Chapter 1: Kane x Abby
"I feel numb."
| Kane x Abby |
After all that they’d been through the past few weeks, it was the tiny, delicate work that Abby’s hands could do that amazed him the most. They’d been subjected to bombs and clanking shackles and haphazardly-wielded electric screwdrivers, and here he sat, transfixed by the miniscule snips and tugs she performed while she removed his stitches.
“Doing alright?” she murmured, not looking up from her work on his thigh. Had they been in the clinic, he would have had to strain to hear her. In fact, it was the business of the clinic that had brought Abby to Marcus’ room instead of the other way around--they needed every spare bed for patients with more serious injuries than his own.
And he’d taken a spear of rebarb about an inch from his femoral artery.
“It’s fine, I guess,” he replied. “I feel numb.”
“Your nerves will take the longest to regrow.” Her voice was detatched, clinical, while she snipped and tugged, snipped and tugged. “You should be able to walk perfectly fine, even if you can’t feel it when you touch it for a while.” He would have a nasty scar, not from the metal itself, but from the scraping and reconstruction work Abby and Jackson had done to remove the infection that had set in by the time they’d returned to Camp Jaha.
“It could be worse.”
Abby pulled the last stitch away and met his eyes. “Very true.” She stood and walked over to his dresser with only the slightest limp. Despite the pain and trauma of her own injuries, she’d recovered much more easily without her quadricep being essentially bisected like Marcus’. The tweezers and scissors dropped back onto her tray that she’d brought from the clinic with a clatter.
When she turned back around, her expression had shifted. It was a new one for Marcus to recognize, though he was catching on quickly enough. Abby settled on the edge of his mattress and dragged her fingertips along the inside line of his good thigh.
“Can you feel that?” she asked, her hand settling atop his crotch. He’d already been half-hard under his voluminous sleeping shorts with her hands and face so close to his dick, and it jumped now with the encouraging pressure she put on it.
He hummed in assent against her mouth, cupping her neck in one hand and a breast in the other. “Very much so.”
Chapter 2: Miller x Monty
"We never tell anyone about this."
| Miller x Monty |
The storage room was just as cold and dim as Monty remembered. A few weeks of no power had rendered the air a bit musty, though. It was quieter, too, without all the stress and anxiety that went along with the whole “hey, you’re prisoners that we’re bleeding out to survive” thing.
Monty shook his head to clear it. The whole reason he came in here was to get away not think about that for a few minutes, after all.
He picked an aisle at random and turned down it. In one frame, a girl in yellow read a book. In another, black and white cows grazed by a lake. A collage of snipped papers formed a black man in a blue suit against what Monty supposed was a field, or a yard, he wasn’t sure. A pale lady with a high forehead and a hat and veil combination that went out of fashion at least a millennia ago.
He happened to be looking at a long painting of a nude woman reclined on a chaise when he heard Nathan come in. “Figured you’d be in here.” Nathan’s hands snuck around Monty’s waist, his chin perched on his shoulder. “Sexy,” he drawls.
Monty huffed a laugh. “For some, I guess.”
“We can give it to Kane to hang in his office. Fruits of war or whatever.”
“Can you imagine the look on the chancellor’s face?”
Nathan pulled a face at the thought. “Bellamy then. He needs something to jack off to now that Clarke is gone.”
Monty laughed for real now. It bounced off of the concrete walls and floors. He could see Nathan grinning in his peripheral vision, and that makes him smile. “Man, I’m jealous of straight dudes. All of art in history caters to them,” Monty complained, gesturing at the graceful curves of the woman’s hips and ass. “But then when you go looking for a dick, they’re all tiny or covered up with fig leaves.”
“‘Looking for a dick’?” Nathan repeated, chuckling, like he can barely believe it.
Monty groaned and bumped his hips back into Nathan’s. “You know what I mean.”
Nathan’s hand snaked down and palmed the front of Monty’s cargo pants. “I do know what you mean, you size king. You gotta go looking for some old fertility statues. Those things have cocks on them that would level a fuckin’ army.”
That last bit was murmured into Monty’s ear and ended with a nip to his earlobe while Nathan’s hand rocked over Monty’s burgeoning dick. Monty’s hips pressed into Nathan’s palm even as Monty said in a strangled voice: “Nathan--not here--”
“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t think you’ll find one of those here.”
