For rare pairs and others that don't have their own threads. That means no Tony Stark, thank you.
And then I found this...~
ahaha, these ended up on tumblr? where?
are we going to have to have this discussion again, anon...?
Would love some Hank/Reed with Hank being all bitchy and dominant, though. Imagine the kink.
(Re?)posting Insomniac's Rule 63 art, because of relevance.
seconding like burning
... someone posted Hank x Reed before I did
someone who isn't ME wants Hank x Reed
I don't know how to deal with this
have some relevant scans while I have a happy mental breakdown
Anyone knows some good size changing fics? I can't find anything...
I haven't seen any Hank slash fics sadly. :( I need Reed/Hank.
Alternatively, here's some Reed/Ben scenes.
And this is what made me ship it.
Title: Through the Glass
Who: Hank Pym/Bruce Banner
What comic? The Ultimates, very very slightly AU
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, foul language, voyeurism, perverted stuff in general.
Summary: After the Hulk goes on a murderous rampage, Dr. Bruce Banner gets put in confinement for his and everyone else's safety. After weeks of having no visitors, Bruce gets a surprise when his secret lover comes to cheer him up in a way Bruce never would have expected. Based very loosely on ideas from the Ultimate Avengers II movie, with suggestions of the Ultimates comics in general. Plus my own added stuff. Dur.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Everything here is copyrighted to Marvel. If I owned these characters for real, they'd always be naked and on eachother.
Bruce Banner hated this goddamn cell. Sure, he could see through it. The glass was rather considerate, he supposed. It was better to be able to watch people outside in the lab surrounding him and envy the hell out of the freedom they had than to just be stuck in a dark cage completely devoid of human life. But the envy was also driving him completely mad. Of course, he knew, the solitary confinement would've already driven him far past insane, and this was actually not quite that bad, and he knew he should stop complaining to himself. He DID deserve this, technically.
"I deserve far worse," he mumbled to himself, trying to block the unpleasant memories from his mind. No matter how many times his supposed 'friends' would come to visit him, to tell him how what happened wasn't really his fault, how it was the Hulk's fault and he had nothing to do with it, the words fell on deaf ears. Bruce blamed himself one-hundred percent for everything that happened and no matter what anyone said or did, even Betty, his dear Betty, would change his mind about it. There were times, when he'd awake from nightmares of the rampage, that he wished someone would've been able to kill him on that day, just to be sure the Hulk could never break free from inside of him ever again.
He closed his eyes and slid his glasses off, annoyed by how his hands trembled at the thought; the realization that that monster, that thing, that creature, the Hulk, was inside him, even now. What if he changed again? Could General Fury's team of super-heroes take him down this time? They didn't do exceptionally well last time, and what if the Hulk escaped into the streets of New York again? How many countless innocent lives could he destroy this time? Bruce's bottom lip quivered ever-so slightly, and he felt tears sting his eyes. He was a murderer. He, in a few hours, had probably killed more people than most mass murderers do in their entire life. "God, I...I'm so sorry," he said, louder than he'd intended, but he honestly didn't care. He was sorry, and yes, he knew, he wasn't the world's nicest guy, and maybe he was a cold-hearted bastard, but he never wanted to slaughter hundreds of people simply because he lost his temper. Breathing out, he lay back down on his cot and rolled over, hoping to just fall asleep, maybe to pass the time until something, anything, would happen to take his mind off of his sorrows.
"Doctor Banner. Bruce. Bruce! Wake up."
Bruce sat up and blinked at the glass walls of his prison. "What? What is it?" He reached down and plucked his glasses off the floor and grunted when he noticed just how dirty they were. Even if he did put them on, he'd be just as blind. He noted to himself, ask for some wipes to clean these with, or he'd just never actually have a clue what was going on ten feet from him.
One of the two people outside his cell stepped forward, the one who had spoken before. Bruce supposed it was just one of the random laboratory go-getters for the scientists too involved (or just too lazy) in their work to get there own coffee. "One of your friends wanted to come see you. He said he thought you might need cheering up, so. I'll leave you two alone."
With that, the unknown man walked away, leaving...well, whoever it was he'd brought in front of Bruce's cell.
"Who is it?" Bruce asked, trying to use the fabric of his turtleneck to clean his glasses. Of course, wool generally ended up smearing, which it was doing right now, but it was the least the doctor could do to try.
The man on the opposite side of the glass chuckled at Bruce's attempt and sat in a chair placed directly facing the confined man. "I'll give you a hint. I'm the only person on this team who gets hated on more than you do, except I've done less to deserve it. Oh, and I have sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and I love long walks on the beach leading into passionate love-making in the sand while a crab tries to crawl up someone's ass. I'm a true romantic."
The heavy sarcasm was more than apparent in the other man's voice, and Bruce knew who it was instantly, the second he opened his mouth. "Hank. Wonderful. And to what do I owe this honor? Have you come to try to beat on someone who's smaller than you so you can feel like a man? Or maybe you just want to torment me because you never got over the fact that just because you can grow to be the size of a building, you're as weak as any other man when it came to facing the Hulk."
Bruce Banner didn't pretend to like Hank Pym. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He DID like Hank, he supposed. They were both outcasts who were alienated and loathed by the rest of the team for different reasons. They got along well, from time to time, and Bruce supposed Hank was one of the few people he actually could enjoy opening up to. But not today. Today, all Bruce wanted to do was feel sorry for himself.
