kisses! and more kisses!
May. 28th, 2007 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mickeymOkay, so, here's the first batch of first kisses, for your viewing reading pleasure. :) And wow, did it stretch my brain, doing Duncan/Methos, Jim/Blair, Mulder/Krycek. But stretching's good, right? Right :)
I may have gotten a little carried away with the Sam/Dean one, but you can't PROVE it. *g*
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killabeez wanted
2:32 in the morning, and Duncan has things he could be doing that don't include playing host to an inebriated, brooding Immortal. Like, say, sleeping.
It's been a long night. A long, rough night, and even now, hours after, Duncan can't quite get the image of Methos, head thrown back in the agony-ecstasy of a Quickening, blue fire rippling around and along and through him. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the image.
Not that it's worked, so far.
Electricity is humming beneath his skin, which makes no sense at all. He wasn't the one who took the Quickening. He doesn't get why it's affecting him like this, but not understanding only serves to add another layer of frustration and irritation to the others already in place.
"Look, Methos." He needs to put some distance between them -- now -- before he does something stupid. "You're welcome to crash, okay? But I need to get some sleep."
Dark eyes study him, sweeping up and down, a lazy grin tugging at the edges of Methos' mouth, and it's not unlike being watched by a giant cat. Like a lion, maybe. "Yeah, you look wiped out, MacLeod. Too old for late nights, hmm?"
Duncan doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing. "D'you want the couch tonight?"
"If I said no, would you turn me out?"
"I’m not going to kick you out, no, but--"
Methos surges up before Duncan finishes whatever he was going to say. If he's asked, later, he'll swear he tastes the Quickening in that kiss, all sizzling electricity, searing its way through him.
Through the heat he tastes the smooth bite of the whiskey Methos was drinking earlier, along with the bitter hops of the beer he chased it with. He accepts it into himself when Methos licks into his mouth, hands clenching in Duncan's hair and drawing him closer. Impossibly close.
Duncan loses track of himself; he's drowning in the scent and taste and heat of Methos. Strong hands loosen his hair, slide down to his shoulders, and Duncan shudders and lays back against his couch, pulling Methos with him.
Sleep's overrated, anyway.
noelql asked for
Smoke curling up from under the door was the first hint Blair had that something was wrong; the second was the insistent beep of the smoke detector the minute he got the door open. If he hadn't figured it out by that point, the thick, dark smoke pouring out around the sides of the oven brought the point home completely.
"Jim? Jim--fuck! Jim! C'mon, man, snap out of it!"
No response, not even a blink; Jim stood at the counter, water running over the fingers of one hand, body completely still. Frozen in time.
Thank god Jim was anal enough to have fire extinguishers everywhere in the loft; it was easy to take care of the smoldering, smoky mess in the oven with it. Blair glanced uneasily at Jim, still zoned out -- on what, though? -- and went to open the balcony doors and a couple windows. It was cold as shit outside, but cold was preferable to slow death by asphyxiation.
Jim was still zoning, not a muscle moved, nothing. Blair snapped his fingers a couple of times, turned the water off -- Jim's fingers had a faint bluish tinge to them, from icy-cold water -- and lightly slapped Jim's face. Twice.
Nothing.
"It's just a zone-out," Blair muttered to himself, looking around the kitchen. He still couldn't figure out what the trigger was, though under the smoke was a really strong cinnamon smell. But weird, to think of Jim zoning on something like that, after so many months.
Blair glanced back up at Jim, then moved in closer. Maybe a distraction Jim wasn't used to, wasn't expecting, would do the trick. Not that Blair wanted this, at all, nope. Takin' one for the team, totally.
He kissed Jim, gently. Brushed his mouth over Jim's, then licked at his lips. Jim's breath hitched once, so Blair did it again, tongue teasing over and between Jim's lips. Jim growled, the vibration shivering into Blair, and lurched forward, hands coming to rest on Blair's shoulders.
Blair started to pull back, to duck out of the way in case Jim came out of it swinging. Instead he found himself being hauled up against Jim's body, pressed back against the counter as Jim returned the kiss, mouth hot and wet, tongue slick against his.
without_me asked for
"Dude. The hell are you doing?"
