- ship: ley
- prompt: eyelid kiss
- prompted by: the lovely lana herself, jenn
- Characters: Cato + Clove
- Prompt: 21 - Kiss With A Fist
A low growl left his throat as their hips met, and it took every ounce of control Killian possessed — which wasn’t a lot — not to grab Pan and keep him there. “I know you do,” he breathed out, his hand sliding down to the boy’s chest right above where his heart lied. His thumb brushed over the skin peeking through his shirt as he spoke. “It’s cold and it’s dead and it hasn’t beat in who knows how long… With just one exception.” The glint in his eyes was smug as he removed his hand and brought his index finger to his own lower lip, sliding it across slowly. Pan didn’t love him, he knew that. Whatever Pan felt for him wasn’t even remotely close to love. But Killian had an intuitive feeling that Pan would never be able to kill him. It was becoming clearer and clearer to the Captain that he was a soft spot for Pan. And he was certainly going to use this knowledge to his advantage. “What other things might you suggest, then?”
Killian’s eyes followed Pan’s hand hungrily, unsurprised by Pan’s antics but at the same time, shocked he was already resorting to such methods. He supposed he’d forgotten just how impatient the boy could be. But it was working, much to the pirate’s dismay. He’d deny it endlessly, but perhaps he had a soft spot for Pan, too. No male had ever interested him the way Pan did. He’d been with other men, sure, but it wasn’t the same, and Killian couldn’t figure out why that was without coming to one conclusion he refused to accept.
Swallowing, he contemplated Pan’s question. He could sit back and watch and be tortured because there was no way in hell he could take care of himself later on for Pan would surely be watching him and that would be much too satisfying for the boy for Killian to be okay with. Or he could give in. They’d both get what they wanted. And he could still play him, couldn’t he? Maybe it would work even better once Pan got a taste of what he missed all those years Killian was away. All he knew for certain was that he had never been very good at controlling himself, not with Pan, and his resolve was slipping.
“When have I ever not played dirty with you, Pan?”
His decision was made when their lips met once more, and Killian kissed back hard, his hand closing around his neck tighter as he felt Pan’s hands brushing against him while they worked at undoing his leather pants. His teeth caught the boy’s lip and he bit down forcefully, breaking the skin and drawing blood that he lapped up with his tongue. Smirking at Pan as he caught his breath, Killian rubbed the forming bruise with the pad of his thumb, trailing the finger down his chest until it was met with fabric. In one swift motion, he’d ripped open the boy’s shirt and was trailing his hand down his bare torso. His skin was taut and smooth and felt so good beneath his fingertips. Killian made a mental note to make sure he felt every inch of Pan before he left the island.
Digging his hook further into Pan’s back, he stepped forward until the boy’s body was pressed between the tree and the pirate’s. His hand moved between them to slip into Pan’s loose trousers and graze the warm, hard length Killian felt against his own, struggling for release beneath the tight material. He put his lips to the boy’s ear as his rough hand wrapped around him in a strong hold and breathed in a guttural voice, “Show me how much you’ve missed me, boy.”
A warm grin spread over Pan’s swollen lips like honey, sweet and slow, thick in its undertones of satisfaction. “And I hope you never stop playing, my Captain. You’re so beautiful when you’re bad. It’s too bad Emma can’t see that, but Saviors are always such a drag.” He replied in a silky tone, hand fisting in the rough fabric of Killian’s shirt. Pan was aware of how much this rendevouz of theirs was an addiction for the pirate; he knew because it was the same for him. He craved the Captain when he wasn’t there, craved him in a way that went far beyond how he felt about anyone else. He just had to trust in himself that he wouldn’t let this small chink in his armor become a weakness. And in the meantime, he could have fun - something his life had been sorely lacking in lately, what with all the planning he’d gone to to get Henry here.