Hank sighed on the other side of the glass, "Look. I didn't come here to fight with you. I...well, I just came to see you. I," he paused, inching his chair closer to the glass, "I missed you."
There was something, in the way Hank lowered his voice, the way those words fell off his lips, the fact that he virtually whispered the words like they were made for Bruce's ears only...something about all of those things mixed together caused a violent shiver to run through the doctor's body. It was a secret, something he and Hank shared and promised to tell no one; that they had slept together, on multiple occasions, for whatever reasons. It had started out as a way to relieve frustration, and Bruce felt, back then, that there was no way for the two of them to get attached.
But now, he knew. Hank was addicted to it.
And so was he.
"You missed me? What do you mean?" Bruce knew it was a stupid question. He already knew, by the huskiness in Hank's voice exactly what he meant. But he wanted to know for sure. He wanted Hank to say it, just so he could prove to himself that someone really wanted him. Sure, Bruce knew he wasn't the most attractive guy on the block, so when someone gorgeous like Hank Pym shows interest, you generally enjoy hearing them saying that they want you over and over again.
The man outside the cell let his tongue, that sinful tongue that Bruce had been on the receiving end of far too many times, dart out of his mouth and moisten his lips, and it was all the poor doctor could do to keep a moan from escaping him as he watched, transfixed and horribly teased already. "I mean," Hank said softly, shifting his legs apart and now Bruce was stuck staring at the man's crotch as he spoke which wasn't doing much to help his sanity, "I miss you. I miss touching you. I miss you touching me. I miss the taste of your lips, I miss the way you rake your nails down my back when I'm fucking you, I miss the noises you make when we're in bed, or on the couch, or a table, or on the lab floor, or anywhere else we end up fucking. Basically, I'm really fucking horny and I want you."
Hank's hand slid down his body as he left his legs far apart, and Bruce couldn't keep his mouth from dropping open as the man's hand cupped his growing hard-on through his jeans, and Hank's eyes fluttered shut as he did this and he moaned loudly as the other man began rubbing himself slowly. Bruce's legs shook as he tried to stand up to get closer to his lover, and he barely made it one step before collapsing to his knees and crawling the rest of the way. He placed his hands on the glass that separated them, and as much as he hated it at that moment, he knew he probably looked like a sex-starved teenager. He wasn't entirely sure how, but Hank always managed to do this to him.
"Oh, Hank, we...we can't, there are monitors everywhere, and if you let me out of here, they'll--"
"Let you out? Who said anything about letting you out?" Hank said lazily, starting to unbutton and unzip his jeans, "I'm not letting you out, Brucey. I'm going to stay right here, and you're going to stay right there."
Bruce's mouth dropped open again, but this time from complete shock.
Hank chuckled breathlessly as he began pushing his jeans down his hips, revealing to Bruce that he was completely naked underneath, "And if you really get THAT desperate to suck on it while I'm getting myself off, you've always got your fingers. Besides," he whispered, pulling his cock out as Bruce gasped loudly and he knew it was almost a whine but he would never admit that, "you can lick at the glass if you want."
With that, Bruce's mouth dropped fully open. He and Hank had been sleeping together for quite a few months now, and he knew Hank had quite a few different kinks, but never anything like this. This was about the dirtiest thing Bruce had ever heard of in his entire life. But his own erection was beginning to ache and throb between his legs, and he couldn't deny what seeing Hank like this was doing to him. He would've given almost anything in the entire world to be able to break through that glass and get to his lover, so he could push the man's hand off himself and use his own hands to bring him to orgasm instead.
But as the man, the perfect work of sexual art in front of him inched his chair closer, so now Bruce could see each and every one of the details in Hank's cock, could virtually see it pulsing in Hank's skilled hand, Bruce knew he wouldn't trade this moment for anything in the world. He LIKED this. He liked the teasing aspect of it. He liked knowing that Hank wanted him so badly that he'd jerk himself off in front of Bruce even as glass kept them apart just because he...could it be, that he had truly fallen for the scrawny doctor?
"Come on, Bruce," Hank growled out as he leaned forward so his face was only inches from the glass that separated the two, "Kiss me."
"H-Hank, I can't, there's--"
"There's glass? Yeah, I know that. And I really don't care."
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the glass, and Bruce couldn't help but comply. He knew, later, he'd think about this and probably get freaked out and wonder why the hell he did it, but right now, it seemed like a wonderful idea. Bruce opened his mouth and crashed his lips against his side of the glass, and in his mind he already knew that he wouldn't be able to feel Hank's mouth on his, but he was so caught up in the moment that he swore he almost could.
Hank's tongue flicked out of his mouth and swiped along the glass, and Bruce moaned loudly and mimicked the action, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Hank's hand was working his cock faster now, and seeing that was honestly driving Bruce crazy with need.
"Oh, God, Hank, I want you, I want to touch you..." Bruce started panting heavily as he reached down to rub himself through his now all-too-tight pants, and suddenly, he couldn't get them pulled down fast enough. It was only a momentary struggle, and soon enough he was able to shove his hand far enough in his pants to grip his throbbing member and begin to work it at the same speed as Hank was. He ran a hand up the glass and watched the darkening look in Hank's blue eyes, knowing instantly what Bruce's intent was.