Sam turns so fast Dean's surprised he doesn't hurt something, hot red staining his cheeks, his throat, hell even Sam's ears are red.
"I, uh. I'm." Sam scowls at Dean. "Don't you ever knock? Or like, say something?"
"It's my room too," Dean says lightly, taking the five steps needed to get from the door to his bed, then sits on the edge, facing Sam. "Tell me you weren't kissing that pillow, Sammy."
Sam throws the blackest look Dean's ever seen from him, and mutters, "Just tryin' to figure it out."
"What, kissing?"
"Yeah." He glances up at Dean under the fringe of bangs, face still fire-red. "I wanna get it right."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "You do, huh? Little Sammy got himself a girl?" He really shouldn't tease Sam; thirteen isn't so far behind him that Dean can't remember the awful, awkward feelings that came with it. On the other hand, of course he should tease Sammy -- it's in the big brother's handbook.
"Screw you," Sam grumbles. "Just 'cos you know how to do it, and I wanna--" He bites off whatever else he was going to say; Dean can see him do it. He wants to push, but sometimes it works better with Sam to just let things come naturally.
"Yeah, and dude, I'm seventeen, I should hope so."
"So, how'd you figure it out? No, wait," Sam sighs. "You were just born knowing how to, weren't you?" The tone is…weird. Bitter, almost, and Dean snorts.
"No, dumbass. Someone showed me." Not that there's any chance in hell Dean's going share the particulars. Some things an older brother has to keep to himself. Curiosity gets the better of him, then, and he says, "You've really never kissed anyone?"
Sam throws the closest thing to hand -- Dean's lucky it's just a book, and not something lethal, like a knife -- and snarls, "Why don't you take out a full-page ad somewhere, and let everyone know?"
"God, Sam--forget kissing, you just need to get laid." Which of course, no, but that doesn't mean Dean can't tease about that, too. "Forget the practicing, dude. Just, when you got 'er alone, go for it. Unless you're angling for some chick who's in high school or something--" And if that's the case, Dean's going to have to go kill someone -- "chances are she's not gonna know what to do, either."
Sam scoffs. "So that's your advice? Just 'go for it'?" He sighs. "What if--what if the other person, if they know what they're doing? I don't want to look stupid. Don't want 'em thinking I'm a baby."
Dean decides a nap's in order, before starting his homework. This is way too much angst and drama right after school. He toes his shoes off and stretches out.
"Sammy, if she likes you, it ain't gonna matter to her if you don't know what you're doing. First kisses are special, dude; she oughta be honored to get yours." And if she's not, Dean thinks darkly, he'll make sure she appreciates it after the fact, for sure.
Sam's quiet after that, and Dean closes his eyes with the hope that the drama is over, at least for the moment. The sun's coming in through the slats in the blinds, soft light, angling downward as it sets. Dean's just this close to dozing off when he feels warmth close to him, feels the soft, sweet pressure of a mouth against his.
So sweet, so tentative, and Dean opens his mouth to ask Sam what the hell he's doing, letting out a shuddering breath when Sam licks into his mouth, licks at Dean's tongue.
"Sam--no, man," he says, or tries to. It comes out as a low moan, all breath and no words as Sam pushes forward, pressing against Dean, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.
"Please," Sam whispers, sucking at Dean's lower lip. "Please, Dean." He presses his mouth to Dean's again, all sloppy and awkward, and Dean shivers from head to toe and opens his mouth under Sam's, taking some of that sweetness for himself.
Sam doesn't pull away when he breaks off the kiss; instead he leans into Dean, forehead to forehead. This close, Dean can see nothing but Sam's eyes, pupils wide and dark. When he licks his lips, all he tastes is Sam, bitter sin and sweet salvation.
He reaches for Sam's shoulders, holds on tight and tells himself he's going to push him away. Instead he pulls Sam closer, chest tight with an ache he can't name. The ache grows when Sam curls into him, head resting on Dean's chest. Dean brings one arm up to hold him there -- don't let Sammy fall -- and wonders who's going catch him, as he falls.
