theoldguardkinkmeme | Fills Post

Fills Post

This Fills Post is now closed to new fills. New fills should go in Fills Post #2. For those of you who are in the process of posting multi-chapter WIPs, please post subsequent chapters in the new Fills Post but include a link to the previous chapters so that those who haven't been following the story from the beginning can easily find the first part(s).

Remember:

Fills can but don't need to be anonymous.

Start a new comment for each fill. Don't use threaded comments for new fills. Threaded comments are for fills that take up more than one comment field, or for feedback/squee/praise.

In your fill, please mention the prompt you are responding to, and provide a link to the prompt in the body of the text.

Please use a header with your character(s)/pairing and a title and/or keyword or short phrase. (For example: "Just you and me: Andy/Quynh, Make-up sex" or "Between a Rock and A Hard Place: Nicky/Joe/Booker, first time DP").

Please also comment with a link to your fill in the prompt post, under the prompt you are responding to. Your comment header should include the word "Fill" or "Filled", so that those checking out the thread can find your fic/art more easily (For example: "FILL: Re: Any/Quynh, Make-up sex").

If you end up cleaning up your fill and posting it elsewhere (AO3, your personal journal), feel free to link the posted fic/art here as well.

Fills on Pinboard: For a list of filled prompts on Pinboard, go here.

Threaded | Flat

He stood and watched them leave him, trying not to feel anything.

Andy--Boss--whom he knew in his bones that he would never see again. Joe, Nicky, the closest thing to brothers that he had had in centuries. Nile. A younger sister, perhaps even the daughter he had never had?

Well, not as if he'd know now. They were good people, and deeply, infinitely kind, but they did not forgive readily, if at all. He had at least a hundred years to shift for himself now, more if they wisely decided not to welcome him back to the fold. So. Appealing though it was to simply sleep rough until he starved to death (however many times he could manage in the span of a century), eventually that would be noticed and attract unwanted attention. He needed a steady profession which would permit him to remain more or less in shadows, and required none of the documentation he lacked. Even a simple retail job would want a social security number. A real hassle, those. They made immortal life so much more difficult.

The idea of sex work came quickly; as it turned out, prostitution was legal in London, so long as it wasn't in public. He quickly found the kinds of websites that would lead potential johns to him. This Craig fellow and his wondrous list! Before long he had a system of sorts in place: every three days he would book a handful of clients, never the same twice, always for cash. Booker had always had very few sexual limits, but he flatly refused things like knifeplay or asphyxiation, as his secret could potentially be revealed if something went wrong. He never had much worry where safety was concerned; he couldn't get any STDs, and even if a client proved to be a serial killer, it's not as if he wouldn't just come back to life again later. Not that he'd have particularly minded had the chopping stuck. One less worry on the Guards' minds.

Some cold, lonely part of him, frozen over since Russia, whispered that it was nice to be able to feel wanted even if it was all based on a lie. To have someone greet him warmly, with a kiss, laugh at his jokes, hold him close at night---he hadn't had that since he'd buried his wife. To see desire for him reflected in a partner's eyes as they led him to bed, gentle hands on his body, his pseudonym gasped in ecstacy---all these things, he hadn't even known he was missing.

He could pretend, just for a few short hours, that he was loved.

Oh, in the harsh light of morning as his client snuck out of the flat to get back to their life all such illusions would vanish. He was left a lonely, shame-ridden whore, semen cooling on the sheets. He wasn't a lover, was barely even a 'partner'. He was an experiment. A fling. A mistake. An itch to be scratched. Nothing worth staying for.

Damn it all, he wanted more for himself, whether he deserved it or not. To that end, when he saw the post he immediately responded to it.

Discreet gentleman seeks lovely younger companion to show him a good time in London for the weekend. Let me treat you; all I ask is you be good to me in return.

The price offered was more than Booker could have charged a month's worth of clients. All it took was a few flirty messages exchanged, a tasteful nude sent, and an agreement was made. They would meet for dinner in a little pub along the Thames---a different one from where he'd been exiled---and from there he and John would spend the weekend together. He'd send half the payment in advance as a show of good faith, and give him the rest when their time together was up.

He was already at the table when Booker walked in---a genial fiftysomething with a wide smile and smoke-colored eyes.

"Hello, David. So pleased you could make it. Come, try the wine. I've taken the liberty of ordering for us."

This is probably not what you were looking for in as much as it is very consensual and like, not dark? Hope it's okay nonetheless. Title from John 20:27 when Jesus tells Saint Thomas to "thrust" his hand in the wound in his side. Warnings for: wound finger-fucking, blood and knife play. Also lots of blasphemy.

There was a certain amount of existentialism that came with immortality. You could turn away from it, if you wanted to. Or you could face it head on and come to your own conclusions. Life meant nothing. It meant everything. Death was a blessing, or it was a horror. Or it was something in between. The universe had plans or it did not, God wanted or he did not. They went back and forth on the matter. There were a few things they could universally agree upon, though.

Namely; they had been gifted with immortality. Surely it would be a waste, not to explore it. Not to hold it in their hands and feel its strengths and its ridges and find serenity in all they discovered within it. Surely it is not sacrilege, Joe had said once with his fingers inside Nicky’s mouth, to take full advantage of the gifts God has given us. Nicky had moaned and shuddered and looked at Joe with dark, shocked eyes. He hadn’t been upset, though. Later, over dinner, he had said I thought we could, and If you wanted, and: I have a few ideas. More than a few, it turned out. Enough to last them the centuries since he’d suggested they branch out into unexplored territory.

(They had met a lovely man in France once. He was writing a book at the time. Joe had found his obsession with death tiring, but there was something to be said for the way he spoke about desire and death intertwined. The way he described sacrifice as love and the inherent human need to transgress boundaries, sinful or otherwise. Nicky found him delightful and all but wrote notes during their conversation.)

By now there were many games they played with each other. Many ways they explored the limits of their bodies, of their desire. The idea for one of them came from a painting, of all things. The seventeenth century. An artist they had not yet met introduced himself as Michelangelo Caravaggio, and the painting as The Incredulity of Saint Thomas. It wasn’t a new concept - there had been other paintings. This one was different, though.

So vivid. The shadows, the texture, the bright red and the pale shining light. A realness to the painting that was not unique in itself, but seeing this, the Saint’s finger penetrating the wound in Jesus’ side with such incredible detail - it was different. And not only because this was the first Joe had ever seen where the saint’s actions reflected what Nicky’s scripture told them. Michelangelo was the first artist with the nerve, perhaps, the sly emboldened desire to go a step further in his depiction and bridge the gap between suggestion and explicit depiction.

It was beautiful. They had looked on in silence for a long, long while. Joe had thought a great many things while he stared at the painting, absorbing all the details; the brush strokes, the shining light, the gentle curved edge of the wound around the dear saint’s finger. Beside him, Nicky had let out a slow, shuddering breath. Joe had reached for his hand, knowing they were safe here, in this place. With this strange, daring man who smiled at them knowingly.

“Il mio miglior dipinto, no?”

“Si,” Nicky said, quiet and reverent. His grip on Joe’s hand was not only bruising; it was a promise.

*

That was how it began. The first time had been strange and new and wonderful. Now, almost half a millennium later, the act was like a warm bath. Familiar, yes, but a delicious indulgence all the same. They took turns at playing the messiah - sometimes Joe wanted to worship Nicky, give him his knife, his tongue, his fingers and watch Nicky writhe beneath him. Sometimes it was Joe with the wound, and Nicky with his careful, curious fingers inside him. Tonight, it was the latter.

It was Nicky’s sweet smile when he showed Joe the gilded dagger he would be using, italian made. It was the anticipation as Joe lay back on their bed, full-bodied and thrilling. It was the gentle way Nicky straddled his legs. The way he bent forward to kiss him first, a soft, lingering thing, before sitting back up, finally ready.

The first slice was always a test. They had to go deep, so that the wound would not immediately close, but neither of them were interested in accidentally damaging something vital - they had given up killing each other a long time ago. Nicky held the dagger to the light, inspecting it for any imperfections one last time. Joe watched the reflected light from the dagger dance over Nicky’s face, illuminating his chin, his forehead, across his cheekbones. He watched as a gentle pink blush began to spread across them, down Nicky’s neck and splotchy across his chest. Joe grinned, knowing that Nicky’s entire body would flushed pink before the night was out.

“You ready, my love?” Nicky asked. He always became particularly sweet when they did this together. Joe couldn’t say he didn’t take pleasure in the irony.

“Ready, Nicolo,” he said, letting his head fall back against the pillows. Moments later there was a sting, sharp and biting across his abdomen. Shallow though - just the test. Like Pavlov’s dogs responding to their bell, Joe could feel his body start to respond to the familiar pain. He licked his lips, curled his toes.

“I’m good, that’s good, beloved, you can-” he started, but Nicky quieted him, petting his flank and whispering sweet nothings to calm him. Keep him patient.

“Don’t worry,” Nicky said, the point of the dagger returning to his skin, “I’ll give you what you need.” And so he did. The dagger went deeper this time, the pain aching and heavy as it was pushed into his abdomen, ever deeper. Nicky took his time with it, careful, excruciatingly slow. Joe moaned at the pain, the frustration, the strange pleasure of it. When Nicky was happy with the depth of the wound, he began to pull the dagger across, widening it enough that he could press his fingers inside. The pain was heady, delicious. Yes, he said over and over, yes, yes.

After seconds, after an era, Nicky finally withdrew the dagger from his abdomen, dropping it to the floor with a thud. There would be blood everywhere, but Joe couldn’t worry about that now. Not when Nicky’s probing fingers had found the edges of his bloody wound. Not when his fingers were pushing inside, past the steady stream of blood and the outer layer of skin and muscle until he was touching the visceral fat of Joe’s insides. They stayed like that for a moment, still, quiet. The only sounds in the room were their shallow breaths, the steady little plink plink of blood dripping to the floor. Joe’s thundering heart, surely, so loud in his ears he thought Nicky must be able to hear it.

Finally, after an indeterminate amount of time, Nicky finally began to move. The wound had already begun to heal around his lax fingers, so it was tighter already, the pain more intense, more focused. Nicky’s fingers felt cold and not, strangely numb when they reached deep enough inside him, the ridges of Nicky’s fingerprints pressed to the very core of him. Joe imagined that they might imprint themselves there, a single gossamer thread left inside of him. A mark that he could keep forever.

He was shaking, now, overwhelmed by feeling. Nicky was speaking to him, but Joe couldn’t make them out - his voice was all he needed, all he wanted. Joe let Nicky’s soft words flow over him, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but the drag and pull of Nicky’s fingers inside the wound, ever tighter. It was shallower now, too, Nicky’s fingers pressing against new, raw flesh. They didn’t have much time left, but Joe didn’t need to say anything; Nicky’s free hand was already wrapped around his dick, jacking him in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

It didn’t take long. Joe’s toes curled so hard they began to cramp when he came, shuddering and jerking violently through it as Nicky withdrew his fingers for a final time, stroking them over the closing wound before leaning down to press a kiss to the newly healed skin there, still smeared in blood. Joe didn’t protest when Nicky surged forward for a kiss with a mouth stained red, familiar with the taste of his own blood in his mouth. They kissed wetly, hungrily at first, but after a while they slowed, Joe’s adrenaline leaving his body.

