Site Theme...
Main FAQ [ baw] [ co / cog / jam / mtv / tek ] [ ck / coc / draw / writ ] [ pco / coq ] [ a / op / pkmn ] [ n ]

 Posting a reply to post #45465

File: 127715487786.jpg-(38.89KB, 360x480, human-target-full-cast.jpg)
45465 No.45465
Let's try again, shall we?

Expand all images
File: 127715496439.jpg-(210.59KB, 840x505, ht-guerrero-chance-goodboy.jpg)
Kicking off the new thread with new fanart...

...and reposting stuff from /r/


"Think of it as a compromise." Guerrero said, smiling blearily, and perhaps the way their knees touched wasn't so casual after all.

Winston stared at him for a long moment.

"You're serious?"

"Sure, why not? 'S not like it's a big deal or anything."

Out of the spotlight and the grip of liquor, Winston would have pressed how ending what had been an unexpected and illusion-shattering conversation with a casual proposition for sex could be anything but a "big deal." Instead, he clapped a hand to his face and groaned.

"Hey man, it was just a suggestion. It's not like you don't do it anyway, right?"

"What do you mean?"

Guerrero shrugged and dragged his spoon through the soupy remnants of his ice cream.

"Screw someone, pretend they're him."

"Do you?" Winston almost asked. But Guerrero wasn't looking at him anymore, and that was answer enough.

"Why me?" He said instead.

"Why not?"

At Winston's look, Guerrero shook his head and sighed.

"Look, at least this way we won't have to bother with pretense, right? And it's not like we're engaging in some sordid office romance. This is just--"

"Bizarre?" Winston offered.

"--A solution to a mutual problem. Sort of, anyway. For the time being."

He set both spoon and carton down on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "Your choice, dude. We could continue sitting here drowning our sorrows in vodka and dairy, but I wouldn't mind doing something a little more interesting with my evening. What do you say?"

What Winston said landed them in the storage room, one of the few camera-free places in the office. Really, "storage cavern" would have been a more appropriate description. The place took up a good quarter of the floor plan, and had been deemed the final resting place of anything Chance was too lazy or didn't have the heart to throw out: such as the sleeper sofa that had belonged to his predecessor.

"Let me know if I'm, uh...pinning you." Winston muttered as he shifted his weight. He winced when the sofa springs creaked.

"No, you're good."

Guerrero's goatee brushed Winston's neck so lightly it tickled, and Winston had to bite the tip of his tongue to hold back a laugh. He tried to concentrate instead on the feel of warm, solid skin rising and falling beneath his palms, on the firm muscle he'd sort-of guessed lay beneath layers of clothing, but he'd never been able to confirm. There were scars too, and if he ignored the dusting of hair from collarbone to mid-chest, it wasn't so hard for Winston's mind to fill in all the incongruities and empty spaces until Guerrero morphed into someone else.

His thumb skipped over the hard nub of a nipple, and when the smaller man squirmed beneath him he smiled faintly and did it again. Guerrero's hands curled over Winston's shoulders, and he arched up as Winston's fingers twisted and teased, working first one nipple then the other while his free hand supported Guerrero's back. Winston nipped at Guerrero's exposed neck, earning a brief, almost surprised noise from him, followed by a gasp and blunt nails digging into his back as Winston bent to let his mouth take over for his hand.

Winston wondered, would Chance be this responsive? Would his face curl inward in a look of almost-pain, or would his expression go slack as he scrabbled at the sheets and moaned? He tried to imagine it: Chance would hook a foot over his thigh while his hand felt clumsily between them, his fingers brushing the head of Winston's cock and making him buck into the touch. Winston would adjust Chance's fingers just so, would lean forward and murmur encouragements into his ear because for once Chance found himself in unfamiliar territory and a Winston wouldn't let him stumble through it alone.

He shuddered at feeling of a calloused thumb circling his cock head, taking its time to ensure that every inch of him receiver equal attention. Guerrero hummed a pleased note and skimmed his thumb over the slit, dragging a thin trail of precum after him. Then Winston felt a hand on his chest, pressing up against him until he obediently rose onto his knees, then back again until he was supported by the sofa arm. Guerrero sat up as well, using one hand on Winston's shoulder to balance while the other worked him with a slow, twisting rhythm. Winston's hips jerked, trying to urge him faster, but Guerrero just paused until Winston reluctantly settled down. Guerrero smirked and started again; he ended each upward stroke by dragging his thumb over Winston's slit; Winston curled his fingers into the polyester and groaned.

