#digshot

Fifth time’s the charm (VanDieter)

Dieter knocks, taking an expectant step back as he stands outside Vanderohe’s room, smelling a little too fruity after his shower, beaming as he thinks back to the events of the past hour, where Vanderohe had most definitely kissed him, before instructing him to come over anytime he’s ready. 

It was something he could do forever, Dieter contemplates while waiting. He never felt love quite like this before, and Dieter was sure that apart from Vanderohe, he might have really only been in love just once.

“Are you always this happy?” Vanderohe says with amusement, as he opens the door for Dieter.

2. On the edge of the precipice (VanDieter)

Guz and Chambers were menaces, honest to god— which was probably, and unfortunately, one of the many reasons why they got along with Diet like a house on fire.

3. A series of firsts (VanDieter)

“We could make this a thing,” Vanderohe says, drawing circles with this thumb around the inside of Dieter’s wrist.

“Are you a mind reader now?” Dieter catches himself smiling for what must be the thousandth time since the day started, “I would very much like for this to be a thing”.

4. How to stage an intervention: Chambers’ Edition (VanDieter)

Sometimes the muted resonance shatters and Dieter resonates. Feels everything from his heartbeat to the smell of rain, to the comfort and thrill of the night. Gives as much as he gets.

Somedays, like today, the endorphins consumed him. The space in his chest light like it was floating outside of him.

5. New Beginnings (DigShot)

A couple of weeks after Oliver and Felicity’s return to Star City found Diggle at the end of his wits. The entire Ghost situation was a clusterfuck; not that he expected any less, but he couldn’t say that he had expected, nor was he adequately equipped for, everything that the situation landed on his plate. Bloodlust. The dead coming back to life. Magic. Most of all, a brother he didn’t know anymore. 

Oliver had encouraged him to try. Diggle didn’t know what to make of the unsolicited advice. It might have been more convincing had Oliver not felt like a bed of roses fresh out of his honeymoon. Lawton had conversely blessed him with an unimpressed look that said: he was stupid for even considering; a calculated, rational conclusion, the only one which the darker side of the assassin was capable of. But just because it was sound didn’t mean that Diggle had to like it. The deliberation had escalated into a heated exchange of words, a scuffle, and finally, to him getting the cold shoulder. Diggle pointedly chose not to spare any thought about why it affected him the way it did. 

6. Controlled Chaos (FrostIron)

“Dum-E!” Tony’s indignant squawk thankfully derailed that train of commentary. Tilting his head, Loki notes that the said bot was now pressed against him following its close pursuit of them in their tour of its home. “Don’t antagonize Loki like that, god knows he’s more likely to actually dismantle you and use you for knife practice”

“Hardly,” Loki clarifies, unable to stop his right eye from twitching at the notion of using something so sentient for knife practice of all things. Such an exercise hardly bode any good results for the wielder— something he decided Tony strictly didn’t need to know. 

7. Home is Where the Heart is (FrostIron)

“Please say you don’t wanna bail, Houdini,” the said menace was now looking at him with wide pleading eyes. “I was promised three days of you waltzing me around this place,” Likely the widest he could possibly manage.

Meddling, sentimental fool . Loki thinks with an affectionate huff.

“That insult had better not be meant for me,” his lover complains without missing a beat, nose scrunched up in mock offence. 

Loki arches an eyebrow in confusion. He most certainly had not said that out loud. 

“Oh c’mon Lokes,” the genius has the audacity to roll his eyes at Loki’s confusion, “every time you huff, there’s an insult to be found in there somewhere,”

The man made a fair point.  

8. Two Halves of the Same Whole (WolveSilver)

Where Wolverine expects pain, there is nothing. 

For a moment, Logan is confused. When the confusion clears, he notices the silver-haired mutant braced above him by the side of the remote temple that he’s been spending the better half of his day trying to reach. 

Logan has only seen Quicksilver in passing. He’s only ever offered the younger mutant a nod of acknowledgment when they cross paths. He doesn’t know anything beyond the fact that Quicksilver has superspeed, talks way too much, and his father is a grade-A asshole. It somehow makes the current situation where Quicksilver is starting to slump over him, a gaping hole in his side, much, much worse. 

