Predator and Prey
Title: Predator and Prey
Media: The Rescuers Down Under
Pairing: McLeach/Human!Jake
Smut Level: Naughty
Reason: Kink Meme
Summery: Percival McLeach had caught some interesting things in his life, and had sold about all of them. But a cocky young man looking to bring down his poaching? That's just something he can't sell.
Three fucking days of undercover work ruined because of an overgrown lizard. If he survived, and considering the fate of his predecessors it was a pretty big if, he’d be the laughing stock of the Society. How many undercover agents get caught because of a fucking great lizard?
Well, Jake for one.
It had been almost four hours since he’d originally been found out, three since he ended up chained to a wall in a room that certainly smelt like it’d been previously occupied by poached animals. There were makeshift cages littering the room, some of them looking high grade, some looking like they were once from pet stores and most of them looking like something cobbled together in a moment of need. Certainly not comfortable for the animals, not that there were any occupying the cages now because that bastard had finally moved them to his buyers. And of course Jake wasn’t there to get the buyers’ identities because that bitch of a lizard had to blow his damn cover.
“I get out of this I’m cooking you into stew, you hear that?”
Joanna, weird name for a poacher’s pet lizard, just grinned up at him from her spot as guard dog. Or whatever the lizard equivalent was. When the bastard originally chained him to a wall and walked off he’d figure a ten minute escape. Maybe twenty since he wasn’t as spry as he’d been when he first joined the Society. But he’d underestimated the dumb lizard who managed to thwart all his attempts. She’d even sat on the keys at one point, which raised a series of questions mostly regarding why the bastard would leave the keys in the same room as a captive and why his lizard knew how to taunt captives.
The feeling in his hands was completely gone and his eyes were starting to blur but he couldn’t use those as excuses to give up on his escape. Maybe if he could strangle the lizard with his feet and get the keys with his toes. Just as he began plotting how to lure the lizard to her death the heavy door opened, light flooding the previously dark room.
Bugger.
“Well, well, well. Looks like the Society agent didn’t manage his escape. And here I was expecting to chase you across the desert. Ain’t right of you to cheat me out of my fun.”
“McLeach.” Jake spat, literally spat at the man. He didn’t seemed bothered, still grinning from the doorway.
“Joanna, I brought you back some nice eggs. Some Turquoise Parakeet eggs. Your favorite.”
Jake hissed, mouth already running away with his thoughts. “You bastard, those are endangered.”
McLeach just crackled, pushing his pet out the door with the tip of his boot. “Just in Australia. Figures a Society agent would also be a hippy. Now the bigger question is what makes you think trying to sneak around with my operation won’t get you a world of hurt?”
As he closed the door behind him he also turned on a string of lights. The room was haphazardly wired for light, mostly through extension cords and almost burnt out floor lights stapled to the wall. And while it was nice to have more light than he’d gotten during his captivity the flickering brightness didn’t improve the décor. Or his captor.
“You’ve been operating illegally for years, you bastard, and the Society’s gonna have your head, just you wait.” He was tempted to spit at him again now that he was closer but it seemed a little over dramatic, even for someone chained to a wall.
McLeach didn’t even bother with his routine of fake panic, just laughing at Jake. “If any of you had anything on me I’d be in prison by now. But look, here I am, free as a bird. Whereas you are less lucky.”
The dagger he wore on his hip was unsheathed in a dramatic display of just who had the power. Unfortunately Jake had worked with the best, and had tangled with the worst. “Like you have the stones to do me in. I know your type. Twisted fucks who get off playing games. So what’s it gonna be this time? Tie me up and dangle me over some crocs?”
The bastard just laughed, tapping the dull side of his dagger against Jake’s cheek. “You’re right, I am a sick fuck. But what does that make you, agent? This makes the third time we’ve tangoed over these poor, helpless animals and each time I win. But you keep coming back for more.”
As he spoke he drew his knife down, cutting Jake’s less than brilliant disguise away. A bumbling park ranger wanting to get in on the illegal dealings may not have been his best disguise but it had been working, damn that lizard. Now it just made him feel silly, especially as the each button of his shirt was cut away.
