hey there cowboy

Do you remember the first movie you saw in a theater?

Okay yeah, I walked myself into that. Of course you saw the Lion King when you were four, and of course that immediately invalidates the point I’m here to make.

Maybe it doesn’t. How old were you when you realized those animals were voiced by real people? How old were you when you understood that someone had to make that? To draw every frame, shade, color, transform it from a bunch of pictures to an entire, living world?

What about the first thing you saw, where you actually considered the actors? The production?

You didn’t, of course. You might still not. That’s sort of the idea, though, right? Immersion into a story without stopping to wonder how they did it. Never considering how a wiry nerd with nice abs and flowing hair can get thrown around and set on fire while still delivering lines, how the actors playing those characters always somehow know muay thai and how to drive in a car chase and jump off of buildings.

Part of that is just practical effects, right? Something as simple as a bait-and-switch can be seamless if it’s used right; some sleight of hand, and boom, you’d have no idea that the main character was three different guys just then, and filmmakers have perfected that for a hundred and thirty years. It’s like doing a magic trick. You think new technology can compete with that kind of history?

Thing is, effects have gotten bigger and bigger. Aliens destroying New York. Plane crashes, underwater battlegrounds. You need tougher and tougher people to pull it off. Folks who are okay getting punched, launched, dropped, snapped, and never get their face shown on screen. 

They’re not usually the glamorous thespians who go to acting school. They’re the tough guys. The daredevils, the risk takers and thrill seekers, people who have based their whole lives off the risk of bodily harm.

Then there are the wolves. You know, werewolves? Like transform with the full moon people? Oh, you thought those were also FX. Nope – we’re real, and very, very present in film – in all the places you’re taught not to look. Every shot they’re in is trained to draw the eye away from them, even when they’re being amazing. Even when they are, for that split second, the main character. Movies can’t get made without them. Heh – there was even a point in time where the industry called them moonvies instead of movies. But, uh, that sounded too close to moonies, and nobody wants to take their kids to see moonies.

Using werewolves can be a mixed blessing. They’re better suited to practical stunts. They can recover from a hit better. They can stretch further, push harder, land on their feet. But they’re a little high-strung, and they can’t film certain days of the month – which if you’re waiting for a weather window and that happens to fall on a full moon? There’s your entire schedule, totally fucked just for some stunt guys. Executives down your throat, your budget wiped out – that’s one of the million reasons a lot of productions have been pushing for CGI. 

It’s a predatory part of the industry anyway – these guys are built tougher, but does that make it fair to put them in the most dangerous and undesirable jobs? It’s true that not all stunt men are wolves, and the demographic has been dwindling in the industry over the past decade or so, but that doesn’t stop anyone desperate or determined enough from subjecting themselves to the agony of infection – just to land a job, try to cement themselves into a career. It was one thing when the Born were getting hired, but the Bitten make up an almost equal number nowadays. If CG puts them out of a job, they’ve permanently altered themselves for a pocket of the field that might not even exist a few years down the line.

And CGI shit doesn’t even look that great most of the time. Except Avatar, but like how does anyone have that kind of funding? They never had to worry about building detailed sets or shooting on location, but you’d think if it could be that visually advanced, they could have used something other than fucking Papyrus for their title logo, right?

We’re getting off-topic here. 

There’s a time and a place for CGI, but if Peter Jackson taught us anything it’s that practical effects really do look more genuine, and the computer should be used only where real life can’t. That’s all. It’s that simple. The Hobbit movies looked terrible, and the originals still hold up a quarter century later.

Then again, the Rings of Power is like, visually stunning. But that might be a budget thing, or an artistic eye thing, or-

Off topic again. Shit. Sorry.

Look, maybe we should start at the beginning.

With a simple stunt man. One of the best, if I do say so myself. Ruggedly handsome (but not quite handsome enough to get his face on screen), wickedly talented, and human, by the way.

No hate to the wolves. I was just born different. My best buddies are wolves. Hell, some productions I’d be outnumbered, especially my earlier ones. I had to push hard to get hired those first years. Nobody wanted a human. Too fragile, right? Why would a human even want to put himself at risk for this stuff anyway?

Well, ask that kid from Florida who took a fanboat joyride at age seven and wanted to be an acrobat at the circus for career day. Ask that undiagnosed ADHD jock why he keeps literally climbing the walls and casually drops himself off the roof when he’s supposed to be getting a martial arts scholarship and can’t afford to put that at risk? Ask the high school dropout who has spent forty days straight trying to perfect a trick on his dirt bike. For fun. Because he could.

(And if you ask the kid who felt like he could only get attention through risky behavior and showing off…Look, if I wanted the attention, I’d be the actor, not the double, alright?)

But Miami Vice was my big break, and the wolves on set had my back when the humans didn’t. Crazy, right? How stunt guys band together. Wolves pack bond, obviously, but so do stunt performers across the board. Like it’s not mutually exclusive, you know? And lemme tell you, the howling after a cannon roll? The dogpiling after pulling off something completely insane? The collective hooting and barking, the impulsive parkour whenever things got too still, the loyalty – okay, the face licking was a little out there, but – those were my people. They were better family to me than my own ever were.

There were times I felt more wolf than man. I was doing what I was born to do.