“You want?” he asked sleepily, eyes already half closed.

“No need,” Nicky answered, wry, “just seeing you like that was enough for me, tonight.”

Joe hummed in pleasure, nudging Nicky onto his side so that they could spoon. They would have to get up soon, to clean the blood from the bed - the sheets, the floor, themselves. They could rest for a moment, though.They had time.

Fun fact: a copy of the painting mentioned was found in a private collection in Italy. :)

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=272828#cmt272828
(Please use the prompt as a warning; the fill depicts extreme situations included in the prompt as well as additional TW for attempted suicide.)

* * *

He makes eye contact with a man at the market.

Booker has been letting him out more often than he used to, not by himself of course, but he doesn't keep him locked up for weeks at a time anymore. He's standing next to a stall, not quite looking at the wares, just enjoying the cold bite of wind on his skin and absorbing the sounds of bustling life around him, when across the crowded plaza he glimpse a pair of ice blue eyes. Something stirs within him—confusion, maybe.

Before he can think any more on that feeling, Booker hurriedly puts an arm around him and bundles him away. Joe can't help looking back once, but the man is already gone.

That night, Booker hits him when they fuck, which he hasn't done in a while. Joe doesn't love it but he takes it, looking at the bedspread and counting the tiny flowers picked out in thread. Booker slides a needle into his arm after, which he doesn't love either, and when he wakes up again he doesn't know where they are or how much time has passed.

Sometimes, Joe forgets and tries to end it.

He'll think, I can't do this anymore, and slit his wrists, hang himself, drown himself in the bath. He must do it wrong because he always wakes up.

Sometimes, he remembers he can't end it, and that's worse. He remembers who he is and it makes him scream, rage against Booker, fight to get free, kick his kidneys when he climbs naked on top of him to hold down his wrists. When that happens, Booker just increases whatever elephant tranquilizers he uses on him until he forgets again.

Joe hates remembering, but he hates forgetting so he pretends he doesn't remember more and more. Instead of screaming out loud, he screams inside his head, biting through his cheeks to keep from waking Booker lying next to him, remembering that it will heal anyway.

*

After almost a year of dead leads, it all comes very fast and easy once Nicky gets visual confirmation.

Booker thinks he can run after that, like he doesn't know it's game over already. Sure, moving Joe across several borders slows the inevitable, but Nicky has the scent now and he doesn't let go until he breaks into the house Booker's rented in the outskirts of the country.

Booker has never been as good of a fighter as Nicky. Seven hundred more years of experience and not being drunk will do that for a warrior. He concentrates his fury on painting the walls with Booker's face for a while, but he tosses him aside for Andy to deal with because he sees the locked door.

Joe.

"My love," he whispers to Joe, whose eyes are glassy and dart quick and worried between Nicky's face and Booker's prone body.

Nicky has very carefully braced himself to not be hurt no matter how Joe reacts. He knows that once they detox the drugs out of his system, Joe will slowly remember him again. He has to believe it.

Joe cautiously steps backward so that his back is guarded by the wall, and swallows.

"I'm going to give you some clothes, you can put them on and come with me, okay?"

"I'm not allowed to," Joe says, wary. He looks at Booker again, and at Andy behind Nicky. Nicky doesn't bother to check to see if he's getting up. He's her problem now.

"It's okay, you can if you want to. Do you want to?" Nicky struggles to keep his tone neutral. He must succeed, because Joe doesn't jump to agree.

But he doesn't disagree either, and Nicky reaches out a hand slowly, palm up.

Joe has no reason to trust Nicky right now, when he doesn't remember. But he takes his hand.

"Ah!" Nicky gasps, hips hitching down into the mess of sheets beneath him.

His thighs ache with the spread, held fast for what must be an hour now by Joe's pencil callouses pressing tight around his legs, by Joe's tongue tracing delicate patterns along the outer rim of his asshole, by the scrape of Joe's stubble against the paper-thin skin of his inner thighs.

If Joe were mortal, his tongue would be sore by now, but the upside of every injury healing within seconds is that it really improves stamina. Nicky would know, as the pull of his hamstrings lessens from unbearable to pleasant once again, allowing them to drag out this torture.

"Joe," he moans out, pressing himself into the sheets, damp with his own sweat. "Joe, please."

Joe pulls away long enough to say, "You asked for this," before diving back in, his rough cheeks sensitising freshly healed skin all over again, and Nicky sobs into the pillow.

He did, he did ask, Joe's not wrong. How was he to resist, when Joe walked out of the bathroom with the lines of his jaw sharp, the rough of his stubble making Nicky ache to feel it on his skin? How was he to say anything else but ruin me, to do anything else but beg for it, in the face of all that beauty, just for him?

Joe's cheek rubs against a patch of skin that hasn't quite healed form his last assault, even as his tongue flicks quickly over the pucker of Nicky's ass, sloppy-wet and tight.

Nicky moans and grinds down into the mattress, throbbing against the bundle of sheets. He'll come like this, he knows he will, given enough time. He can almost taste it, how the tang of Joe's sharpened chin and the softness of Joe's lovely tongue and the rough friction of the bed below him will drag it out of him until he spills against the sheets, dripping copiously onto them, the velocity of it lost into the bedding, shaking apart under Joe's capable touch. He could come like this, he's come like this before, nothing but the softest of Joe's touches offset against the raw, red skin of his inner thighs until he's spending into the mattress and praising God and Joe and Joe again.

Joe rubs his roughened cheek against the curve of Nicky's ass, and he does.

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904542

Fill for these two prompts

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=209084#cmt209084
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=213692#cmt213692

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910476

Edited 2020-08-31 03:19 (UTC)

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=200124#cmt200124

The first time it happened, they were still in the heady early days of their passion, and there were still so many things they had not done. This was one of them, and Nicky found himself suddenly craving it as they kissed. “Let me use my mouth on you?” He asked with a grin. Joe couldn’t nod fast enough, and Nicky kissed his way down Joe’s chest, pausing to take each nipple into his mouth, his teeth closing around them for the barest of seconds before he moved on to press soft kisses to the sensitive inside of Joe’s thighs, ignoring Joe’s bobbing cock.

“Please, Nicky,” Joe begged, and his lover took mercy on him, sucking him down to the root. Joe’s moan sounded desperate, truly strained as his aching cock was enveloped in the wet warmth of his love’s mouth. “Nicky, oh Nicolo, my love, it feels so good,” he babbled, “oh, your mouth, hayati...” Nicky pulled off to give a little attention to the head, suckling it gently. A bead of precome welled up at the tip and Nicky licked it away, when to his astonishment, he felt Joe’s cock twitch violently against his lips and the next thing he knew, the man was coming with a cry, painting Nicky’s lips and cheek with thick stripes.

Nicky was surprised, but not displeased, and he licked away some of the release that had ended up near his mouth. When he looked up at Joe though, the other man didn’t look relaxed and pleased like he had just come hard, he looked distraught. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m so embarrassed,” he started to apologise. “I’ve never—I’ve never come so fast before, I couldn’t stop it, you just—the sight of you with your lips around my cock, your tongue against me like that—“

Nicky quickly got up to kiss the gutted look off of Joe’s face. “There’s nothing to apologise for,” he murmured. “Nothing at all. And you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. It’s kind of flattering, really.”

Joe couldn’t help a chuckle at that. “Of course you would say that,” he murmured fondly, pressing kisses to the top of Nicky’s head and reaching down to take his love’s cock in hand. “Next time I promise I’ll try and enjoy your attentions for longer, sweetheart.”

He did manage to last longer the next time, probably through sheer force of will. Nicky was torn between being pleased that Joe had given him the time to try out all of his favourite tricks, including how he could take his lover into his throat without gagging and how his tongue could unceasingly find the most sensitive spot just under the head, and being oddly disappointed. He had indeed found it flattering that Joe had spilled after less than a minute of Nicky’s lips on him, and he was curious to see if he could make him that desperate again.

Unfortunately, the next time it happened, Nicky was in the mood to get properly, thoroughly fucked. They had just finished a battle, he was simultaneously exhausted and strung out on adrenaline, and he wanted Joe’s thick length driving into him yesterday. He told Joe as much and was kissed within an inch of his life, which he counted as enthusiastic agreement.

Unfortunately, there was a slight flaw in the plan. After Joe thoroughly opened Nicky with his fingers, the first three thrusts were perfect, leaving Nicky gasping as the head of Joe’s cock struck his prostate and sent his nerves into overdrive. On the fourth thrust, though, Joe’s hips stuttered and Nicky felt a sudden burst of unmistakeable warmth spreading in him. He bit his lip, grinding his cock into the sheets, not wanting to say anything because he didn’t want to make Joe feel bad—but it was agonising to feel Joe already starting to soften inside him when all he wanted was to be taken roughly. “Sorry, my love,” Joe murmured against his neck—not as embarrassed as the first time but still apologetic.

“It’s okay,” Nicky shrugged. “It happens. Can you...can you finger me please?” It always took him a long time to come that way, but it was better than being empty, his hole bereft after having a taste of Joe’s length. Joe nodded eagerly, replacing his cock with his fingers and working Nicky over at the fast pace he liked.

Nicky had always been very vocal in bed, and it wasn’t long before his curses in Italian and soft gasps and whimpers had Joe’s cock perking up again. Nicky eyed it with interest. “Want to try again?” He suggested with a smile. “Always with you,” Joe replied, ever the romantic.

If Nicky had been loud while Joe was fingering him, he practically wailed once his lover slid home again. “You fill me so perfectly, Joe,” he remarked with a happy sigh. “Fuck, it’s like this cock was made to fill me up, you feel so good, right there, yes, harder, Joe, harder, just like that, ah, Joe, yes, I want to feel you for days—“

In retrospect, dirty talk was a mistake, because Joe went wild for it, and in this case that meant that he barely lasted longer than the last time, quickly losing his rhythm and filling Nicky with his second load in less than fifteen minutes. This time, Nicky couldn’t help a whine of desperation. “Just—stay in me,” he begged as Joe started to pull out. “Just stay right there, please, Joe, need you in me,” he repeated as he took his own cock in hand, stripping himself fast, making a valiant attempt to find his release before Joe’s come cooled completely in him. By the time Nicky finally spilled into his fist, Joe had gotten hard and come in quick succession twice more, never pulling out of his lover in between. The last time he was so overstimulated, the feeling of his cock stiffening yet again a mix between heady pleasure and absolute agony, that he managed to last longer, long enough to fuck Nicky through his orgasm, spilling weakly as he felt Nicky fluttering around him.

When Joe finally did pull out, wincing at how sensitive his own cock was after coming four times, he looked over at Nicky and chuckled. “Well, at least we have short refractory periods now that we’re immortal,” he joked, and Nicky pulled him in for a kiss with a smile. “And I get to feel you come in me four times,” he added with a filthy wink, drawing Joe’s fingers down to where the evidence of his multiple releases was dripping out of him.

Over the years, Joe got much better at holding himself back from that edge, and they got better at finding ways to work around the situation when he couldn’t help himself. Tight fingers or a thin leather strap around the base of his cock could help him from falling over the precipice too soon, and Nicky learned where to kiss, what to whisper in Joe’s ear to get him worked up again after he had already come once.