After a few moments, Guerrero stopped.

"Hey," Winston croaked out. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth felt.

Guerrero shook his head.

"Relax, dude." He said. He crawled over to the side of the bed where he'd dumped his duffel bag. He unzipped it and dug around for a few seconds before tossing first a condom, then what Winston guessed was a small tube of lubricant on the bed.

"You travel around with that stuff?" Winston asked. Guerrero gestured with his chin from the condom to Winston, and Winston leaned over to pluck it up.

"Who knows when you're going to have slightly-drunken sex with a coworker?"


"Besides, KY's good for a bunch of things." Guerrero said as he spread some on his fingers. "Untangling chains, loosening bolts, removing glue..."

He tossed Winston the tube, and by the time Winston had finished lubing himself up Guerrero had slid two fingers inside of himself and was scissoring them gently, spreading the lube around. In a moment he returned to his spot between Winston's knees, only this time his back was to him and instead of crouching down he slung an arm around Winston's neck and used him for balance while his other hand angled Winston's cock.

He sat in one slow but fluid motion, taking Winston in on the first try. Winston's hands flew to Guerrero's hipbones but Guerrero shooed them away. Guerrero gripped each of Winston's thighs rose until just the tip of Winston's cock remained inside him; then he clenched and did a funny little thing with his hips that sent a rush of pleasure all the way to Winston's toes. He lowered himself until he was grinding against Winston's lap--again, he batted away Winston's grasping hands-- then he rose, then he sank. Winston resigned himself to digging his fingers into the sofa cushions and trying to match the rhythm as best he could.

"Good God," Winston muttered, and he leaned forward to kiss Guerrero's shoulder blade. Chance wouldn't be this good the first time out. Then again, maybe that was why Guerrero had chosen to be on top: he could set the angle, the pace, could do the impossible and make Chance sit still and take direction for once.

He wondered how long Chance would be able to stand this slow, steady rocking before he flipped Guerrero onto his stomach, braced a hand on the bed and fucked him into the mattress. He was a quick study, after all.

Winston was more patient, but not by much, not when it came to this. Fortunately Guerrero seemed to be of a similar mind, because he tightened his hold on Winston's shoulders and started rocking faster, though it was clear that being twisted halfway around wasn't doing much for his range of movement. Winston hesitated a moment before letting a hand once more settle on Guerrero's hip. This time it met with no resistance and, encouraged, Winston clasped Guerrero's hips firmly beneath his palms and started pulling Guerrero back faster, burying himself deeper until Guerrero hunched forward and grunted softly with the effort.

Winston wanted to kiss the shell of Chance's ear and tell him how good it felt, to urge him on, to growl a stream of endearments and half-nonsense as familiar tension starting pooling at the base of his cock. Instead he bit the inside of his lip and groaned, then slipped an arm around Guerrero's midsection and wrapped his fingers around Guerrero's cock.

"Fuck," Guerrero said, arching back. Winston leaned over until they were pressed flush together and he could feel the muscles in Guerrero's working as he bounced to meet Winston's thrusts. Winston pressed a dizzy kiss to the side of Guerrero's neck as he clenched his fist-- just a little-- and started jerking him faster.

Guerrero's whole body tensed. His hand grabbed at Winston's thigh. When Winston dragged a finger over the head of Guerrero's cock Guerrero gave a short, deep groan and came. Guerrero's tremors echoed through Winston's body; Winston managed a few more shallow thrusts before he gasped, shuddered, and buried his forehead in the curve of Guerrero's shoulder as he rode out his climax.

When sparks stopped bursting across his vision and the roar of blood in his ears quieted to a steady throb, Winston opened his eyes. Guerrero was slouched half against his chest, half against the sofa arm, panting. Winston let his head fall onto the sofa back and he blinked lazily into the dark.

Several more moments passed before they'd recharged enough to move. When Guerrero did he slid off of Winston and scooted over until he was sitting on almost the other side of the bed, with his legs folded under him and his head pillowed on his hand. Winston cleared his throat, muttered something vague about bathrooms, and left. When he came back Guerrero was sliding his pants back on, and Winston's clothes had been piled on the edge of the bed.