The doctor brought two of his calloused fingers to his lips and let his tongue slip out of his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the pads of his fingertips. Hank's body shuddered as he watched this, and Bruce felt a sudden pang of triumph. It wasn't too often that Bruce got to be the one to drive his lover over the edge first, but right now, he was rather determined to.
He abruptly shoved the two fingers into his mouth and began sucking on them without relent, letting the other man watch as his cheeks hollowed, pulling off just slightly to reveal his already saliva-coated fingers.
"Fuck, you little cocktease," Hank rasped out, his movements becoming frantic. His hand was moving quickly, and Bruce was enraptured, watching the way his hips would jerk everytime he'd twist his hand around the tip, and noises, God, the noises he kept making were almost enough to send Bruce prematurely over the edge. "You wish it was my cock, don't you, you little tease, you wish it was my hard cock sliding in and out of your mouth instead of your fingers..."
Bruce's body shook and he moaned loudly around his own fingers, and he had to reach down and finally curl his free hand around his aching arousal and begin jerking himself off, still moving the digits in his mouth, trying to do it at the same speed as Hank's hand was moving on his own cock.
He could tell by the way Hank's legs were shaking, by the pre-come from his cock dripping down the side of his hand, by the way his breath was coming out in ragged spurts, that he was only moments from coming, and Bruce knew he was going to be right behind him. He pulled the fingers out from his mouth and turned around quickly, hand never leaving his own dripping erection. He braced one hand on his cot, spread his legs as far as having his pants down around his knees allowed, and raised his ass high enough so that Hank would be able to stare directly at the still-tight opening he claimed months ago.
Bruce heard his lover curse under his breath as he reached around behind himself, pressing the two fingers he had covered with saliva against his tight hole and pushing them into himself, gasping loudly, "O-oh, Hank, I want you to come...come on, I know how much you love getting off in me," he began pushing and pulling his fingers in and out, ignoring the slight pain and focusing completely on bringing him and his lover to climax, "So do it, come on, Hank, come in me,"
And that was it, the kink-level was way too high, and Bruce could tell that Hank had probably been painfully close to coming from the moment he walked in. Hank bucked his hips forward and pumped his cock one last time before crying out the doctor's name and coming hard, ribbons of his hot come dripping down the glass that kept the two lovers apart. Bruce's own orgasm wasn't too far behind; he twisted his fingers in himself and cried out Hank's name before coming all over the sheets on his small cot.
Both men kept breathing heavy and neither spoke to eachother for the first five minutes, before Bruce decided to break the silence.
"You'll need to leave soon," he grumbled, pulling his pants back up and turning back around to face the proper direction, his breath momentarily hitching as he watching Hank's come still dripping down the glass, "One of the scientists who watch over me usually comes by around 6:00, and I don't think he'd really be happy to see you here, especially with your pants around your ankles like that."
Hank rolled his eyes and started fixing his clothes, trying to look as much like he hadn't had sex as possible. "I hate when you're like this, Banner. You're such a prick."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?
"Well," Hank stood up and looked at the man behind the glass, "You're always so willing and giving and hot and loving when we're fucking, and then afterward, you just shrug it off like it never happened. I hate it."
He turned to leave, but Bruce got abruptly to his feet and walked to the glass.
"What, Bruce? Make it quick, your dear scientist supervisor might catch you socializing."
It was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. He placed a hand on the glass and looked into Hank's icy blue eyes. "I'd...I'd like it if you could come see me tomorrow. If you're not busy."
Hank blinked, and then smiled, winking at the doctor.
"Sure thing, Brucey. Same time tomorrow?"
Bruce smiled and nodded. "Just...next time, could you maybe me something to clean my glasses with?"
There is a severe lack of Doom slash...
Did someone say Doom slash?
"Intentions" (Reed Richards/Victor Von Doom) (1/3)
Reed Richards, it seemed, was fated to thwart Victor's plans at every turn.
It had started back before he'd even met the man, when they were first assigned as college roommates. Victor hadn't intended to accept a roommate at all, but when Richards had failed to arrive on the first day, he'd hoped that keeping quiet would allow him to keep the larger two-bed room to himself. Instead, it had emerged that Richards had only been delayed a few days by a traffic accident, but by then it had been too late to change the room assignments.
Victor had no intention of playing nursemaid to his injured roommate, but when he tried to make his expectations clear, the conversation had been sidetracked by Richards' excited babbling about his designs for a helper robot. Plans so painfully flawed that Victor had been obliged to outline their shortcomings in detail - a fatal mistake, for it seemed that Richards' grasp of social codes was as rudimentary as his programming. He'd taken this interaction for proof that Victor wanted to be friends, and once settled on this conclusion, refused to be budged from it.
It drove Victor to distraction.
It seemed that, once one had been classified as a friend of Reed Richards, there was no way to escape the category. Richards followed him around like a poorly-trained puppy: always woefully bewildered to be driven away, always bounding back later with enthusiasm intact and trying twice as hard to win approval. Eventually, the effort involved in getting rid of him grew to outweigh the annoyance of having him around.
After this point, Victor had apparently come down with some form of Stockholm syndrome.