It still happened from time to time, though—when Nicky would gasp out something unexpectedly romantic, or when the light would catch him in such a way that Joe was overwhelmed by his beauty, even after so many centuries together. When it did happen, it was no longer a source of embarrassment, just a part of them, something to embrace like everything else. Nicky had even made it clear to Joe—after Joe had accidentally discovered his exhibitionist side when Andy walked in on them less than thirty seconds after Nicky had started sucking Joe off and Joe immediately lost it—that he found it hot, knowing that he could have that effect on his lover.

That offhand comment had given Joe an idea, and the next time they had to be separated for a few weeks for a mission, he valiantly refrained from touching himself while he was gone. By the time he was back in their bedroom, kissing Nicky up against the wall, he was desperate for it. “You can have me however you want me,” he told Nicky, gasping against his neck. “But you should know that I’m going to come pretty much immediately. I didn’t—oh Nicolo,” he sighed, nearly overwhelmed just by the feeling of his lover’s body pressed against his. “Didn’t touch myself at all while I was gone, wanted to wait for you. Wanted you to see how much I want you,” he emphasised.

The dark look in Nicky’s eyes showed that he understood perfectly. “Can you come just from us kissing?” He asked. “Just like this?” Joe nodded frantically, slotting a thigh between Nicky’s as they kissed deeply. “Missed you so much,” Joe murmured. “There is no warmth when you are not there, my love, no—ah, Nicolo!” He cried as his cock jerked, coating his pants with his first release since the last time they had been together.

Nicky groaned as he felt Joe come against his thigh, and he deepened their kiss, tangling his fingers in Joe’s hair and pulling him closer. Joe broke the kiss, intending to slide to his knees and take Nicky into his mouth, but to his astonishment, he felt Nicky trembling against him, felt a warm wetness against his belly and heard the long drawn-out moan that had always been one of his tells.

“Did you just—“ Joe blurted out, starting to grin as he realised what had happened. The fact that Nicky’s cheeks were bright red only confirmed his suspicions. “I couldn’t help it,” Nicky sighed. “You’re just—I mean, look at you, and I just love you so much and—“

Joe cut him off with a chaste kiss, smiling against his lips. “Now you know how I feel,” he commented wryly, and the two burst into laughter mid-kiss.

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=258492#cmt258492

Joe temporarily stopped speaking after the second time he came, when Nicky didn’t even give him a breather but just continued his delicious torture, his fingers rubbing mercilessly against the spot deep inside Joe, sending sparks up his spine every time. He felt like with how much Nicky loved to stimulate the little gland, surely it would become less sensitive over time, but every time Nicky’s calloused fingers pressed against it, it lit him up like the first time.

Unable to speak, he whined, low and plaintive, as his cock couldn’t decide whether to soften after he had come so hard that some of it ended up in his beard or to stay hard in response to the endless waves of pleasure.

“Ah—hurts,” he finally managed to gasp out, swallowing deeply. “Do you want me to stop?” Nicky asked with a flicker of concern, but Joe was already shaking his head. Just because the indescribable pleasure was laced with pain didn’t mean he didn’t want it. “Hurts and feels so fucking good,” he explained. “But I don’t know how many more times I can come.”

Nicky shrugged. “We’ll see, my love. I want everything you have to give me. That’s right,” he praised as Joe’s cock leaked a steady stream against his belly, the head a gorgeous shade of red. “Just let it all out, my love.” He was alternating between tapping his fingers lightly against the spot, stroking them gently over it and occasionally pressing harder, a move that never failed to make Joe’s length jump and drool. “You already made quite a puddle for me,” Nicky remarked, trailing the fingers of his free hand through where Joe had come on his chest. “Come on, give me a little more.”

Joe sounded wounded as he complied, his hole fluttering around Nicky’s fingers as he spilled again. There was less than last time, Nicky noted, and redoubled his efforts. Joe’s eyes filled with tears as his lover continued the constant onslaught on his prostate. “Nicolo, Nicolo,” he begged, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Non posso, I can’t—“ Nicky pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes dark and intent. “You’re doing so well, my love,” he praised. “So beautiful like this.”

When Joe finally came dry, whimpering from the soreness of his cockhead as it jerked against his belly, Nicky finally pulled his fingers out, and Joe cried out from relief and loss in equal measure. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he joked weakly, pulling his lover in for a kiss.

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=184402#cmt184402
Keane had considered and discounted at least five different plans before he finally got this bright idea. The problem was that he had seen the tapes, knew how dangerous these two guys could be, and he didn’t want to risk the lives of his men if he could help it. When he stumbled upon a piece of intelligence indicating that, while they were basically inseparable, they would occasionally invite a third person into their bed for a night of fun, he thought he had hit the jackpot. He had done worse things for the job, after all, and it would be simple enough to jab them with tranquillisers when their guard was down in the middle of sex.

Nicky and Joe had been going to the same bar a couple of nights a week, which was a rookie mistake for two thousand year old guys to make, really. Never form a habit if you’re trying not to get noticed. Keane made sure his beard was neatly trimmed and took extra care with his appearance, shimmying into black jeans and pulling on a maroon and white striped button-down. He knows he’s attractive, and he doesn’t think it’ll be too hard to get them interested.

It turned out to be even easier than he was expecting. He sat directly in their line of sight, nursing a drink and occasionally shooting them a glance. They were deep in conversation with each other, but he felt them glancing over at him as well, and once his eyes met Nicky’s, he knew he had them hook line and sinker.

A minute later the waitress was bringing him a fresh drink and telling him that the gentleman over there had bought it for him—when he looked at their table, Joe wiggled his fingers in a cheery little wave. Keane took that as the invitation it is and stroller over, drink in hand, swaying his hips ever so slightly. “Thanks for the drink,” he remarked, sinking into the chair across from them. “Though I must confess I’m a little confused. If I didn’t see that you already have a date—“ he gestured at Nicky—“I might think you’re trying to pick me up”.

“Do the two have to be mutually exclusive?” Nicky asked with a rakish grin, and Keane made his eyes go wide in mock astonishment. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Joe took a long swig of his drink. “It’s like that sometimes, if we’re in the mood. We’re not looking for something long-term, you understand. We already have that with each other,” he explained with a fond look at Nicky. “Very long-term,” Nicky interjected softly, and really, Keane is amazed that nobody caught onto their little secret sooner, they don’t appear to know the meaning of subtlety. “So, are you interested?”

Keane swallowed, pretending to be making up his mind. “I’m a little nervous, I haven’t been with many guys, but yes,” he said finally. The second part was the truth, anyway, which is why he felt his heart clench a little when that made Nicky’s eyes soften and the Italian man laid a gentle hand over Keane’s on the table. “We can go slow,” he said earnestly, “and we’ll take good care of you. I hadn’t ever been with a man before Joe, and he was so good at easing me into it.”

Goddamn it, Keane thought to himself as he fought not to pull his hand out from under Nicky’s, why did they have to be so nice about it? He had kind of hoped that they fucked like they fought, all hard edges and take no prisoners attitude. It would make it easier to betray and capture them later. But instead, Nicky’s thumb was rubbing soft circles onto the back of his hand and Joe was looking at him like he wanted to wipe all his cares away.

“Why don’t we let you finish your drink and when you’re ready, you can come join us in room 307?” Joe suggested, sliding a key card across the table, and Keane recognised it for what it was—an out they were offering him. If he was uncomfortable, having second thoughts, he could simply leave.

When he opened the door to room 307 about fifteen minutes later, he had to stifle a gasp at the sight that greeted him. They had already shed their clothes and were tangled up in each other on the bed, kissing deeply. Joe was three fingers deep into Nicky, who was loudly sighing his pleasure against Joe’s throat.

They looked up when they heard the door open, though Joe’s fingers didn’t stop their lazy thrusts into his lover. “You made it,” Nicky remarked, looking genuinely happy about it. “Mm, Joe, darling, let me go so I can go kiss him hello.” Joe looked reluctant to stop teasing Nicky, but he complied after a moment, and Nicky came over to press a chaste kiss to Keane’s lips.

“Sorry we got started without you,” Joe called from the bed. “But my Nicky is insatiable, he pressed me up against the door as soon as we got here and started telling me all the things he was hoping we could do with you.” Keane nearly gulped—it was a surprisingly hot image and he was flattered despite himself that thinking about sex with him would turn the other man on. “Care to share any of them?” He asked, voice a little strained.

Nicky kissed the corner of Keane’s mouth, then down to his jaw before sucking the lobe of Keane’s ear into his mouth. Keane hated that he shivered—he hadn’t even known he was sensitive there and this guy latched onto it in less than a minute.

“Well,” Nicky whispered, clearly conscious of how each word sent a breath puffing across Keane’s ear and equally aware of just what it was doing to Keane. “Joe and I have been taking bets on how big your cock is.” He said it casually, like he was talking about the weather. “We both think it’s pretty big, though. Are we wrong?”

“No,” Keane admitted. He had always known that he was hung, and some of his former lovers had even been a little intimidated by his size. “You like that?” Nicky nodded unselfconsciously, his fingers straying to Keane’s waistband. “Can I?” He asked, and Keane nodded quickly. I mean, he wasn’t going to turn down someone offering to touch his cock, and he’d been pulling so many back to back missions lately that it had been a while since it had felt the touch of anyone but his own hand.

He expected Nicky to unzip his pants right away, but instead the other man rubbed his length through the fabric of his jeans, assessing. “I think you were closer to being right, Joe,” he remarked. “Even soft he’s pretty big.” Keane groaned, both at the way they were discussing his cock so casually and at the feeling of Nicky’s hand stroking up and down. Even through his pants, it was starting to get to him, and he felt himself hardening under Nicky’s touch. “I love to see a thick cock tenting pants,” Nicky explained. “Somehow it’s almost even sexier to me than when someone’s nude, there’s just something obscene about it.“

Keane thought that he was going to give Nicky his wish if he kept up the steady stream of dirty talk combined with his even strokes—and then he looked over to see Joe watching them, fisting his cock leisurely and tweaking one of his nipples, and Keane was suddenly all the way there, stiff and throbbing under Nicky’s hand. The jeans had been too tight to wear underwear, and so the head of his erection was rubbing uncomfortably against the denim, and to his alarm he could tell it was already dribbling precome. He needed to turn things around, fast—he was supposed to be driving them out of their minds with pleasure so that he could subdue them easily, not getting achingly hard from a handjob through his pants. “So now that you know I’m well-endowed, what do you want to do with me?” He asked.

“Mm, I want to feel you inside me,” Nicky said dreamily. “What do you say I ride you, huh?” Keane chewed on his lip as he fought the urge to roll his hips up, to chase Nicky’s hand. “Yes, yes, of course,” he managed, hoping that once Nicky stopped teasing him with his slow careful strokes he would be better able to focus on the mission.

Nicky walked him back to the bed, pressing him down next to Joe, who chortled. “You are wearing far too many clothes,” Joe commented, letting go of his own cock to undo Keane’s shirt, button by slow button, while Nicky worked on his pants. Finally, Keane was spread out naked beside Joe, his cock bobbing proudly before him. “So I was right,” Joe told Nicky with satisfaction, reaching out to stroke Keane just once or twice as if to test the heft of his length.

