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i. define your meaning of fun

Jonathan's own bed was cold and hard enough on its own, so it stood to reason that his floor was only moreso (he knew that well, having accidentally woken up there many times before) and it couldn't have been very comfortable for a slightly chubby eleven-year-old (Jonathan liked to pretend that he hadn't woken up on the floor in quite some time), let alone a hulking beast of a man-- constructed all with sharp angles, hard lines and thick muscles. It often creaked underfoot and Elias was a restless sleeper, as Jonathan now knew as well.

The first time Elias had slept on his floor was the night directly after the fire eater, Antonio Corelli, had "violently" (Hardly, Jonathan had scowled at Elias' complaints) usurped him from his unofficial-official position of power in their company. Jonathan liked to point out that, before the Troupe had joined them, their previous company spanned an entire two members. Nevertheless, the wereman was in a sour mood and twitched and growled in his sleep-- after he finally did manage to get to sleep after keeping Jonathan and himself awake with his "hmmm"ing and "hahh"ing until ridiculous o'clock-- all through that night.

The second night was only worse, spurred on by tension between Mountebank and Corelli, between Raquella and Corelli, between Elias and Corelli; hell, even Verv didn't want anything to do with Corelli that day (granted, Verv never wanted anything to do with anyone other than his car). Corelli was just too overbearing, took up too much space, commanded too much attention, and Nettle and Fray almost doing the ceiling in with their late night gymnastics routines in the attic room didn't help either. Jonathan was already lying down when Elias came in, muttering swears and vulgarities at the fire eater under his breath and wishing a slow and painful death upon multiple members of his immediate family.

"You gotta stop letting him get to you," Jonathan warned. Carnegie gave just a noncommital grunt of acknowledgement, settling down on the floor and looking in the opposite direction of Jonathan like he were being scolded by his mother.

"Hey, remember what's at stake here; we sure as hell can't get the stone without them."

"Corelli is the last person I want to rely on."

"He tried to kill me too, y'know. You're not the only bitter one here."

The wereman only laid down in response and folded his arms behind his head in what Jonathan could only assume to be a meagre attempt to control a bit more space than he probably felt he did right now. Elias looked tense, Jonathan noted: his hair was messy in a ponytail that the younger could only guess had been in for days, his stovepipe hat was in a corner of Jonathan's room and hadn't been touched since Sunday (it was Wednesday), dirt darkened his skin in places-- he'd probably been for a run in a park somewhere and somehow ended up in a ditch-- and bruise-purple bags were begining to colour under his eyes and he was even more unshaven than usual. He was still Carnegie, however, gruff and grumpy as Carnegie may be.

Jonathan gulped. He was still the same Elias, after all; that same Elias with the dark, heavy gaze. That same Elias with the strength that Jonathan had yet to see rivalled. That same Elias with the undeniably impressive bulge hidden beneath his trousers, Jonathan noted now as he glanced down.

Okay, so Jonathan had had some feelings that he wasn't the proudest of. For the most part, he tried to pass them off as some strange fantasies that everyone got at some point or another about people (especially attractive older people) they were around a lot. It was only when he started to realise that most other guys didn't have those particular feelings about men that he started to realise that "Hey, I might get beat up for this" and began to hide it.

Now; however, now was different. Elias was a generally laid-back guy (Jonathan tried not to roll his eyes upon even thinking that). Despite coming from what was basically the 1800s, he'd never heard him screaming about burning fags except in regard to cigarettes. This might even be the last time they ever saw each other. Now could not have been more dissimilar.

"Hey, Carnegie?" Jonathan croaked out. He kept his voice to a whisper, well aware that there were presently seven other people crowded into his matchbox of a house. He willed himself to sound more confident than he was.


"D- do you need any help, like, destressing?"

The wereman rolled over to fix Jonathan with a tired glare. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Like, y'know, blowing off some steam, taking your anger out on something."

"What do you have in mind, kid?"

Johnathan blushed, his mouth suddenly went dry and his head started to spin. It was now or never and Jesus Christ he wasn't gonna take never. "W- wanna fuck?"

"You what?"

He took a deep breath before sitting up on his bed and preparing to repeat himself. He was nervous-- irrefutably so-- and his words came out a wrecked mess that he swore he had suppressed in his mind."I said-"

Elias shook his head, dismissed Jonathan with a wave of his hand and lowered his voice to almost a purr. "I heard what you said. I mean, are you sure though?"

Jonathan nodded vigorously. Moving onto hands and knees, he crawled forwards only to stumble and almost fall off of the edge of the bed because of the pervading darkness. Elias gave what was almost a chuckle and started towards Jonathan, placed a firm hand on his shoulder to steady the younger and looked up into his eyes with a smirk. "Yeah," Jonathan confirmed, "Never been more sure in my life."

ii. is it fuckin, druggin or guns?

