fic: Firefly/RPS: Sanguine - Hopeful. Also? Bloody. (1/1)
Title: Sanguine - Hopeful. Also? Bloody.
Author: Havenward
Fandom: RPS/Firefly
Pairing: Ewan McGregor/Steve Carlson & Matt Bomer/Lee Pace implied
Rating: NC17
Words: 2567
Note: In response to a pair of prompts left by raggedy_edge. It's been slowly writing itself, and is now finally done... Of course, I haven't properly posted anything from this verse yet, so if you want to see what I've done (starting more or less from the beginning) take a peek here. Title is an adaptation of a Firefly quote.
Summary: Someone gets a little to friendly with Ewan when they shouldn't, and Steve feels a mite possessive.
This? This is precisely the sort of thing that has kept Ewan off of backwater rocks like this for all this time. The snide looks, just because of the fineness of his clothes, even dressed down as he is. The whispered comments, all for the way he keeps himself neat.
“Ain’t y’just a pretty thing,” someone says as they sidle up to him and the bar. “Looks like yer dressed up f’quite the party.”
Ewan ignores the chwen joo and takes a very careful sip of his drink. It’s just water -he’s hardly a fool- but it might as well be wine, for the way he carries himself.
“How’s about I buy you a real drink,” the guy says, leaning in close enough that Ewan can smell him, rank with sweat and dirt and things he doesn’t want to think about, and settling a hand far, far too familiarly on Ewan’s shoulder. “An’ then mebbe we can has a little chat about what sorts o’folks we allow round here.”
Ewan tries not to grind his teeth and takes a polite step to the left. “I’m afraid you mistake my profession, sir. I’m only passing through.” And he’s honestly starting to regret it. Or at least, leaving his room on Calliope.
The ung jeong jia ching jien soh steps into his space again, and the hair on the back of Ewan’s neck starts to raise. There’s two men to their left that he’d thought were just drinking, but the way they eye him now, the way that they wink at this hun dahn... “I’m thinkin’ mebbe a drink buys me a little conversatin’. Seems only fair.” His hand tightens a little on Ewan’s shoulder and he leers.
“I’m disinclined to agree with your assertion,” Steve growls from the other side of the bar to the tune of two guns being cocked. It takes all of Ewan’s training to keep from literally sighing with relief.
“We dunlike guns in city limits,” one of the peons says through the side of his mouth, and then spits.
“And I don’t like people touching my things,” Steven says, his voice low and with an edge to it that Ewan doesn’t often hear. He can feel the heat of Steven’s gaze and can only imagine the expression he gives them. Suffice it to say the men step back.
Ewan carefully, evenly, takes one last swallow of his water and sets the drink down. “Gentlemen.” He turns toward Steve, unsurprised to see Matthew beside him, nor Lee casting a long shadow from the door, one hand at his hip. Ewan walks out, casually but not slowly, pausing just a moment beside Steven to tip his hat and give him a look that says just how grateful he is. “Captain.”
Lee hounds his steps all the way back to Calliope but Ewan can’t bring himself to mind just now. He doesn’t know how long the others will be, if their business was concluded or if Steven has already decided to take the situation a little too… personally. He needs a drink. A proper drink, in the safety of the ship. And then perhaps a long bath, so that he’ll at least feel clean when the captain comes aboard again.
Lee sprawls out in a chair in the cargo bay entrance, feet propped up and the impeccable image of casualness. Ewan doesn’t pause before he turns the corner onto the stairs up to the crew deck. He pauses in the galley long enough to take the whiskey fast, lets it burn down his throat and into his belly a moment before he takes another.
“Joo fuen chse,” he mutters to himself, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.
He’s unbuttoning his shirt even as he wanders back towards his room, and he can still feel that gaze. Still feel that hand. He pulls everything away, dropping his clothing around his room, drawing enough water to fill the small basin, adding just enough oil to wash everything else away. When it’s filled, he settles the basin near the foot of his bed and takes the sponge, kneeling, letting it soak and empty, soak and empty, rhythmic as the ritual and habit he was taught so many years ago. He lets the motions come automatically, first his fingers, and then his hands.