9. Life in Technicolor (WolveSilver)

Not being able to catch a break proves itself to be a very much persistent sentiment when ‘lousy co-sleeper' turns out to be a gross understatement.

Quicksilver, the one that’s 50 years too young, mutters something in his sleep before flipping over with vigor and kicking him in the shin. Logan grunts in frustration, stirring for the umpteenth time since he’s said his goodnights to the speedster. It isn’t something he’d ordinarily do, but this Quicksilver is nothing if not insistent. 

This Quicksilver is also much more fidgety compared to what Logan’s ordinarily used to, and he hasn’t caught a decent wink of sleep yet. 

10. Ritalin (WolveSilver)

“Logan?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Are you tired of me?” 

The sound of his phone wakes him, an incessant beeping that burrows into his head. Quietly, so as not to wake Lyla, he lifts the offending device from his bedside table, unlocking it with a quick swipe of his finger. He doesn’t recognise the number and it makes him hesitate. He waits a moment longer before he opens it. It simply reads ‘Papp Motel, DS’. The words mean nothing at first, his sleep addled mind trying it's best to pick them apart. They click after a moment and any notion of sleep leaves him. He knows it is not possible, but no one else would sign off in such a way.

Lyla shifts in the bed beside him, reminding him she’s there, her breathing even in sleep. He should wake her, he thinks. They could make sure Sara’s with someone and head out together. The message could be a trap after all. He should wake her, but a niggling in the back of his head tells him it's better if he goes alone, that he should take the chance of it being a trap.

Moving slowly he dresses, throwing on the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. He moves quickly through the rest of the house, leaving a small note to say he’d gone out and not to worry affixed to the fridge.

The cold night air hits him as soon as he is out the door. The street is empty with nothing but the streetlamps to light his way. The motel is on the other side of Starling, so he has no choice but to get into his car and drive. The rumble of the engine no doubt wakes Lyla but he can’t think about it. Even though he knows he should.

The clock on the dash blinks 3.39 as he pulls into the motel car park.The sign is missing some of its letters and flashes to it’s own rhythm. A ‘No Vacancy sign’ hangs loosely underneath blowing in the cool breeze. The sound of his phone suddenly cuts through the eire quite. A simple message of ‘Room 13’ fills the screen. A tightness forms in his stomach, twisting against itself, a fearful sickness threatens to overpower him. Breathing deeply he sits in the car for a moment, lets his mind empty of the thoughts that rattle around, steeling himself. He pushes open the door and gets out, the gravel crunching under his feet. Unease washes over him, and he wishes he’d thought this through. Wishes he'd stay home, that he wanted to be home.

He ignores the checkin desk and enters the main hall instead. The motel has a pungent smell, he doesn’t really want to identify, that hits him as soon as he's through the door. The red paint on the walls is cracked and peeling in places and what he can only assume is mold colours the walls. The lights, where they work, flicker and buzz in their shades. The carpet is patchy and worn, dark stains marring it underfoot.

9, 10, 11...

Adrenaline floods his system as the room numbers clim, his heart racing as he searches for the room. Instincts kicking in, his focus becoming sharp.

12, 13...

The door’s paint flakes off as he knocks. It creaks open slowly.

Though a part of him knew somehow, his breath still escapes him when Floyd is the one to open the door.

“Johnny boy.” Floyd greets, his lips quirking into a smirk. He offers Diggle no explanation just waves him in with a flick of his hand.

Diggle steps into the small room without really thinking. It smells of damp, and a coldness clings to the air that sends shivers up his spine. His eyes search the room, as Floyd shuts the door, finding little more than the ratty bed, though he can see a door he can only assume leads to a bathroom.

He turns back to Floyd, letting his eyes soak in the man he thought dead. It is less of a shock to see him, after all it is not the first time to have happened. It feels different this time. A warmth he wants to cut out of him, burns in his chest, a small spark of relief he knows he should not feel. He’d drank to this man, mourned him.

