(no subject)
Songtext Drabbles 4
Love Is Worth The Fall, O.A.R
Lennox's skin is sunbitten, tough, resilient. It makes a fascinating contrast against the Captain's own paler skin when he splays his palm against Graham's chest, the typical cream-and-rose English colouring lending the Brit a kind of choirboy innocence that belies his own resilience. He's not SAS for nothing. And it's precisely because of this - that there's this tough, rangy Trooper, NEST's second(though kind of technically 3IC after him and Epps) on loan from the UK, with his pretty blue eyes and lopsided smirk, yielding and compliant under his hands, patient and undemanding - that Lennox thinks he can let himself fall and forget himself, forget the deepening ache in his chest, forget being the leader; because he knows that Graham's going to catch him, and for now, it's more than enough.
Faster Kill Pussycat, Oakenfold
For some ridiculous reason, literally none of the British contingent stationed at Diego Garcia can dance. And for that very ridiculous reason, it's by now tradition if not law that the troops rig up a temporary dancefloor with the aid of some of the more willing Autobots, turn up the music, and work out their frustration in a way that's guaranteed to add to the rather substantial stockpile of blackmail material. (For the record, the Aussie troops are just as bad, and have terrible taste in music, or so Epps maintains. Fig reckons it's pretty damned cool, and the Twins back him up, surprisingly. But the limey bastards can't be topped for pranks.) On nights like that, the booze flows(moderately), the music pounds(to make up for the lack of inebrietiation), both human and Cybertronian command turn a blind eye and pretend it's a quiet night, while the off-duty troops whoop and holler like maniacs.
It's on one such night that Lennox finds Graham on the edge of the floor, hidden in shadow, watching his men mingle and make absolute fools out of themselves. The Captain's greeting is quiet, lost underneath a sensual bassline and lazy beats, prompting Lennox to just bob his head in turn. He doesn't have to ask to know why the Captain isn't joining in; they both know that as soon as their presence is known, the atmosphere changes to one of subdued expectancy, for not even the dumbest soldier wants to act like a tit before their CO. Instead, they stand shoulder to shoulder, in silence, soaking up the moment while they still can.
And if Graham's faint weight against his shoulder and hip eventually turns into warm heat as they stand together, Lennox doesn't complain.
Aurora, Vanessa-Mae
"Captain, you can't dance for shit," he laughs quietly, snickering at the eyeroll Graham gives him even as the man fumbles through another dance step. "Well, bugger that," he mutters. "Sorry."
"You'd be sorry if I weren't wearing steel-toed boots, I swear."
"Right. Damned good thing you are actually in steel-toed boots, because I've half a mind to actually go out and get frickin' stilettoes to stab into your feet, William Lennox."
"I frickin' double dare you to, Matthew Graham."
Lennox would thoroughly regret that dare when Graham actually made good on it.
---
"I don't wanna know how the fuck you actually got stilettoes to fit your feet."
"My sister knows a guy who knows how to make shoes. Now hold the fuck still or this picture's going to be blurry, and that would just mean you'd have to stay in them for far longer."
"You goddamned limey asshole."
"Why, thank you, Major."
Red Hot, Vanessa-Mae
"Dammit, you actually stole my awesome scarf, you limey git!" growled the Major, advancing on one very innocent looking Captain, who burrowed into a suspiciously indentical scarf wrapped around his neck. The Brit had been in the heat and sun enough to acclimate himself to it, but English skin never fared very well under desert conditions, and tough ass SAS trooper though Graham was, he wasn't exactly immune to the sun.
"Bollocks, this is mine. All mine." Graham scowled back, deliberately not moving in the face of the Major's aggression as the Ranger stalked forward, face set and brow creased, and... was that actually amusement in the bloody Yank's eyes? Graham couldn't tell, but he narrowed his eyes at Lennox, growling low in his throat. Will braced his arms on the desk behind the Captain, caging in the man with a feral snarl, before going right for the jugular.
"Frickin' well looks like mine, look, it's got the same bloody pattern and all - "
"Jesus God, Lennox, just because they look alike - look, unless yours was specifically, one of a kind, custom-made - hands off, you sodding bastard - hey - Lennox, what the fuck! Hey!"
"Like hell! Swear to God, this is my damned awesome scarf! Went through Qatar, hell and back with me, it's like a good luck charm. C'mere - "
"I said hands off, you bloody cock!"
"Well fuck that, you got my bloody scarf - "
"I do not, you pansy-ass, I bloody well picked this one up myself - "
"... who're you calling a pansy ass?!"
"Major William bloody Lennox, that's who - fucking Christ on a - WILLIAM LENNOX, UNTIE ME THIS INSTANT-!"
"Nah. Maybe you can put that mouth to better use, huh?"
"No!"
"Okay then. Have fun getting loose, Matt."
"You are such a wanker."
"Why, thank you, Captain."
