Fic; Impulse Control (Crossover: BSG/Iron Man, Gaeta, Tony Stark, NC-17)
This house might be bigger than all of the Galactica, Felix thinks.
Felix Gaeta doesn’t believe in gods, but he thinks someone must be watching out for him if he's getting a prosthetic leg designed by one of Earth’s most brilliant inventors. Who, by the way, is right now running his fingers all the way up Felix’s inner thigh.
He closes his eyes, leaning on one crutch as Tony Stark measures him. Felix tries to damp down his growing desire, but he can feel Mister Stark’s fingertips just barely graze his crotch through his wool military uniform.
“Um, is this going to take much longer?” Felix asks weakly.
Stark, kneeling, scratches another figure into his little black notebook. He sucks the tip of his pen, apparently lost in thought; but Felix finds it hard to believe that anyone could make nibbling on a pen look that sexy by accident.
“You in a hurry, Felix?” The man’s mouth stays really frakking close to Felix’s crotch. Fingers now trace the spot where his pelvis and his thigh join. “It is okay if I call you Felix, right?” he says, like he already knows the answer.
Surely, at this close proximity, the man can’t have missed Felix’s erection.
“Uh, no,” Felix begins, then corrects himself. “I mean, yeah. I mean…” Heat crawls up his neck. “I mean, yes you can call me Felix, and uh, no, I’m guess I’m not in a hurry.”
Stark is suddenly upright, and so close, Felix can feel breath on his chin. “Good,” he growls, wagging his finger like an indulgent teacher smoking with the students out behind the school. “But you are blushing, Felix. And I have to say, it does suit you.”
This of course, just makes Felix blush even more. Which apparently Mister St- Tony - finds hot, because before Felix knows it, the man’s notebook splays open on the floor, his hands thrust into Felix’s hair, and his tongue parts Felix’s lips.
Felix careens backward onto a worktable he’d forgotten was there. Fingers make quick work of Felix’s jacket buttons.
Felix grins and lets him win, because Tony’s fit, but he’s not strong. Felix’s pretty sure the guy doesn’t slave away at the gym, just was born incredibly hot. Felix’s tanks get shoved up to his neck now, and he writhes like a horny teenager as Tony's mouth coaxes his nipples into tingling, aching pinpoints. Blueprints, files and scattered notes are crumpling beneath Felix’s squirming body. He holds Tony’s head in place, reveling in how thick and luxurious the man’s hair is. And oddly, a little stiff.
“Hair gel,” he says incredulously, recognizing the feel of it from a lifetime ago. Such a small luxury hasn’t existed in the Fleet for years now, not even on the black market, he supposes. Right now, this fact makes Tony Stark seem like the most decadent of libertines.
“Hmm?” Tony’s distracted voice moves down Felix’s torso. “Hair gel?” he grunts. “Doesn’t work as well as you’d think.” He produces a bottle that Felix recognizes immediately must be lube. “Don’t worry though,” he smirks. “I got us covered.”
His tongue traces little designs down Felix’s body as the gel squirts onto Tony’s fingers. Somewhere in the middle of all this blinding sensation, Tony yanked the rest of Felix’s clothes off without him noticing.
Felix gasps at the slow, slick finger pushing steadily into him, stretching him, then devolves into paroxysms of tiny cries and moans. A second finger is in before he can really process it and Felix tries to raise his head, but the man’s fingers are frakking him, pumping and twisting inside him, and Felix’s whole body feels gelatinous. He falls back on the table with an thump as he feels a third finger spread him open. Tony’s mouth falls upon his cock, pumping in time with the fingers that relentlessly thrust into him. Felix thinks he can’t possibly feel any more filled than this, any more stretched and encompassed, any more taken. He has a sudden mental image of himself naked and spread-eagled but for the tank top curled up under his chin. The image seems so exposed, so dirty, that it almost sends Felix over the edge right then and there.
But then Tony’s mouth has left him, the fingers slide out unceremoniously, and Tony has scrambled onto the table. Felix almost cries at the sudden absence, but Tony kisses him long and deep, until Felix is breathless, the taste of his own juices in his mouth. His shirttails tickle Felix’s skin. Felix’s eyes flutter open at the sound of an opening belt buckle, and he sees Tony arched over him, a lunging, half-naked wolf, with a grin to match. It’s simultaneously so sexy and so frakking comical.
“Wait!” he gasps between laughs, “for frak’s sake, Tony, wait!”
“Yeah, about that,” Tony cocks his head, voice all gravel and sandpaper. “See, Felix, I’m not real good at impulse control.”