It started off in small ways. Having grown resigned to the inevitability of Richards' presence, he naturally began to look for silver linings to make it more bearable. Richards made an adequate lab assistant, quick to grasp Victor's intentions without needing things explained or repeated. He even had some intelligent ideas about implementation, despite his hopeless lack of intuition. He was willing to deal with the idiots around them so that Victor didn't have to.
None of which explained why, some six months into their working relationship, Victor suddenly started noticing his eyelashes. And then the fact that he had rather elegant hands. And then various other traits and body parts that had not, until recently, ever seemed particularly remarkable.
His sudden attraction to Richards was as mysterious as it was disturbing. Possibly it was simply the lure of intelligent conversation with someone who could halfway understand his ideas. Possibly it was some terrible misfiring of hormones brought on by close quarters and lack of sleep. Possibly Richards was drugging his coffee with aphrodisiacs.
If it was the latter, however, Richards was clearly capable of greater subterfuge than Victor gave him credit for, because outwardly he remained wholly oblivious. His exasperating devotion to his conviction that they were friends now proved to cut in more than one direction.
He was incapable of reading even the most obvious body language cues. Innuendos and flirting passed over his head. He could not discern the difference between a friendly gift or gesture and one with clear romantic overtones. No matter how transparent Victor made his intentions, Richards continually failed to understand them.
Presumably even he couldn't misinterpret a direct physical advance - although there were days when Victor wouldn't have given him more than sixty-forty odds - but his lack of response to subtler tactics made it impossible to predict his reaction. Victor couldn't anticipate a violent or disgusted rejection, but an apologetic one would be even worse. He would not be the subject of pitying looks for the rest of their time here at college together.
So he bided his time. He had his studies to fill it; together, he and Richards finished work on the machine and made their first foray into the hell dimension. Although their escape was narrow, the principle was proven, and Victor knew that once he'd broadened his studies of magics he would have his chance to free his mother's soul.
He'd hoped to ask Richards to travel the world with him after college, but the situation in Latveria had worsened, and there was no time for courtship in the midst of war. Once the country had been liberated, he'd invited Richards to come and stay with him in the castle, but they were both so busy they'd spent little of the time together. Richards had been as blind as ever to the subtext of intimate dinners and romantic walks, and he'd been called home before Victor could begin the next phase of his seduction attempt.
Through everything, Victor had been willing to be patient. But now this - this was just too much. He glowered at the letter crumpled in his armoured fist.
Richards had written to invite him to oversee the final launch of his rocket project. It was, however, the casually scrawled postscript to this letter that proved the final indignity. It mentioned that Richards' business partner Ben Grimm had invited a girl who he thought would be perfect for Reed, although, to use his own infuriating words, "it's hard to imagine that anyone could be interested in me".
That was it. Victor had taken as much as he was prepared to take.
Ten minutes later, his private plane was accelerating over the Latverian border.
Reed was distantly aware of the sound of his office door bouncing open. "You go on ahead, Ben," he mumbled, not looking up from the schematics on the computer screen. "This won't take long." He'd just thought of a way to tweak the rocket drive that would increase the fuel efficiency by-
A shadow fell over him. Maybe Ben hadn't heard. He looked up. "I-" It wasn't Ben. "Victor!" he said delightedly. "Wow, you got here fast. I wasn't expecting you until-"
He cut off with a squawk as Victor spun his chair round and slammed it back against the desk, leaning over Reed with his hands braced on the desktop. Reed shrank down a little, unnerved by the closeness of Victor's glare.
Apparently Reed had done something wrong. However, as he'd learned in their student days, there was really no predicting what Victor might take as a huge personal affront. He didn't think he'd put anything particularly inflammatory in his letter, but then, he wasn't very good at things like tone and diplomatic wording. He smiled tentatively. "Um, is something wrong?" he asked.
Victor's mouth worked in silent, angry shapes for several moments, and then he sighed heavily and sagged forward, his hair almost brushing Reed's face. "I have clearly taken all leave of my senses," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
Now Reed was a bit concerned. It wasn't like Victor to show any sort of doubt in himself. He gave Victor's shoulder a hesitant pat. "Victor, are you sure you're all right?" he asked.
Victor raised his head. His eyes zeroed in on Reed's hand on his shoulder. Reed was about to remove it with haste, when Victor's intent gaze snapped round to fix on his eyes and he froze like a rabbit in headlights.
Then his eyes dropped lower, and for a split Reed had the entirely crazy thought that Victor was going to try rip out his jugular or something, and then-
And then. Lips. On his. Victor's lips. On his lips. A meeting of lips definitely appeared to be happening. Rather intriguingly soft lips, in fact, despite the forceful nature of the...
Wait, what? This was a kiss. Victor was... what? Reed pushed backwards with a squeak. There wasn't really anywhere for the chair to roll, so he ended up sliding still further down the cushion. Victor pulled back, breaking the contact between them.
Reed's lips suddenly felt cold and oddly bereft, and he licked them nervously. Victor was still staring at him with that unnerving intensity, though something in his eyes had softened subtly.
Focus, Reed. Theorise. Strike to the heart of the situation with an intelligent, insightful comment that will shed light on what's happening.
"Fnrgh?" he said.
He flinched a little in surprise as Victor's hands settled on his shoulders and then curled round the back of his neck, fingers brushing across his hair with unexpected gentleness. It made it hard to focus on what Victor was saying.
Which was something along the lines of, "-most infuriating person I have ever, in my entire wretchedly cursed existence, managed to-" so he tuned that out. He needed to think.