Once the buttons were gone a callous hand reached out, pressing firmly against his chest. Against the scar that traced from his hip to just under his nipple.
“Healed up nicely, didn’t it?”
“Fuck you, McLeach.” Jake spat.
He just chuckled, heavy fingers running over the healed flesh. “First time the crocs couldn’t get you. Second time my knife couldn’t get you. Wonder what’ll take to finally stop you from chasing after me.”
For a moment, just the smallest second, he sounded awed by Jake, instead of infuriated. And for that moment Jake felt awed with himself. When facing down death the body takes over, at least in his case. Even afterwards he was more focused on recovering than marveling over how he beat McLeach and death. But as he watched Jake’s chest rise and fall, as though mesmerized by the scar and the proof of what he had survived, even Jake managed to be impressed with himself.
And then the moment ended.
“I escaped you twice and I’ll escape you again.” Jake hissed.
McLeach just grinned. “You ain’t escaping me. I’m letting you go. You’ll walk out that door and return to your precious Society to fight the good fight again.”
That was not what he’d expected, nor was he expecting the firm hand to travel down his scared flesh to rest on his hip. But then he leaned closer, warm breath washing over Jake, and it made sense. “You really are sick.”
“And you love it.”
It wasn’t a kiss, even later he’d argue it wasn’t a kiss. It was McLeach slamming his lips against Jake’s. It was McLeach biting down on his lips until he gave in and opened his mouth wider. It was a painful grip on his hip and firm hand against the back of his neck.
It was not a kiss.
When McLeach pulled away Jake took the chance to both gasp for breath and kick angrily at the bastard’s knees. None of his hits landed, not when McLeach crowded up against his body. He was practically plastered to his captive, leaving no room to even wiggle. That wasn’t completely true, as Jake certainly tried wiggling. It just had an adverse effect on the situation.
“I’ve already promised to let you go. Won’t even chase you with a shot gun this time. And in exchange you could at least show some gratitude.” He was too close for Jake to see but he could practically feel that smug grin.
“You’re sick.”
McLeach shrugged lazily. “Oh yeah, plenty sick. But I’m also not the one who started our little song and dance.”
Jake didn’t mean to stop his struggles. Didn’t mean to completely reveal the truth, the agreement, the acknowledgement. Because the rat bastard was right. The hand against the hip, the initiating of the kiss, the hungry looks, they were all part of him only months before. Back when he thought he could bring a poacher to justice with a coy smile and a little wandering hand. Back before he realized just what he was messing with.
“Stop all that pouting. You want me more now than you ever did before.”
His lips were taken again in a harsh show of force. The hand that had been stroking his hip tightening, thumb digging into the end of the scar. Despite the damage his flesh had sustained he could still feel the press, could still feel the pressure of that callous digit. He tried pushing away only to slam his head against the stone behind him. His arms, numb from their imprisonment, began a fresh bout of struggling but there was no give in the chains. Instead the metal cut into his wrists and he could only tell there was blood trailing sluggishly down his arms when McLeach licked it away.
When he pulled away from licking and nibbling on Jake’s arm he has only a moment to grin before his lips are claimed, harsh and firm and wet. And Jake came appreciate the confused but pleased groan. That appreciation trailed down from his belly, a warm ball of something he doesn’t want to interpret, and it goes straight to his dick.
Somewhere inside him there’s protest. He’s an agent of the Society for fuck’s sake! He’s promised to stop bastards like McLeach. But then there’s a tug of his belt and the protest dies in favor of need and burning desire. Because McLeach may be a bastard but he certainly knows what he’s doing when he pulls down Jake’s trousers.
“Best damn thing I’ve ever caught.” He growls against Jake’s ear, a hot puff of air following his words and causing the agent to groan. Jake doesn’t really care about the sentimentalities behind McLeach’s words.