Night Flight, Vanessa-Mae
Will has a thing for resting his hands around Matt's throat. It's something the trooper has begun to pick up on, as they get closer to each other, and often he finds himself wondering about the implications of that. Hands at his throat make him shiver, not just a reaction from long-ingrained hours of training, where a touch could destroy and every part of their body is honed into a lethal weapon, but also at a deeper implication that it seems to carry. He bares his throat to the alpha male in a gesture of trust; Will leaves the clasp of his fingers loose and gentle, brushing along the line of his throat(soft tissue, cartilage, hyoid bone, choking, breathlessness, unconsciousness, possible death) down to collarbones, thumbing at his pulse, and even that makes his breath catch(pulse point, pressure, unconsciousness.) The tip of Will's nose drags lightly underneath his jaw, thumb and forefinger encircling the base of his neck like a choker. Will's teeth fasten lightly into flesh, and Matt's pulse spikes, his fingers tense against the Ranger's back before he goes back to tracing the shape of Will's spine, the delicate curve of it. Will's tongue is a wet shock against his jugular, sliding down to the hollow space nestled between the flaring wings of collarbones, then replaced by his lips, the scrape of stubble making him shiver. He dares to slide his hands further down the Major's back(lungs, kidneys, spinal cord) and flattens a palm against heated skin. Will rears up to nip at his jawline; the man's eyes are dark and his mouth a strange silky gentleness against Matt's own, meeting briefly, then nuzzling back at his pulse.
Will has a thing for his throat. And Matt can't find it in himself to mind.
---
Burning Down The House
Graham has exactly three points on his body that are exquisitely sensitive to touch.
The first two points are the insides of his wrists. Lennox chalks it down to a lucky hunch, good timing, and actually managing to catch the trooper's hands for long enough to mouth at the pulse points, gratified at the sudden intake of breath and the quick shiver skating over skin, the drugged look in those blue eyes. As the Captain usually has gloves on, and his watch never leaves his left wrist - Lennox can't quite recall a time when the black band isn't around Graham's wrist - actually getting there is harder than it sounds.
As hard as the first two points are to access, the third point is the real challenge as it involves i) getting the man stripped down to at least his pants and ii) actually getting him to stay still long enough to reach it. Lennox still isn't sure how he managed this, but he knows booze and drunken shenanigans were involved, and when his teeth scrape at skin around Graham's bellybutton and the man jumps, it's all he can do to hide a smirk and continue teasing with lips and tongue over the man's wavering protestations.
Love Is Worth The Fall, O.A.R
Lennox's skin is sunbitten, tough, resilient. It makes a fascinating contrast against the Captain's own paler skin when he splays his palm against Graham's chest, the typical cream-and-rose English colouring lending the Brit a kind of choirboy innocence that belies his own resilience. He's not SAS for nothing. And it's precisely because of this - that there's this tough, rangy Trooper, NEST's second(though kind of technically 3IC after him and Epps) on loan from the UK, with his pretty blue eyes and lopsided smirk, yielding and compliant under his hands, patient and undemanding - that Lennox thinks he can let himself fall and forget himself, forget the deepening ache in his chest, forget being the leader; because he knows that Graham's going to catch him, and for now, it's more than enough.
Faster Kill Pussycat, Oakenfold
For some ridiculous reason, literally none of the British contingent stationed at Diego Garcia can dance. And for that very ridiculous reason, it's by now tradition if not law that the troops rig up a temporary dancefloor with the aid of some of the more willing Autobots, turn up the music, and work out their frustration in a way that's guaranteed to add to the rather substantial stockpile of blackmail material. (For the record, the Aussie troops are just as bad, and have terrible taste in music, or so Epps maintains. Fig reckons it's pretty damned cool, and the Twins back him up, surprisingly. But the limey bastards can't be topped for pranks.) On nights like that, the booze flows(moderately), the music pounds(to make up for the lack of inebrietiation), both human and Cybertronian command turn a blind eye and pretend it's a quiet night, while the off-duty troops whoop and holler like maniacs.
It's on one such night that Lennox finds Graham on the edge of the floor, hidden in shadow, watching his men mingle and make absolute fools out of themselves. The Captain's greeting is quiet, lost underneath a sensual bassline and lazy beats, prompting Lennox to just bob his head in turn. He doesn't have to ask to know why the Captain isn't joining in; they both know that as soon as their presence is known, the atmosphere changes to one of subdued expectancy, for not even the dumbest soldier wants to act like a tit before their CO. Instead, they stand shoulder to shoulder, in silence, soaking up the moment while they still can.
And if Graham's faint weight against his shoulder and hip eventually turns into warm heat as they stand together, Lennox doesn't complain.
Aurora, Vanessa-Mae
"Captain, you can't dance for shit," he laughs quietly, snickering at the eyeroll Graham gives him even as the man fumbles through another dance step. "Well, bugger that," he mutters. "Sorry."