Nicky clambered on top of Keane eagerly, and Joe guided Keane to Nicky’s entrance, the head catching once on the rim before Nicky was sinking down on him with a deep groan. “Ah, he’s so big, Joe,” he exclaimed, sharing a fond glance with his lover. “Feels incredible.” Even if it was his cock inside Nicky, the other man turned to Joe like a flower to the sun, Keane realised. As if Joe was reading his thoughts, he scooted closer, pressing a kiss to Keane’s neck that did more to calm him than Keane would like to admit.

“Take your pleasure, Nicolo,” Joe murmured. “I will take care of him.” Taking care of him, apparently, meant that while Nicky rose and fell on him in perfect rhythm, Joe licked into Keane’s mouth, trailed gentle fingers down his sides, bent to tease at his nipples until they were red and puffy. Nicky did indeed go after his own pleasure, angling himself so that Keane would hit his prostate again and again, head thrown back as he savoured the stretch. He was truly beautiful, Keane thought in a moment of weakness as Joe’s beard rubbed against his pebbled nipples, sending shocks of sensitivity through him.

Nicky came first, his thighs trembling against Keane’s and his hole clenching painfully. He lifted himself off the other man’s erection, a bit wobbly, and his first smile after his eyes opened was of course for Joe. “Your turn,” he remarked with a wink.

Keane assumed that Joe would want his cock too, and was trying to figure out if he could stop himself from coming long enough to either satisfy Joe or to inject him with the tranquilizer, but instead he felt slick fingers tracing the rim of his entrance and jolted violently.

“I—you—what—“ he stammered, taken completely aback. Joe had the grace to look sheepish. “If you don’t like that, it’s fine,” he said easily. “I have a lot of ideas of what we could do.” Keane was nearly speechless. “I—I just—it’s been a really long time since I did that,” he confessed. He had only bottomed twice, when he was at university, and the experience, drunken fumblings with a classmate, hadn’t thrilled him.

Joe frowned slightly. “I mean it, if you’re not comfortable with it—“ Keane meant to tell him that he wasn’t, that he would rather do something else, he really did. But some traitorous part of him was curious and instead he shrugged and answered, in a small voice, “I’d like to try.”

Joe beamed, and he set himself to taking Keane thoroughly apart with his fingers. The first couple of minutes felt as strange as it had before, Keane warring with his desire to simply get the unexpected intrusion out of him, but after a while he started to see the pleasure in it, started subconsciously rolling his hips in response to Joe’s movements. Then Joe’s fingers brushed his sweet spot and Keane fairly yelped, his cock twitching. “Please, fuck me,” he asked and he didn’t even care if it sounded like begging because he was going to embarrass himself further if this continued.

When Joe pushed into him, slow and oh so cautious, fingers cupping Keane’s chin while Nicky watched, his head pillowed on Joe’s back, Keane thought for a horrifying moment that he might cry it felt so good. How had he gone so long without this, he wondered? How did it feel so different than before, how did Joe know just where to touch him to drive him mad?

“Look at him, he likes it, tesoro,” Nicky whispered to Joe, and Keane wanted to scream at what an understatement that was. He didn’t understand how this had happened, how suddenly he needed the drag of Joe against his inner walls like he needed oxygen.

“Yes, yes, yes,” someone was repeating, voice catching, and Keane realised that it was him. He was afraid he would scream the whole building down when he came, and maybe Nicky caught a glimpse of this, because he bent forward to kiss Keane just as he spilled. He didn’t think he had ever come so hard in his entire life; he actually whited out for a moment and when he came to, Joe was coming in him with a deep groan.

He was so, so fucked, Keane reflected as he lay there catching his breath, Nicky whispering in his ear how well he had done, how beautiful he was when he was coming apart, Joe still buried inside him, head resting on Keane’s shoulder. He was too boneless to abduct anyone right that minute, he reasoned. He would just have to report back that he hadn’t had luck tonight and that he would have to try again. Maybe multiple times.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928590 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928590)

Because even after all these years Booker still hates the winter/being cold.
Please and thank you.

Filled: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931992

FILL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942687

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=102994#cmt102994

———————————————————
The team insisted that they had forgiven him, but Booker still felt the guilt gnawing at him, even while he was thrilled beyond measure to be part of their little family again. He had been watching over them and had swooped in to rescue them from a mission gone wrong, sure—but that still was nowhere near enough to make up for everything he had done. Well, if he had caused them so much pain, he reasoned, he could try and drown it out by bringing them as much pleasure as possible.

It was far from the first time something like this had happened—after centuries together, the team had become very open about their sexuality and hadn’t hesitated to reach for each other for relief. After all, it was hard to feel close to a sexual partner outside the team, with the weight of such heavy secrets between them.

Still, Joe looked surprised when Booker brought up the possibility for the first time since his exile, as if he had thought Booker would no longer be interested in them in that way. They were the only three in the safehouse, Andy and Nile having gone out to the market, and Joe and Nicky were kissing, unashamed of their love and uncaring that Booker was still in the room. “I can suck Nicky while you take him,” Booker offered easily, and Nicky blinked through his lashes.

“Do you want that, caro?” Joe asked, pressing kisses to Nicky’s jaw as he slid a finger into him, slowly, so slowly that it had Nicky whining with each movement. “Yes,” Nicky replied quickly. “He’s always good with his mouth, you know that.”

Booker beamed, glad that they would still allow him to serve them in this way, that they trusted him enough for this, at least. He climbed onto the bed beside them, shifting around to find a position that would let him suck Nicky while Joe was fingering him open. He had always liked to work up to it, to drag out the anticipation, so he started by leaving a line of kisses along Nicky’s hipbone, dipping his tongue into the other man’s belly button where he knew Nicky was strangely sensitive, sucking a mark into the tender flesh of his inner thigh.

Joe had three fingers in Nicky by the time Booker finally took him in his mouth, making up for the teasing by swallowing the whole length down at once. Nicky groaned as his cock was surrounded by the delicious warmth, and he couldn’t help thrusting up once, twice. “Does that feel good, amore?” Joe asked, and Nicky nodded. “Good, I always want you to feel pleasure, my heart,” Joe replied and Booker’s own heart clenched at how romantic the two of them were.

Booker lost himself in the steady rhythm of bobbing up and down on Nicky’s length, occasionally pulling off to lick at the head, his fingers stroking lightly over Nicky’s balls. He had his eyes closed as he focused on his task, but he could tell when Joe pushed into Nicky, could hear Nicky’s hitched breath, felt his hips roll up as he pushed his cock deeper into Booker’s throat. Booker took it without complaint. He wanted this, wanted to be an instrument of pleasure for them, he who had been an instrument of so much pain.

Joe usually was the one to come first when he was fucking Nicky, but this time Booker’s attentions got Nicky to the edge first, and Booker smiled blissfully as he felt Nicky’s length pulsing against his tongue, as he swallowed down the thick spurts, continuing to suckle Nicky gently until the other man pushed him away with a groan.

It was only once Joe had somewhat recovered from the aftershocks of his own release that the two of them noticed that Booker was visibly, achingly hard. “Oh, Book,” Nicky remarked, already reaching out his hand. “Do you want—“ But Booker only flinched as if he’d been struck, and got up quickly, adjusting himself in his pants as he walked away.

It became somewhat of a theme. One night, they were sitting around the kitchen table of their latest safehouse talking about past lovers, when Nile complained that her former boyfriend never wanted to eat her out. Booker got this wounded look on his face, like he was personally affronted, and cleared his throat. Andy laughed, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “You should ask Booker,” she commented lightly as she finished the last of her whiskey. “He’s a champ at that, it’s his favourite.”

Booker’s cheeks were crimson, but he didn’t deny it. Nile raised an eyebrow. “Good to know,” she commented, and then the conversation moved on to other things. He had almost forgotten about it, but a few weeks later, the two of them were alone, Booker helping Nile with her French, when she looked over at him, squirming a bit as if she had something to ask him but was embarrassed about it. He was about to tell her to just spit it out when she finally worked up the courage. “Was Andy right? It’s your favourite? You really like doing it?”

It took him a while to parse out what she was talking about, but really there were only a few things that would get her flushed like this. “Oh,” he replied, a little gruffly. “Yeah, I mean—“ he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I really do like it. Do you want—“ he hardly dared hope that that’s what she meant, but she was already nodding, and Booker’s mouth was watering.

“Oh, oh, good—now?” She shrugged. “If you want.” He usually wasn’t so shy about this, but this was Nile, and they hadn’t done anything together yet, and he wanted to make her forget all about her shitty ex who clearly didn’t have an appreciation for the finer things in life.

Booker was careful with her, laying her out and stripping her clothes off, piece by slow piece, then pressing his lips to seemingly-random parts of the newly-bared skin—the crook of her elbow, her breast just to the side of her nipple, above one of her ribs.

Finally, he buried his face between her thighs, parting them gently with his hands and leaning in to lap up some of her wetness. She gasped at the first swipe of his tongue through her folds, and her hands impulsively went to the back of his head before she paused, clearly not sure if that was okay. He looked up with a soft smile. “Please, don’t hesitate,” he urged her. “You can do whatever you want.”

His enthusiasm was hard to miss, Nile thought in between flashes of white-hot pleasure. He ate her out like he was starving for it, gently sucking at her clit and licking into her, tracing patterns against her folds. When he slid one finger into her as well, she nearly lost it, and her grip tightened on his head as she started to roll her hips, grinding slowly against him. He didn’t hesitate to let her know how much he was enjoying it, either, groaning and gasping against her core, and when she looked down at one point she could see that he was hard.

When she came with a shout, her thighs tightening around him to hold him in place as she shook apart, he moaned loudly and pressed a hand to his own cock, but he didn’t do anything, just held his hand there, as if he was trying to hold himself back. Once she was no longer trembling, she smiled sweetly at him. “I can see why Andy recommended you,” she teased. “How do you want me?” But he just shook his head, getting up with difficulty. “Thank you for letting me do that, it was pleasure enough,” he said and left the room, leaving her more than a little confused.

Then there were those times when Booker would pick up on Andy’s tells and know that she was antsy for it but didn’t feel like going out to find an anonymous lover. “If you need me, Boss, you know where to find me,” he said softly to her one night, right as they were all making their way to their own bedrooms after dinner. She raised an eyebrow, but she joined him a few minutes later, leaning against the door, nude and unashamed. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this, hasn’t it Book?” she asked, as if she was wondering why he was offering himself up now.

“Well, I hope I’m not too out of practise,” he settled for joking, and whatever she saw in his eyes must have satisfied her for the moment anyway, because the next thing he knew she was straddling him, pulling his pants down just enough to free his cock. She jacked him a few times, making sure he was fully hard, and then lowered herself down. She didn’t take him inside her at first, but rubbed the tip through her wet folds, and he groaned at the sensation, at how it was so good and yet not enough. She had always loved to tease like this, and in the early days sometimes he wouldn’t even make it inside her, would spill just like this against her entrance.

When she finally sank down onto him, Booker nearly cried—it had been years since he had been inside anyone, and the sensation was overwhelming. Not to mention the fact that this was Andy, his boss and his closest friend, nor the sheer sensuality of the image she made, pressing him down into the bed as she rode him hard. She brought his hands up at one point to caress her breasts and he happily complied, cupping and squeezing them tenderly, the pads of his thumbs stroking over the nipples.