Then I got paired with Tom Ryder as a body double. He preferred human doubles, and that seemed super progressive at the time. He wrote me into his contracts! Like, he wasn’t an awesome dude once his face got slapped on every bus stop, or after he bought his sixth mansion. You know that by now. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he… was an asshole. That’s showbiz, though. Actors are dicks. Stunt doubles get none of the credit. Yadda yadda. Point was, I had everything I wanted. Good career. The love of my life. The promise of a spicy margarita on a beach somewhere.

The thing about being a man among wolves though, is that you forget you’re only human. Wolves can come back from just about anything if a rig goes sideways.

“That’s good,” Colt replies with a smile, pressing you into the hood of the car, one hand on your hip and the other cupping the back of your head. The feel of his rough fingertips against the sensitive skin of your neck has your eyes closing briefly and you lift your chin in response. For a moment he does nothing but watch you, your breath mingling together. This close to Colt you can see how dark and beautiful his lashes are.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers and then suddenly he’s kissing you, his lips soft and warm. 

You hardly notice the coarseness of his beard, focused on the way his tongue sweeps into your mouth and draws an embarrassingly needy sound from your chest. That sound seems to spur him on and what was once gentle turns hungrier. You bury your hands in his hair and this time he groans into your mouth, hand flattening on your spine to keep you close. You part for air only when it becomes necessary, pulling in a shuddering breath. 

Colt’s expression is surprisingly tender and he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face. "That was intense, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree, a little awestruck when he presses another kiss to your lips. This one is softer, unhurried, and after he rubs his nose sweetly against yours. 

“Is this a good time to let you know I want to take you out on a date?” He asks. 

“I think so,” you tell him, a little breathless. “You just made a pretty compelling case of why I should say yes.”

“Cool,” he responds. “Until then I think we should keep doing this.”

Keep reading

“How many?” 

You dropped your gaze with a small smile, cheeks burning under his scrutiny. He stood so close his body radiated heat, only making you warmer. 

You laughed lightly to yourself, biting your lips together as his fingers teased the hem of your t-shirt. “I forgot, okay?” you shrugged. 

“You forgot?” He raised an eyebrow, tucking his finger under your chin; forcing you to meet his gaze. 

You swallowed hard but held his eye contact. 

“Count them” 

You blinked slightly taken aback. “W-what?”

He took your chin in his hand, squeezing firmly. His eyes fixed on you. 

“You heard me,” he said sternly “Count them”

His hand moved from your jaw, closing around your wrist, guiding it to the left side of his bare chest. 

Your fingers grazed over his inked flesh. 

“One”  you whispered 

Your heart pounded in your chest as he moved your hand to his forearm. 

“Two” you continued 

You braced yourself against his bare chest, leaning your forehead against his before he dipped his head to claim your lips in a bruising possessive kiss. 

You melted against him with a soft whimper, letting his tongue tangle with yours. 

He pulled back just enough to let you speak as you felt his hand guide yours to his other arm 

“Three” your voice barely audible as your lips moved against his. 

Your head swam with the linger of his kiss; he always had this way of making you weak in the knees. You pouted as he put a bit more space between you, holding up his right hand. 

“Four” you smiled, pressing your lips to the faded ink. 

Six held up his left hand and you repeated the process, pressing your lips to his warm skin before you answered “Five”

Turning his wrist around, your lips brushed against the last one as your eyes fluttered closed; his large hand cupping your cheek as you leaned into his touch. 

“Six…” you whispered and you weren’t entirely sure whether you meant the number or the man standing in front of you; but you didn’t particularly care.

“So you do remember” he teased, his other hand holding your waist as he pulled you flush against him once more. 

Thankful for the strong arm sliding around your back, your hands held his broad shoulders as the hand he had cupping your cheek disappeared under your hair, bringing your mouth to his as you laughed breathlessly “Yes, Sir” you smiled against his lips before he pulled gently on your bottom lip with his teeth. 

He took two giant steps forward, pinning you against the wall, kissing you deeper before his lips moved from your mouth to your neck. You leaned your head back against the wall, his beard scratching against your throat as he tipped his head to suck under your jaw. You unintentionally moaned, your arms draping around his neck as you heard him chuckle against your skin. 

He kissed a trail back up the length of your neck, his breath against the shell of your ear calm and even, unlike your own.

“You want it?” His lips dragged over the contours of your ear as he spoke, making you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lips together taking in a deep breath through your nose. 

All you could do was nod; and as if he’d known it he laughed lightly against your ear. “Use your words” 

Your breath caught in your throat with a small giggle as he deliberately dragged the hand not tangled in your hair, over your hip and came to rest on your thigh; close, but not close enough as his fingers came to a stop.

Brushing them gently on the inside of your thigh, he waited. 

“This is cruel” you whined attempting to thrust your hips into his touch; only for him to pin you more tightly against the wall with seemingly zero effort. 

You scoffed with protest as your breath grew heavier, struggling against his weight. “God!” you gave up with a huff, slumping against the wall as best you could “You’re evil, this is evil” 

He had hardly moved, barely made a sound before he pulled back to look at you; you could feel the hot flush of your skin and knew he could see it just as well. With eyes fixed on yours, his fingers crept slowly up the inside of your thigh.you attempted to squeeze your legs together, to stop him from moving any further and he simply pushed them apart with ease. 

For someone who ate, slept, and breathed sarcasm, there was no hint of it anywhere in his rugged features. His eyes intense, somehow more than usual, made your core clench; you almost jumped when he spoke again. 