Once those are clean (once they’re pure), he begins with his face, gently, and works his way down. He is, perhaps, more diligent with his right shoulder than he would be otherwise, scrubbing until there is only the scent of oil, the water dribbling down his skin. His throat, bared and open to the touch of softness, tipping forward to rub the back of his neck. And down, broad strokes on his chest, and finally, finally he feels the filth stripped away. Feels like he can breathe.
He goes through the routine of washing his back before he feels eyes on him. It makes him take his time, here in the belly of the ship. Ewan squeezes the sponge slowly, letting the water drizzle against him before dipping it in the basin again, washing his ribs and his sides and belly again, moving to his hips. He hears Steven hum, and it takes his training again to keep from sighing.
Ewan knows, in the strictest understanding of the term, in his most logical moments, that Steven would not judge him on the indiscretion of others. That Steve, of all people, knows there's more in who you are than merely what you are. That Steven has never thought of him as a whore.
He knows this. Knows that in any other circumstance, he would be the one reminding Steven that he's more than the color of his coat. More than just waiting to see who it is that's been carrying his bullet. But kneeling there naked, hiding in the traditions of a life he has long left behind, Ewan can't seem to remember how he has ever been so sure.
So he does what he was trained to do from his youth. He plays his part. Ewan smirks a little, not quite looking over his shoulder, eyelids lowered almost enticingly. "Have you finished with your business then, Captain?"
"Near enough," Steve murmurs, and there's a tightness in his voice that has nothing to do with the way he's looking at Ewan.
Ewan half turns to look at him properly and nearly jumps up to run over to him, to ensure that the man hasn't gone stupid with pride or anything else. There's bruising and a scuff on Steve's cheek that's sure to be tender, and his lip is split in two places. Ewan can tell from the way Steve holds his hands that he'll have put in more than his fair share of punches, his knuckles probably raw and possibly split. He probably shouldn't be surprised that Steven brought a gun to a fist fight, and that once he'd ensured he got what he wanted, actually played fairly. Distantly he wonders if Lee is going through the same process with Matt in their cabin, or the infirmary.
It's the blood all over Steven's shirt that's bothering him.
The captain seems to realize, glancing down before looking up to give him a reassuring grin. "Ain't mine. Well. Mostly."
Ewan clucks his tongue despite his relief. "I just can't take you anywhere, can I?" He rises smoothly, gathering the basin and sponge to empty them and put them in their places.
Steven raises his eyebrows then. "Could say the same of you." He sounds none too pleased, but at least the sound of his boots on the flooring are steady as he comes to stand behind Ewan. He steps in close, hands sliding past Ewan's hips to grip the sink as he leans in, his breath tickling across the back of Ewan's neck, chilly where he's still wet. "Just what were you thinkin'?"
Ewan closes his eyes and swallows. "I am not some costly and fragile prize to be kept guarded."
"Never said that," Steve says, and Ewan can feel the heat of him. It spreads out through him straight to his cock. "Makes you stand out, the way you always gotta look so fine, so clean. Out here it makes people want you. Makes'm think they can have you, maybe even break you." His voice drops low, making Ewan shiver, and he takes that last step to close the distance between them, his lips brushing the shell of Ewan's ear. "I'm sure you noticed by now how I've got more than a vested interest in you bein' whole. Not too keen on you gettin' hurt. Or snatched."
Ewan turns, relishing the course feel of Steven's clothes against him, and holds his chin high. Though if Steven had any doubt about Ewan's interest, it would be gone now. "I can't say I'm particularly pleased with you coming back looking like this either." He'd meant to say something else, he's sure. But the blue of Steven's eyes is sharp and close and intense, and Ewan's breath catches in his chest instead.
Steven smirks and pins him, claiming his mouth with singular focus and determination. The edge of the sink digs into Ewan's back as Steven takes up whatever is left of his space, pressing their hips together just tight enough that Ewan can't help lifting his own against him. Ewan can feel the splits in his lip even as Steven's nipping at Ewan's, can feel the callouses on Steven's hands and the too smooth raw skin as he pulls on Ewan's hips.
One hand slides up, nails dragging against Ewan’s skin, hot stripes next to the chill of still damp skin, before tangling in his hair. Tightens just so, holding Ewan in place as Steven mouths over his jaw, tongue darting out over the soft spot under his ear. Ewan lifts his hands, for a moment attempting to start pulling at the buttons of Steven’s shirt, but they only make it as far as his shoulders. He fists his fingers in the fabric, unable to help the needy noise that bubbles up out of him when Steve worries at the spot between his teeth.