“Oh yes, Booker,” she gasped out, and he knew she must be close because she never made much noise otherwise. “Oh, right there—“ he had to bite his lip to keep from spilling as he felt her inner walls contracting around him, as her thighs shook against his. She rode him through it, her hips grinding against him in little circles as she wrung out the last of her pleasure. She finally unseated herself with a contented sigh, before looking down at where his cock was flushed and throbbing. “You didn’t—“

His cheeks flushed, he shook his head. “It’s ok,” he replied, tucking himself back into his pants with a soft groan. “Don’t need to tonight.” Andy blinked, confused. “Are you sure?” She asked, gesturing at where his cock was distorting the lines of his pants. “Cause it looks like—“ Booker threw his arm over his face with a sigh, hiding his gaze from her. “It’s fine, just leave it,” he snapped. Andy let it be, but she had a thoughtful look on her face, as if some pieces were finally slotting into place.

It took Booker a few weeks to figure out what she was doing, why she was oh-so-casually brushing against him when she needed to reach for a plate in the kitchen, why she had started clapping him on the shoulder when she passed him. She was wearing down his defences, and it was working, damn it. He had always craved touch, ached for it, and the little teases only made him want it more.

It came to a head when they were watching a film all piled together on the huge sofa. Andy was next to Booker, as usual, and given how many people were crowded onto the sofa, she was quite close. Booker was acutely aware of the line of her body pressed up against his, of how, with her legs curled up under her, one of her knees was resting on his thigh.

Partway through the film, he felt her hand creep onto his knee, rubbing little circles there, and he chewed on his lip. He had to stop this, he had promised himself—but it felt so good to be touched after so long. The circles got bigger, and bigger, and all of a sudden her fingers were playing at the waistband of his sweats, and he took in a sharp breath as she reached in to take his length in hand.

“Boss, please,” he begged before he remembered. He wasn’t allowed to have this, not anymore. “No, don’t,” he murmured, and her hand stilled where it had started stroking him. “No? Are you sure Booker?” She asked, trying to look him in the eyes. “I want to make you feel good, if you’ll let me. Like you’ve been working hard to make all of us feel good.”

The rest of the team was only making a token attempt to act like they were watching the film at this point, which brought a flush to his cheeks. Goddamn it, he thought, his cock throbbing in her hand as she just held him, not moving until he gave her permission. He was going to have to explain everything to them or else they would never let it go.

He turned to bury his face into Andy’s shoulder and mumbled something inaudible, voice hitching. “Book, you’re going to have to say that louder, I couldn’t hear a word,” Andy said gently and when he pulled his head up, she was shocked to see that his eyelashes were wet. “I don’t deserve it,” he said dejectedly.

Andy sucked in a deep breath, pulling her hand out of his pants so that she could wrap both arms around him. “Is that what this is all about? You’re beating yourself up, refusing to let us reciprocate with you, because you think you don’t deserve to feel good?”

The miserable look he gave her served as confirmation enough. “Booker, no,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You do deserve nice things, just as much as any of us. It would make us happy to please you, you know that.” And that was what cracked his last line of defences and he was sobbing into her shoulder, two hundred years of sorrow and pain coming out at once.

Joe, Nicky and Nile shared a look and moved, as if in unison, to wrap their arms around him as well, sheltering him into the middle of a pile of warmth. “I don’t—“ he was gasping out against Andy’s neck. “I betrayed all of you, I don’t deserve to even be here, much less anything else—“ and Nile was fed up with hearing that nonsense.

“Sebastien Le Livre,” she said sternly, and that got his attention, because she never called him by his full name. “That is just ridiculous. Do you think that we would have let you come back if we didn’t forgive you, truly and fully? You made a mistake, a bad one, yes, but you’re still our brother, our comrade, and you’ve shown yourself to be more than remorseful. We all trust you, we all love you, and it’s not your decision when or how we forgive you, it’s ours. And we do, don’t we guys?”

Each of them said yes, and pressed a kiss to Booker’s back or his cheek or the top of his head, which just set off a fresh wave of tears. Finally, when he was all cried out, Andy smiled softly at him. “I know it’s not easy. But you do deserve our love. Please promise me you will try and believe that?” He hesitated, but nodded.

It wasn’t an immediate breakthrough. Booker got better at accepting hugs or other small signs of affection, but he would still brush his teammates away when they wanted to get him off. “I’m trying,” he would say, “but I’m not there yet,” and that was already a sign of progress.

Until one day he was with Nicky and Joe. He had rimmed Joe thoroughly to get him ready for Nicky and now he was laying on his side, watching them as they made love. They were truly a gorgeous sight to see, he thought. He was always a little in awe that they would let anyone else glimpse this, this deep reservoir of passion between them and affection that settled all the way in their bones. Joe came first, and when he pulled out he was clearly intending to finish Nicky with his mouth, when Nicky shook his head.

Nicky and Joe seemed to be having a silent conversation with their eyes in that way they did sometimes, and then Nicky looked up at Booker. “Book? I would like it if you would come inside me. If you want.” It was brilliant on Nicky’s part, Booker had to confess, to phrase it as something he wanted, something that would bring Nicky pleasure as well, and he found himself nodding, almost despite himself, with a shaky smile.

He wished that he could drag it out forever, he thought as he sank into Nicky’s tight warmth. He still didn’t chase his own pleasure, but made it all about Nicky—making sure to angle his hips just right and wrapping his hand around Nicky to stroke him off in time with his thrusts, listening carefully to each whine and gasp to adjust his grip accordingly. But it was a start, he thought distantly as he drove deep inside Nicky and came with a sob, his first orgasm since his exile. It was a start of his long journey home to them.

Nicky/Booker/Joe, sharing clothes (But I'll love you forever for giving me Booker wearing one of Nicky's hoodies.)

Filled here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958380

prompt:
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=257212#cmt257212
Gen, Crack, Nicky gets heat stroke from wearing that fucking hoodie in hot climates

fill:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882927/chapters/63107533 (the second one)

Prompt: They can’t really mark each other with bites or bruises, so sometimes when the urge arises, they get a bit more primal in their claiming.
Can be reciprocal or can always be the same person staking their claim.

Fill:
The first time, there’s a jellyfish. It takes decades for him to ask for it after that. Not because he’s embarrassed but because he’s trying to figure out why he wants it.

Joe gets stung and Nicky helps him stumble back onto the beach where he collapses in quiet agony, waiting to see if this will be some fresh new death. It burns, hurts so bad he can’t speak. Nicky frets, wonders if they should seek medical help but knows the risks too well, and he paces. He guards Joe, protective, waiting for him to heal already, until some kids who live nearby run past.

The last one in the pack turns to look at them curiously. They see Joe’s leg, red and swelling, and give both men a funny little look. “Just piss on it.” They say, with a childish air of everybody knows that.

Nicky doesn’t have it in him to hesitate. Even if the kid is playing a joke, which doesn’t seem likely since they’re already long gone, he would do anything for the chance to ease Joe’s pain. The ocean is right there if they need to wash him after, not that Joe really wants to go back in right now, knowing what else is swimming.

Nicky meets Joe’s eyes with a question. Joe’s answer is to spread his legs and better reveal the wound. There’s welts raising along the sting like somebody took a whip to his thigh. Nicky pushes his shorts out of the way and takes aim.

Joe’s seen him with his dick in his hand countless times. He’s seen him from this angle. He’s seen him piss before too. They knocked the corners off this thing ages ago, there’s rarely embarrassment about bodily functions between them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still surprise each other with new sensations. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, knowing Nicky is comfortable with him, knowing how far he’ll go.

Joe’s not expecting to like it this much.

It splashes onto his leg, drenching the sting, and it’s hot, hotter than the sun-warmed sand he’s laying in. Nicky’s got his concentration face on, the one Joe usually only gets to see when he’s working on his sword or peering through a rifle scope. The pain is already fading, the throbbing of his leg and the ache in his head melting into nothing, like Nicky’s piss is what his body needed to figure out how to heal. The sheer relief of that is its own pleasure, but Joe tips his head back and groans low and turned on because some part of him has decided that this is the hottest thing he’s experienced in several lifetimes, even alongside this man who can reliably turn his crank with a single glance or a twitch of his fingers. That part of him might be his cock.

He’s hard, unmistakably hard. Joe clenches his fingers into the sand and groans again, even as Nicky says, “Really?” in a tone of voice that’s half exasperation, half delight. He likes when they surprise each other.

Then, because he’s Nicky, because he knows Joe down to his blood and guts and bones, he stops aiming at Joe’s leg and starts aiming at his cock. Joe knows his mouth is hanging open, watching, his heart pounding in his ears, so turned on it hurts. His dick is twitching under the stream and Joe thinks he could come like this, would beg for just a little more, but Nicky has to stop eventually. As he shakes the last few drops out and pulls his shorts back up, Joe shoves a hand into his own trunks and strokes himself frantically.

They’re far too exposed for this but Joe isn’t thinking about that, he’s thinking about how fucking badly he wants to come. He meets Nicky’s eyes, which still hold that same look of concentration, of committing this to memory, and goes off like a rocket. Joe groans, jerking himself through it, so unexpected and fast and wet and messy it’s reminiscent of their first times. It gets up into his chest hair and pools in his bellybutton, splattering like a Pollock. Nicky stares down at him and says, “Really?” in a completely different tone of voice, all wonder.

Joe, still catching his breath, gives himself another squeeze and says, “Fuck.” Now they really do have to get back in the water before they can go home.

Joe, eventually, figures it out. It’s not exactly a priority, searching deep within himself for the reason he got so desperately horny from Nicky pissing on him, but he does think about it sometimes as he’s drifting off to sleep, as he’s brushing his teeth, as he’s jerking off. Like most things in their relationship, it helps to ask Nicky what he thinks.

They’re staying in a safehouse which currently has no name, possibly because it’s really more of an abandoned train station and they may never stay here again. It’s underground and they’re here alone for the night because Booker got caught up somewhere along the way. They got caught up too, something about stealing the wrong car, and made a dramatic entrance into this place, coated in blood and sweat. The first bathroom they find, after they bar the entrance to the station behind them, is enormous.

Nicky collapses, exhausted, onto the floor, leaning back against the wall. Joe freezes like he’s stepped on a landmine when he follows him in and realizes Nicky’s sitting on a drain, sitting in a urinal, one long urinal that takes up the whole side of the room. His knees hook over the raised edge. He looks...

Nicky rolls his head back against the titles and slowly blinks his eyes open, catching him staring. He says, “Talk to me, Yusuf.” His voice echoes a little bit, boosted by the emptiness of the room.

Joe licks his lips and swallows hard. “You remember the jellyfish?”

“The jellyfish…. the jellyfish that stung you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes I do, why do you ask?”

“Did you like it?”

Nicky looks a lot more alert now, pushing himself up into a seated position that’s less of a sprawl. Joe takes a step forward like this alone will somehow prevent Nicky from getting up further. He’s not done looking.

“Did I like it?”

“Yeah, Nicoló, did you like it?”

“Not as much as you.” Nicky says, a hint of gentle teasing in his voice.

“Do you want to try the other way?” Joe asks, the same way he’s always asked that question. He likes to give things to Nicky, including experiences, he likes to tell him so.

Nicky glances around and realizes where he’s positioned himself, then quickly appraises Joe and his own clothes. “Yes.” He says, without a hint of uncertainty, “We should strip first, I think.”

