Mature Content

I began a long fic with Stalker and Terry teaming up to stop a splicer gang, but abandoned it in the brainstorming stages. I just don't want to commit myself to any more deep, complicated fics right now. I did enjoy the sexual tension I had building up, this scene is taken from many chapters into the fic where Terry and Stalker acknowledge that yes, they want to bang each other, but have more important things to worry about at the moment. This leads to a suedo-bet type agreement stemming from a "make me" style of response Terry made several scenes back, the actual dialog was never really worked out beyond the most intangible of ideas, but the scene should read less of a dub-con and more of who can make who give in first. I would say they both win, but that's for them to argue about.

They are at some business gala type engagement where they are all dressed up in suits. Terry refuses to admit he likes Stalker's cut, and just makes cracks about him not being mostly naked.

Eyes nearly black with fury Stalker moved fast, hooking fingers in Terry's tie knot and yanking, a shift of footing, a nudge with his hip, too quickly he had crowded Terry into the corner, caged him until they were pressed hard against each other. A wide, dark hand raked through his hair, gripped tight at the back of his skull.

Terry wasn't even surprised at the sudden ruthlessness, it irritated him before anything, Stalker's entire mode of communication seemed rooted in manhandling. He barely got through the thought of "at least he's in clothes," when everything blurred and that scowling, full lipped mouth swooped down hard and hot on his.

He made a sound, not an actual word, but a strangled in the throat squeal, lodged there when his throbbing heart rammed up into it. There was no hesitancy in the kiss, no request, only demand, only plunder edged with the sharp blade of enraged desire.

Confusion warred with anger slashed against instinct. His hands came up to pry himself free, but Stalker banded an arm around his waist, plastering them together and leaving him to struggle impotently against all that hard mass of muscle. His knee came up and would have scored a choice and deciding blow if it hadn't been anticipated, shifted, bounced off a thigh.

Their legs tangled, stirred something dangerous, his body responded while his mind raced off in all directions and heat that had nothing to do with temper surged through him. Desires he had so ruthlessly buried these past few days broke out of their coffins and screemed to life. Stalker pulled back, hands dragging at buttons jerking at the tie, desperate to get to bare flesh. Here was chance to break free, his mouth all that was imprisoned, then even that was released as kisses skimmed down his throat.

Oh god but THIS, this hard, physical, possesive want. His brain was fried, had to be, this body up against him was too big, too rough, too male, dimly he heard a breathless pleading voice through the buzzing in his ears, oh fuck was that HIM?

His arms banded around Stalker's neck, two taut muscled ropes across the broad plane of shoulders, as teeth scored a line two skips away from pain down his bare chest and all his thoughts dribbled out his ears.

Slag it.

His legs buckled and Stalker dragged him to the floor, seering hands and mouth were everywhere, poured lethal heat into every inch they touched as he fought to catch his breath.

Terry squirmed, kicking and straining against the pinning weight of him, but not to be free. Mind made up he writhed in dark, mindless pleasure as it swamped over him, tearing at the cloths he now cursed Stalker for digning to wear. The oaths bled into a moan when a hand cupped him, Terry bit hard on his lower lip, drew it into his mouth.

He managed to work Stalker's shirt up and off him as the man streaked down his body, the clasp of his pants tugged open, a hand cupped his knee, and there was mouth and tongue against him, forcing him into that hot spurt of greedy madness. He couldn't think, couldn't stand it.

Terry drug him back up, crushed their mouths together, there was triumph in that, in taking control. They rolled, his pants were caught on his shoes and he kicked out try to free a leg, laughed when he only made it worse. Handicapped, distracted, he lost the upper hand and was once again pinned to the unforgiving floor.

Hands, large, calloused and scarred, cuffed Terry's wrists above his head, drew his body out in one long hard line, arched back like a bow.

Stalker's senses were scattered, his nervous system a tangle of live wires that sparked and sizzled with electric jolts inside his flesh and blood. He could hear the thunder of their hearts, smell the musk of wants, tasted the salt of skin, he drowned in the sensations, the raw, primitive passion the like he had seen among the coupling wild beasts with all the threat of teeth and claws.

The need built, they pressed together, harder, rougher than intended, heady, overpowering. There was desperation now as well as demand. They moved, body to body, flesh to flesh, man to man.