"Oh. Uh, thanks." Winston said, reaching for his briefs.

"No problem."

They dressed in silence.

"I'll be outside, dude." Guerrero said, when he finished shrugging on his sport coat and picking up his duffel.

"All right."

Guerrero was in the kitchen when Winston emerged, and it took him a moment to realize that all of the bottles and trays from their dinner had been cleared away. Before he had time to ponder this small miracle, Guerrero appeared at the entrance to the sitting area. He seemed only a little more mussed than usual, and his eyes had the half-lidded look of someone who desperately needed a nap. Other than that, his face gave away nothing.

"So..." Winston cleared his throat again.

Guerrero reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell and flipped it open. "We probably shouldn't have done that."

Winston opened his mouth, but Guerrero continued:

"I'm supposed to be meeting a client in twenty minutes."

"Oh." Winston relaxed. "Well...can you call them?"

Guerrero shrugged. "Yeah. It's no big deal. I can reschedule. So."

He met Winston's eyes finally. "That was..."

"...Something we're never going to speak of again?"

"Got it in one. want to do it again."

Winston raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's not like our problem is going to go away. And it'd be nice to burn off tension with someone who understands my dilemma."



"What, you want to schedule it?"

"No. But barring extenuating circumstances I could be convinced to show up at a nondescript hotel next Thursday with pizza and a bottle of brandy. We can see where it goes from there."

Winston sighed. "7:00?"

"Sounds good."

"I can't believe you're talking me into this. Again."

Guerrero smirked and started to speak, but before he could there was some rattling at the front door, followed by the click of a lock and the door swinging open.

"Hey guys!" Chance said, grinning despite the fact that he was tan with dust and his shirt was torn from shoulder to hip. "Did I miss anything?"

"You know, I've always wondered why you had glasses."

The comment was non-sequiter enough to drag Guerrero's attention from the sheaf of papers he'd been thumbing through. He looked across the room at Chance, who sprawled on the sofa with his head propped against a pillow and the armrest.

"For the same reason anyone else does...?" Guerrero said, letting the last words drag out.

Chance shook his head. "I know why technically, thanks. I meant practically. Why not contacts? You wouldn't have to worry about them falling off or breaking, and you wouldn't have to keep doing that all the time."

"Doing what?"

Chance crooked his middle finger and slid it up the bridge of his nose.

"That. You did it just now."

Guerrero thought for second. "Oh. Yeah, guess I did. Well, to be honest dude, I've never really been sold on the idea of shoving plastic slivers against my eyeballs."

"Well, shoving might be a bit exaggerated. And it's only weird the first couple of times. Once you get used to it, it's as easy as..."

He half shrugged and twirled his hand vaguely in the air.

"Putting on glasses?" Guerrero offered.

The hand dropped. "Pretty much."

"Yeaaaah, no thanks. Wait. Do you wear contacts?"

"Yeah. You never noticed?"

Guerrero raised an eyebrow. "I don't exactly gaze into your eyes on a regular basis."

Chance snorted and shifted his legs off the sofa so that he could stand, pausing only to chuck the magazine onto the coffee table. He gathered the small collection of beer bottles and plates the three of them had left from lunch and stepped carefully around the sofa and out towards the kitchen.

"Didn't expect you to," He said as he passed."I'm just surprised that after all this time you never realized."

The pipes rumbled and whined in the walls after Chance had turned on the sink. As he scribbled notes about the file in front of him, Guerrero half-listened to him puttering around: dishes clinked, cabinets banged shut, the garbage can swooshed open, then the sink again. Chance emerged from the kitchen shaking his hands dry, and had nearly passed the desk when Guerrero said:

"Let me see."

Chance blinked. "What?"

Guerrero tapped his bottom lid.

"Oh! Wait, why?"

"You issued a challenge to my powers of observation, and now I'm curious."

A shrug, and in a few seconds Chance was nearly nose-to-nose with him as he leaned over the desk. One hand pried his eyelids apart, and what do you know? There it was, the faint yet unmistakable outline of a disk over his pupil.

"Huh. Well I'll be damned."

Chance released his eyelids and blinked a few times. Irritation gone, he settled onto his forearms, cocked his head to the side and squinted at Guerrero long enough to make the latter shift back in his chair and frown.


