❤️‍🔥

Guy Gardner:

“What fuck is an alpha?” Guy asks in the lull of the evening, when the two of you are a drowsy tangle of limbs entwined on the couch. It’s a question that might go unnoticed by any passerby. But to you, it’s the culmination of a tidal wave of adrenaline cresting through the marrow of your veins.

You go still, your heart seized in the caging of your throat, rendered voiceless for a terrible second. When you do finally shore up the necessary willpower to speak again, your question is pitched at an awkward, stilted volume.

“Where did you hear that from?” You ask, staring intently at him; Guy continues to stare into the blue yonder of the TV, mesmerized by the artificial glow. He appears nonchalant when he suggests a semblance of a shrug.

“Read it in one'a yer books.” He returns, and sniffs disinterestedly. This is when you feel your heart make startling plummet from the pit of your mouth straight down into your ass.

“Which book?” You ask, and this time you think that you’re able to affect your voice quite nonchalant. Finally, those blue eyes slink over from the arc directed towards the screen and settle upon you.

“The ones you been keepin’ buried under the comic books and the Simarillion,” Guy informs you—and then the dam finally breaks and that wicked, wicked smirk breaks passivity on his face—he knows.

“The ones with the werewolves, baby?” His voice is full of malicious glee, his hands already navigating up the meter of your body currently collapsing into the couch.

“Oh my God—”—You groan, hucking a dramatic arm over the plane of your vision. Perhaps if you close your eyes tight enough you can manifest the moment to simply vanish into the ether, and Guy’s smart mouth with it.

“Nah, nah, where you goin’?” Guy taunts. The salacious leer in his voice is all but audible as he works to peel your arm back, letting you gaze upon the delight in his eyes.

“Learned a lot about them wolves in that book—”

“Guy, please—”—You groan, clenching your eyes tightly shut. “Just let me die in peace, please.”

It’s not enough to distract you from the steamed chuckle that he makes into the crook of your neck, the scrape of his teeth as he makes marked inventory of your pulse’s uptick.

“Die?” He asks, insulted at the very thought. “Think there’s some things I gotta do first—”

His hand is already luring its way down the hem of your pants, working to coax you out of your clothes. To your surprise, you find yourself letting him. The wandering navigation of his hand is already stirring up a familiar, necessary heat in between your legs, under the simmer of your skin.

“—Heard there’s something with a knot I gotta do on you,” Guy chuckles lewdly, his mouth journeying down the warming tack of your body, “To mark you as mine.”

His tongue makes excellent argument as to why you should let him continue. “Wouldn’t want me to letcha go without people knowing you’re Guy Gardner’s, right?”

Perhaps Guy’s got a point there.

Bullseye:

When he sinks his cock into you, it’s all you can do to restrain a terrible moan that grits out through your teeth. He always fills you up so perfectly, your walls working to adjust to the impossible size of him, the taper of his cock spreading you wide.

He chuckles, his hand guiding the crook of your legs. One of your thighs catches around the width of his hip while the other is pinned under the weight of his own, trapping you in the spot.

He hums, a look of downright lustful malevolence taking occupation on his face, enjoying the way that your back arches as he drags his cock further into you. Your face twists in pleasurable torment, sheathing him to the hilt.

“Oh, looks good,” He tuts as he lets the head of his cock nose at the back of your walls; another wave of pleasure crests over you in a bolt of sensation. Through the fog of tactile joy, you’re dimly aware of the way that he tilts his head in appraisal to approve of how you take him in such diligent line.

“But—”—There’s the sound of a page flipping, and he ruts his hips into you to distract you from his consultation—“—That’s not exactly how they act in this scene.”

As if you can read it, he turns the romance novel—the very book that’s placed you in this situation—revealing the pages lined with the steamy scene that you had just begun. That is, until Bullseye happened upon you reading it, and had other ideas.

“On this page—”—His hips roll with such expert fluidity that all you can do is turn your head in profile, clenching your teeth around the pillowcase—“—It says that they’re lost in the throes of orgasm—”

His free hand seizes around the ample flesh of your waist, making you gasp. But this is swallowed in quick succession by the slick pump of his cock into you, summoning the pornographic sounds of his skin slapping against yours. All you can do is let yourself be fucked into, a mere prop in this passion play he’s orchestrating.

“—And I don’t think you’re quite there yet.” He grins, an insatiable gleam in his eye. “Looks like I gotta get you there quick.”

When he glides into you again, an electric shock of pleasure bolts up your body, and you make a strangled gasp.