One large hand wraps around his dick, pulling slowly as the other hand fumbles with McLeach’s belt. Jake, in a show of defiance, wraps one leg around the poacher to make the struggle that much harder. He’s punished with a hard squeeze, enough to make him back off and allow McLeach to finish with his clothes.
Even as he pushed against the taller man Jake managed a few angry growls and angrier words. “Fucking bastard. Such a bastard. Hateful asshole bastard.”
“We’re already exchanging pet names?” He chuckled, leaning down to inhale deeply at the point between Jake’s neck and shoulder. Jake had half a second to panic before he bite down. Hard.
His teeth were still deep in Jake’s neck as his hand began moving around his cock, firm and callous from hard work and like a goddamn wet dream come to life. His whole body is pushed against Jake’s and he’s rolling his hips almost lazily, even as Jake’s legs wrap around him to pull him closer.
Faster and faster goes his hand as he pulled away from Jake’s neck to pepper smaller bites down his chest. McLeach even takes the time to lick at his scar, practically purring at the taste of sweat and skin and if he could taste it he would be drowning in Jake’s fury.
Their grunts and moans fill the dingy room while the flickering light makes them look like ghosts or monsters. And as Jake jerks his hips, coming into the bastard’s hand, he feels like a monster. But the exhaustion of the day catches up to him quickly and he can only groan weakly as McLeach finishes against his belly. One lazy hand rubs their combined fluids into Jake’s stomach, into his scar, and he realizes with a humorless chuckle that the sick fuck is marking him.
“Bastard.” He whispers as the world goes dark.
When he wakes he’s propped outside the door to McLeach’s disgusting hideout, wearing just his trousers and his hat. The poacher is nowhere in sight, but Jake doesn’t wait long for proof he’s not watching. He grabs for the bag beside him, ignoring the pain of his arm regaining feeling, and he runs. Not because he’s afraid. Not because he thinks McLeach will drag him back. He knows the bastard won’t.
It isn’t until the compound is out of sight that Jake admits to himself he was merely scared of the desire he felt before running.
The desire to stay.
“Fucking bastard.” He groans with a tone that was too close to affection.
Media: The Rescuers Down Under
Pairing: McLeach/Human!Jake
Smut Level: Naughty
Reason: Kink Meme
Summery: Percival McLeach had caught some interesting things in his life, and had sold about all of them. But a cocky young man looking to bring down his poaching? That's just something he can't sell.
Three fucking days of undercover work ruined because of an overgrown lizard. If he survived, and considering the fate of his predecessors it was a pretty big if, he’d be the laughing stock of the Society. How many undercover agents get caught because of a fucking great lizard?
Well, Jake for one.
It had been almost four hours since he’d originally been found out, three since he ended up chained to a wall in a room that certainly smelt like it’d been previously occupied by poached animals. There were makeshift cages littering the room, some of them looking high grade, some looking like they were once from pet stores and most of them looking like something cobbled together in a moment of need. Certainly not comfortable for the animals, not that there were any occupying the cages now because that bastard had finally moved them to his buyers. And of course Jake wasn’t there to get the buyers’ identities because that bitch of a lizard had to blow his damn cover.
“I get out of this I’m cooking you into stew, you hear that?”
Joanna, weird name for a poacher’s pet lizard, just grinned up at him from her spot as guard dog. Or whatever the lizard equivalent was. When the bastard originally chained him to a wall and walked off he’d figure a ten minute escape. Maybe twenty since he wasn’t as spry as he’d been when he first joined the Society. But he’d underestimated the dumb lizard who managed to thwart all his attempts. She’d even sat on the keys at one point, which raised a series of questions mostly regarding why the bastard would leave the keys in the same room as a captive and why his lizard knew how to taunt captives.
The feeling in his hands was completely gone and his eyes were starting to blur but he couldn’t use those as excuses to give up on his escape. Maybe if he could strangle the lizard with his feet and get the keys with his toes. Just as he began plotting how to lure the lizard to her death the heavy door opened, light flooding the previously dark room.
Bugger.