“Three. Little. Words.” His voice hauntingly calm, making your heart pound harder in your chest, thump louder in your ears. 

Your lips parted as you took in a shaky breath but you didn’t speak; your eyes never leaving his. 

You squeaked with surprise as he grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing hard; you hugged him tighter as he pulled you from the wall, your feet leaving the floor just enough for him to spin you around toward the bed. 

The backs of your knees bumped the edge of the mattress, but Six kept you stationary. You looked at him with a pout and he looked back expectantly, one eyebrow arched slightly. 

You scoffed dropping your shoulders “Oh come on” you threw your head back dramatically dragging your fingernails down his bare shoulders. 

He shook his head “Wrong words” 

You let out a heavy sigh glaring at him “I hate you” 

That made him snort with a laugh “No you don’t” he smirked; as if to emphasize his point he squeezed your ass harder, making you gasp. 

You growled low in the back of your throat and he cocked his head to the side “Are you mocking me?” 

You hadn’t meant to, but… “Maybe” you pursed your lips “What are you going to do about it?” you challenged

Before you could blink, all the air rushed out of your lungs as you landed heavily on the mattress; Six’s weight near suffocating on top of you. Your arms were pinned over your head against the pillow, gathered in one of his hands. His nose dragged over the bridge of yours as he leaned in close, too close; your entire body suddenly feeling like you’d been set on fire. You caught your breath as you got your bearings. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do about it” he whispered; his free hand sliding back between your bare thighs. “I’m going to make sure you remember”

You scoffed a nervous laugh, trying to squeeze your thighs together; again to no avail. “H-how?” 

He shifted; his weight heavy on your middle as he let go of your wrists; taking your hand in his and bringing it to his chest. He folded your fingers so you were simply pointing with your index finger, guiding the tip of your nail dragging over the faded lines of his tattoo. 

“Trace it” His eye met yours briefly before dropping again, watching your nail, guided by his hand trace over lines. 

The heat of his body still radiated against your hand; his hand was warm closed over yours; the heat was still there even after he’d pulled away and you continued as instructed. 

“What happens if I stop?” you asked, eyes focused on his smooth skin 

“Then I stop” he answered, pulling your tank top up to expose your body underneath. 

You frowned slightly before you gasped, arching off the bed, the fingers you had been tracing his tattoo with immediately clawing against his chest as his warm, wet mouth closed around your nipple; his teeth scraping gently over the nub. 

“Fuck” you breathed and he raised his head with a smirk you wanted nothing more than to slap off his face. 

“Only if you finish all six” 

You purposefully dug your fingernails into his meaty flesh making him growl low and deep as he dropped his head again; one hand still pinning your arm over your head, his fingers threading together with yours as his other hand teased along the inside of your thigh. 

You leaned your head back into the mattress, taking in a deep breath with a small laugh “Fuck” 

You dropped your head back down to focus; watching intently as he dropped is head to kiss down your cleavage. 

You shuddered, feeling his tongue glide over your skin. 

“Hnh” you grit your teeth together trying like hell to keep your focus. 

You finished the first, dropping your hand to fist the sheets underneath you as Six’s mouth continued its assault. 

He let go of your hand, not even lifting his head as he nipped and sucked across the expanse of your entire body. 

You held his hand in front of you, palm out with his fingers spread apart slightly as your slender fingers in comparison traced over the lines of his second tattoo. 

You whimpered as his teeth dragged over your hip as you turned his hand over in yours. 

You got halfway through the next small one before feeling his warm breath so close to your core against your belly button and then all at once it was gone.  

“Six…. please” you weren't begging, but you weren't above it. 

“Start over” 

Your mouth dropped open “What?! Why?!” 

“You stopped,” he said simply “Start. Over.” his voice amplified against your stomach. 

The hint of his military training seeping through his command. If you fucked it up, started from the beginning until you got it right.

You did as you were told, tracing the lines of the sunburst where you'd left off. 

Six carried on exploring you with his mouth like a treasure map, leaving a trail of bright red hickeys like breadcrumbs as you circled back to retrace his wrist before moving to his forearm. 

He crawled over you, the hand he had between your legs braced on the mattress as he bent to suck and lick your neck. 

You bit down hard on your bottom lip tracing over the horse on his other side. 

He leaned next to your ear, making you shiver as he breathed. 

“Focus…” he whispered, dragging his teeth over your earlobe. 

You let out a needy moan, but by some miracle, kept your finger tracing steadily. 

You could feel him smile against your jaw before he kissed along the length. 

“How many?” He whispered in between kisses. 

You froze for a beat, genuinely unsure of just what answer it was he wanted. “Four” you guessed, and you were immediately rewarded, his teeth sinking into the divet of your collarbone making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Six…p-please”

“Keep going…”

You took his hand, tracing over the five small dots. 

Letting it drop, he braced himself on the mattress, trapping you between his arms as you retraced the portrait on his chest. His head dropped, watching your fingers move. 

As soon as you connected your invisible line he dropped on his forearms, lifting both of your legs over his shoulders. 

Before you had a chance to process, your body lurched forward, your back arching off the mattress as his fingers disappeared into the flesh of your hips, keeping you still as he buried his nose in your core, his tongue licking a hot stripe between your folds as he sucked your clit into his mouth. 