It will bruise, already feels hot as Steve licks over the spot and sucks at it again, and there will be no hiding it.
Finally his body remembers what he should be doing, and Ewan tears at Steve’s buttons, all too pleased when a pair of them go skittering across the floor. He pushes the shirt off of Steven’s shoulders, taking his suspenders with it, and for a moment it’s a battle between Steve not letting go and Ewan getting the shirt off. Steve only consents with a growl, reclaiming Ewan’s mouth and pinning him hard with his hips until the fabric is stripped away.
“Ma shong,” Ewan gasps against Steven’s mouth, and it sounds like begging. He can’t bring himself to care, not with the way Steven is looking at him, eyes gone dark with need. With the way his fingers dig almost painfully into Ewan’s hips, which will undoubtedly bruise as well. With the way he smiles against Ewan’s lips, hands sliding down his thighs to grip and lift Ewan, urging his legs open as he settles him on the edge of the counter. Ewan obliges him, using his not inconsiderable talent to balance himself while pulling at Steven’s belt and fly.
At last he gets the trousers out of his way, finally they’re skin to skin, their cocks brushing together as Steven leans in and reaches past him. Ewan gasps, registering the scent of lavender and chamomile over sweat and need only a moment before Steve shifts his weight again and teases his entrance with cool, lotion slicked fingers. Steve swallows Ewan’s moan as he presses his fingers inside, licking his way into Ewan’s mouth and relishing the way his body hitches and writhes for just the crooking of his finger.
Ewan tries to rally enough focus to return the favor, stroking their cocks together, but Steve seems intent on having him take leave of his senses. Steven’s fingers curl and scissor, thrusting until Ewan can’t help but rock back against him, until Ewan has to let go of Steve and grip the counter. He lets his head fall back, whimpering as Steve pulls his fingers away, and braces himself.
But Steve doesn’t thrust into him to sheath himself to the hilt in one swift move. He presses hot and needy against Ewan’s hole, entering slowly, making him feel every inch as he fills him. Steve kisses the bared line of Ewan’s throat, his breath heavy against sweaty skin, until his hips are pressed flush to Ewan’s, Ewan’s cock curled and leaking against his belly. For a long moment they stay like that, just breathing and close.
Steve growls something into Ewan’s skin that Ewan can’t quite make out. But he feels it in the way Steven’s arms tighten around him, in the way his nails drag down Ewan’s back again, trying to pull him closer. The way Steve takes hold of his hip again with one hand, pinning him, steadying him. The way his lips brush against the curve of his neck into his shoulder, biting, intent on marking him again. That needy noise slips passed Ewan’s lips again, begging and acquiescence, and proffering himself as much as he can in this position.
It’s a position he can’t hold up once Steve begins thrusting in earnest and with all the fervor Ewan had been expecting. He has to grab hold of Steve’s shoulders again, clinging even as he starts to fall apart. His breath comes in staggered moans, punctuated by grunts and broken obscenities as Steve hits the sweet spot over and over, an undulating pleasure that threatens to overwhelm and consume him. And then it swallows him whole, his vision washing out, senses overcome by the electric rush of ecstasy, and there is only him, and Steven moving inside him.
Ewan whimpers as he comes back to himself, over-stimulated as Steven’s hips begin to stutter, and he rocks with the force of Steve’s orgasm, moaning at the jolting echoes of his own. At last they’re still, unable to do more than gasp and hold one another up. After a long moment Ewan shifts, reaching for the cloth, and Steve slides out of him, leaning heavily on the sink and wincing as Ewan cleans the both of them up.
“This is what you get for jin joh bu chi chi fah joh,” Ewan mutters, frowning and letting his fingers linger over the places he sees now will bruise.
“He touched you.” Steven says defensively and without remorse, letting Ewan push him backward toward his bed. He pulls Ewan down with him, only grunting a little at being so sore and stubbornly pulling him close. “How’m I still in trouble for this?”
Ewan huffs, allows himself to be settled flush against Steven, his head tucked under Steve’s chin, fingers curling lightly over his hips. It shouldn’t be so comfortable, with as small and hard as this bed is, but he can’t help the way sleep creeps up to claim him. “Idiot.”
