much alcohol in his system, so...

Yeah, Kirk's an annoying twat that will be his death one day, McCoy was sure of that - and they haven't even talked like... a few words on the shuttle, damn, the kid would not remember him anyway.

And he is right. After an anonymus One Night Stand with no actual conversation, they part and everything--

The smell of sweat and bones is filling you as he takes off his reds in a deliberate way like he's stripping just for you and you're growing hard at the sight of a fit, broad body.

There is nothing to swallow yet, so you try his mouth instead like a sample for science even when you didn't enroll in the blueshirts department.

You're falling fast and rising again, grinding against muscles and hair and you want his hands inside you, please, Bones, and there is no moaning, just the sticky mess of precome on your belly.

And then he drives into you, because there is lust in his breath, you can taste it, scream it. This is not harmless.