You cried out, shuddering in his hands as your heels dug into his shoulder blades in lieu of a mattress, making him groan into your core. 

You twisted against his onslaught, one of your hands twisting tightly in his thick blond hair, pulling hard; your other hand pushing through your own hair as you rolled your hips forward. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a long drawn out moan toward the ceiling.   

That only made Six more forceful. He groaned from between your thighs, sending the most delicious electricity through your entire body. 

You could hear yourself whimper pathetically but you couldn't do anything to stop it. You shuddered under his hands, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Then all at once he was gone, his mouth had disappeared. You practically screamed in protest, lifting your head to complain, your forehead nearly collided with the bridge of his nose as he pulled you closer, burying himself inside you with one swift movement, his mouth closing over yours, swallowing your moans as his tongue filled your mouth. 

Your moans mingled together as your ankles locked around his back and you wrapped your arms around his massive shoulders.

His hips snapped hard, making the mattress groan with the effort. 

You tore your mouth from his, taking such a deep breath your lungs burned as you clung to him, his face buried in your neck as you turned to putty in his hands; fingers twisted in his hair as he moaned deep and guttural against your neck, his cheek pressed against yours. His breath heavy and laboured next to your ear. 

He relaxed, his weight heavier on your chest as he turned his head, his lips searching for yours. 

You kissed him gently as he settled against your chest. Your fingers playing with his hair. 

“How many?” He muttered between lazy kisses. 

You shrugged with a smirk “I forget”

Suddenly his full weight came crushing down on top of you and you groaned underneath him 

“Jesus…Six” you rasped and he made no effort to move. 

Instead he reached to brush your hair away from your face before resting his chin on his arm across your chest “Still forget?” 

You shook your head 

“How many?” 

“Six” you answered taking a shallow breath before his weight disappeared off your chest 

You took a deep breath as he climbed off the bed, offering you a hand “I can think of better ways to suffocate me to death” you muttered taking his outstretched hand.

He lead you down to the bathroom before drawing a bath; the steam billowed from the tub, you tipped your head curiously, watching as he added a couple things to the hot water, swishing it gently with his hand before he stood straight and turned to face you. 

He held your hand as you climbed into the tub, stepping in after you. He moved to put himself behind you before you grabbed his wrist gently. 

“It’s my turn” 

***

He settled between your legs after turning off the tap, the water threatening to spill over the edge. 

You kissed across his shoulder blades before he leaned back against your chest, you slid your arms over his shoulders and down the expanse of his scarred chest. 

Leaning forward slightly, you pressed gentle kisses along his neck. 

Feeling him start to relax, you took the cloth off the edge of the tub, lathering it with soap, running it slowly over his contours. 

Your hand dipped into the warm water, dragging slowly over his stomach and you felt him go rigid almost instantly. 

“Relax” you whispered softly, nuzzling into his neck. 

He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you could feel his stomach unclench under your fingertips. 

Lifting the cloth from the water, you washed his arms next, water dripping down the length of his forearms.

Six reached to take the cloth from you and you let him, moving your hands to his shoulders, your thumbs moving over the seemingly permanent knots there. 

“Let me in,” you breathed softly next to his ear; the tip of your nose dragged along his hairline at his neck, your warm breath making his body prickle with goosebumps and he let out a low moan. 

Your fingers worked slowly and careful as his head dropped forward against his chest before he leaned back against your shoulder; his eyes closed. It was a rare occurrence when he would let his guard down completely; between his military training and childhood trauma he didn’t talk about, he was always on the defensive. 

Six let out another sigh, this one was content; your slender fingers hitting spots he never could reach on his own. It had taken him a long time to trust you, sometimes he wondered if it had taken too long, if you had given up trying or caring. He knew sometimes you still wondered if he had trusted you completely. 

He had; even though sometimes his instincts screamed at him not to; don’t trust you, don’t let you in, don’t protect you…

“Six…” 

Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts as he felt your fingernail drag over his pec. 

He hummed questioningly; his eyelids heavy from exhaustion 

“Just counting…” you whispered against his neck, kissing the hollow behind his ear before you pat him gently, the water from your fingertips beading on his chest before rolling down into the tub. “Come on, before you fall asleep; I can’t carry you to bed” 

He reluctantly pulled himself to his feet; his limbs felt heavy as he wrapped a towel around his middle before wrapping you in the bigger, softer one; lifting you off your feet, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs draped over his bulging bicep. 

“But I can carry you” he spoke softly, kissing your temple as he made his way down the hall. 

Setting you on your feet next to the bed you both shed towels before climbing under the covers and you tucked yourself into the crook of his arm.

You both laid quietly; one of your hands absently tracing over the portrait on his chest; the other twisting soft strands of his hair gently around your fingers. He kissed your forehead before settling more deeply into the covers, his arm wrapped protectively around your bare back as he laid on his side, facing you, but also facing the door. 

You chuckled softly kissing his broad chest 

“Nothing is going to get us in the dark” you whispered in between kisses “Will you relax?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it”

You leaned back enough to look up at him; his blue eyes meeting yours, intense and brooding. 

“I love you, you overprotective freak”  you craned your neck to kiss under his chin 

You grunted as he crushed you against his chest, growling next to your ear, making you giggle. 

He eased his hold but didn't let you go; just pressed a kiss into your hair. 

“How many?’ he whispered 

You smiled against his chest with a sigh. “My favourite number”

“Which is?” His chest vibrating with the question. 