“Well, well, well. Looks like the Society agent didn’t manage his escape. And here I was expecting to chase you across the desert. Ain’t right of you to cheat me out of my fun.”
“McLeach.” Jake spat, literally spat at the man. He didn’t seemed bothered, still grinning from the doorway.
“Joanna, I brought you back some nice eggs. Some Turquoise Parakeet eggs. Your favorite.”
Jake hissed, mouth already running away with his thoughts. “You bastard, those are endangered.”
McLeach just crackled, pushing his pet out the door with the tip of his boot. “Just in Australia. Figures a Society agent would also be a hippy. Now the bigger question is what makes you think trying to sneak around with my operation won’t get you a world of hurt?”
As he closed the door behind him he also turned on a string of lights. The room was haphazardly wired for light, mostly through extension cords and almost burnt out floor lights stapled to the wall. And while it was nice to have more light than he’d gotten during his captivity the flickering brightness didn’t improve the décor. Or his captor.
“You’ve been operating illegally for years, you bastard, and the Society’s gonna have your head, just you wait.” He was tempted to spit at him again now that he was closer but it seemed a little over dramatic, even for someone chained to a wall.
McLeach didn’t even bother with his routine of fake panic, just laughing at Jake. “If any of you had anything on me I’d be in prison by now. But look, here I am, free as a bird. Whereas you are less lucky.”
The dagger he wore on his hip was unsheathed in a dramatic display of just who had the power. Unfortunately Jake had worked with the best, and had tangled with the worst. “Like you have the stones to do me in. I know your type. Twisted fucks who get off playing games. So what’s it gonna be this time? Tie me up and dangle me over some crocs?”
The bastard just laughed, tapping the dull side of his dagger against Jake’s cheek. “You’re right, I am a sick fuck. But what does that make you, agent? This makes the third time we’ve tangoed over these poor, helpless animals and each time I win. But you keep coming back for more.”
As he spoke he drew his knife down, cutting Jake’s less than brilliant disguise away. A bumbling park ranger wanting to get in on the illegal dealings may not have been his best disguise but it had been working, damn that lizard. Now it just made him feel silly, especially as the each button of his shirt was cut away.
Once the buttons were gone a callous hand reached out, pressing firmly against his chest. Against the scar that traced from his hip to just under his nipple.
“Healed up nicely, didn’t it?”
“Fuck you, McLeach.” Jake spat.
He just chuckled, heavy fingers running over the healed flesh. “First time the crocs couldn’t get you. Second time my knife couldn’t get you. Wonder what’ll take to finally stop you from chasing after me.”
For a moment, just the smallest second, he sounded awed by Jake, instead of infuriated. And for that moment Jake felt awed with himself. When facing down death the body takes over, at least in his case. Even afterwards he was more focused on recovering than marveling over how he beat McLeach and death. But as he watched Jake’s chest rise and fall, as though mesmerized by the scar and the proof of what he had survived, even Jake managed to be impressed with himself.
And then the moment ended.
“I escaped you twice and I’ll escape you again.” Jake hissed.
McLeach just grinned. “You ain’t escaping me. I’m letting you go. You’ll walk out that door and return to your precious Society to fight the good fight again.”
That was not what he’d expected, nor was he expecting the firm hand to travel down his scared flesh to rest on his hip. But then he leaned closer, warm breath washing over Jake, and it made sense. “You really are sick.”
“And you love it.”
It wasn’t a kiss, even later he’d argue it wasn’t a kiss. It was McLeach slamming his lips against Jake’s. It was McLeach biting down on his lips until he gave in and opened his mouth wider. It was a painful grip on his hip and firm hand against the back of his neck.
It was not a kiss.
When McLeach pulled away Jake took the chance to both gasp for breath and kick angrily at the bastard’s knees. None of his hits landed, not when McLeach crowded up against his body. He was practically plastered to his captive, leaving no room to even wiggle. That wasn’t completely true, as Jake certainly tried wiggling. It just had an adverse effect on the situation.
“I’ve already promised to let you go. Won’t even chase you with a shot gun this time. And in exchange you could at least show some gratitude.” He was too close for Jake to see but he could practically feel that smug grin.