Joe grins and falls in love with Nicky all over again when he grins back with that twist of wickedness nobody else ever sees. His Nicolò. He tears his clothes off, boots then the rest, and takes Nicky’s things too, setting them by the door in one big pile they’ll probably burn later. He walks back to Nicky and tries not to let his obvious appraisal get him hard.

Nicky is gorgeous, back to sprawling but less out of exhaustion and more posing for Joe, opening up his body language.

“Will you mark me, Joe? Make me yours?” Nicky says, quietly, inviting it. Something clicks in Joe’s head just to hear it. That’s what made it hot, Nicky pissing on him on the beach all those years ago, out in the open. Joe can’t say Nicky’s staked his claim more openly than that besides maybe fucking him, coming in him. Even that’s on the inside, usually indoors too.

“Yes.” Joe says. "Fuck, yes." They’re all alone, underground, locked away in a place where no one is going to see or, honestly, smell him all over Nicky, but it’s the doing it that matters. Even if they go straight into a shower like they went straight into the ocean, Nicky wants to be his just as badly as Joe wants to be Nicky’s. There’s a heady possessiveness to it, a reciprocal ownership, that boosts his confidence as he steps closer. They’re human, more or less, but they’re animal enough for this.

“Do it.” Nicky says, letting his hands fall at his sides, looking up at Joe, down at his dick.

Joe takes a final step forward, spreads his legs a little further, and lets go.

For this prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=208316#cmt208316

It’s been ten months since they came to their tentative truce, ten months since they laid down arms and started trying to use their apparent immortality for good rather than for endlessly killing each other.

But there’s still something off, Yusuf realises, because Nicolo looks at him like he wants him, his eyes track the lines of Yusuf’s body, and yet he doesn’t do anything about it. They have time, Yusuf reasons, unashamed of his desire for this man who has captured his heart.

Joe thought they had time, but another six months go by, and he’s tired of waiting. He has to know, at least, to know if Nicky really wants him like he seems to, if they’ve been sharing the same fantasies in their dreams. So one night, he leans over, practically telegraphing his movements in case Nicky wants to stop him, and kisses the other man deeply, climbing into his lap as they kiss.

Nicky reciprocates, clearly enthusiastic, but pulls away from Joe’s mouth, eyes regretful. “We can’t,” he murmurs softly. “Don’t want to hurt you.” Joe is about to ask what on Earth Nicky is talking about—how could this hurt him?—when he feels the hardness pressing against his hips. Fuck, Nicky is huge. Really, really huge. Joe is both slightly intimidated and needs to see that thick cock immediately.

“You won’t hurt me,” Joe says calmly, grinding down a bit just to feel how big Nicky is, and Nicky groans, kissing Joe again. “I will,” he insists. “You don’t understand, I’m—“ he flushes crimson as he thinks about it. “I’m just too big and I want it pretty much all the time and it just doesn’t work.”

Joe wanted to bury his scimitar into every past lover who had made Nicky feel this way, like he was too much, like they couldn’t find a way to make this work. Instead, he settled for pressing a kiss to Nicky’s jaw. “Trust me,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out.”

Nicky still looks skeptical, and Joe can’t have that, so he dedicates himself to kissing that perturbed look off of the other man’s face, rocking gently in his lap, and fuck, Nicky clearly wasn’t fully hard before because he’s even bigger under Joe now, and Joe can’t stand it any longer, he needs to see this with his own eyes. He clambers off Nicky’s lap, legs a little shaky, and eyes the tent in his pants with interest.

“Can I?” He asks and Nicky groans, knowing that as soon as Joe sees it he’ll run for the hills, but he can’t say no. Joe slowly, worshipfully, pulls down Nicky’s pants to let his cock spring free, and what a cock it is. Nicky is both thick and long, nicely curved and with a gorgeous flared head, which is already wet with precome. Joe needs it in his mouth yesterday, and he bends to take as much of Nicky in his mouth as he can, which isn’t much.

It doesn’t appear to matter, because Nicky shouts as Joe swallows down the head of his cock, like he had never felt anything so good in all his life. “Yusuf, Yusuf,” he is repeating like a prayer, thighs trembling as he fights the urge to thrust into Joe’s mouth, to sheath his entire length in that delicious warmth.

Joe may not be able to take much of Nicky, but he makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, his tongue caressing the vein on Nicky’s length and fluttering against the slit where Nicky is steadily leaking, has been since Joe climbed into his lap.

He pulls off reluctantly. He would love to suck Nicky until he came in thick bursts against his tongue, is looking forward to it, but there’s something else he wants even more.

“Want you inside me,” he says frankly, and Nicky jerks, his cock twitching hard even as he shakes his head. “We can’t,” he pleads. “I really will hurt you, it won’t fit—“

Joe cuts him off with a kiss and a smile. “Maybe not all of you right away, I think we need to work up to that. But I think I can handle the tip and a few inches of you, can’t I?” Nicky still looked dubious, and for good reason. The first time he had felt amorous and was kissing a local girl in the fields behind his father’s house, she had pulled down his breeches only to shriek in terror when she saw his length.

Joe looked determined, though, and he thrust three of his fingers into Nicky’s mouth, the message clear. Nicky went above and beyond on getting them wet, licking around them for good measure.

“Doesn’t this cause a problem for you when you’re walking or riding a horse?” Joe asks casually as Nicky suckles his fingers, and Nicky groans. “Yes,” he replies when he finally pulls off. “Bad enough when I’m soft, but I—“ he flushes. “Well, I get hard a lot.” Joe looks like he’s been given a surprise present as he trails his fingers, dripping with Nicky’s spit, down to his hole, teasing himself. “You do?” He asks, voice strained as he breaches his entrance with two fingers at once. “How often, Nicolo?” He needs to know, urgently, as much as he needs the steady drag of his fingers, as much as he needs that glorious cock.

Nicky’s face is bright red, his eyes locked on Joe as he fingers himself, still not quite believing that Joe is trying to get himself ready for Nicky. “Well,” he admits. “One time I came eight times in a day,” and Joe makes a noise like a wounded animal, his fingers stuttering inside him. “And then I got hard again,” Nicky continues, oblivious. “But it ached too much to come another time.”

“That’s it,” Joe declares. “I need you right now”, and climbs back into Nicky’s lap. Nicky’s eyes are wide with panic, even as his cock is pulsing against Joe’s ass, and Joe gives him a tender, reassuring kiss. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmurs. “Just let me take the lead.”

“Anything you want,” Nicky is babbling, and then Joe starts to sink down on him, very slowly, moaning as he gets the thick head inside. He takes a little more of the length, but not much, and stills, his face betraying the stretch.

“See, I told you, it’s too much,” Nicky lamented, and tried to pull out before Joe stopped him with a growl. “No, no, just give me a minute,” he said, kissing Nicky to distract himself from the burn, the way that even this little bit of Nicky was cleaving him open.

“Never—never been with someone as big as you,” Joe managed, starting to roll his hips slightly, one hand on Nicky’s cock to make sure he didn’t take more than he could handle. He yelps as the head of Nicky’s cock brushes his prostate, and oh god, how Nicky can reach so deep in him while so much of him remains outside, held in Joe’s gentle grasp, is a beautiful mystery.

Nicky is gasping and making pained little whines every time Joe lifts himself up and sinks back down. Joe may not be able to take all of him, not yet, but the feeling of being buried in that tight warmth is indescribable. Nicky has never felt anything so good as the head of his cock being squeezed by Joe’s inner walls.

Given how good it feels, it’s a miracle when Joe comes first, clenching around him with a deep groan. When Joe climbs off of him, the cool air is agony against Nicky’s erection, so soon after it’s learned the pleasure of being buried in another’s warmth, but Joe doesn’t leave him hanging for long. “Want you to come down my throat,” he explains as he takes the drooling tip of Nicky’s cock in his mouth again, and never let it be said that Nicky can’t follow orders. He lasts barely a minute with Joe’s tongue swirling around him, before he’s coming harder than he ever remembers coming before, spilling again and again into Joe’s waiting mouth.

Joe swallows all of it, leaving the head of Nicky’s cock in his mouth until he’s sure that he’s finished, and then he pulls off with a satisfied smile. “So,” he asks casually. “How long did you say it was before you can get hard again?”

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=166482#cmt166482

Number ten thousand and thirty six of the things Nicky wishes he didn’t know about Joe: he loves to bury his face between a woman’s legs, kissing her in her most intimate places until she cries out with pleasure. Nicky wishes he didn’t know this, but he does, because nearly every time he comes home early from the market or from gathering wood, this is how he finds Joe.

As Nicky eyes them through the gap between the back door and its frame, he tells himself that he’s just watching to make sure Joe is done before he barges into the room. And as his cock grows painfully hard as he sees Joe’s face emerge from the washerwoman’s thighs, his beard glistening with the proof of her pleasure, he tells himself it’s because he wishes he was in Joe’s place, to have a woman coming apart under his tongue and fingers.

When Joe enters the woman, Nicky can’t help himself anymore and drops the bread and cheese he had gone out to buy on the ground, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking in time with Joe’s deep thrusts. Joe has the largest cock Nicky has ever seen—not that he’s seen so many, admittedly—and the washerwoman actually screams as Joe pushes in the first time. At first Nicky isn’t sure whether it’s from pleasure or from pain, but he realises soon enough it’s the former as he sees her arching into each thrust, her nails scratching at Joe’s back to pull him closer.

Number ten thousand and thirty seven of the things Nicky didn’t need to know, Joe is a remarkably considerate lover. Even as his hips piston into her, driving her up the bed, one of Joe’s hands is cupping her breast, his finger tracing her nipple, while his other hand is between her legs, right above where they are joined, rubbing at her in a way that drags plaintive mewls from her lips.

It’s those noises that she’s making that has him so turned on, Nicky thinks as he strokes himself faster, barely suppressing a moan as his thumb rubs over the head. It’s the way that her breasts are bouncing with each deep thrust Joe gives her that has him aching.

The woman comes again around Joe’s cock, crying out her pleasure so loudly that it’s a miracle the neighbours haven’t come over to see what’s going on, Nicky thinks as he works his cock frantically, nearly on the edge himself, just needing something, a little bit more. Joe still hasn’t come, but he pulls out, careful of her oversensitivity and of the danger of getting her pregnant. He’s close, Nicky knows, as he watches Joe slot his thick shaft between the woman’s thighs. Still boneless from her own release, she presses her legs together obediently, giving him a tight space to thrust into. Nicky watches, fascinated, as Joe’s straining cock disappears and reappears between her slick thighs, and when he sees Joe’s release spattering across her legs and the dark thatch of hair between them, hears Joe’s low groan as he finds his pleasure, Nicky spills all over his own hand, only just managing to keep quiet. It was the sight of her marked so filthily, he tells himself. It was the thought of being the one to let go between her thighs like that that made him come so hard.

It’s a little harder to justify his arousal when Joe’s lover of the week is a man. But still, Nicky thinks as he strokes himself watching the butcher’s son gagging on Joe’s length, a wet mouth is a wet mouth and it’s not surprising that he’s turned on by the thought of feeding his own cock through those pink lips.

They’ve been travelling together for twenty years, and Nicky has lost count of the times he’s seen Joe through a window or a cracked door, making love in every way possible. He has watched him spill across a woman’s cheek who groaned as if it were the nectar of the gods he had painted her with. He has watched him offer his own hands to be tied to the bedposts while a man rides him, moaning his enjoyment. He has watched him, one particularly memorable time, with two sisters at once, his cock buried deep inside one while the other sat on his face, Joe lapping eagerly at her. Every time, Nicky has come hard, been forced to clean up the spill before going to greet Joe as if nothing had happened.