“Six” you whispered, letting your eyelids heavy with sleep slip closed; safely wrapped in the cocoon of Six's broad arms. His steady breathing and thump of his heart lulling you off to sleep. 

You were still a little bewildered as to how you ended up here in this hotel room, seated on Driver’s lap.

He didn’t tell you his name, but Driver worked just as well.

One moment, he had asked if he could drop you off at your room for your safety, and the next, this was happening.

There were better ways of phrasing this, but you were too lost in the heat of all the sensations to care.

His mouth was moving against yours with a passion you didn’t think he had, seeing how broody he had been the entire trip to here, but God, you loved it.

As you kissed him, your mind went further with imagination, wondering how he’d react if you took control, made him beg, and your fingers clutched painfully tight onto his collar.

There was no harm in trying.

He brought his hands up your thighs, and you found it to be the perfect moment to sate your curiosity. You pushed them off, and pulled away from the kiss.

Driver didn’t expect that. He gave you a perplexed look, and teasingly, you traced his perfectly red, swollen lower lip.

“Don’t touch me unless I tell you to,” you said simply, your tone bare but your words commanding, and it did something to him.

“Is that clear, love?”

You words clicked a switch. Something carnal spurred inside him, a feeling that had been buried under years of silence.

He nodded, and let his hands fall behind, but his dark gaze was forever tethered to yours.

“Good boy,” you cooed, and the softest of sighs left his mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed with a look of pained longing on his face.

You just wanted him even worse now.

You slid a hand into his dirty blonde hair, fingers gently caressing, nails barely scratching at his scalp. 

“Relax,” you whispered, and he did.

You leaned in, hand still in his hair, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, on his chin, on his throat that bobbed when you did, and as you sunk lower to his collarbone, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, pushed the cloth aside, and pressed your lips  to the jutting bone. 

You heard Driver take in a sharp breath as he attempted to keep composure, and you couldn’t help but smile. How hard he was trying.

Gently, you nipped at the skin, hard enough for it to leave a scarlet mark on his flesh. 

Driver groaned under his breath, the sound only providing more incentive for you to keep going.

“D’you like that?” you asked quietly, and you saw him hesitate.

But then you cupped his jaw with your hand and tipped his head upward, and brushed your thumb over his chin, and he nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, what?” you goaded. A look of defiance flashed past his eyes, but then he gave in.

“I… I like it when you hurt me.”

Oh, that was beautiful.

At those words, you tugged at his hair, hard, and he jumped, letting out a small cry of pain.

A rush of concern. “Are— are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He paused, and then swallowed, his finger grazing over your knee. “Do it again.”

Oh.

You massaged his scalp with the tips of your fingers and tugged again, harder than last time.

A moan escaped Driver’s mouth that you could only describe as ecstatic, and when you felt him harden through his jeans, you just chuckled breathily.

“Oh, you love this,” you purred in his ear, “You’re so needy, hmm?” and he just noiselessly nodded.

“Please—“ he mumbled, voice laced with pure want.

You really couldn’t hold back any longer.

Softly, you started to grind against him, and you almost lost your mind when you heard him let out the neediest moan yet, rutting back instantly. 

“G-Good boy.”

His head fell back against the headboard of the bed, his hands came to your waist, holding you down, and his legs spread, allowing you to pleasure the both of you better.

His breathing was erratic, fluttering, and you took the opportunity to grab him by his shirt collar and crash your lips against his in a kiss that wasn’t like the rest of them; it was hot, needy, and absolutely out of your control.

You felt him say something unintelligible against your mouth.

“Hm?”

His eyes were barely open when he requested something that knocked the breath out of you.

“Choke me, please,” he said, hooded eyes looking up at you like a puppy.

“…Fuck,” you found yourself muttering, the tautness in your lower stomach only tightening. “Of, course, love, yeah.”

As you rutted against him, your thumb trailed from his chin to his Adam’s Apple, before your fingers clutched onto his throat, firm but unhurting.

He looked beautiful and so fucking needy under you with the way his skin glistened with sweat, eyes rolled to the back of his head, gasping for breath, his hips bucking further and further against yours, faint, meaningless little pleas falling from his swollen lips.

You should’ve found him so long ago. You should’ve done this ages ago, making him surrender to you, letting you do as you pleased, hurt him, make him feel things that turned his vision hazy.

It only took a few more moments for you to come undone, faintly whimpering, and your fingers curled against his throat hard enough for it to hurt. You could feel your panties wetten, your legs feeling weak.

But you couldn’t stop, not when Driver was clearly so close to his own orgasm. You could feel how damp his jeans had become.

You started to grind faster, unrelenting, choking him harder, teeth finding the skin beneath his ear as you nipped it, and that was the last straw for him.

The lowest, darkest of growls rumbled from his mouth as he came, hard, his thrusts reaching a sloppy end, the denim becoming warm and soaked.

You let your hand slide lower to his chest, and you could feel his thudding heart.

“You did so well,” you mumbled, entirely spent. You let yourself rest against his form, taking in deep breaths. “Good job.”

A gentle rumble of a ‘thanks’ echoed into your ears, and you felt him press a hesitating kiss on your head. A smile tugged at your lips at this.

“You were such a good boy, hm?”

You looked up at him, running a hand through his sweaty hair and pushing the strands from his face.

He smiled back, barely, but it was something.