“You’re sick.”
McLeach shrugged lazily. “Oh yeah, plenty sick. But I’m also not the one who started our little song and dance.”
Jake didn’t mean to stop his struggles. Didn’t mean to completely reveal the truth, the agreement, the acknowledgement. Because the rat bastard was right. The hand against the hip, the initiating of the kiss, the hungry looks, they were all part of him only months before. Back when he thought he could bring a poacher to justice with a coy smile and a little wandering hand. Back before he realized just what he was messing with.
“Stop all that pouting. You want me more now than you ever did before.”
His lips were taken again in a harsh show of force. The hand that had been stroking his hip tightening, thumb digging into the end of the scar. Despite the damage his flesh had sustained he could still feel the press, could still feel the pressure of that callous digit. He tried pushing away only to slam his head against the stone behind him. His arms, numb from their imprisonment, began a fresh bout of struggling but there was no give in the chains. Instead the metal cut into his wrists and he could only tell there was blood trailing sluggishly down his arms when McLeach licked it away.
When he pulled away from licking and nibbling on Jake’s arm he has only a moment to grin before his lips are claimed, harsh and firm and wet. And Jake came appreciate the confused but pleased groan. That appreciation trailed down from his belly, a warm ball of something he doesn’t want to interpret, and it goes straight to his dick.
Somewhere inside him there’s protest. He’s an agent of the Society for fuck’s sake! He’s promised to stop bastards like McLeach. But then there’s a tug of his belt and the protest dies in favor of need and burning desire. Because McLeach may be a bastard but he certainly knows what he’s doing when he pulls down Jake’s trousers.
“Best damn thing I’ve ever caught.” He growls against Jake’s ear, a hot puff of air following his words and causing the agent to groan. Jake doesn’t really care about the sentimentalities behind McLeach’s words.
One large hand wraps around his dick, pulling slowly as the other hand fumbles with McLeach’s belt. Jake, in a show of defiance, wraps one leg around the poacher to make the struggle that much harder. He’s punished with a hard squeeze, enough to make him back off and allow McLeach to finish with his clothes.
Even as he pushed against the taller man Jake managed a few angry growls and angrier words. “Fucking bastard. Such a bastard. Hateful asshole bastard.”
“We’re already exchanging pet names?” He chuckled, leaning down to inhale deeply at the point between Jake’s neck and shoulder. Jake had half a second to panic before he bite down. Hard.
His teeth were still deep in Jake’s neck as his hand began moving around his cock, firm and callous from hard work and like a goddamn wet dream come to life. His whole body is pushed against Jake’s and he’s rolling his hips almost lazily, even as Jake’s legs wrap around him to pull him closer.
Faster and faster goes his hand as he pulled away from Jake’s neck to pepper smaller bites down his chest. McLeach even takes the time to lick at his scar, practically purring at the taste of sweat and skin and if he could taste it he would be drowning in Jake’s fury.
Their grunts and moans fill the dingy room while the flickering light makes them look like ghosts or monsters. And as Jake jerks his hips, coming into the bastard’s hand, he feels like a monster. But the exhaustion of the day catches up to him quickly and he can only groan weakly as McLeach finishes against his belly. One lazy hand rubs their combined fluids into Jake’s stomach, into his scar, and he realizes with a humorless chuckle that the sick fuck is marking him.
“Bastard.” He whispers as the world goes dark.
When he wakes he’s propped outside the door to McLeach’s disgusting hideout, wearing just his trousers and his hat. The poacher is nowhere in sight, but Jake doesn’t wait long for proof he’s not watching. He grabs for the bag beside him, ignoring the pain of his arm regaining feeling, and he runs. Not because he’s afraid. Not because he thinks McLeach will drag him back. He knows the bastard won’t.
It isn’t until the compound is out of sight that Jake admits to himself he was merely scared of the desire he felt before running.
The desire to stay.
“Fucking bastard.” He groans with a tone that was too close to affection.