Author: Havenward
Fandom: RPS/Firefly
Pairing: Ewan McGregor/Steve Carlson & Matt Bomer/Lee Pace implied
Rating: NC17
Words: 2567
Note: In response to a pair of prompts left by raggedy_edge. It's been slowly writing itself, and is now finally done... Of course, I haven't properly posted anything from this verse yet, so if you want to see what I've done (starting more or less from the beginning) take a peek here. Title is an adaptation of a Firefly quote.
Summary: Someone gets a little to friendly with Ewan when they shouldn't, and Steve feels a mite possessive.
This? This is precisely the sort of thing that has kept Ewan off of backwater rocks like this for all this time. The snide looks, just because of the fineness of his clothes, even dressed down as he is. The whispered comments, all for the way he keeps himself neat.
“Ain’t y’just a pretty thing,” someone says as they sidle up to him and the bar. “Looks like yer dressed up f’quite the party.”
Ewan ignores the chwen joo and takes a very careful sip of his drink. It’s just water -he’s hardly a fool- but it might as well be wine, for the way he carries himself.
“How’s about I buy you a real drink,” the guy says, leaning in close enough that Ewan can smell him, rank with sweat and dirt and things he doesn’t want to think about, and settling a hand far, far too familiarly on Ewan’s shoulder. “An’ then mebbe we can has a little chat about what sorts o’folks we allow round here.”
Ewan tries not to grind his teeth and takes a polite step to the left. “I’m afraid you mistake my profession, sir. I’m only passing through.” And he’s honestly starting to regret it. Or at least, leaving his room on Calliope.
The ung jeong jia ching jien soh steps into his space again, and the hair on the back of Ewan’s neck starts to raise. There’s two men to their left that he’d thought were just drinking, but the way they eye him now, the way that they wink at this hun dahn... “I’m thinkin’ mebbe a drink buys me a little conversatin’. Seems only fair.” His hand tightens a little on Ewan’s shoulder and he leers.
“I’m disinclined to agree with your assertion,” Steve growls from the other side of the bar to the tune of two guns being cocked. It takes all of Ewan’s training to keep from literally sighing with relief.
“We dunlike guns in city limits,” one of the peons says through the side of his mouth, and then spits.
“And I don’t like people touching my things,” Steven says, his voice low and with an edge to it that Ewan doesn’t often hear. He can feel the heat of Steven’s gaze and can only imagine the expression he gives them. Suffice it to say the men step back.
Ewan carefully, evenly, takes one last swallow of his water and sets the drink down. “Gentlemen.” He turns toward Steve, unsurprised to see Matthew beside him, nor Lee casting a long shadow from the door, one hand at his hip. Ewan walks out, casually but not slowly, pausing just a moment beside Steven to tip his hat and give him a look that says just how grateful he is. “Captain.”
Lee hounds his steps all the way back to Calliope but Ewan can’t bring himself to mind just now. He doesn’t know how long the others will be, if their business was concluded or if Steven has already decided to take the situation a little too… personally. He needs a drink. A proper drink, in the safety of the ship. And then perhaps a long bath, so that he’ll at least feel clean when the captain comes aboard again.
Lee sprawls out in a chair in the cargo bay entrance, feet propped up and the impeccable image of casualness. Ewan doesn’t pause before he turns the corner onto the stairs up to the crew deck. He pauses in the galley long enough to take the whiskey fast, lets it burn down his throat and into his belly a moment before he takes another.
“Joo fuen chse,” he mutters to himself, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.
He’s unbuttoning his shirt even as he wanders back towards his room, and he can still feel that gaze. Still feel that hand. He pulls everything away, dropping his clothing around his room, drawing enough water to fill the small basin, adding just enough oil to wash everything else away. When it’s filled, he settles the basin near the foot of his bed and takes the sponge, kneeling, letting it soak and empty, soak and empty, rhythmic as the ritual and habit he was taught so many years ago. He lets the motions come automatically, first his fingers, and then his hands.
Once those are clean (once they’re pure), he begins with his face, gently, and works his way down. He is, perhaps, more diligent with his right shoulder than he would be otherwise, scrubbing until there is only the scent of oil, the water dribbling down his skin. His throat, bared and open to the touch of softness, tipping forward to rub the back of his neck. And down, broad strokes on his chest, and finally, finally he feels the filth stripped away. Feels like he can breathe.