"I do wonder how you'd look without those."

Guerrero made a vague noise and looked back down at his work. "I guess we'll never know."

Guerrero often forgot just how fast Chance was until he pulled stunts like this: in one moment Guerrero's glasses were firmly seated on his nose, and in the next they were pinched between Chance's thumb and forefinger while Guerrero reared back like he'd been slapped in the face.

"Not bad," Chance said, easy-as-you-please, while Guerrero could feel anger curling thick through all the spaces in his skull. That was something else Guerrero often forgot: Chance was clearly suicidal.

"Give. Those. Back." His voice was level and soft; his expression was anything but.

"Pretty handsome, actually."


"I said that you're handsome."

Guerrero blinked. Chance had already moved on, so it seemed, and he was bringing Guerrero's glasses up to his eyes and making the faces one usually does as the world shifts and warps before them.

"What are you, myopic?" Chance asked.

"You think I'm handsome?"

Chance shrugged without looking down. "That's what I said, wasn't it?"

Guerrero squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, then shook his head. "Chance. Uh."

"Look," Said Chance. He set the glasses back down on the table and mimicked Guerrero's head-shaking motion as the world presumably righted itself. "We've been through this before, haven't we? In overture, at least."

"Well yeah, I suppose, but I always figured that was just--" He gestures wildly. "You. All part of the roguish charm thing."

Chance smiled, a slow, wide one accompanied by a lidded gaze. "Not exactly."


Then, for the first time, Chance looked unsure.

"I mean." He swallowed. "Unless you're not...uh..."

"Me?" Guerrero shrugged. "No preference. Makes life easier."

"That it does." Chance's shoulders sagged back down. "So! Now that that's out there, if you're ever interested...well, I'm available."

Guerrero's mouth quirked. Then, carefully, he shifted his papers and steno pads aside.

"How about right now?" He said.

"What? Here, right now?"

"Why not? Winston'll be gone for at least another hour, and I can't do much until he gets back with those records anyway. Besides, I've been staring at this crap for three days straight. I could use a break."

Chance grinned, then caught Guerrero's chin in his hand and leaned forward to press his lips to the sharp curve of Guerrero's jawbone. Guerrero hmmed softly in his throat, a sound that turned to a hiss as Chance's lips caught the lobe of his ear.

"Well," Chance murmured against his skin, "I do aim to please."

And one more from /r/, even though in retrospect it's still an abomination. I need to draw something to replace it.


File: 127726291760.jpg-(188.90KB, 840x505, ht-guerrero-winston-finger-suck.jpg)

File: 127727611111.jpg-(107.83KB, 491x654, warning.jpg)


:D :D :D But who's on the other end?

(Which reminds me, for some off-topic reason, that I've yet to see anyone/Baptiste. And that's terrible.)

File: 127731882072.jpg-(85.78KB, 683x653, sketchydood.jpg)

Whoever you please. And personally, think Guerrero and Baptiste has vast possibilities. And is scary. And hot.

(updated this a few nights ago, but deleted it because Baptiste looked derpy to me.)

File: 127804361775.jpg-(199.03KB, 505x840, guerrero-relaxing.jpg)

There really does need to be more Guerrero/Baptiste. Mmm...

Also, a new contribution.

File: 127804754075.png-(230.05KB, 452x500, Screen shot 2010-05-18 at 11.57.41 PM.png)
young JEH, young Guerrero

imagine that with a young Chance...


File: 127805142274.jpg-(92.78KB, 452x500, nowairro.jpg)

Who is...

Wait a second...


:D It's my personal head canon that Guerrero =adult!Kelly Leak. It would not be that big of a jump for an established punk like Kelly to stroll into murkier and murkier activities until he becomes a hit man. Hell, Guerrero and Kelly FLIRT the same. Guerrero's (mildly) more subdued, of course, but there are definitely shades of "Does that turn you on? Harley-Davidson?" hiding behind all those "Nice dress" comments.

Why can't I stop laughing.

Chance, stop doodling on other people's photos. It's not nice.

Main FAQ [ baw] [ co / cog / jam / mtv / tek ] [ ck / coc / draw / writ ] [ pco / coq ] [ a / op / pkmn ] [ n ]
0.0076959133148193 (0.01 seconds )