He should have known that his luck would run out one day. Joe has the local barman squirming on his length. Apparently he isn’t moving fast enough for Joe’s tastes, because Joe flips them so that he can really drive into the man, and that’s when his eyes lock with Nicky’s through the window. Nicky ducks, but he knows it’s too late. He knows that Joe saw him standing there, his pants down around his ankles, fucking his own first as he watched Joe wreck the bartender.

He hears the bartender’s cry, knows that he has spilled against Joe’s belly, but he doesn’t hear Joe’s answering moan. Nicky wants to look up, to understand why Joe hasn’t found his own release, but he’s too terrified to. He hears the front door close, and then footsteps, and when he opens his eyes, Joe is standing in front of him, full nude in their garden, cock thick and weeping, with a kind smile on his face.

“All this time,” Joe murmured. “All this time, could I have had the one I truly want?” And in that moment between when he crouches there, heart pounding, and when he surges to take Joe in his arms, Nicky realises that it wasn’t the washerwoman’s pert breasts, or the thought of burying his cock into the butcher’s son that lit the fire in him. It was Joe, all along.

So I filled my own prompt, here's the link on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967572

And the original prompt:

https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=287676#cmt287676

Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=299964#cmt299964

Fill:

"We didn't invite you to sit," Andy said pointedly to the man who had trailed in after Joe.

He held direct eye contact with her as he pulled out the last remaining stool at the high top table they were sat around and made himself comfortable.

Joe sighed internally, while trying to maintain an easy smile and his affable exterior. "Sorry about him. We'll go."

"You don't have to do that," Andy said, absolutely no give in her voice. "He can go, you can stay."

Booker had warned Joe that Andy could come across as a stone cold bitch. He had said it admiringly, like it was the greatest compliment he could ever bestow. Booker was his best friend from work, but they hadn't really hung out much outside of work even though they'd always meant to. Tired of saying they should and then never doing it, Booker took the initiative to finally just invite Joe to brunch one day. "It'll be great," he had said, "my friends and I are going to heckle our other friend at work."

Joe didn't have a lot of friends, after moving to a new country every few years and then his ex Merrick chasing what few he had away, and the idea of meeting Booker's buddies had been surprisingly appealing. Booker explained that he was friends with Quynh first, who also worked for their company but in another office, and Andy was her wife. Nicky was an old friend from school and Nile was much younger than all the rest of them, but had fallen in with their set when she met Andy in a veterans' group. "She's very mature for a baby," Booker had said with a laugh.

So Joe had looked forward to meeting everyone and perhaps making new friends, but Merrick had somehow 'coincidentally' happened to show up at the same restaurant right when Joe was going inside. They had argued right outside the door, but it hadn't made a difference. Merrick followed him in anyway, and now here they were.

Joe felt awful, explaining with a sort of panicked desperation that the situation didn't actually call for because it was just a casual friendly brunch, that he most definitely didn't invite his ex without asking them if it was okay, it was just that he showed up anyway and wouldn't go away.

"I understand. It can be very hard to scrape shit off your shoe," Andy said.

Before Merrick could open his mouth for a retort, a waiter came over and said in a thick Italian accent, "What can I get for this group of scoundrels that God has seen fit to punish me with?"

Everyone else cheered, variations of "eeeeeyyyyyyyy Nicky boyyyyy!" and "Nicolo!" and "you Genoese bastard!" breaking out, alongside much back slapping.

"Nicky, this is Joe, the guy from work I've been telling you about," Booker said, introducing him.

Joe tried not read into what Booker might or might not be insinuating. "Yusuf, but you can call me Joe," he said, shaking Nicky's hand. He felt flushed when Nicky smiled at him, and tried to ignore the frisson of electricity that passed between their hands where they touched.

Nicky turned to Merrick, confused as to whether he should introduce himself too, but Nile interrupted and said, "Don't worry about him, he's just leaving."

Nicky shrugged and took their orders, murmuring complimentary things about each food except Booker's order, which he told him was disgusting. Merrick sat stubbornly on his stool, still refusing to leave, and forced his way into ordering an omelette as well. Andy glared at him and Quynh lay a placating hand on her arm. Joe wanted to crawl under the table and die.

They made small talk and skillfully excluded Merrick. It was truly incredible, how they could ask Joe about his recent travels and his hobbies, while explaining some of their inside jokes and some of the stuff they were up to lately, and at the same time totally stonewalling Merrick out, no matter how many times he tried to interject.

Nicky returned with their coffees and glasses of water and juice, and touched the back of Joe's neck with one hand while he leaned over to slide a cup of espresso to Andy. Joe could feel every point of contact like a hot brand spreading heat through the rest of his body, and to try to maintain some equal footing here, he winked at Nicky when he caught his eye. It made Nicky smile, looking down quickly like he's privately pleased.

Booker blew the paper wrapper from his straw at Nicky like a missile, and Nicky swatted it away good naturedly, growling insults to Booker's honour and his mother's honour in English and French. Booker cackled and tried to start some sort of slap fight, Quynh tried to join in, Nile yelped and tried to clear the glasses out of their way before anything got knocked over, and Andy said she would kick all of their asses if they delayed her from getting coffee inside her any longer.

Joe watched them all with warm amusement, but when he looked away he saw Merrick watching him, cold eyes calculating. The smile drained off his face.

When Nicky left again to check on another table, Merrick tried to strike up conversation again with the group. "So I see you're all highly successful professionals, excepting of course the waiter and the college student—"

"Why are you still here?" Quynh interrupted.

Merrick looked taken aback.

Delighted like she was finally given permission by her wife to let loose, Andy added, "We made it very clear that no one wants you here. We don't even know you. Leave before you embarrass yourself even more."

Merrick had the gall to look over at Joe, like he expected him to defend him or something, when he was the one who had begged him to leave him alone and not come into this restaurant in the first place.

Annoyed that Merrick was somehow still not getting up, Quynh pushed Booker aside so she could say to Joe, "Here, switch seats with me."

Confused, Joe complied, ending up between Andy and Booker while Quynh took his old place and then moved her chair so that her back was to Merrick, essentially blocking him from the rest of the table and closing them into a smaller circle. "There, much better."

They resumed their conversation from earlier. Nicky came back with two large trays laden with all their plates, jovially informing Booker that he spit in his food, when Merrick stuck out his foot and tripped him. Nicky pitched forward, almost completely losing his balance but still managing to land with both trays on the table before falling and catching himself on his knees. The plates crashed on the tabletop, some of the food bouncing up a little to scatter into a small mess, but miraculously nothing broke and most of their meals remained intact.

"That was clumsy of you," Merrick said snidely. "You should be more careful, you won't get a tip for sloppy service."  Joe felt mortification claim him. He tried to stand up and get past Booker so he could leave, certain that they wouldn't eat him here anymore after the terrible first impression he's made, letting his ex abuse their friend like that and not doing anything to stop him. He muttered apologies and couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears for a moment, overwhelmed with resignation that even breaking up with Merrick didn't meant he could get away from him, that the whole rest of his life would be tainted by his awful behaviour, that he might as well give up and go back to Merrick because no one else was going to put up with this.

Booker wasn't getting out of his way, and Andy grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "It's okay," she said, looking at him too understandingly. "Here, watch, you don't want to miss this."

Nicky got up and dusted himself off, before yanking Merrick into an arm lock that made him yelp. "You can't lay your hands on me! I want to speak to the manager!"

"I'm the owner," Nicky informed him, twisting his arm further and using it to march Merrick toward the door, "and you are now officially trespassing. Goodbye." With that, he tossed Merrick out and returned to their table.

Joe tried not to stare at him with too much open wonder, or indeed open mouth.

"I should probably have done that sooner," Nicky said apologetically, "but I was thinking maybe he might at least pay for the omelette."

Now Joe felt silly, standing there while everyone was reaching for their plates and serving themselves from the only slightly jumbled pile of breakfast foods in the middle of the table. He recovered his wits quick enough to say, "Well now there's an extra omelette, why don't you have it?"

Nicky smiled at him again. Booker, who hadn't gotten up when Joe was trying to leave, let himself be easily shoved out of the way so Nicky could sit down beside him. Joe grabbed his own order and nothing had ever tasted as good as that first bite, with Nicky looking fondly at him.

I combined two prompts for this one:

(1) "Someone gets decapitated. Someone else on the team has to carry their head around until the body can regrow. Details and level of crack vs angst up to you."
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/953.html?thread=14777#cmt14777

(2) "I’d love to see Death’s POV of these two— maybe (but not necessarily) things like exasperation that they’re still killing each other, realizing they’re in love before they do and cheering for them to figure it out already, becoming a fan of their work, reacting to them teaming up with the two other humans Death loves to watch..."
https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=229052#cmt229052

The fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982815

Prompt here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=143186#cmt143186

They’re in Madrid when it happens for the first time. Booker hasn’t been back with them for long, only a few weeks, and so it still raises an eyebrow when he goes over to Andy and whispers something, too soft for the rest of them to hear, in her ear. Andy nods, and then she settles on the most comfortable chair in the room of their safe house, patting her lap lightly. “Come on, now, chop chop. Can’t have you all getting sloppy.”

Nile is endlessly confused, but the others all seem to know what’s going on, forming a neat line in front of Andy. Booker is the first one, practically bouncing on his toes, clearly eager for whatever is coming. Nile still doesn’t understand, but lines up behind Joe anyway.

The next thing she knows, Booker is dropping his pants and underwear and bending over Andy’s lap, and—what on earth? Nile makes a little choked sound that has Joe turning around to smile at her kindly. “Andy likes to take care of us,” he explains. “This helps take the edge off, if we do it every couple of months. Somehow she always seems to know when we need it,” he mused. “But I guess Book needed it the most this time.”

Even with the explanation, Nile can’t believe her own eyes as Andy brings down the flat of her hand on Booker’s ass cheek. Booker jerks, but doesn’t make a sound, and Andy does it again, hitting the other cheek this time. She’s not counting the strokes, not out loud at least, but Booker’s ass is flushed bright pink and he’s squirming desperately against her when his hips jolt and he lets out a wounded cry.

Nile blinks. “Did he just—“ Joe chuckled. “Yeah, he always comes, he can’t help it. I usually get hard too, but I can wait until after. Booker can never hold out long enough to get out of Andy’s lap.”

“Booker, Booker, what are we supposed to do with you?” Andy is asking, tilting his face up to look at him and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Now all the others are going to have to lay in the mess you’ve made.” She says it like it’s a bad thing, but Nile thinks it’s kind of hot, really, and she has to admit to herself that she’s felt a slow coil of arousal ever since she saw Booker come apart as Andy spanked him.

“You know you get extra now,” Andy tells Booker, and he nods, squirming a bit in her lap. “Yes Boss,” he agrees, voice strained. Andy hits him harder than before, and Booker is no longer silent, but lets out little gasps and cries every time Andy’s palm lands on his tender skin. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s getting hard again, valiantly resisting the urge to rut against Andy’s thigh.