Monty groaned and turned around to kiss Nathan, his tongue sliding deep into Nathan’s mouth as soon as it could. Nathan walked them backwards until Monty’s back hit the wall, which he used as leverage to cant his hips against Nathan’s. “We have to be fast,” Monty muttered, at which Nathan rolled his eyes, fingers already unbuckling Monty’s belt.
Monty’s dick came free of his pants only a minute before Nathan’s because Monty was nothing if not a team player. They were still learning each other’s bodies, but the pressure of potentially being found out had Monty humming with arousal, and he knew that he, at least, would be easy to get off today. And shit but Nathan was good, thumbing Monty’s slit and the divot right under the head of his dick right. Monty tried his best to keep up, twisting his wrist at the base of Nathan’s cock and dipping his hand lower to drift over his sac while Nathan kissed and kissed him.
Nathan finally spit into his hand and picked up the pace. “Ah, shit,” Monty moaned. He looked down, watching Nathan’s dark hand work his dick, each pass of his fingers tripping over the sensitive edge of the pale pink head sending sparks of light up his spine. Nathan had a thick cock, long too, and right now Monty had a slick, loose fist around it. Monty would never live down his oh thank god from the first time he’d gotten his hand down Nathan’s pants.
Crowded up against the wall, Monty could hear both of their harsh breaths into the humid space between them. Still clothed, with only their dicks pulled into the open air, they were both starting to get warm under their shirts and sweaters. “C’mon,” Monty urged Nathan, nibbling on his jaw. Nathan grunted in assent and grabbed Monty’s ass with his free hand. His cock pulsed in Monty’s hand. Monty would have smiled, but he was so close himself, so close he could feel it in the back of his throat. If Nathan kept rolling his wrist back and forth like that he was going to -- no -- he was --
He came with a bit-off cry, Nathan’s hand directing his come onto the floor. The sight of Monty’s face, twisted in pleasure, brought Nathan over the edge, too. His hand closed over Monty’s, helping to pump the spurts of come out and onto the concrete between their booted feet. Foreheads together and chests heaving, they stared at each other. Nathan moved his hand from where it was braced on Monty’s shoulder to his neck, where he squeezed affectionately.
Monty let his head roll back against the wall, and he looked beyond Nathan to all of the priceless, invaluable art sitting around the storage room. They’d probably just gotten each other off off next to a Van Gogh, for all he know. He brought his gaze back to Nathan’s. “We never tell anyone about this.”
Chapter 3: Bellamy x Clarke
"Don't Touch Me."
| Bellamy x Clarke |
Like everything else Bellamy and Clarke do together, sex is a team effort. It’s full of mutual support and understanding, phrases started by one and finished by the other, and unspoken trust and love that is deeper and more abiding than whatever they would do together as lovers.
And like all team efforts, there has to be a leader, and there has to be a follower.
Clarke has just stripped off her shirt and bra. Her breasts swing free and heavy in Bellamy’s vision from where he sits, knees wide, at the edge of their bed. “Don’t touch me,” she murmurs, reminding him, even as her own hands snake up her torso to brush over the soft skin.
Bellamy’s hands hadn’t moved from where she’d placed them on the edge of the mattress, though. Well, they’d tightened their grip a bit, but nothing remarkable. Besides, he’d kept his hands firmly in place while she’d tugged his pants down, sat on his knee, and coyly pumped her hand over his stiff cock until a vein throbbed in his neck. So he felt comfortable arching a brow and saying, voice thick with innuendo, “I know. This isn’t my first time.”
His head rolls easily on his neck when she fists his hair and pulls his eyes up to hers. It’s a long and deep kiss, nearly to the point that Bellamy forgets her instructions. She’s finally naked and he wants to run his hands over her hips and thighs and between her thighs--but there’ll be time for that later, after she’s told him that she’s done and that he can do whatever he likes.
Until then, he follows her prodding hands to her breasts, where she wants him to use his mouth. He’s more than happy to, lapping at her nipples, nibbling at the puckered skin of her areolas, brushing his nose across the super-sensitive undersides, all while she gasps and shivers and moans. She holds him in place with quivering hands on his ears while he suckles at a breast with alacrity until she murmurs his name and tugs him away; Bellamy flutters his tongue on her sternum and brings his thighs in to squeeze her own. It says I know and I’ve got you and I’m going to fuck you so good , and it’s probably the last of those that has her tsk ing and lightly pinching his arm.