There's something to be said for visiting Colt at work.

If you're lucky you catch a glimpse of a stunt or two before he goes to take the break you often share together.

Colt Seavers is most at home when he's being hit by cars, driving a motorcycle, or falling out of windows. He's a vision like that, all sweaty, tousled hair and bright eyes, and you're glad when you get to see it.

You can't be there all the time, though, because you're trying to keep your relationship on the down-low. It’s not necessarily because there could be any serious consequences for you or Colt if it came out that one of the stunt people is dating one of the writers, it’s just that you don't need everyone asking questions and being nosy when you've only just started something. It's still new. Fragile, even though you can feel the sheer potential you and Colt have together. You don't want it to burn itself out, but it's hard with Colt being who he is. He's so desperately earnest, about ten times as impressive as he thinks he is, and just about the best partner you've ever had.

Being with him is comfortable and he's safe. He'd never hurt you. The coffee incident doesn't count even though you know Colt is still beating himself up about that. He's weirdly clumsy. If you didn’t see his skill for yourself on a weekly basis you would seriously question his choice of career path. But there's a calm that settles over him as soon as he's on set. Shoulders falling, breathing evening out, hands relaxing at his sides, and then he's letting himself fall out of a fucking helicopter of all things.

That day wasn’t great for your nerves, but he immediately texted you ‘All good 😎👍🏻’ after safely landing on an absolutely massive airbag and being patted down by his fellow stunt people for injuries, despite being only like 20 yards away. You appreciate that he doesn't ridicule you for showing fear in the face of your boyfriend doing breakneck stunts day in and day out, even if he doesn't exactly understand it himself.

He's already on break when you arrive today. By the time production starts, writers are really only needed for small changes to the script and the writing room is empty and dark most days, so you've found yourself a bit of free time. You've been enjoying it, but today you had woken up restless and bored already. You had shot Colt a quick text, asking if he was around and wanted to see you. He was of course and, yes, he did.

So, with a small smile, you got your things together and drove down to set.

You're most of the way to his trailer already when something interrupts you.

“Hey!”

You turn around, a smile brightening your features as you see Colt jogging towards you, holding two cups of what you assume is coffee in his left hand.

He gives you his right hand to shake and you roll your eyes but indulge him. “What was your name again?”

“Colt.”

“That’s right, I remember now.”

Colt rolls his eyes good-naturedly, squeezes your hand one last time before letting it go to instead root through his pockets for his keys to open the door of his trailer for you. He’s having a bit of a hard time with it, though, considering his keys are in his left-side pocket and said hand is occupied.

You could take the coffee, but instead, you take a step closer and bat his hand away. His eyes snap up to yours as you snake your hand into his pocket with a teasing grin you can’t hold back.

“What are you doing?” he asks with his own small smile.

You shrug. “Nothing, just,” you lay your hand flat against his thigh, warm even through the fabric, “getting the keys.”

“Careful,” Colt says, voice low and playful. “Someone's gonna see.”

You shrug but you also remove your hand from his jeans, keys held in your grip.

You turn around and he crowds up against you like an impatient puppy wanting to be let in.

“Patience,” you admonish him, trying to fit the key into the lock.

It requires a bit of effort to focus the needed amount of attention onto what you're doing in front of you instead of letting all your attention flee to what Colt is doing behind you. Which actually isn't much. He's just… Very big and very warm.

You finally manage to get the door open and you've barely stepped past the threshold and let Colt in behind you, when you turn around with every intention of kissing your boyfriend within an inch of his life.

“Woah, woah,” Colt says, leaning back, “careful!"

You look at him a bit confused until you spot the two coffee cups he's holding behind his back, shielding them from you and any more attacks. You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“It took me nearly an hour to get these,” he hisses. “I don't know why but the goddamn coffee machines keep vanishing.”

“Do you guys need a room?” You ask, point from him to the coffees and back again. “Because I can go.”

Now it's Colt's turn to roll his eyes. “Don't be like that,” he says, carefully placing the coffees on the table to his left. “You know I love all of you equally.”

You huff, mock offense in your tone when you say, “I see how it is.”

“That's a compliment!” Colt insists. “You know how much I love coffee.”

You do, actually. He's not subtle about it. It's not that he even needs it to function, not really, he just really, really likes coffee.

“I need it to live,” Colt adds, then realizes what he's just said. He goes a bit red, but he doesn't take it back.

“Is that so?” you ask, stepping closer again until Colt is all the way pushed up against the door.

“Yep,” Colt says, not at all focused on your eyes anymore.

“Can I have that kiss now?” you ask.

Colt doesn't reply.

“Colt?”

His gaze snaps back up to yours. “Yes?”

“Kiss me,” you demand, deciding to forgo any more asking.

A grin breaks out on Colt's face, and in the next second he's pressing his lips to yours.

You can feel his grin against your mouth, which prompts an answering smile to tug at your lips. It turns the kiss into more of a messy ‘breathing the same air’ situation.

“You're so pretty,” he mumbles when he pulls back, quiet and earnest.

You hum, feeling warm. He's never skimpy with compliments, more likely to overdo it a bit, but he always means them.

“Let's try that again,” he decides, forehead laid against yours.

You nod, “Yeah,” and the next time you meet in a kiss it's better.

The slow, easy movement of your lips against each other is comfortably familiar by now, but it still sparks something low in your belly. His right hand cradles your cheek while the other is a warm weight on your hip.