Ms. Greedypants, akawithout_me also asked for
Buried deep inside him, the romantic in Mulder thinks kisses should be about love, or at the very least, about sex. Sex for pleasure. This kiss has nothing of the first, and very little of the others; it's about power, about dominance.
Krycek kisses like he fights, all sharp and hard; a knife slashing into Mulder's mouth, teeth razor-sharp and taking, taking, things Mulder isn't ready to give; never wants to be ready to give. Not to him.
He pushes, shoves at Krycek; it's an intricate dance between mostly evenly-matched opponents. Krycek's willing to play dirtier than Mulder, though, shoving back, pining Mulder to the wall with his body. He bites at Mulder's mouth, draws blood when his teeth scrape over the tender, swollen inner lip. It still hurts from where Krycek punched him, earlier, and the sting just adds heat to his blood, already boiling in his veins.
Mulder moans when Krycek bites him again; shudders when that hot, sinful mouth sucks on his throat, leaving a hot bruise that Mulder can feel throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Another biting, sucking kiss to his mouth, and Christ, he's going to look like he went a couple rounds with a pro boxer in the morning. Krycek pulls off him with a wet, slick sucking noise and whispers in his ear, "See you later, Fox."
He's gone before Mulder can push off from the wall and make his shaking legs support him enough to walk, much less pursue.
I may have gotten a little carried away with the Sam/Dean one, but you can't PROVE it. *g*
killabeez wanted 2:32 in the morning, and Duncan has things he could be doing that don't include playing host to an inebriated, brooding Immortal. Like, say, sleeping.
It's been a long night. A long, rough night, and even now, hours after, Duncan can't quite get the image of Methos, head thrown back in the agony-ecstasy of a Quickening, blue fire rippling around and along and through him. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the image.
Not that it's worked, so far.
Electricity is humming beneath his skin, which makes no sense at all. He wasn't the one who took the Quickening. He doesn't get why it's affecting him like this, but not understanding only serves to add another layer of frustration and irritation to the others already in place.
"Look, Methos." He needs to put some distance between them -- now -- before he does something stupid. "You're welcome to crash, okay? But I need to get some sleep."
Dark eyes study him, sweeping up and down, a lazy grin tugging at the edges of Methos' mouth, and it's not unlike being watched by a giant cat. Like a lion, maybe. "Yeah, you look wiped out, MacLeod. Too old for late nights, hmm?"
Duncan doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing. "D'you want the couch tonight?"
"If I said no, would you turn me out?"
"I’m not going to kick you out, no, but--"
Methos surges up before Duncan finishes whatever he was going to say. If he's asked, later, he'll swear he tastes the Quickening in that kiss, all sizzling electricity, searing its way through him.
Through the heat he tastes the smooth bite of the whiskey Methos was drinking earlier, along with the bitter hops of the beer he chased it with. He accepts it into himself when Methos licks into his mouth, hands clenching in Duncan's hair and drawing him closer. Impossibly close.
Duncan loses track of himself; he's drowning in the scent and taste and heat of Methos. Strong hands loosen his hair, slide down to his shoulders, and Duncan shudders and lays back against his couch, pulling Methos with him.
Sleep's overrated, anyway.
noelql asked for Smoke curling up from under the door was the first hint Blair had that something was wrong; the second was the insistent beep of the smoke detector the minute he got the door open. If he hadn't figured it out by that point, the thick, dark smoke pouring out around the sides of the oven brought the point home completely.
"Jim? Jim--fuck! Jim! C'mon, man, snap out of it!"
No response, not even a blink; Jim stood at the counter, water running over the fingers of one hand, body completely still. Frozen in time.
Thank god Jim was anal enough to have fire extinguishers everywhere in the loft; it was easy to take care of the smoldering, smoky mess in the oven with it. Blair glanced uneasily at Jim, still zoned out -- on what, though? -- and went to open the balcony doors and a couple windows. It was cold as shit outside, but cold was preferable to slow death by asphyxiation.
Jim was still zoning, not a muscle moved, nothing. Blair snapped his fingers a couple of times, turned the water off -- Jim's fingers had a faint bluish tinge to them, from icy-cold water -- and lightly slapped Jim's face. Twice.