Nile thinks they’re going to watch him come again, but Andy stops before he can find his release, rubbing gentle circles into the skin she had just abused. “Go along now, Book,” she murmurs softly. “If you can come watching me do the others, it’s fine, but no touching yourself, alright?” Booker nods, his eyelashes wet, and gets off her lap with a groan. “That’s a good boy,” Andy sends him off with, and everyone can see how his cock twitches at the praise.

He makes an obscene picture, his pants shoved down, his cock bright red and bobbing in front of him, the tip still gleaming from his release during his spanking. He doesn’t bother to pull his pants up, just makes his way over to a nearby chair, sinking into it bonelessly to watch.

Nicky is already taking Booker’s place, wincing slightly as he feels the other man’s cooling release against his bare skin. He smiles up at Andy, waiting for it, welcoming it, and she starts spanking him at a fast rhythm. She had gone slowly on Booker at the beginning, warming him up, and only really started going to town on him after he had spilled in her lap. She doesn’t go easy on Nicky, though, and from the blissed out look on his face, he seems to be happy about it.

Nile is so mesmerised by the concentration on Andy’s face, the tight muscles flexing as she rains down blows on Nicky, that she’s taken aback when she hears a wrenching sob. She is alarmed when she looks over at Nicky, who has gone from looking distantly pleased to actually starting to cry, thick tears rolling down his cheeks as he lets out little moans. “Is he—“ she starts to ask Joe, because Joe would know if Nicky needed help, surely, and he seems strangely calm for someone watching their lover sob. “He’s okay,” Joe says fondly, though Nile can tell that his fingers are itching to hold Nicky, to comfort him. “He just needs a good cry sometimes, helps him relax.”

Andy stops once Nicky is all cried out, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before she lets him get up and walk on shaky legs over to the sofa. When Joe bends over her lap, he twists his head to look at her. “Don’t go easy on me, Boss.”

She definitely doesn’t go easy on him, but it seems to still not be enough for Joe, who arches into each hit and won’t stop running his mouth. “Harder, Boss,” he begs, and Nile can see that his length, too, is filling out against Andy’s thigh. Fuck, she thinks to herself, how is she going to survive this? “Stop fucking around and hit me properly,” he urges her, and Andy obliges, smacking him so hard that Nile winces. By the time Andy is done with him, his ass is bright red like he’s had a horrible sunburn, and Joe has stopped complaining and started whining desperately.

He goes to curl up in Nicky’s lap as soon as Andy lets him go, and the way they are kissing deeply and Nicky is wrapping a hand around Joe’s length is usually something that Nile would like to watch, but she knows it’s her turn. She’s clearly nervous as she pulls down her pants, nervous as she bends over Andy’s lap like she had seen the others do.

“It’s okay,” Andy soothes, “I know it’s your first time, I’ll be gentle.” Nile isn’t sure she wants gentle, honestly, can’t parse the complicated emotions and desires that went through her as she watched Andy spanking her teammates.

She’s expecting the first smack, but it still makes her jolt, gasping faintly. “Can you take harder than that?” Andy asks quietly, and Nile nods. She never thought she would want this, but she does, wants to feel Andy’s hand on her, wants it to hurt when she sits down, a constant reminder that she was here, that she felt this exquisite ache, that Andy cared enough to take care of her.

Nile loses count of how many times Andy brings her palm down against her ass. She feels vaguely like she’s floating, lost in a glorious sea of sensation. She comes back to herself a bit when she realises three things: Andy has stopped hitting her, she’s desperately turned on, and she’s trying to get herself off by rolling her hips against Andy’s leg.

She expects Andy to chastise her, but the other woman simply smiles, trailing her fingers down Nile’s side with a delicate touch that makes her shiver. “Want some help?” Andy asks and Nile only has to nod before one of the older woman’s fingers is sliding through the patch of hair between her legs, sliding lower to rub gently at her clit and then to sink into her folds, right where she’s wet and wanting.

Andy takes her apart expertly with her fingers, not that it would take much after how the spanking had worked her up. Not to mention she has to hear the constant noises from the others which are practically pornographic—Joe and Nicky are gasping into each other’s mouths as they stroke each other off. Booker is obeying Andy’s order not to touch himself, but his fists are clenched at his side and his cock looks agonisingly hard, leaking precome against his belly. He looks as if a stiff wind could send him over the edge, but it’s watching Nile’s own climax that drives him over it in the end. Nile shakes in Andy’s lap as she clenches around her fingers, holding onto Andy’s leg for dear life as the waves of pleasure roll over her. “That’s good, that’s a good girl,” Andy praises and Nile whines. “Thanks Boss,” she manages to reply.

Nile can barely walk as she makes her way to the sofa next to Joe and Nicky, who are just kissing lazily after they came in each other’s hands. She sort of hopes they don’t do this often, because she was more wrecked by Andy’s spanking than she would like to admit. Then again, she sort of hopes it happens again soon.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990447

My work on AO3 is archive-locked.

So here it is pasted here as well.

Andromache knew she was not a god. She had been birthed by a woman who had scorned her and attempted her murder, though it had been impossible. Now she was having quite another turn of fate. Since she seemed impossible to kill, she had a temple built in her honor, and she was given virgins.

They would stay with her in the temple and this was permissible for weeks at a time, even after they had reached that month’s menses, or “the time of the blood” as was said or implied then.

At the time of the blood they were still hers, and Andy could have them any way that she wished. She was gentle, unless they did not want her to be gentle, and they allowed her many things, even painting them in their own blood, her fingers inside them on tender flesh, pulling blood forth. They would feel it settle on their skin and know they were marked by her.

The goddess who knew she was no such thing.

She would not be the one to throw rocks at women, and so she was gentle then, in her early days, when she was forever sated in their presence.

Also posted on AO3, so you can read it with italics, which helps the entire fic - https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995988

He drags himself to the wall, his breathing loud - too loud - in his ears. The blood on the floor makes it easier to move, it slicks the tiles under him, letting him half-crawl half -slide until he can rest his head on the wall. There's a jagged gash on one leg, the flesh has been torn down to the bone, and it's still oozing blood and fatty tissue even as it heals. It's nothing he pays attention to, it's one wound in a sea of thousands.

"Andy." he calls out into the red-stained void around him. There's no reply. He can see her in the fall of the only light that hasn't been busted out, a long dark stain on the concrete and viscera. She's not moving, or breathing. Joe is crumpled beside her, one hand thrown out and away from his body, as if he's reaching for Nicky, who lies much farther away from them both, in the picturesque placement of a castaway doll.

None of them are breathing. Merde, merde. It'll just take some time. He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out, then stops, because he's the only one breathing. It quickly becomes a solo competition to see how long he can hold his breath until someone, anyone starts to stir.

His personal record is four minutes, twenty or so seconds can be added if he bothers to concentrate. Joe and Nicky, who have several hundred years experience in certain sexual activities clock in at about eight minutes each.

Andy, for reasons she will not elaborate on, although they know, they all know why, can go for eleven minutes strong. She is the boss, after all. It's two minutes and forty seconds into his pithy personal record when he feels it, the first writhing of alarm.

No. They will wake up, they always have before. Why would this be the day that it all goes to hell? It's getting away from him again, that ever present background noise that tells him it's worthless and hopeless, and useless, and you're here all alone.

He's not, because they are coming back, see?

They are.

They are.

But he is alone right now.

They are...

They are...

...are they?

Two minutes and fifty eight seconds. Two minutes and fifty-nine seconds. They've been dead for four minutes before that already.

The longest anyone of them had ever taken to wake up - that he knows of - was nine minutes, as the era of modern weapons and their destructive capabilities rolled around. He remembers Nicky fighting like a tiger, Andy screaming to fucking hold him so he wouldn't compromise their location as he scratched and kicked and screamed for Joe! Joe! Joe!. Andy slipping out around the six minute mark to retrieve what they all thought was Joe's body, Nicky fucking crying, sobbing, mumbling incomprehensibly, the only words Booker could understand out of the mix of what he surmised was ancient Latin and Aramaic were a litany of my love, please my lord, please, don't take him from me, my love, my love...please...

Fucked him over so completely he didn't come out of the bottle until the next job.

They're coming back.

They're not.

Three minutes.

Andy wakes with a choked gasp, shunting herself onto her side to spit out chunks of her own brain matter, and Booker feels every bone in his body go liquid with relief. He breathes. He hasn't beaten his own record yet, but that's okay. Very, very okay. Joe and Nicky wake at more or less the same time - because of course, as if they can't find a way to be anymore of two parts of a whole asshole - coordinated in death as they are in life, and the final string of anxiety loosens when they meet each other's eyes across the warehouse (now slaughterhouse)

Booker's fingers shake around his gun as he takes it and forces himself to his feet on legs jellied from the dissipating adrenaline. Waiting is an extreme sport, for people like him. Them.

"Fucking slow," he grunts, unable to form more words than that. Andy lets out an affected sigh, begins the process of peeling herself out of her own blood and guts.

"Fuck you, Booker." she mumbles around what's probably a chunk of her frontal lobe. The way her head got blown in, it could be some of the brainstem too.

"Maybe later." And he's not joking. If she's agreeable, he'll go to bed with her, as he sometimes does. He'll need it after this, the closeness, the feeling of her warm and alive. They don't even have to fuck, and they probably won't. What they mostly do after jobs like these are sleep and eat, the fucking comes after, when Joe and Nicky finally detach themselves from each other's hips long enough to find their zippers, and depends on whether or not Andy has relived sufficient memories of the past to warrant her wanting to drown them in sex. Decisions, decisions.

They pull themselves together and leave the place, Booker swearing at them to hurry up under his breath all the while. He's waited enough for one day.

Original prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=225468#cmt225468

Filled here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997770

Threaded | Flat

Page 3 of 15

FILL: Wrong Side of Heaven (Booker/OMC , Booker/Joe/Nicky, sex work, drugged sex, noncon)

Reach Hither Thy Hand (Nicky/Joe, wound fucking)

FILL: Joe/Booker, hardcore noncon (Nicky/Joe at the end)

Fill: Nicky/Joe - Joe shaves, rimming

FILL: Peaceful in the Deep (Joe/Nicky, Hand Kink)

FILL: Nicky/Joe, Nicky/Other - Honey Pot Missions

Fill: Joe/Nicky, premature ejaculation

Fill: Joe/Nicky, prostate massage/milking

Fill: Nicky/Joe/Keane, consensual threesome

the sound of home (Nicky/Joe + Nile, Nicky singing lullabies)

FILL: Nicky/Booker/Joe, cuddles [Complete]

FILL: Cusp (Joe/Nicky, Riding, Baseball Hat)

Fill: Booker/team, repentance

FILL: Nicky/Booker/Joe, sharing clothes [Complete]

doodle fill, Nicky/Joe

Fill: Nicky/Joe, watersports

Fill: Nicky/Joe, size kink

Fill: Nicky/Joe, voyeurism

Fill: Joe/Nicky (Jafar/Nicky) + (Aladdin 2019 Crossover) Jafar is Joe's Brother, They Fight Over Nic

Omelette that slide because I like you a waffle lot (Joe/Nicky, past Joe/Merrick)

"While His Name Is Still Spoken" (Joe/Nicky, POV Death + Decapitation)

Fill: Andy/Everyone, spanking

Andy/Any, blood play (OFCs implied)

FILL: Whole team, wake

Fill: No Sacrifice (Nicky/Joe Accidental Marriage)