Colt manhandles you around, gently but firmly pushes you up against the door instead and you let him with a laugh. The hand on your hip wanders lower until he can comfortably cop a feel of your ass, and pull your hips closer to his at the same time.

He grinds your hips into yours, just once, then stops and pulls away.

He looks flushed, hair standing in all directions from the hand you've still got buried in it. It looks good on him. Colt is never all that put-together but you still like taking him apart even more, making him properly messy.

“Sorry,” Colt says, but his hand is still on your ass, “Got a bit carried away.”

“Oh, you think?” you ask, trailing a hand down his dusty shirt to the crotch of his jeans.

You can feel his dick straining against the fabric and when you press down a bit Colt lets out a surprised noise, hips bucking in an effort to chase the friction.

“Rude,” he gasps.

You laugh, removing your hand from his crotch to instead brush his fringe to the side so you can properly look into those blue eyes of his.

He squeezes the flesh he's still gripping with one hand. “Wanna fuck?”

You snort. “That's very nicely phrased.”

Colt has the decency to look a bit sheepish. But only a bit.

He shrugs. “Wanna make love instead?” he asks, voice too low to be natural. He breaks a second later with a snort and you can't help but join him.

“How about,” you say, lightly scratching your nails through his hair in a move that you know sends shivers down his back, “we do neither of those and instead just have sex?”

“Sounds great,” Colt breathes and then he's on you again, pressing you against the door and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You gasp into the kiss but the noise gets lost somewhere between you. Colt, with both hands on your ass now encourages you to roll your hips against his. It feels good, sending slow waves of pleasure through your body that build and build until you're just as flushed and turned on as he is.

He pulls back again, tugging you with him. “Alright, come on,” he says. “Let's take this to the bedroom.”

You muster the bed at the far end of the trailer skeptically. “I wouldn’t call that a bedroom.”

Colt rolls his eyes, turning you around again to push you down onto the mattress.

“You know what?” he asks.

“What?” You reply, breathlessly, staring up at him from the sheets.

“I really don't care,” he says, crawling onto the bed after you, his body easily covering yours.

Colt toes off his dirty boots at some point, awkwardly helps you get rid of yours too, even though the sheets are already kind of a lost cause. This is what happens when you fuck a stuntman.

“Come on, up,” he says, gesturing for you to raise your arms.

He helps you take off your shirt, groaning when he sees that you're wearing decidedly nothing underneath.

“Have mercy,” he says and you laugh, tugging him close for another kiss.

When you break apart he shrugs off his own shirt, baring tanned skin to your eyes. You trail a hand down his chest, hook your fingers into his jeans for a few taunting seconds just to let your hand fall back down onto the mattress.

“Have to do everything myself, huh?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say simply, then settle back to watch him unbutton and push down his jeans.

“Off with those,” you demand when he's left in only his briefs, snapping the waistband against his skin.

You send a vague prayer to whoever is listening when you're faced with an uninterrupted view of his hard cock, framed by thighs made thick and muscular from the work he does day in and day out.

Colt looks up from where he's carelessly dropping the rest of his clothes to the floor, his gaze meeting yours. He must see something in your expression because there’s suddenly a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

He bends down again, dick grazing your bare stomach, and kisses you deeply.

When he pulls back you let him, because he's moving down your body efficiently ridding you of the rest of your clothes too.

He taps your left knee. “Spread your legs for me, please.”

You do and he shuffles between them. You don't miss the hungry look on his face, so different from his usual easy-going, kind of dopey expression. You swallow heavily, legs subconsciously falling open more.

Under your watchful gaze, Colt pops two fingers into his mouth, gets them wet and glistening.

He moves even closer, hand disappearing between your legs. He takes a few moments to circle your clit. You sigh, laying back into the feeling, hips grinding slowly up against his fingers.

After a while, he pulls away and then you can feel his fingers at your entrance instead.

“Yeah?” Colt asks.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, feeling relaxed and open in exactly the right way, and he does, carefully pushing his fingers into you.

As he works up a steady rhythm to get you ready for his dick, he leans down, peppering kisses over your chest, pressing little bites to your skin here and there that have you gasping and squirming.

He’s mumbling something into your skin as he spreads and crooks his fingers inside you, sending tingles up and down your spine, his breath fanning warm over you, but you can't make out the words.

You use the hand that you had buried in his hair somewhere along the way to pull him off of you. He looks at you, lips spit-slick and slightly open as he tries to catch his breath. You have no idea how he's already panting when all he's done is fuck you on his fingers, but you're definitely not complaining about his wrecked state.

“I’m ready,” you say.

Colt's eyes widen. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He looks at you like you've just given him the world. It's always like that with him, his focus always so intense in its adoration, and your breath hitches.

Colt wipes his slick fingers on his dick, gives himself a few strokes before he finally lines himself up, one hand on your hip to keep you steady.

He pushes in slowly, giving you more time to adjust than you really need, considering how well he's prepared you, but you let him. He's always been the one slowing things down. Kissing you all soft and sweet instead of hurried and hungry. It's endearing. Makes you feel precious and adored.

But so does this. So does Colt, thick and so, so warm inside you, filling you up right to the brim.

When he's bottomed out he folds down on top of you, hiding his face in your neck as he catches his breath, letting himself adjust too.

