They lay in Tony’s king size bed, their faces inches from the other, blissed-out and satisfied.
“You know there are books written about you?”
“Hmm?” Steve questions half asleep.
“Yeah, my dad, he use to bitch that they didn’t get you right, works of fiction, he’d say instead of real biographies and I got to agree.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at the teasing smile on Tony’s lips, now much more alert. “Yeah?”
“I read those books,” Tony continues, as he leans in closer. “And in none of them did they say you can do that thing you did with your tongue earlier.”
The first thing Annie learns when she moves in with Jeff is that there are always two types of yogurts in the apartment. One is the eating yogurt and the other they don’t talk about its purpose, she has sworn under oath to never reveal what Jeff uses the other yogurt for, so she doesn’t, she keeps her boyfriend’s secret like a good girlfriend, but that doesn’t stop her from taking a quick picture as Jeff applying the yogurt to his face in some crazy homemade beauty regiment he read off the internet. It’s her own private amusement.
Tony wasn’t a patient man, contrary to popular public belief, he was self-aware enough to recognize this as one of his many flaws, but when it came to grocery shopping with Steve he’d like to believe and have it acknowledged that he had the patience of a saint.
“Steve, please. Pick. One.”
The tall blond sighed throwing a slight pout his way. Curling a hand around the handle of the basket he held, Tony tired to maintain the stern expression on his face. He would not be swayed by Steve’s alluring mouth or baby blues this time, the combo is what had him in the middle of the crowded store in the first place.
“But there are so many choices, in my day-“
“There were only five types of cereal and movie cost 10 cents, great story grampa,” Tony cut him off, smirking when the soldier glared at him. “Pick one.”
“I’m going to make you pay for that comment, Tony.”
His grin grew wider and filthier, his eye shinning bright when Steve started to blush. “Pick a cereal already, let’s go home and you can punish me all you want.”
Gladiators are meant to be infallible; the only imperfections allowed are the scars on flesh, tokens of battles won, proof of survival. Nasir knows this, he knows this every time he lavishes attention to Agron’s scars with his fingertips, Agron scoff through a smile as Nasir shares his thoughts.
“They are signs of your perfection,” he teases, kissing the one over the German’s shoulder.
“If so, then you are perfection also,” Agron answers running a finger down his side, tracing his own token of battle.
I haven’t watched TVD since season one, so I don’t think I would do it justice.
Given the choice she’d do it all over again, still work hard but also enjoy her life, because looking back at it now, even as she’s getting everything she always thought she wanted she finds it lacking. Especially when she wakes up, looks across the bed and sees brown eyes and wavy hair and her heart clenches as it wishes for hazel-green and a mohawk.
“You know, Princess, if we were having sex you wouldn’t even have time to think about how hot it is in here right now.”
“And if you just fix the fan like you promised a week ago, it wouldn’t be hot in here right now.”
It’s slipping from them, the drums of war beating louder and louder in the distance, making them both desperate for more time, more of this, of skin against skin, lips worshiping every inch, not that it matters because a thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough for them to get their fill of the other, either way time has run out, the drums are no longer in the distance, they are at the door.
They hate each other on sight, too alike and yet different to get along, the only thing they can agree on is the feelings they have for her, causing them to hate the other that much more. But when they get the call that Black Widow has been compromised and needs to be extracted immediately, they don’t even have to look at each other, they move as one, the thing that will always have them at odds is also the one thing that can make them a team.
He pays for their tickets, their food. They sit quietly in the movie theater, his knee pressed against hers through the whole thing, his hand is sweaty and itchy, craving to hold on her delicate one. If he wasn’t so nervous he’d laugh at his adolescent thoughts. To think that he’s closer to that age mentally then the girl next to him who stopped being a teenager not too long ago is pretty laughable.
And at the end of the night he walks her to her door, shifting under her knowing gaze.
“You know this was a date right?” he blurts out lamely, his face coloring when her lips lift at the sides, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. He mentally says good-bye to the last bit of suave he has. Greendale has completely killed it.
He blinks dumbly allowing her to pull him down, inhaling sharply as she brushes her lips across his.
“Jeff,” she says in that fond way of hers, that always seems so much older than her young 21 years. “I knew it was a date the moment you didn’t fuss about the extra butter I asked for the popcorn.”
He grins, because it had been hard not to go off on tangent about the extra butter. He mentally added 50 extra crunches to tomorrow’s work out.
She smiles again like she can read his mind.
(Clearing out my inbox, had these forever, not even one sentences anymore but the tag keeps them together on my blog)
They’re arguing as they always do, his version of foreplay usually. This time around it’s his way to hiding the almost crippling concern he has for her well being. Her well intension, martyring guilt and desperate need to correct past wrongs puts her in danger and this time he can’t hide the fear he feels.
“Carter,” she hisses at him as around them Phoenix group destroys her home.
“Don’t,” he growls out as he pulls her close ignoring the shot of lust that courss through him when her pretty eyes flash angrily at him and continues to pull her away from danger. “Don’t,” he repeats once more and doesn’t continue with what should follow. ‘Don’t put yourself in harm’s way, it won’t help the others, don’t antagonize the psycho giving orders, I don’t want to lose you.’