Forgetting his concerns was easy when Killian’s lips claimed him, claimed him in softness and then in harsh blood, and he gasped into the other man’s mouth. It was a soft mewl of pleasure. He’d always liked a little pain - it reminded him of how alive he was, of how alive he would always be. And something about the pirate tasting Pan’s blood thrilled him. It was like invading the pirate from within. His eyes opened, bright and exhilarated, as Killian ripped through his shirt. “Now, now, Captain,” He said in a lightly mocking tone, the smirk on his lips belying his pleasure and amusement. “I did like that shirt.” His eyes strayed down to follow the path of the pirate’s hand, and he felt it like a trail of fire licking his skin. He struggled to keep his breath steady, to keep himself from writhing up against Killian’s touch. “Mm, but I like wearing you better. You’re forgiv -“
His voice cut off, the breath leaving him completely, as the pirate’s hand dipped below the waistline of his pants. “Ah-h-” Pan moaned softly, his hips pressing upwards of their own violation. His body seemed programmed to seek more of the pirate. And who could blame him? He’d never seen such a handsome man, with such a beautiful fire in his heart. He’d only needed that touch of darkness his brother’s death had given him to make him perfect. “I’m no boy.” Pan hissed back, and grinned, launching himself at the pirate with such force that he knocked them both to the forest floor. There, he straddled the pirate’s hips, pressing their bodies close together at the most intimate of points. He sighed in pleasure, letting himself grind down once to alleviate some of the ache within him. “But I’ve got plenty to show you…” He flattened his palm on Hook’s chest and leaned down, his mouth pressing against Killian’s jaw. “I’ve thought about you, you know, since you left…what I would do to you when you got back,” Pan murmured. “Because I knew you would come back to me. I couldn’t decide whether I’d kill you or fuck you into the floor. But I think I’ve made up my mind.”
—and i’ll whip up a drabble for you about any of the following:
- 1: Hot, Steamy kiss
- 2: Cheek Kiss
- 3: Nose Kiss
- 4: Forehead Kiss
- 5: Firm Kiss
- 6: Gentle Peck
- 7: Romantic Kiss
- 8: Eyelid Kiss
- 9: Jawline Kiss
- 10: Neck Kiss
- 11: Collarbone Kiss
- 12: Chest Kiss
- 13: Stomach Kiss
- 14: Kiss Along the Hips
- 15: Kiss in the Rain
- 16: Upside-Down Kiss
- 17: Goofy Kiss
- 18: Underwater Kiss
- 19: Forceful Kiss
- 20: Any of the Above
- 21: A Kiss with a Fist
- 22: Then there’s tongue
"Well, if you just wanted to see me naked, you could have just said so," he responded with a sarcastic tone and a smirk as he couldn’t to shed his disgusting clothing to the floor. Will knew that he shouldn’t be an ass towards Jem, he hadn’t done anything wrong but it was his main defense. Though Jem doesn’t receive it first hand that often, everyone else in the Institute heard it at least once a day, usually more. He wasn’t an idiot and knew that everyone just ignored it or thought that he was just doing it on purpose — which he was and it bothered him that they caught on. At least he wasn’t surrounded by idiots.
Once he was finally in the warm bath water, wishing that it was warmer but settled in it away. The back of his head burned as he felt Jem’s eyes on him as he spoke. If the matter wasn’t pressing about his well being, Will probably would have felt nervous or over exposed with Jem in the room. Even though they have seen each other like this before. Right now he just wanted to slide under the water completely and not listen to Jem ask what was wrong with him. His best friend would not like the answer.
"It has nothing to do with Tessa," he said simply, tone turning to boredom rather than his usual sarcasm. It partially had to do with Tessa because she was making him feel things that he usually didn’t and making him feel like he could be himself — the one that didn’t treat everyone like they were a disease he didn’t want touching him. But mostly because she knew how he felt about Jem, having brought it up to him a few nights ago. Will let it simmer to it’s boiling point before finally going out tonight and almost getting himself killed. No big deal in his book seeing as how he survived.
"I wanted to be alone," there was an almost harshness in his voice now, the walls he’s built around himself taking control and trying to push Jem away now as well. After saying it he winced, he didn’t want to hurt Jem. He wanted to love him but that wasn’t going to happen. "Just like I want to be alone now," he continued, keeping the annoyance and harshness in his tone. He didn’t even pick on the idea of Henry coming along with him tonight. There was no energy left in him to fight, only enough to make him push away.
Jem just raised his eyebrows mildly, not at all put off by Will’s snark. It was just a part of his best friend, it always had been, and Jem could only be grateful that it was often softened towards him. Sometimes he wondered what made him so special in Will’s eyes - but constantly his mind returned to his disease. Everyone was so kind, so gentle with him, because he was dying in such a repugnant way. Even Will Herondale felt sorry for him, that was how pathetic he was. He pressed his lips together and averted his eyes just slightly as Will undressed. There should be no embarrassment between them as parabatai - Shadowhunter brothers, as it were - but Jem could not deny a stirring of warmth in him when he considered for too long those hidden parts of Will. And it would not do to dwell on such feelings.
Bad enough that Jem felt lust, felt more than the ordinary amount of affections, towards a man. But his parabatai? There was very little in the Clave that was as taboo as that, perhaps second only to sleeping with a blood relation. But no matter the knowledge of how wrong it was, Jem was drawn to Will. He could understand why everyone around the changeable young man persisted in loving him, despite Will’s best efforts to be cruel and contrary. Only Jessamine seemed at all immune to the charm of Will’s soul. It shone through his angry mask.