Elias moved over the boy, his body rippling and contorting as chapped lips pressed to Jonathan's neck and sucked an angry bruise just below the collar. Jonathan whimpered pathetically, his hands clutching and clawing frantically at the wereman's biceps as their bodies oscillated against each other. Sharp canines pricked Jonathan's neck as he attempted to muffle himself by biting down on his lip. He wasn't sure if the threat of seven other people walking in on them was cause for excitement or concern.

Lips were removed in a blurry haste as clothes were desperately unbuttoned and discarded somewhere in the room.

"Be as hard as you can," Jonathan gasped out between hungry kisses, and the sharp clawed hand tangled in his hair tugged harder as he spoke and he had trouble forming words, "I want to feel claimed."

Carnegie growled (guttural, in the back of his throat in a way that made Jonathan's stomach twist into knots) at his words. "You got it."

Large hands firmly held onto Jonathan's hips as Elias ground his cock against the cleft of the younger's arse. He spit into his hand and used the fluid to slicken the way for his fingers to enter him. Jonathan keened back onto the digits-- sure; he'd done stuff like this by himself before but it was undeniably different when you didn't know just where the protrusion was going to rub up against next (not to mention the size difference between Elias' and his own hands, like, holy crap). The wet heat of Jonathan's arse sucked in the finger greedily and it wasn't long before he was taking two, three more and rolling and singing (as quietly as he could manage) out for more.

Then Carnegie figured that he was probably-definitely ready for his dick and abruptly removed his fingers from the boy, which of course drew out countless protests and whimpers from said boy. He was quickly silenced, however, by the elder's mouth crashing into his own in a fiery display-- all teeth and tongue and scratchy facial hair against soft skin.

Again, Elias spit into his hand as a means of lubrication and began pushing into Jonathan. Almost immediately, he began to piston in and out and gained speed exponentially until every thrust was deep, sharp, fueled with bestial lust and rage and punctuated with grunts. Jonathan moaned brokenly and clenched around him, clawing down his back with a ferocity that definitely drew blood. If Jonathan wanted rough, the wereman would show him rough and just maybe he'd learn a lesson about cheek as well, come morning.

Jonathan felt utterly used and he was loving every second of it. The fullness, the pleasure and Hell, even the burn of his tightly stretched rim only served to heighten his experience. Before could even register what was happening, he came-- untouched-- onto both his and Elias' stomachs. The stickiness was only a mild irritation at the moment and it wasn't five minutes later when he felt an extra pressure at his arsehole.

The pressure only became more insistent as seconds passed. Carnegie was hunched over Jonathan's body and fucking him madly like a dog in a rut (he figured it was his werewolf side) and it seemed that there was more of his cock yet to come. Jonathan, in the haze of sex and stupor, enthusiastically bore down on the pressure and locked his legs as best he could (they were slightly numb and aching) around Elias' waist. The object slipped inside with a wet, sloppy sound and Jonathan couldn't even find it within himself to care that Elias had stopped thrusting because at that moment in time he felt so very, impossibly full. Elias groaned and growled by Jonathan's ear, making him shudder, and he felt that full feeling get somehow even more intense.

Spent, Jonathan tried to wriggle out of Elias' grasp but failed miserable as the knot holding the wereman inside of him refused to budge. He huffed and let his legs fall to the side, wincing as they ached. With a strained grunt, Elias rolled over so that Jonathan could lay on top of him whilst they waited for the knot to go down.

Jonathan grinned. "That sure was something."

Carnegie nodded, the hints of a smirk visible on his face. "Yeah."

iii. i feel the heat coming off of the blacktop

"Fucking cats," Corelli complained in the morning, rubbing his head as he poured over the maps and accidentally poured scalding coffee over himself as he lost concentration for a moment. Luckily, he was used to the heat. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

The household was gathered generally in the living room for planning (with the exception of Alain, who was busy reading upstairs, and Verv, who wouldn't leave the garage). Mountebank lounged on an armchair, red eyes lazily scanning Jonathan's house. Carnegie perched some feet away on the windowsill. Jonathan looked up at the blueprints on the coffee table from his seat on the floor. Nettle and Fray were wrestling behind the couch and almost knocked into the back of Corelli's head. Fray shrieked and called Nettle a bitch as the other twin violently shoved her face into the ground.

"Oh?" laughed Mountebank, and for a moment the murderous tension between the two disappeared. "Do tell."

"Some cats having a fight or a shag or something at like three AM last night, kept me up for like an hour."

Jonathan's eyes met Elias' and the wereman only grinned.