Questions he doesn’t know how to ask accumulate and flutter in his head. Each as desperate as the next. He tries to swallow them down, to focus, but all he can think of is how glad he is to see Floyd alive. How until now he’d been floating, reckless and lost. He tries to think of Lyla, Sara, anything but the man before him. Tries to focus on the slow burning anger he feels.

“How?” He manages to choke out. The word hangs in the air between them unanswered as Floyd steps closer until there is barely a space between them.

“Does it matter?”

Diggle’s answer is lost in the press of lips as Floyd surges forward. It’s awkward and Diggle doesn’t know how to react, his hands fumbling as he tries to grip hold of Floyd, settling finally on Floyd’s hips, his thumbs gently stroking the jut of bone. It’s easy to fall back into, to remember the first time.

Floyd tastes sweet, and smells of sweat and oil. It’s intoxicating. Digging his nails into Floyd’s sides Diggle walks them back until they hit the bed. His knees give way and they fall back against the scratchy sheets. The movement forcing them to pull away from the kiss.

Panting Floyd pulls his tank off, staring unwaveringly into Diggle’s eyes, challenging him to look, to understand.

Not knowing how to answer, nor in truth what the question is, Diggle leans forward, letting the tips of his fingers brush along his brother’s name. He will never forgive Floyd for it, but this isn’t about that, his brother has no place in this room. It’s just them here. Lyla, Sara, all the names that paint Floyd’s history bare, they are nothing but distant phantoms.

Diggle runs his tongue along Floyd’s collarbone, and up across his throat, feeling the way Floyd’s breath hitches. He grazes his teeth across Floyd’s stubbled chin, presses hard and insistent kisses against practiced lips.

“I want this, do you?” Diggle asks heady with need and he feels foolish for it but he needs to know; needs Floyd to know as well.

Floyd’s answers with a sharp tug on the hem of Diggle’s shirt, pulling it up and off, trailing his hands over the naked expanse of Diggle’s chest, blunt nails digging half moons into Diggle’s shoulders as he pushes forward, whispering ‘yes’ into his ear.

They make quick work of removing their pants and underwear, falling back to the bed naked. Diggle pulls Floyd down capturing his lips in a biting kiss, tugging at his bottom lip. Hands grip at his hips, thumbs digging in painfully, before sliding slowly, purposefully down, to slip between slightly parted legs. He bucks up against Floyd searching for more, for release.

Floyd laughs, twisting his right hand to wrap his fingers around Diggle’s hard cock. He moves his hand slowly, the dry rough, calloused skin creating an almost painful friction. He stops his hand and leans over to the side table, hands quick as they pull out lube and a condom that he drops to the sheets.

Diggle lets his fingertips trace Floyd’s face, glides them to sit softly under the strap of Floyd’s eyepatch. Floyd smirks as he places his own hands over Diggle’s, to help slowly guide the patch off. His eye is milky, a twist of copper running round the iris. Scars litter the skin around the socket, with one running straight down through his eye, angry and red. Diggle shifts closer, places kisses across the scarred skin. It feels intimate in a way nothing to this point has. He knows now a line has been crossed, that no matter what there was no coming back from this night, but now, now he no longer wants to. Working his way slowly he peppers soft open mouthed kisses on each scar he sees. Stopping as he comes to the scar on Floyd’s shoulder. It's a jagged slither, the skin pinched and red around it. It’s this scar that proves to him that Floyd is alive, not the warmth of the man pressed to him. He swipes his tongue along the wound, finding a strange please in the hiss that Floyd makes at the contact. With more care he presses a light kiss against the skin, before allowing Floyd to shift back.

Diggle buries his hands into Floyd’s hair, pushing the locks back off the man's face. He’s caught by how draw to him he is, how without knowing when or how, Floyd had found his way under his skin.

Cool fingers work the condom onto Diggle’s straining cock, before Floyd reaches back, his fingers slicked with lube. Diggle helps guide them to Floyd's puckered entrance and watches in silence as they slide in.

Floyd works them in, twisting them, stretching himself, making sure he is loose and ready. It doesn’t take long, and he is soon shifting closer, to hover over Diggle. He slides down, agonizingly slow, until his heat surrounds Diggle.

