1 - 20 of 23 Works by schnyeet
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David thinks he's in control. He is, however, very much not, not when they're off-duty. Wiktor doesn't follow the rules, doesn't care about the script, and slowly turns humiliation into something else entirely. Something they both want.
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"You should go get laid or something," that Detective lady had told him on a smoke break. David was sure she was attractive and that she was flirting, but he left the room.
Sex was the last thing on his mind. He saw enough naked bodies — too many — most of them disfigured by injury, addiction, or disease. Thinking of one didn’t exactly get him excited.
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"Avoiding me, Lugo?"
Lugo blinked, then let out a sharp, dry laugh. "What? We’re in the middle of a fucking desert, Cap. I’m not going anywhere. You’re seeing things, for real."
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Lugo gets shot, and now his life is in Walker's hands.
Except so might be his heart. -
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Lugo always works overtime to fill the silence. That much, Walker knows. But here and now, after everything, it feels unbearable.
Lugo, oblivious to his Captain's mood, keeps babbling.
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"This doesn't mean anything," Walker says, another useless attempt to convince himself.
Lugo is used to that. "Sure."
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"Gimme one,” Soap says eventually, nodding at the cig in Ghost's hand.
Ghost doesn't even spare him a look, "Negative.”
Or: It’s late, Ghost won’t share a smoke, and Soap pushes until something gives.
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Soap wakes up mid-panic, caught between muscle memory and a mind on fire.
The world doesn't come back all at once, but it starts with a voice he knows to trust. -
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Their relationship was supposed to be casual. Soap ruins it by asking for a kiss... and Ghost ruins it by giving him one. Or two. Or more; who's counting?
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Soap shows up late, exhausted and quiet. Graves knows exactly what he needs, having been there too many times to count.
Illustrated! -
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Once it starts, it doesn't look like it will end. It works like a dance, with roles changing back and forth, without any of them skipping a turn. That day, just like so many days before, Sara comes home expecting to find something that doesn’t belong, some gift from Aaron. She doesn't.
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Going to bed, Alan fully expected to wake up at noon, laze around in his apartment, let Scratch attend all those fancy meetings he was better suited for anyway, and only be a little bit productive for Barry; he owed the guy big time. After that, he'd laze around some more, then get an early shut-eye.
A relaxing weekend was all he wanted.
Now he's watching his perfect plan trickle down the shower drain.
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The Dark Place knows what Wake needs. In a mocking display of caring, the path leads him to the nearest hotel, up the stairs, past the whispering shadows and to a single room where the lights never go out. He knocks. He waits, not very long.
"Oh," Zane exhales in genuine surprise, then quickly ushers the writer in.
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On one particular night, after missing each other's touch throughout the whole week and yet succumbing to sleep before that pent-up lust could be made sex, this side of his longtime friend proved useful.
"Zach," Darling moaned, mind barely in the real world, and Trench acted in his body's selfish desires, taking him half-asleep.
Unbeknownst to Trench, his act of desire in the middle of the night planted an idea in his friend's mind.
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"We've done this before, remember?" Tom says, cracking a welcoming smile as he lies through his teeth to push further. For some reason, Alan trusts the smile more than the words.
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look at Zane and tell me he won't make out sloppy style with his own reflection
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When they first kissed, it didn't mean anything. Just two people venting every emotion into something they can have. They could still look each other in the eye after that.
This time seemed no different.
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Two men and their unhealthy coping mechanisms. See notes.
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My love for these two came crawling back. Set sometime around The Knife of Dunwall.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 359
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 11
- Hits:
- 62