He goes through the routine of washing his back before he feels eyes on him. It makes him take his time, here in the belly of the ship. Ewan squeezes the sponge slowly, letting the water drizzle against him before dipping it in the basin again, washing his ribs and his sides and belly again, moving to his hips. He hears Steven hum, and it takes his training again to keep from sighing.
Ewan knows, in the strictest understanding of the term, in his most logical moments, that Steven would not judge him on the indiscretion of others. That Steve, of all people, knows there's more in who you are than merely what you are. That Steven has never thought of him as a whore.
He knows this. Knows that in any other circumstance, he would be the one reminding Steven that he's more than the color of his coat. More than just waiting to see who it is that's been carrying his bullet. But kneeling there naked, hiding in the traditions of a life he has long left behind, Ewan can't seem to remember how he has ever been so sure.
So he does what he was trained to do from his youth. He plays his part. Ewan smirks a little, not quite looking over his shoulder, eyelids lowered almost enticingly. "Have you finished with your business then, Captain?"
"Near enough," Steve murmurs, and there's a tightness in his voice that has nothing to do with the way he's looking at Ewan.
Ewan half turns to look at him properly and nearly jumps up to run over to him, to ensure that the man hasn't gone stupid with pride or anything else. There's bruising and a scuff on Steve's cheek that's sure to be tender, and his lip is split in two places. Ewan can tell from the way Steve holds his hands that he'll have put in more than his fair share of punches, his knuckles probably raw and possibly split. He probably shouldn't be surprised that Steven brought a gun to a fist fight, and that once he'd ensured he got what he wanted, actually played fairly. Distantly he wonders if Lee is going through the same process with Matt in their cabin, or the infirmary.
It's the blood all over Steven's shirt that's bothering him.
The captain seems to realize, glancing down before looking up to give him a reassuring grin. "Ain't mine. Well. Mostly."
Ewan clucks his tongue despite his relief. "I just can't take you anywhere, can I?" He rises smoothly, gathering the basin and sponge to empty them and put them in their places.
Steven raises his eyebrows then. "Could say the same of you." He sounds none too pleased, but at least the sound of his boots on the flooring are steady as he comes to stand behind Ewan. He steps in close, hands sliding past Ewan's hips to grip the sink as he leans in, his breath tickling across the back of Ewan's neck, chilly where he's still wet. "Just what were you thinkin'?"
Ewan closes his eyes and swallows. "I am not some costly and fragile prize to be kept guarded."
"Never said that," Steve says, and Ewan can feel the heat of him. It spreads out through him straight to his cock. "Makes you stand out, the way you always gotta look so fine, so clean. Out here it makes people want you. Makes'm think they can have you, maybe even break you." His voice drops low, making Ewan shiver, and he takes that last step to close the distance between them, his lips brushing the shell of Ewan's ear. "I'm sure you noticed by now how I've got more than a vested interest in you bein' whole. Not too keen on you gettin' hurt. Or snatched."
Ewan turns, relishing the course feel of Steven's clothes against him, and holds his chin high. Though if Steven had any doubt about Ewan's interest, it would be gone now. "I can't say I'm particularly pleased with you coming back looking like this either." He'd meant to say something else, he's sure. But the blue of Steven's eyes is sharp and close and intense, and Ewan's breath catches in his chest instead.
Steven smirks and pins him, claiming his mouth with singular focus and determination. The edge of the sink digs into Ewan's back as Steven takes up whatever is left of his space, pressing their hips together just tight enough that Ewan can't help lifting his own against him. Ewan can feel the splits in his lip even as Steven's nipping at Ewan's, can feel the callouses on Steven's hands and the too smooth raw skin as he pulls on Ewan's hips.
One hand slides up, nails dragging against Ewan’s skin, hot stripes next to the chill of still damp skin, before tangling in his hair. Tightens just so, holding Ewan in place as Steven mouths over his jaw, tongue darting out over the soft spot under his ear. Ewan lifts his hands, for a moment attempting to start pulling at the buttons of Steven’s shirt, but they only make it as far as his shoulders. He fists his fingers in the fabric, unable to help the needy noise that bubbles up out of him when Steve worries at the spot between his teeth.