Nothing.
"It's just a zone-out," Blair muttered to himself, looking around the kitchen. He still couldn't figure out what the trigger was, though under the smoke was a really strong cinnamon smell. But weird, to think of Jim zoning on something like that, after so many months.
Blair glanced back up at Jim, then moved in closer. Maybe a distraction Jim wasn't used to, wasn't expecting, would do the trick. Not that Blair wanted this, at all, nope. Takin' one for the team, totally.
He kissed Jim, gently. Brushed his mouth over Jim's, then licked at his lips. Jim's breath hitched once, so Blair did it again, tongue teasing over and between Jim's lips. Jim growled, the vibration shivering into Blair, and lurched forward, hands coming to rest on Blair's shoulders.
Blair started to pull back, to duck out of the way in case Jim came out of it swinging. Instead he found himself being hauled up against Jim's body, pressed back against the counter as Jim returned the kiss, mouth hot and wet, tongue slick against his.
without_me asked for "Dude. The hell are you doing?"
Sam turns so fast Dean's surprised he doesn't hurt something, hot red staining his cheeks, his throat, hell even Sam's ears are red.
"I, uh. I'm." Sam scowls at Dean. "Don't you ever knock? Or like, say something?"
"It's my room too," Dean says lightly, taking the five steps needed to get from the door to his bed, then sits on the edge, facing Sam. "Tell me you weren't kissing that pillow, Sammy."
Sam throws the blackest look Dean's ever seen from him, and mutters, "Just tryin' to figure it out."
"What, kissing?"
"Yeah." He glances up at Dean under the fringe of bangs, face still fire-red. "I wanna get it right."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "You do, huh? Little Sammy got himself a girl?" He really shouldn't tease Sam; thirteen isn't so far behind him that Dean can't remember the awful, awkward feelings that came with it. On the other hand, of course he should tease Sammy -- it's in the big brother's handbook.
"Screw you," Sam grumbles. "Just 'cos you know how to do it, and I wanna--" He bites off whatever else he was going to say; Dean can see him do it. He wants to push, but sometimes it works better with Sam to just let things come naturally.
"Yeah, and dude, I'm seventeen, I should hope so."
"So, how'd you figure it out? No, wait," Sam sighs. "You were just born knowing how to, weren't you?" The tone is…weird. Bitter, almost, and Dean snorts.
"No, dumbass. Someone showed me." Not that there's any chance in hell Dean's going share the particulars. Some things an older brother has to keep to himself. Curiosity gets the better of him, then, and he says, "You've really never kissed anyone?"
Sam throws the closest thing to hand -- Dean's lucky it's just a book, and not something lethal, like a knife -- and snarls, "Why don't you take out a full-page ad somewhere, and let everyone know?"
"God, Sam--forget kissing, you just need to get laid." Which of course, no, but that doesn't mean Dean can't tease about that, too. "Forget the practicing, dude. Just, when you got 'er alone, go for it. Unless you're angling for some chick who's in high school or something--" And if that's the case, Dean's going to have to go kill someone -- "chances are she's not gonna know what to do, either."
Sam scoffs. "So that's your advice? Just 'go for it'?" He sighs. "What if--what if the other person, if they know what they're doing? I don't want to look stupid. Don't want 'em thinking I'm a baby."
Dean decides a nap's in order, before starting his homework. This is way too much angst and drama right after school. He toes his shoes off and stretches out.
"Sammy, if she likes you, it ain't gonna matter to her if you don't know what you're doing. First kisses are special, dude; she oughta be honored to get yours." And if she's not, Dean thinks darkly, he'll make sure she appreciates it after the fact, for sure.
Sam's quiet after that, and Dean closes his eyes with the hope that the drama is over, at least for the moment. The sun's coming in through the slats in the blinds, soft light, angling downward as it sets. Dean's just this close to dozing off when he feels warmth close to him, feels the soft, sweet pressure of a mouth against his.
So sweet, so tentative, and Dean opens his mouth to ask Sam what the hell he's doing, letting out a shuddering breath when Sam licks into his mouth, licks at Dean's tongue.