All right, Reed. Equations never let you down. Work this one through. Kissing = display of affection, and/or demonstration of desire to...
Reed kicked his legs, pushing himself more upright in the chair. He stared at Victor. "Wait, you-? Me? Really?" he said, wide-eyed.
Victor let out a huff, his eyes going to the ceiling. "If this requires explanatory diagrams, I shall set something on fire," he threatened.
Reed struggled to regroup. "No, I mean, I- obviously," he said. Now it was obvious, but where had this come from all of a sudden? It couldn't have been sudden; he'd known Victor for years, so... "Why didn't you say something?" he asked in disbelief.
Victor growled, a long, low, utterly feral sound. Reed had stopped finding his displays of threat intimidating years ago, but from this close up the effect of it was actually kind of-
"Oh," he said, and blinked. Oh. Well, that was... interesting. "Um. Victor?" he said tentatively. "I think that maybe I-"
Victor had, he reflected, as Victor's mouth once again descended on his, always been good at anticipating what Reed was thinking.
Several hazy and very enjoyable minutes later, the office door bumped open again. This time, both of them were too preoccupied to look up.
There was a long pause, and then a weighty sigh from the doorway, and then the sound of a cell phone being dialled.
"Hey, Suze. It's Ben. Hope ya didn't cancel your date for that rocket launch yet..."
The door fell closed again. There were no further interruptions.
>Focus, Reed. Theorise. Strike to the heart of the situation with an intelligent, insightful comment that will shed light on what's happening.
"Fnrgh?" he said.
I lol'd so hard
Was that movieverse? I couldn't help but picture Ioan Gruffudd all through that, hnnghhh.
He's pretty much all I picture now.
with good reason
Things I learned today:
A) This thread is great.
B) Hank Pym is a glorious bastard.
C) Hank McKoy is a hairy bastard.
Wundebar... with a 'w' Agreed though, wonderful. x.x
any Loki slash out there?
Fuck I won't let this thread die!
Also can't someone help me on my quest for some Iron Fist/Luke Cage, this fic is the only thing I could find with them.
Seriously, we need more Danny/Luke
Also Luke knows why they call him Iron Fist.
An invitation to post what I think is one of the hottest fics ever? Well don't mind if I do!
Sadly it's from the anonmeme so I do not know the author.
"M'I interrupting?" Luke asked, the gym door swinging softly shut behind him. Danny didn't turn, moving smoothly from Crane to Scorpion, his eyes closed as the energies flowed through him. He smiled.
"Not at all," he said languidly. Muscles moved smoothly as he shifted, perfectly balanced. "I'm just enjoying myself really."
"Yeah, so I see." The deep timbre of Luke's voice reverberated through the gym; if Danny reached out he could almost feel the vibrations it made in his chi. He sounded vaguely amused, a mood Danny had always liked him in. "Your day is free, then."
"Yes," Danny agreed pleasantly. He moved his chi, felt the iron fist crackle around his fingertips before racing through his body to his other hand. "Jeryn let me come home early, because I was a good boy and listened hard. You?"
"Yeah." Something was very slightly off in Luke's voice, a hint of wariness, as though he was about to suggest something. Danny flipped into a crouch nimbly and looked across at his friend.
Luke was leaning against the wall just beside the door, massive frame dressed in jeans and a wife-beater, one arm rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck in a gesture Danny knew well. He was definitely working up to asking something, then. Danny smiled, amused.
"You do know, Luke, that I can tell when you want something?" he asked. "I know you very well, you see. What's the matter?"
Luke threw him a Look.
"This ain't gonna be easy for me to ask," he said evenly. "Y'know the other day, when I said I should tell Jessica 'bout... us, and what we used to..."
"Yes," Danny said, taking pity. "I agreed, Luke. It's fine. She's your wife, she should know."
"Yeah, that ain't the problem," Luke said, his voice slightly strained. He looked away, studying his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors at the edge of the gym. "I told her. This morning."
"Did you?" Danny said, his heart sinking. There weren't many reasons he could think of that Luke would have come to see him to ask something difficult after that, and none were good. "How did she react?"
"Yeah," Luke said, slowly, and Danny suddenly realised that Luke was, in fact, studying Danny's reflection, not his own. "Yeah, she took it pretty well. Real well, actually."
"Good?" Danny said, uncertainly. A few minutes ago he had been in blissful harmony with himself and the world. Suddenly, he felt wildly unbalanced. He watched Luke's expression in the mirror. Luke's eyes were roving across his body, in a way they hadn't in years. "So -?"
"She, uh..." Luke trailed off for a second. Words had never been his gift. Danny sympathised. "She wants us to do it again," he blurted out suddenly. "And she wants to watch."
There was a silence as Danny stared at Luke, who finally stopped looking at Danny's thighs to look him in the eye.
"She wants - ?" Danny stopped, suddenly aware that they were only making eye contact through a mirror still, and turned and looked at Luke properly, who followed suit. "She wants to watch us - ?"
"Yeah," Luke said wretchedly. "But, look. I'll be straight with you, Danny. I like the idea a whole lot. But if it ain't your thing, I'll -"
"Hang on," Danny interrupted. "Just watch? Why only watch, why doesn't she want to -?"
"Hell if I know," Luke shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I'd want to, if it was you and her. But I like the idea."