This time when he mutters soft words into your skin you catch them. “You're perfect.”

You softly card a hand through his hair, keeping him close to you for a few moments. Then you lightly tap him on the back with your free hand.

“Move,” you tell him.

Colt props himself up, hands on either side of your head. “Can I?”

“I'm asking you to.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile.

He bends down to give you a surprisingly chaste kiss, pulling out almost all the way just to press back in, steady but too slow for your liking.

You let out a small ‘tsk’. You know he likes it faster than that. He forgets himself sometimes, loses control a bit when he's either very desperate or drunk, or both, and you love it. Slow and sweet is good, it is, but God you need this man to fuck you like he means it right now.

Which is exactly what you tell him.

“Oh, that's how it is?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, clenching down on him just because you can.

He lets out a broken noise and you can't help but grin.

“Yes, that's how it is.”

“Fine,” he says. “Hold onto the headboard for me.”

It's not really a headboard. More of a frame made up of a single iron bar but it serves its purpose well enough. You move your hands to hold onto it and Colt takes that as the sign to let go.

And let go he does, because when he’s pulled his cock almost all the way out he snaps his hips forward, quick and sharp.

You let out a punched-out moan, then another as he does it again.

He quickly finds a rhythm that works for both of you, settling easily into fucking you hard and fast, strokes deep enough that your head would be meeting the headboard if you weren’t pressing yourself down with your arms.

There are some undeniable perks about fucking a stuntman, too, you think to yourself, thoughts dizzy and jumbled up by the red-hot arousal that's washing over your body.

Colt is letting out little grunts and low noises that make a shiver spring up at your nape and chase down across your body to where the two of you are connected.

“Good?” he asks, looking down at you through the blonde strands of hair that are falling in front of his eyes.

A strained, “Yes,” is all you manage in return and he grins, keeping up the strong grind of his hips.

You can't bite back the noises he's fucking out of you anyway, so you give up completely, moaning and gasping into the air of the trailer. You can hear it when he pulls out of you and the noise when he pushes back in is even clearer, wet, and vulgar.

You had your suspicions when you first started dancing around each other that he would be reasonably good at this, but he blew all of your expectations clear out of the water and continues to do so. His normally straying attention is fully centralized when he has you spread out under him, and it shows.

When both of you get close, he lets himself fall to his elbows, molds himself along your body, pressed together from hips to chest.

He buries his face in your neck again, bites and sucks at the skin there, then seemingly remembers the whole ‘on the down-low’ thing and tries to pull back.

You try to keep him there but he's considerably stronger than you.

“Someone's gonna see,” Colt gasps.

You nod. “Yes. Let them.”

His eyes brighten and when you try to pull him down again he goes willingly, latching onto the sensitive skin you bare to him.

You know you're going to have a hickey right there, high on your neck, but you don't care. It feels good. Colt's lips on your skin, the short bursts of pain he teases out with his teeth.

And like you said. Let them see.

There’s not going to be any question what you've been getting up to in his trailer anyway because you're both a fucking mess by this point.

Both of your hair is mussed and you're sweating. The new position doesn't exactly make that better, not that you care, but it does make everything else better because Colt is so, so close like this. With the comforting support of the mattress beneath you and Colt heavy and warm above you, you know it's not going to take long.

He cums first, with a low groan, and you can feel him twitch and pulse inside of you. He keeps fucking you through his peak, unceremoniously pushes a hand between your bodies to get two fingers on your clit. Despite the strength of his thrusts and how hurried this has become, he's gentle when he brings you to your peak, guiding you through it with rhythmic movements, burying himself deep again so you can clench down around him as your orgasm rushes through your body.

You shudder in his hold, head thrown back against the pillow, Colt's face pressed to the bared line of your throat.

He keeps you close until your muscles have stopped contracting, until you go almost completely lax in his grip. Only then does he carefully pull out and collapse next to you on the bed.

You turn your head to look at him and when you meet his eyes there's a bit of shock in them.

“What?” you ask him.

He winces. “I might have overdone it a bit,” he says, pointing to your neck.

You prop yourself up on one elbow and raise a hand to it. The skin is warm and still slightly slick under your palm.

You let your hand fall away again, instead bending down to kiss Colt who eagerly meets you in the middle.

“Sorry about that,” he breathes.

You shake your head, pushing the sweaty locks off his forehead. “It's fine. I don't care.”

He smiles at you, easily pressing up into your hand. “Alright.”

“When do you have to be back?” you ask, fingers absently carding through his hair.

“I have no idea what time it is, so,” Colt shrugs, throwing a glance at where his phone is probably lying among the pile of clothes on the floor.

“I'm not getting up,” you say before Colt can even come up with the idea.

Colt rolls his eyes. “I'll do it,” he gives in, shuffling down off the bed, still completely naked, to root around for his phone.

“I have to be back,” he says, straightening back up, phone in hand, “in twenty minutes.”

You nod, patting the space next to you. “Come back here.”

Julian: Take Me To Church

Driver: From Eden

Colt: Jackie & Wilson

Ken: Unknown / Nth

Dean: Tell It To My Heart

Richard: Dinner & Diatribes

Dan: Sedated

Noah: Talk

Lars: Wasteland, Baby!

Sebastian: All Things End

Henry: In The Woods Somewhere

Luke: Someone New

Six: Who We Are

Jacob: Why Would You Be Loved

Holland: Francesca