"Sam--no, man," he says, or tries to. It comes out as a low moan, all breath and no words as Sam pushes forward, pressing against Dean, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.
"Please," Sam whispers, sucking at Dean's lower lip. "Please, Dean." He presses his mouth to Dean's again, all sloppy and awkward, and Dean shivers from head to toe and opens his mouth under Sam's, taking some of that sweetness for himself.
Sam doesn't pull away when he breaks off the kiss; instead he leans into Dean, forehead to forehead. This close, Dean can see nothing but Sam's eyes, pupils wide and dark. When he licks his lips, all he tastes is Sam, bitter sin and sweet salvation.
He reaches for Sam's shoulders, holds on tight and tells himself he's going to push him away. Instead he pulls Sam closer, chest tight with an ache he can't name. The ache grows when Sam curls into him, head resting on Dean's chest. Dean brings one arm up to hold him there -- don't let Sammy fall -- and wonders who's going catch him, as he falls.
Ms. Greedypants, aka
without_me also asked for Buried deep inside him, the romantic in Mulder thinks kisses should be about love, or at the very least, about sex. Sex for pleasure. This kiss has nothing of the first, and very little of the others; it's about power, about dominance.
Krycek kisses like he fights, all sharp and hard; a knife slashing into Mulder's mouth, teeth razor-sharp and taking, taking, things Mulder isn't ready to give; never wants to be ready to give. Not to him.
He pushes, shoves at Krycek; it's an intricate dance between mostly evenly-matched opponents. Krycek's willing to play dirtier than Mulder, though, shoving back, pining Mulder to the wall with his body. He bites at Mulder's mouth, draws blood when his teeth scrape over the tender, swollen inner lip. It still hurts from where Krycek punched him, earlier, and the sting just adds heat to his blood, already boiling in his veins.
Mulder moans when Krycek bites him again; shudders when that hot, sinful mouth sucks on his throat, leaving a hot bruise that Mulder can feel throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Another biting, sucking kiss to his mouth, and Christ, he's going to look like he went a couple rounds with a pro boxer in the morning. Krycek pulls off him with a wet, slick sucking noise and whispers in his ear, "See you later, Fox."
He's gone before Mulder can push off from the wall and make his shaking legs support him enough to walk, much less pursue.
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 02:02 am (UTC)*snugs*
I have an idea for Dean/Krycek, but I may have to do that one separately. It feels kind of big and dark in my head. Imagine that!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 02:15 am (UTC)And w00t, Dean/Krycek. I don't mind waiting!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:03 am (UTC)Thank you! I appreciate the comments :)
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Date: 2007-05-29 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 02:42 am (UTC)You still got it!
**contented sigh**
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:04 am (UTC)*hugs* I'm glad you liked it, honey :) Thank you :)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 03:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:19 am (UTC)Thanks, hon :) Glad you enjoyed it, and I'm sorry for taking so long in responding.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 04:18 am (UTC)I don't really know any of the others... Krycek wasn't on The X-Files when I watched it. I never really watched the X-Files though... I was a bit young and it always freaked me out. There was this one where cockroaches were burrowing into peoples skin and running around in their bodies *shudders* That gave me nightmares.
All these kisses were awesome and hot and I loved them.
♥
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:21 am (UTC)And yeah. I couldn't watch XFiles when it first aired, either. I didn't start watching it until 2004/05 *g*
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 04:20 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2007-05-29 04:28 am (UTC)Just. Dude. Mmmmmmmmm.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 11:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:22 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed them :)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-29 11:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-01 12:30 am (UTC)Oh BABY. Beautiful and bitter and sweet.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:24 am (UTC)*hugs you* Thanks, darlin' :) Glad you liked it.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-03 03:33 pm (UTC)Methos surges up before Duncan finishes whatever he was going to say.
Oh, man. GUH. I just love it when Methos goes for it like that. You've done such an amazing job getting into Duncan's head here, too -- I'm right there with him, feeling what he's feeling. I love this so much. So sensual and powerfully hot. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:25 am (UTC)I'm really glad you enjoyed it, honey :) It was weird, writing them again, but felt good, too. Like stretching muscles that haven't been used in a while.