Moans and gasps fill the room as Diggle thrusts up into Floyd. His hands gripping Floyd's waist until he is sure it will bruise. He knows he won't last long buried deep, Floyd's warmth enveloping his cock, squeezing and flexing around him. He runs his hands over the taut muscle of Floyd's back to cup the nape of his neck. He holds him there for a moment, lets the sensation of filling Floyd run through him, before pulling him down for a kiss. It's rough and desperate as their tongues slide against each other, and teeth clash. The distinct taste of copper fills his mouth and it tastes right for them. The kiss becomes loose and unhurried as he feels the telltale signs of heat curling his abdomen. He comes biting into Floyd’s shoulder, his moans hidden with the action.

Floyd's movement's become erratic as he fucks himself hard on Diggle's cock, throwing his head back to moan out as his orgasom ripples through him, come spilling out over Diggle's chest.

They pant breathlessly their sweat slicked foreheads pressed together. Diggle can barely tell where he begins and Floyd starts.

Diggle's cock slips out of Floyd as the man moves to lie beside him. He pulls the condom off, tying it before dropping it against the floor. The sleepy afterglow begins to take hold, the want for closeness. He holds himself still, strangely worried the gesture would scare Floyd away, but strong arms wrap around him as Floyd buries his head in Diggle's shoulder

"You think too much, John."

Floyd is right, besides it is too late to think of the boundaries now, of the things that make this more real. He pulls Floyd closer, happy to let it just be them for one more night.

The morning light filters through the dirt on the window pane, breaking the spell of the night before. His phone buzzes quietly, where it had landed in their haste to undress. Guilt sits heavy in his chest as what he has done crashes down upon him. He'd promised himself that the first time would be the last, that it had been a mistake, that it had been the mission, the adrenaline. He knew better and still he had lied to himself. This time he has no excuse, no way to lie.

The bed shifts as Floyd turns to him, propping himself up on his arm.

“Running back to the family?” It’s less a question and more of a statement. A slight hint of bitterness hides under Floyd's humour however.

Diggle just makes a noncommittal sound in response as he climbs off the bed. It’s silent as he throws on his clothes, slipping his bare feet into his shoes, choosing not to fight with his socks and to tuck them away in his pocket instead.

“I should…” Diggle begins before his phone buzzes once more. Yet another call from Lyla. He waits for it to stop before shoving it into his pocket. He doesn't turn to face Floyd like he wants. The door handle is cold as he twists it open, the air that hits him is fresh against his skin. He steps forward, hoping to leave his transgressions behind.

“Say hello from me.” Floyd calls as he all but flees the room, forcing him to admit there is nothing he can do to forget, and even if there was Floyd would be there.

The lights are on when he pulls into the drive. The half light of dawn highlights the speckles of morning dew. Only the sounds of the waking world fill the air as he turns the car off. He can't hide here he knows but he doesn't know how to face Lyla. He's betrayed her. Not for the first time. He'd thought himself better, thought he loved her enough to not stray.

A noise jerks him out of his reverie as Lyla taps gently against the window. She's wrapped up in a black nightgown, a wedding present from her friends. The sight causes his stomach to roll.

“Where have you been?” She asks in a rush as he gets out of the car. Her arms wraping tightly around him.

“A job.” He lies, hopping she doesn’t ask any more questions. That she believes him.

She pulls back to study him, fingers lightly running over his face.

“You OK? You’re not injured?”

“No.” The word tastes bitter on his tongue as she watches him. He can't read her but how he wishes he could.

“Do you fancy some breakfast?” She asks not sounding herself, and he can’t help but wonder if she can see through his lies, if she’s giving him this.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute, just got to update the others.” He replies waving his phone at her, hoping she understands.

She frowns, opening her mouth to question him but she snaps it shut and nods instead. She leans in to kiss him, before heading back into the house.

He waits until she is inside before trying to ring Floyd and he hates himself for it, that he's already planning to break his vows. The call doesn't connect however and he's not sure if he's relieved or not. It takes the choice out of his hands, but the desire to be with Floyd doesn't go away, it leaves a space in his chest, hollow and wanting. He's made it worse by giving in again,pushes hard against his ribs. Begs to be sated.