She told him not to touch her, but it’s just like him to be looking for the loopholes.
Chapter 4: Lincoln x Octavia
The list can be found here and the chosen sentence will be the name of the chapter and quoted at the beginning of each ficlet along with the pairing/ship featured therein.
"What's in it for me?"
| Lincoln x Octavia |
In the early morning, Octavia stirs and stretches. Lincoln’s arm curls tighter around her shoulders, bringing her closer against him.
“You’re awake?” Her voice is thick with sleep and disuse.
So is his. “Just for a few minutes.”
She blinks her eyes open. The grey light coming through the thick plastic sheeting of their window sets his profile in soft relief. He’s so warm, too, their legs tangled together under the blankets and furs; they’ve slipped off one of her shoulders during the night. She realizes how chilly the air in their cabin is, and she shivers. She curls against his body and kisses his shoulder when Lincoln pulls the blankets back into place.
She’s nearly back asleep when Lincoln yawns and says: “Bellamy asked me to cover for Nathan tonight. Well, tonight and tomorrow.”
“Night guard?” Lincoln hums in the affirmative. Octavia groans, annoyance bringing her fully awake. “Nooooo.”
He chuckles and runs a hand over her hair. “The captain’s having that operation today. Nathan asked for the evenings so he can sit up with his dad in recovery.”
Her recalcitrance ebbs for a moment. She props her chin on his chest and frowns. “It’s supposed to go alright, though, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” His fingers stroke absently through her hair. Now and then, he twirls the ends between his fingertips. Goosebumps fan out over her neck and shoulders. “But they’re just keeping him for observation for a bit afterwards.”
The bit of anxiety that had twisted in her chest loosens itself. “Good.” She kisses his chest, then nips at the smooth skin and muscle there. Lincoln gives an amused grunt. “But unlike Monty, I won’t get to go to bed with my boyfriend for two nights.”
“O, I’ve been away for like, a week at a time.”
“But I was able to plan for those trips. This is a surprise. The bad kind.” He laughs, and she does too, because her whining is petulant and completely fake. She spreads her hand across his chest, curls her fingers until her short nails dip into his brown skin. “And it’s colder now than it was back then. What’s in it for me , Lincoln?”
She feels his muscles bunch with enough time to resist--if she’d wanted to. Instead, she sighs when he rolls her to her back and braces himself over her with an elbow. His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue wicked. The hand not tangled in her hair snakes down her nude body and hikes her knee up his side.
Octavia hums low in her throat. The scrape of the callouses on his fingers and palms shoot across her nerves to stoke the liquid heat of her belly. His stubble rasps on her soft skin of her neck, where he’s moved his sucking and lapping mouth. “I’ll be coming in right as you wake up.”
His hand skips from her knee to her breast. Her nipple slips comfortably into the space between his first and middle fingers; he presses them together, feels it stiffen between his knuckles. So it’s not surprising when the hitch in her voice keeps her “And?” from being as disaffected as she planned.
“And I won’t have day guard.” He shifts his hips; his erection falls against the curve of her belly, hot and deliciously thick. She moans and arches against him. “And you’ll be well-rested.”
His thigh is between her own, but its firmness is just too high above her clit for her impatient hips to get relief. Lincoln knows it too, given the way he’s grinning down at her, teeth flashing white in the dim morning light. Octavia tightens the arms she’d wrapped around his broad ( so broad ) shoulders and drags blunt nails over his scalp. “You’re promising to fuck me awake?”
He kisses her again, makes sweeping passes up and down her flank and her belly with a greedy hand. “Only if you want that,” he mutters against her mouth, and then groans. She’s snuck a hand down and behind him, gripping his ass and urging him to roll his hips against her belly.
“Of course I want that.” He cups the corner of her jaw and swings his far knee over and inside the cradle of her thighs. Her hand reaches down into the humid darkness between their bellies, guides his prick downwards. The extra strokes of her fingertips send a groan skittering from his throat and across her cheek. Then he’s sinking forward, into heat, into softness, into Octavia . She moans, digs her fingers into the muscles above his ass. “Oh, God, Lincoln, I always want this.”
“I know,” he grunts, driving his hips forward, watching Octavia’s brow furrow into an expression of exquisite pleasure. “I know.”