Disclaimer I own nothing. At all. Hence the term 'fan fiction'.
Pairing Scott Tracy / John Tracy
Warnings Slash and incest
Notes Completely and utterly movie-verse, because puppets just don't do
it for me. And no, it's not supposed to be taken seriously. I'm already going to
hell for this, so flames are just going to soften the blow.
Based on the common sense that when it gets hot, you take your clothes off.
The heat was bordering on being entirely unbearable now, and the artificial gravity in Thunderbird 5 was starting to weaken. The Tracys were having to wade through thin air to move about the craft, walking in exaggerated steps. The effort that this required only worsened the temperature problem.
Jeff had taken the chair and was currently jabbing half-heartedly at the no longer illuminated buttons of the main control panel, while simultaneously fanning his face with the open collar of his suit. Virgil and Gordon lay flat on their backs on opposite sides of the room; the former having kicked off his boots and pulled his trouser legs up around his knees, the latter sprawled bare-chested on the metal floor with his uniform rolled down to the waist. The three of them shone with sweat and were blackened by smoke.
Scott, naturally, had abandoned all propriety and chosen to flat-out ignore the possibility of an incoming video transmission. His silver suit lay in a heap on the ground, though his feet remained in their boots despite the fact that he was now clad only in his boxer shorts. He had collapsed cross-legged at the end of the bed in John's dormitory and prodded its occupant. John appeared from beneath the covers fully clothed, gloves and all.
"Oh for God's sake, John, it's fucking scorching in here," Scott exclaimed, followed with a bark of laughter. "Take your socks off or something, you'll melt!"
"I'm quite fine, thanks," his younger brother replied, propping himself up onto the points of his elbows. "Although we're doomed and I think my arm is broken, as far as the temperature goes, I'm quite fine." An ironic drop of sweat ran from his white-blonde hairline to the tip of his nose.
"It wouldn't be because you're shy now, would it?" breathed Scott, leering over him. "I mean, I don't believe any of others have seen you naked since you were about six, oh secretive one, but it's not like I'm asking you to strip. Just... take something off, please. I feel like I'm getting blisters just looking at you"
"I'm injured and helpless," whined John. "Go and annoy one of the others- aaaah!" He was cut off by the weight of his only older brother pressing down on his legs. Scott was grinning in a mad, sweaty sort of way. John couldn't decide whether the dimples were endearing or just plain weird on a six-foot-tall 24-year-old.
"What… what the hell are you doing?" John gasped as Scott threw the blanket across the room and began to untie his brother's boots and yanked them off, left then right. Socks came off next, and with an air of accomplishment Scott crawled along the bed until he was sitting on John's chest. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, this was true, but John was internally praying for his brother to control himself, at least until his other family members were unconscious from the humidity.
"Now," Scott commanded, ignoring the bewildered look on John's face and taking the slightly smaller hands in his own. "Am I going to have to take those gloves off as well, or are you big enough to do that yourself?"
"I… I can do it myself," stammered John, jerking his arms back and trying to look Scott in the face and not in the crotch, which was at his eye-level now. "But only because you'll probably break my arm in a different place, not because I'm hot, okay?"
"Yes, yes, whatever you say," came the annoyingly patronising reply as Scott took one of the now bare hands and kissed the back of it in a playful manner. "And what were you talking about, 'doomed'? Do you not trust Alan's, or rather Fermat's ability to save us from a horrible firey death?"
He was running his long and somewhat clammy fingers through John's impossibly platinum hair which made the question all the more difficult to answer. John knew all too well that he should not be straddled by his older brother, fighting for breath for reasons beside than his crushed lungs. When it had happened before he'd blamed growing up without a mother, he was convinced it must have messed with him emotionally. He of course chose to ignore the fact that the three younger Tracy brothers seemed to behave exactly how they should with each other. Like brothers.
Though right now, with Scott beaming down at him in his unclothed and sultry state, he just didn't care about reasons.
"Look, I'll put it this way," he sighed after the long pause. " If we get out of this alive, you're allowed to jump on me in the swimming pool when I least expect it. Only once, mind"
"Don't think I won't remember, or invite Gordon and Virgil," warned Scott with a smirk, and gave John an innocent kiss on the cheek.
A little effeminate for Captain Tracy perhaps, but innocent all the same.
At least it could have been considered an innocent kiss if it had not provoked the following action from its receiver, which was to flip its supplier onto his back - tentatively, so as not to knock the broken arm - and kiss him fully on the mouth.
"Fuck, it's hot in here," John grudgingly admitted with a feral groan, finally tearing his suit open.
Scott grinned malevolently, and pulled his brother closer with a glance at the door to make sure it was closed and locked.