“Yeah, that's more like it.” He makes a low, throaty chuckle. “Wanna make sure it’s accurate from page to screen, after all.”

You set a bleary smile at the tripod that he’s set up in the corner, the red light blinking to indicate it’s in use. But that’s all that you can do before he gets into the process of fucking you until you can’t think anymore.

Dick Grayson:

“You know,” Dick says, turning his head to better appraise the passage that he’s taking documented inventory of, “I don’t think you can physically do this.”

“You mean, I can’t, or it’s just not realistic?” You ask him, trying your best not to engage in the classic murder-suicide scenario.

“Not that you couldn’t,” Dick is quick to reassure you as he continues to peruse the page, learning how the book’s main character is getting the business, “But I don’t think it’s physically possible.”

“Which part?” You ask, craning your neck to look at the specific part of the paragraph he’s made it to; the crook of his pointed finger directs you to a rather mattress-breaking interlude. “Oh, that one—”

You shrug dismissively—as though a small quibble like impossible physical contortions will restrict your sensibilities. “Well, it’s part of the fantasy.”

“The fantasy is getting twisted into a pretzel?” Dick arches a brow, his eyes clearly communicating the disbelief he takes with that statement. You shake your head, proffering a finger to better educate your misguided partner.

“The freakier the position, the hotter the fantasy,” You explain primly, taking due diligence to inform him, “The more impossible the spinal contortion, the more risqué it sounds—thus, the more titillating it becomes.”

“I didn’t know snapping your spine was risqué,” Dick murmurs with the enlightenment of someone freeing themselves from the cycle of samsara. “I just assumed it was a no-go in sex.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask him, summoning the draw of his eyes. The two of you regard each other in taut silence as you consider the nonverbal challenge that you’ve levied his way.

This is how you end up with your ankles hooked over his shoulders, near-folded in half as he sinks his cock into you. As he pants openly against your ankle, drinking in the half-lidded pleasure that you’re awash in, luxuriating in the punched-out moan that basks over him.

“Oh, fuck—”—You clench into his waist, which rolls into you, his cock pumping into you with ease—“—This is so fucking good—”

“Yeah,” Dick groans as he continues the experiment, working his length into you to summon another broken moan, “It is, baby.”

Johnny Storm:

“I didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff,” Johnny confesses as he continues to appraise the rest of the chapter. You can’t help but shift your weight from one foot to another, subjecting him to the careful evaluation of your stare.

“It’s just for fun,” You admit, trying not to worry your hand around your wrist. Perhaps it would’ve been more conducive just to have Johnny incinerate you on the spot.

“And what’s the, uh,” Johnny asks as he flips the book over, sparing a glance to the back cover, “Genre of this one again?”

“It’s,” you huck a sigh through your teeth, “Romantasy. It’s not high literature, but it’s for fun, y’know?”

“Right,” Johnny nods, sucking through his teeth. “Why do the knights have to have sex with each other again?”

“It’s to help break a curse the Clan of Dragons set on their families generations ago,” you explain, a slurry of syllables making stunted verbalization. As if saying them any faster will make it more digestible to him. Already, he’s regaling you with a dubious cock of his brow as he looks back.

“How come they have to do it in front of all the dragons?” He asks—you press your hands to your hips in impertinent display.

“Well, how else are they supposed to know if they don’t see it?” You ask hotly, defending your choice of literature. He snickers, before turning his eyes slantways back to the page.

“Won’t lie, though,” he comments, closing the book with a fluid, one-handed motion, “It did give me some ideas, though.”

“Oh?” You ask, crossing your arms over the plateau of your chest. Already he's discarding the book gently to nearby countertop, swallowing up the distance between the two of you with easy, ambling stride.

“Yeah,” he grins—and at this, the slow, roiling dissipation of steam begins to slough from his shoulders, his hands, his arms that spread open for you—“—Couldn’t help but get a little hot and bothered reading all of that.”

The smoke continues to issue from his body in sluiced evaporation, indicating the crescendoing interest he has in this conversation. But you can't help but groan, your eyes rolling to the ceiling as you accept the clutch of his embrace.

“You just wanted an excuse to say that.” You grumble into the plane of his chest, feeling the ghost of vapors that whisper past you.

“Maybe,” his grin is all-too-delineated in his answer, “but I was thinking we could get in some practice too, if you’re down.”

As his hands start to roam down your body, tantalizing in their descent; well, you can’t find any argument with that.

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