Realising he was still crouching, Danny rose, slowly. Luke watched him rise hungrily, and the old thrill suddenly ran through Danny's body, starting in the centre of the currently-hidden tattoo somewhere and swiftly threading its way down to his groin. He'd closed himself off to the idea of having Luke again a long time ago. It was strange, and more than slightly exciting, to suddenly be offered it again.
"I think," Danny said thoughtfully, "that I like the idea as well." He did, too, which surprised him. He'd have thought he'd be too shy for voyerism. Apparently it was an undiscovered kink.
Luke stared at him for a moment, eyebrow raised, and then a grin spread across his face.
"Serious?" he said. "You're the man, Danny. Although damn I hope you're up for it now. I'd forgotten how hot you look when you do your ninja posing work-out thing."
"Your grasp of terminology is as exemplary as ever," Danny shot back. For his part he was suddenly remembering Luke's tattoo fetish and general conduct around anything he wore covering his chest, and was abruptly grateful that he was only wearing an old t-shirt. "But you said Jessica wanted to watch, don't we need to get her?"
"Yeah, I brought her for if you said yes," Luke said, pulling the door to the gym open with one massive arm. "Jess! We're good to go, girl."
"Unbelievable," Danny muttered, and looked down at the gym mats. He was suddenly remembering Luke's propensity to have sex in whatever room he happened to be in, and wondered if Jeryn's reaction to another set of unusually dirty gym mats would be the same as it was years ago. Because they were probably about to find out.
Jessica came in with an air of barely-suppressed enthusiasm, beautiful in jeans and a blouse with one of those waist belts that women wore these days, and the look she gave him was genuinely unnerving. He was used to it from Luke, who'd given him that hungry, lustful look several times over the years, but Jessica had only ever been purely platonic. And -
And now Luke was giving him it too. He was being double-teamed. That was vaguely unfair, Danny felt.
"I am so glad you're agreeing to this," Jessica said eagerly. She hopped neatly up onto the pommel horse against the wall and leaned forward, anticipation written across her face. "So, go, guys. Fornicate wildly. I want to see man-cream."
"You want to see what?" Danny choked, and suddenly remembered how fast Luke was in these situations. When Luke moved, he advanced, predator on prey, and as had always happened Danny froze, a rabbit in headlights. He moved fast across the mats now and before Danny could even try to react Luke had him almost by the scruff of the neck and was kissing him, his tongue probing deeply and posessively, the act a familiar and old friend. Finally Danny's body moved, his arms rising to cling to Luke's shoulders, the enormous muscles moving under skin that was as unyielding as a wall, the sensation like hot metal -
The arm slammed him down onto the mats, on his back. That was familiar, too. It had always been an important part of their relationship; Luke couldn't let go with the women he knew, not with Claire, not with Harmony, not until Jessica. But he'd had some of that release with Danny. Danny was tougher, and had been put through walls by supervillains. Danny could take it.
"Jesus, guys," Jessica breathed from across the room, and Danny almost choked out a laugh, Luke's tongue moving insistently down his chin, onto his neck, down to the edge of the shirt.
"That's nothing," he managed, the anticipation making his nerve endings dance, his chi swirling inside him. "It's more than ink -"
Luke's fingers knotted in the shirt and tore it off like tissue, exposing the perfect lines of Danny's chest beneath, the tattoo of Shou Lao emblazoned across. He held his breath, Luke's hands moving to Danny's biceps, holding him down easily in a grip of stone. His own hands scrabbled at Luke's arms uselessly.
"How?" Jessica asked, her voice intense, and Danny fought to breathe as Luke's tongue curled tantalisingly along his collarbones, keeping milimetres shy of the tingling dragon.
"The Iron Fist," he forced out, almost trembling with the anticipation. "It's - the chi, it's in the... tattoo..."
Luke's teeth scraped along his collarbone and Danny whimpered in frustration, his head tipping back. Now he remembered why Luke held him down for this bit. There was so much power-play with Luke Cage.
"Luke!" he hissed. "Come on!"
Luke pulled back, keeping Danny's arms firmly locked in place still.
"Now this bit's interestin'," he called to Jessica, his eyes fixed on Danny's. "He's easy to dom at this point. That tattoo fucks with his head, he don't even notice what else you're doin'."
"Anything?" Jessica asked, her voice eager and calculating. Danny realised how fast he was breathing. He didn't bother trying to rein it in. It woud be a wasted effort if Luke realised he was trying to control himself.
"Almost anything," Luke grinned. He bent his head down so low his breath ghosted along the tattoo and Danny cried out, the energies peaking, the sensation racing down to his groin and making him twitch. "Watch."
His tongue dipped onto the ink and Danny almost screamed, coherence draining away as the feeling burned into his mind. The energies danced and sizzled across his nerves, flooding every inch of his body and overwhelming his senses. He arched upward, or thought he did; he drank in the chaos, the roiling currents, the symphony of pleasure from skin to core, the electricity, the fire -
It stopped abruptly with the feeling of teeth at the join between his neck and shoulder, pressing just hard enough to hurt. Danny whimpered and dropped back against the mats, panting in the echo in his nerves. He was now naked, it seemed. He remembered that, too.