"You'd be sorry if I weren't wearing steel-toed boots, I swear."
"Right. Damned good thing you are actually in steel-toed boots, because I've half a mind to actually go out and get frickin' stilettoes to stab into your feet, William Lennox."
"I frickin' double dare you to, Matthew Graham."
Lennox would thoroughly regret that dare when Graham actually made good on it.
---
"I don't wanna know how the fuck you actually got stilettoes to fit your feet."
"My sister knows a guy who knows how to make shoes. Now hold the fuck still or this picture's going to be blurry, and that would just mean you'd have to stay in them for far longer."
"You goddamned limey asshole."
"Why, thank you, Major."
Red Hot, Vanessa-Mae
"Dammit, you actually stole my awesome scarf, you limey git!" growled the Major, advancing on one very innocent looking Captain, who burrowed into a suspiciously indentical scarf wrapped around his neck. The Brit had been in the heat and sun enough to acclimate himself to it, but English skin never fared very well under desert conditions, and tough ass SAS trooper though Graham was, he wasn't exactly immune to the sun.
"Bollocks, this is mine. All mine." Graham scowled back, deliberately not moving in the face of the Major's aggression as the Ranger stalked forward, face set and brow creased, and... was that actually amusement in the bloody Yank's eyes? Graham couldn't tell, but he narrowed his eyes at Lennox, growling low in his throat. Will braced his arms on the desk behind the Captain, caging in the man with a feral snarl, before going right for the jugular.
"Frickin' well looks like mine, look, it's got the same bloody pattern and all - "
"Jesus God, Lennox, just because they look alike - look, unless yours was specifically, one of a kind, custom-made - hands off, you sodding bastard - hey - Lennox, what the fuck! Hey!"
"Like hell! Swear to God, this is my damned awesome scarf! Went through Qatar, hell and back with me, it's like a good luck charm. C'mere - "
"I said hands off, you bloody cock!"
"Well fuck that, you got my bloody scarf - "
"I do not, you pansy-ass, I bloody well picked this one up myself - "
"... who're you calling a pansy ass?!"
"Major William bloody Lennox, that's who - fucking Christ on a - WILLIAM LENNOX, UNTIE ME THIS INSTANT-!"
"Nah. Maybe you can put that mouth to better use, huh?"
"No!"
"Okay then. Have fun getting loose, Matt."
"You are such a wanker."
"Why, thank you, Captain."
Night Flight, Vanessa-Mae
Will has a thing for resting his hands around Matt's throat. It's something the trooper has begun to pick up on, as they get closer to each other, and often he finds himself wondering about the implications of that. Hands at his throat make him shiver, not just a reaction from long-ingrained hours of training, where a touch could destroy and every part of their body is honed into a lethal weapon, but also at a deeper implication that it seems to carry. He bares his throat to the alpha male in a gesture of trust; Will leaves the clasp of his fingers loose and gentle, brushing along the line of his throat(soft tissue, cartilage, hyoid bone, choking, breathlessness, unconsciousness, possible death) down to collarbones, thumbing at his pulse, and even that makes his breath catch(pulse point, pressure, unconsciousness.) The tip of Will's nose drags lightly underneath his jaw, thumb and forefinger encircling the base of his neck like a choker. Will's teeth fasten lightly into flesh, and Matt's pulse spikes, his fingers tense against the Ranger's back before he goes back to tracing the shape of Will's spine, the delicate curve of it. Will's tongue is a wet shock against his jugular, sliding down to the hollow space nestled between the flaring wings of collarbones, then replaced by his lips, the scrape of stubble making him shiver. He dares to slide his hands further down the Major's back(lungs, kidneys, spinal cord) and flattens a palm against heated skin. Will rears up to nip at his jawline; the man's eyes are dark and his mouth a strange silky gentleness against Matt's own, meeting briefly, then nuzzling back at his pulse.
Will has a thing for his throat. And Matt can't find it in himself to mind.
---
Burning Down The House
Graham has exactly three points on his body that are exquisitely sensitive to touch.
The first two points are the insides of his wrists. Lennox chalks it down to a lucky hunch, good timing, and actually managing to catch the trooper's hands for long enough to mouth at the pulse points, gratified at the sudden intake of breath and the quick shiver skating over skin, the drugged look in those blue eyes. As the Captain usually has gloves on, and his watch never leaves his left wrist - Lennox can't quite recall a time when the black band isn't around Graham's wrist - actually getting there is harder than it sounds.
As hard as the first two points are to access, the third point is the real challenge as it involves i) getting the man stripped down to at least his pants and ii) actually getting him to stay still long enough to reach it. Lennox still isn't sure how he managed this, but he knows booze and drunken shenanigans were involved, and when his teeth scrape at skin around Graham's bellybutton and the man jumps, it's all he can do to hide a smirk and continue teasing with lips and tongue over the man's wavering protestations.