Here is the first chapter of a fanfic developed by me and a friend of mine.
Pairing: Khashoggi/Galileo
Rating: N/17 for certain chapters.
Characters: All of the characters from the musical and a few OCs.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (if I did then all the pairings in my fanfic would true) apart from my OCs.
Author's Note: The story starts during the interrogation scene between Galileo and Khashoggi that took place in the actual musical.
(~When you're feeling down and your resistance is low, just light another cigarette and let yourself go…~)
Khashoggi was getting a cigarette; Galileo could hear the faint rasp of paper on card behind him as the commander pulled one from the pack. He was somewhere behind the sofa, whose leather was dark and warm as the room it sat in. It might have been preferable to the interrogation chairs, but Galileo perched just as ramrod-straight as he had then, just enough quiet defiance in the splay of his legs to show Khashoggi that he wasn't buying a single note of the older man's sudden change of tune.
A click of flint, and Khashoggi was circling the sofa, lit cigarette in long fingers, to stand just to Galileo's side. Resting his free hand on the dreamer's shoulder, he smiled faintly, "Tell me, boy—"
"I'm not 'boy'!" cried Galileo indignantly, "I've got a name!"
"Very well," Khashoggi hummed softly, as though indulging a small child; and then Galileo was forced into the back of the sofa, as in one fluid movement the other man was over him, straddling his thighs. Khashoggi took a slow drag on the cigarette before speaking; "Tell me, /Galileo Figaro/-" he noticed, amongst his own thoughts, the way Galileo shivered beneath him when his teeth dragged over his lip on the 'F' "-about your dreams. About the voices, the…music."
Galileo's eyes widened, entranced, as he watched the last vestiges of smoke curling around Khashoggi's lips. Pupils blown, he startled, plastering a contemptuous frown on his face a few moments too late to be convincing. "Thanks. I love watching people poison their lungs with that crap," he managed to sneer.
Khashoggi dropped his gaze from Galileo's, grinning wickedly at what he saw; "My my, don't you just."
Galileo followed his eyes down with an inaudible gasp of realisation, a violent blush blooming across his face as he squirmed nervously. "One less p-p-pain in my ass if you k-kick the bucket, is all…"
Khashoggi's laugh was sudden and mocking, and as the man's hand wove around his neck and into his hair Galileo could feel it thrum through his chest cavity. Every muscle in his body tense, fight or flight battling in his head, he found he couldn't, /wouldn't/ move. Right then, all he could do was stare at Khashoggi as he took another long pull on the cigarette, eyes hooded, attention momentarily focused on the nicotine before realigning to Galileo. "Don't play hard-to-get, boy, it's quite unbecoming," he smirked, taking a final drag of the cigarette before flicking it away, burnt out.
Galileo unconsciously shifted, as he brought his face a hairsbreadth from the commander's. "Don't call me 'b-b-boy'!" he scowled, trying to ignore the warm breath of the other man prickling his skin. "My name is—"
His voice died in his throat as a pair of lips burned suddenly against his own. "Galileo," Khashoggi whispered against the shocked purse of his mouth, emblazoning the words into the flesh with tingling, stolen kisses, "Galileo…Figaro…"
Galileo's hands grasped wildly at Khashoggi's thighs, his blazer, his arms, anything to try and pull those lips in closer, his own fumbling hungrily against them. He moaned into the kiss, and Khashoggi grinned, teeth bared as he yanked the young man's head back by his hair. Galileo inhaled sharply, and whimpered; Khashoggi ran a soothing thumb over the other's jawline as he drew himself up, looming over Galileo, grin never faltering. "It's so easy when you know the rules, isn't it?" Galileo tugged on his sleeves, biting his lip, and he let them crash together once more.
Interrogations could wait until morning.