Luke's finger twisted, and Danny cried out, the sound mingling with his own helpless laughter. Not just naked, then. Luke was really giving Jessica a full demonstration. He wondered dazedly which of them had brought the lubricant.
"Very clever," Danny managed. Luke laughed, his finger working in and out. A bonus with Luke, of course, was that his fingers were approximately twice the size of a normal person's, and infinitely harder. The feeling of even one inside him was incredible. And Danny knew what would follow.
"I am good at this," Luke agreed. "Got myself a whole skill at it. How you doin', Jess?"
"Fucking amazing," Jessica said avidly. "You really didn't feel any of that?"
"No," Danny managed, his voice tight. Luke was pushing in a second finger, twisting them with calculated skill, and grinned, brushing a thumb across Shou Lao's wing. Electricity jolted through Danny's stomach, tearing an involuntary noise from his throat, but he stayed present.
"Good, ain't it?" Luke said smugly, apparently to Jessica. "And it don't work for everyone. Sure you're just watching?"
"Oh yeah," Jessica breathed. "You guys have no fucking idea how hot you look right now."
"I know how hot he looks," Luke said, and a third finger worked its way in, wringing a long moan out of Danny who clutched vainly at the mats, finding no purchase. "Strugglin', Danny? I can help you out."
"What kind of help?" Danny panted. Luke chuckled, and lowered his lips over the tattoo again. Danny's heart fluttered in the adrenaline rush.
This kind, I figure," he said, and then his lips and tongue and teeth decended and Danny was lost again, his vision exploding to white, energy streaming from heart to fingertips to groin to toes, bringing unfelt tears to his eyes and unheard voice to his throat. The fire consumed him, trapping him in that glorious sweep of sensation that made his body tingle and sing -
He came back to himself more slowly this time without the help of Luke's teeth, but just in time to experience the full slide of the erection into his body in a move that made Danny yell and arch upwards. Luke sank himself in up to the hilt, his diamond-hard fingers digging into Danny's hips as he pulled them flush together; and then Luke rose to his knees leaving Danny with his shoulders still on the floor but his lower body raised above him, held in place with one of Luke's arms, the other wrapped around Danny's erection. He remembered this position as well. Incredible angle, and completely vulnerable; he had absolutely no control like this, and all he could do was take whatever Luke chose to do to him...
It was blindingly intense. Luke was well-endowed, and hard. Coupled with super strength, he could move. Danny cried out helplessly as Luke plowed into him, driving himself onto Danny's prostate. It was very nearly too deep; Danny squirmed vainly, but the arm around his hips was set like a rock, and from this position he hardly had leverage anyway. He gave up, surrendering himself to the onslaught, the feeling nearly as overwhelming as the tattoo energies. Luke pounded in again and again, unrelenting, every thrust sending a small explosion of almost-too-much pleasure up Danny's spine -
- and then his fist tightened on Danny's erection, pumping roughly in time with his thrusts, and it was too much. Danny almost screamed as he came, the sensation dragged out as Luke kept going for his own, and by the time it happened Danny was writhing helplessly with over-stimulation, the after-shocks of the orgasm shaking him still. Luke slammed in for the last time with a tangled yell and then held still, his fingers clenching on Danny's hips involuntarily. It would bruise. Danny didn't mind.
Exhausted, he flopped his head to the side to see Jessica zipping herself back up again, and he grinned lazily as Luke carefully withdrew and lowered him back to the mats.
"Just watching worked for you then," he said, his voice catching in his throat. It seemed he would be losing it for the day, then. He remembered that, too. Nothing like Luke Cage to make you scream. Jessica grinned.
"Fuck yes," she said, hoping gracefully off the pommel horse and sashaying over to them. Reaching them she crouched down above Danny, still lying flat on his back, and gently pressed two fingers to the tattoo. To his surprise, and Luke's happy laugh, he reacted; the electricity flared in his chest and groin beneath her touch, pulling a moan out of his throat that he didn't bother to suppress. Jessica grinned, and pulled her hand back.
"But next time," she said, eyes gleaming, "I think I might join in."
Oh fuck yes that was fucking hot, thanks for this anon I don't see enough fic or art for Luke/Danny and this is just awesome.
During the course of Danny's life – at least for the past few months – it seemed like everything was supplanted by a 'supposed to be'.
He was supposed to be grocery shopping, or he was supposed to be relaxing with a novel, or he was supposed to be going to a business meeting, or any number of other things that normal, well-adjusted people managed to accomplish in their day-to-day lives. For Danny, though, something always seemed to come up. A friend called needing help. A costumed friend called needing help. A little old lady got pushed down in the middle of the crosswalk and the third-stringers who dealt with crap like that weren't on the scene.
(Which was a good thing, because it had actually turned out to be a trap by an alleged super-genius who swooped down to challenge the savior of the old-lady-that-was-really-a-henchman-in-disguise, and who Danny dispatched with one solid punch to the face. Some idiot trying to make a name for himself might have made a scene and started a half-assed battle that just resulted in a lot of property damage. There was always a silver lining.)
After all of the aborted attempts to accomplish something lately, he'd figured that it was safe enough to plan a movie night. Invite a bunch of people over, make popcorn and pizza, provide beer, and watch brainless action movies as a time-tested method of blowing off steam. What could go wrong with that? Considering the company he kept, everything.