He shook his head, aware that he was getting lost in thought. “Well if it has nothing to do with her, you must tell me what it is, so I may help.” Jem said gently. His eyes returned to Will’s face, gaze restrained, barely flickering over the drop of water that curved down the brunette’s jaw. He barely considered how it would feel to press his lips to the path it traced. “Neither of us has been alone since these ruins were drawn on us.” He said pointedly, pulling aside his collar to reveal the parabatai rune over his heart. “And it is no use to get shirty with me, Will, for I refuse to leave your side now and you shall just have to deal with it.” He shrugged, casually, then his expression sobered. His eyes, shining silver in the candlelight, were utterly sincere. “Will, I can feel it, this cloud over you. It has always been there - but it grows darker recently. You are losing hope. Why?”
An ache bloomed in his chest, different from the ghostly heartache that he often felt with Will, a true spike of pain. Jem doubled over in his chair, coughing harshly and internally cursing the sickness’s timing. “I am sorry -” He said through gasping breaths, and attempted to straighten up. “The Yin Fen - I missed my last dose, I thought I was fine, I wanted…” He’d wanted to be free, if only for a moment. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to take deep breaths. “I’m fine.”
"That’s unfair. The past fifteen hours have given me enough opportunity to abuse any power that I might hold over you, and might I remind you that you are in this hotel room of your own volition?" It bothered her, that he could think she was still the same person that she was five years ago. She wasn’t. That Daenerys had no qualms about using people to her own gain. Now, after five years in the industry, she felt an intense need to earn everything for herself. Corporate was no easy kingdom for women to rule, and using the help of others- men, especially- would only prove to be a crutch. Besides, on a personal level, it hurt to think about. He wanted to be here, didn’t he? He wanted to stay. The knot in her chest loosened as he kept talking, and suddenly she felt so stupid for ever doubting him. Respect and trust were two very different things, and while she’d respected Robb Stark since she’d met him, she was only now starting to learn how to trust him.
"I don’t do it on purpose," she defended herself. "There’s a difference between knowing a person and actually understanding them and I’m trying but it’s hard.” His hands on her made it that much harder to concentrate on the very serious topic at hand, so she dropped it for the time being, choosing instead to focus on breakfast, maple syrup and all. “That’s ambitious,” Dany raised an eyebrow. “I’m starting to get hungry, though, so, whatever you want to do,” she leaned in closer to him, lips brushing at his ear. “Make it quick.”
With all honesty, she didn’t want to leave this bed. “I don’t want to think about the people counting on us, or what meetings I have tomorrow, or anything about the rest of my life. I just want this one day here with you, that’s it. Besides, after all the dreary talks we had to sit through yesterday, I agree, we’ve done our part.” There was a bigger, more important question that he was asking, but she glossed over it, leaning down to kiss him again, hand sliding down his chest. “Trust me, I am very comfortable with this.”
"I know," He said gently, smiling. "I was only teasing." Robb raised a soft, curious eyebrow in her direction. He was surprised that she was taking his comment so to heart, when he’d have expected her to brush it off with a laugh or claim that she knew indeed what power she had over him. Daenerys had to know, didn’t she, how she’d always swayed him? Perhaps she doubted that connection had last throughout time. And yet it seemed it had. "I want to be here. With you. I’m not accusing you of witchcraft or manipulation or anything, I promise."
Robb nodded. “People are never going to be easy, Dany.” He admitted. Robb was more empathetic than many people, especially people in positions of power similar to his, but he had to admit that he often missed things about others that should have been obvious. But hindsight, as they said, is 20/20. He reached up a brushed a strand of dark hair over ear, and grinned. “Alright, then, let’s eat. I know not to mess with a hungry Targaryen.” He laughed and reached for the phone, quickly dialing room service and ordering up two of their largest, most indulgent breakfasts. They deserved it, after sitting through that stuffy conference. And…it was a celebration, wasn’t it? A celebration of finding each other again.
"Alright." He said slowly, sounding a bit doubtful. He didn’t distrust that she wanted to be here, that she liked him and liked being with him to distract herself, but he worried that he’d get in too deep again. That they both might. This Daenerys certainly seemed a softer creature than the ambitious girl he’d known in college. And he didn’t want to see either of them get hurt. "Let’s enjoy ourselves, then, for our day of freedom."
Isabelle checking out Simon when he’s not looking