It will bruise, already feels hot as Steve licks over the spot and sucks at it again, and there will be no hiding it.
Finally his body remembers what he should be doing, and Ewan tears at Steve’s buttons, all too pleased when a pair of them go skittering across the floor. He pushes the shirt off of Steven’s shoulders, taking his suspenders with it, and for a moment it’s a battle between Steve not letting go and Ewan getting the shirt off. Steve only consents with a growl, reclaiming Ewan’s mouth and pinning him hard with his hips until the fabric is stripped away.
“Ma shong,” Ewan gasps against Steven’s mouth, and it sounds like begging. He can’t bring himself to care, not with the way Steven is looking at him, eyes gone dark with need. With the way his fingers dig almost painfully into Ewan’s hips, which will undoubtedly bruise as well. With the way he smiles against Ewan’s lips, hands sliding down his thighs to grip and lift Ewan, urging his legs open as he settles him on the edge of the counter. Ewan obliges him, using his not inconsiderable talent to balance himself while pulling at Steven’s belt and fly.
At last he gets the trousers out of his way, finally they’re skin to skin, their cocks brushing together as Steven leans in and reaches past him. Ewan gasps, registering the scent of lavender and chamomile over sweat and need only a moment before Steve shifts his weight again and teases his entrance with cool, lotion slicked fingers. Steve swallows Ewan’s moan as he presses his fingers inside, licking his way into Ewan’s mouth and relishing the way his body hitches and writhes for just the crooking of his finger.
Ewan tries to rally enough focus to return the favor, stroking their cocks together, but Steve seems intent on having him take leave of his senses. Steven’s fingers curl and scissor, thrusting until Ewan can’t help but rock back against him, until Ewan has to let go of Steve and grip the counter. He lets his head fall back, whimpering as Steve pulls his fingers away, and braces himself.
But Steve doesn’t thrust into him to sheath himself to the hilt in one swift move. He presses hot and needy against Ewan’s hole, entering slowly, making him feel every inch as he fills him. Steve kisses the bared line of Ewan’s throat, his breath heavy against sweaty skin, until his hips are pressed flush to Ewan’s, Ewan’s cock curled and leaking against his belly. For a long moment they stay like that, just breathing and close.
Steve growls something into Ewan’s skin that Ewan can’t quite make out. But he feels it in the way Steven’s arms tighten around him, in the way his nails drag down Ewan’s back again, trying to pull him closer. The way Steve takes hold of his hip again with one hand, pinning him, steadying him. The way his lips brush against the curve of his neck into his shoulder, biting, intent on marking him again. That needy noise slips passed Ewan’s lips again, begging and acquiescence, and proffering himself as much as he can in this position.
It’s a position he can’t hold up once Steve begins thrusting in earnest and with all the fervor Ewan had been expecting. He has to grab hold of Steve’s shoulders again, clinging even as he starts to fall apart. His breath comes in staggered moans, punctuated by grunts and broken obscenities as Steve hits the sweet spot over and over, an undulating pleasure that threatens to overwhelm and consume him. And then it swallows him whole, his vision washing out, senses overcome by the electric rush of ecstasy, and there is only him, and Steven moving inside him.
Ewan whimpers as he comes back to himself, over-stimulated as Steven’s hips begin to stutter, and he rocks with the force of Steve’s orgasm, moaning at the jolting echoes of his own. At last they’re still, unable to do more than gasp and hold one another up. After a long moment Ewan shifts, reaching for the cloth, and Steve slides out of him, leaning heavily on the sink and wincing as Ewan cleans the both of them up.
“This is what you get for jin joh bu chi chi fah joh,” Ewan mutters, frowning and letting his fingers linger over the places he sees now will bruise.
“He touched you.” Steven says defensively and without remorse, letting Ewan push him backward toward his bed. He pulls Ewan down with him, only grunting a little at being so sore and stubbornly pulling him close. “How’m I still in trouble for this?”
Ewan huffs, allows himself to be settled flush against Steven, his head tucked under Steve’s chin, fingers curling lightly over his hips. It shouldn’t be so comfortable, with as small and hard as this bed is, but he can’t help the way sleep creeps up to claim him. “Idiot.”