"Is it just me, or am I failing at everything I attempt lately?" he asked. There was a slight philosophical bent to the question that Luke – the only one who'd bothered to show up – cheerfully ignored.
"I don't know," he answered. "The beer's pretty good."
"Thank you. That's exactly the sort of affirmation I was fishing for."
Luke cracked a smile but his eyes didn't leave the screen. Danny tossed back the dregs of his own beer and set it down on the coffee table. At this point, it was more amusing than depressing, and if he wasn't going to get to do quite what he'd planned in the first place, he might as well just jettison the entire operation. At least, that was his reasoning when he stood up and swung around, neatly straddling Luke's hips.
"The hell are you doing, Danny?" One huge arm lifted to gesture behind him. "Bruce Willis is about to blow up an entire building."
"As if you've never seen him do that before," Danny answered, quirking an eyebrow. Luke looked straight back at him, no hint of humor showing in his face.
"I haven't. Not in high def."
"There's this awesome thing called a pause button…" Danny lifted the remote from its place on the arm of the chair and aimed it over his shoulder. Abruptly the surround sound screaming ceased. Smirking, Luke rested his hands on Danny's hips.
"So that's the way we're gonna play?" His fingers, disturbingly expert at the operation, found the fly of Danny's pants and unfastened it. "Why didn't you just say you were looking for a booty call?"
"I like to think I'm a little more refined that that." Danny leaned back slightly, hitching his shirt up over his head and tossing it onto the floor. Luke's mouth immediately found his collarbone, teeth and tongue dragging a teasing path across sensitive skin. He moaned softly and threaded his fingers together behind Luke's head, following as his mouth trailed down, lips closing around one of Danny's nipples. Teeth and tongue conspired again and Danny yelped, arching his back.
Taking the cue – and the opportunity – Luke slipped his fingers past the waistband of Danny's pants, simultaneously shoving them out of the way and cupping slim hips. He shifted against the sofa, lifting Danny effortlessly with one hand while the other shucked him of his pants. Naked now, Danny settled back into the cup of Luke's lap, rubbing languidly against the rough denim that covered Luke's legs.
"Don't take your jeans off," he murmured, shifting forward to nip at Luke's ear. That won him a soft laugh as Luke's strong fingers slipped back around to probe his entrance. He gave a shuddering cry and they retreated briefly while Luke flipped open the bottle of lube that Danny kept stashed down the side of the couch cushion.
"You even know how weird you are sometimes?" Luke asked. Thick and slippery, his middle finger pressed deep into Danny, awakening an exquisite ache deep inside. Danny moaned, bit at Luke's neck, and ignored the question.
It was a familiar dance for the two of them, one finger soon joined by another, both of them stroking in and out, twisting and scissoring until Danny was trembling and gasping against Luke's chest, fingers curved into eager claws that raked across broad shoulders. Luke talked the entire time, soothing and deep, lips traveling up and down Danny's neck, across his face, against his mouth, and Danny didn't understand a word of it. It was a comforting refrain, though, and when Luke's fingers slipped out and vanished, he didn't loose the scream of frustration that rose up in his throat.
Emptiness, for a while.
And then he was full again, sudden and painful, and this time he did scream, fingers spasming as he clutched at Luke's shoulders. Luke kept talking, shushing him, stroking him, holding him until the initial pain subsided. There was no avoiding that, not as big as Luke was, and Danny had come to love at least the aftermath of it; Luke's hips moved gently, shallow little circles that built the pressure up to a steady wall, leaving Danny gasping and coated in sweat and wondering deliriously whether he would ever be able to walk properly again.
He nodded once, sharply, and Luke looped an arm around his waist, holding him steady as his hips began to piston upwards, breaking down everything that he'd just built up and loosing sensation in a tingling wave that raced up through Danny's body. It was like pins and needles beneath the skin, pleasure and pressure made ten times better when he looked down at Luke's face and saw that his eyes were glassy with ecstasy, his lower lip captured neatly between his teeth.
It was Danny's turn to talk, whispering and cajoling, whimpering for more, harder, faster, until he lost track of what he was saying and simply punctuated each thrust with a cry of absolute pleasure. His nails dug into Luke's skin, Luke's fingers left bruises on his hips, and dimly he was aware that one of them had managed to slam a hand down on the remote and cut the movie back on. As Luke's thrusts grew shorter and ragged and lost rhythm, Danny heard Bruce Willis yelling, people screaming, everything exploding, and while chunks of whatever it had been rained down on cowering people, Danny added his own scream to the chorus, doubling over and resting his forehead against Luke's shoulder as pleasure exploded through his body. Luke made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and thrust once more, hard, and then they both fell still, panting and covered in sweat.
Danny was the first to move, lifting bleary eyes to Luke's face, then twisting around to look at the television. Faces flashed across the screen in a rapid series of edits and, confused, he turned back to rest his face against Luke's chest. "You're all sticky," he observed. "Now we have to shower."
"Should have just let me watch the movie," Luke answered placidly, resting his broad hand in the small of Danny's back . "Would have been much cleaner in the long run."
"But less fun," Danny said. He smiled and closed his eyes as Luke stood, lifting him. It was an indignity that he had long since come to terms with, and it occurred to him, as Luke carried him into the bathroom, that this was one 'supposed to be' that he truly didn't mind.
via paheal, and why the fuck is Danny's cum black
OMG Anon you don't know how happy you made me.