Written for the Porn Battle XV, prompt words: drift, smirk, moment, connection.
If you don't think I am taking this opportunity to write porn to all the near non-existent pairs in this fandom, you are so wrong. (Even though this one is not all that porny.) Also, quick warning: Chuck is about 16/17 years old here, so do read at your own discretion.
XXX
it's been a pleasure
XXX
Their first drift is not the first time they had a conversation of this magnitude.
Their first time happened ages back when the tailored suits still fit a little ill over his shoulders and the drive suit is unlike anything he imagined it to be when he finally has it on. Now, they are both natural at what they do, Stacker Pentecost is a fixed point, and Chuck Hansen, his Ranger.
"Running around behind your daddy's back again?"
Chuck spins around, and the straight line in his body almost loosens all at once. When he faces him, there is just a smirk remaining in place.
"Marshal."
This is not their first conversation of this kind, neither will this be their last when he sinks to his knees. Chuck licks his lips, "so, Marshal, will that be a command?"
And he says his title like it's more than the implications already made, like little Charles Hansen isn't reaching for the zipper of his sharp pressed dress pants with practiced ease.
"I figure you'd have a hard time listening to anything but one, Ranger Hansen." Stacker sits back a little on the edge of his bed, wider than the rangers' barracks, and just another inch higher.
"Anything but that."
Because they both know who that reminds them of, and Hercules Hansen has no place in this room, where his son has his fingers hooked into the waistband of Stacker's briefs, where his good friend has a palm curved around Chuck's jaw, thumb catching the bottom of his spit shined lips.
He catches his eyes, and says. "Charles."
"Chuck." He insists in turn, mouth still waned from the way he has it parted, hovering close, just so, lips another inch, breath hot over the outline of Stacker's cock still trapped inside his pants. "So, is this a command?"
"It can be."
Chuck pulls him free, and they never break eye contact. For a moment, Stacker wonders how much of a field day their psychologist has with this kid and promptly forgets the rest when Chuck finally drags his tongue across the underside of his cock and swallows him down.
—there is a boy with freckles, swimming trunks and a hose spraying at the sky. The grass is soft and wet beneath his bare feet, the sun in his eyes—he draws him up from his knees, kisses the spent taste of himself from his tongue and lay him down on the bed—the fire he starts is curling high and wide in this small London town. Smoke in his lungs and it aches and he coughs and he coughs and—
And for one more moment, the connection holds solid.
XXX Kuro