Felix growls with throaty desire. “No kidding,” he quips, reaching out to stroke Tony’s already stiff cock, enjoying the thick feel of it in his hand. “I learned all about you geniuses and your impulse control problems last time I fell for a scientist.”
Tony mouth twists playfully. “Care to share what you’ve learned?”
Oh gods, yes.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Tony,” he says, pleased with his new Earth word.
His military training and stronger arms let him slip out from under, then over Tony, who soon finds himself pinned down between the shoulder blades while Felix’s other hand reaches for the bottle still in his prey’s hand.
Tony Stark hisses into his own work table as Felix’s slick cock pushes deep inside him with slow, assured strokes. The two men moan in unison as Felix, holding onto Tony’s splayed hips, makes both of them come in a noisy cacophony.
“Sweet Jesus, Felix,” Tony groans shakily, Felix’s spent cock still inside him. “I can’t wait to see what you get up to with two legs.”
Felix Gaeta doesn’t believe in gods, but he thinks someone must be watching out for him if he's getting a prosthetic leg designed by one of Earth’s most brilliant inventors. Who, by the way, is right now running his fingers all the way up Felix’s inner thigh.
He closes his eyes, leaning on one crutch as Tony Stark measures him. Felix tries to damp down his growing desire, but he can feel Mister Stark’s fingertips just barely graze his crotch through his wool military uniform.
“Um, is this going to take much longer?” Felix asks weakly.
Stark, kneeling, scratches another figure into his little black notebook. He sucks the tip of his pen, apparently lost in thought; but Felix finds it hard to believe that anyone could make nibbling on a pen look that sexy by accident.
“You in a hurry, Felix?” The man’s mouth stays really frakking close to Felix’s crotch. Fingers now trace the spot where his pelvis and his thigh join. “It is okay if I call you Felix, right?” he says, like he already knows the answer.
Surely, at this close proximity, the man can’t have missed Felix’s erection.
“Uh, no,” Felix begins, then corrects himself. “I mean, yeah. I mean…” Heat crawls up his neck. “I mean, yes you can call me Felix, and uh, no, I’m guess I’m not in a hurry.”
Stark is suddenly upright, and so close, Felix can feel breath on his chin. “Good,” he growls, wagging his finger like an indulgent teacher smoking with the students out behind the school. “But you are blushing, Felix. And I have to say, it does suit you.”
This of course, just makes Felix blush even more. Which apparently Mister St- Tony - finds hot, because before Felix knows it, the man’s notebook splays open on the floor, his hands thrust into Felix’s hair, and his tongue parts Felix’s lips.
Felix careens backward onto a worktable he’d forgotten was there. Fingers make quick work of Felix’s jacket buttons.
Felix grins and lets him win, because Tony’s fit, but he’s not strong. Felix’s pretty sure the guy doesn’t slave away at the gym, just was born incredibly hot. Felix’s tanks get shoved up to his neck now, and he writhes like a horny teenager as Tony's mouth coaxes his nipples into tingling, aching pinpoints. Blueprints, files and scattered notes are crumpling beneath Felix’s squirming body. He holds Tony’s head in place, reveling in how thick and luxurious the man’s hair is. And oddly, a little stiff.
“Hair gel,” he says incredulously, recognizing the feel of it from a lifetime ago. Such a small luxury hasn’t existed in the Fleet for years now, not even on the black market, he supposes. Right now, this fact makes Tony Stark seem like the most decadent of libertines.
“Hmm?” Tony’s distracted voice moves down Felix’s torso. “Hair gel?” he grunts. “Doesn’t work as well as you’d think.” He produces a bottle that Felix recognizes immediately must be lube. “Don’t worry though,” he smirks. “I got us covered.”
His tongue traces little designs down Felix’s body as the gel squirts onto Tony’s fingers. Somewhere in the middle of all this blinding sensation, Tony yanked the rest of Felix’s clothes off without him noticing.
Felix gasps at the slow, slick finger pushing steadily into him, stretching him, then devolves into paroxysms of tiny cries and moans. A second finger is in before he can really process it and Felix tries to raise his head, but the man’s fingers are frakking him, pumping and twisting inside him, and Felix’s whole body feels gelatinous. He falls back on the table with an thump as he feels a third finger spread him open. Tony’s mouth falls upon his cock, pumping in time with the fingers that relentlessly thrust into him. Felix thinks he can’t possibly feel any more filled than this, any more stretched and encompassed, any more taken. He has a sudden mental image of himself naked and spread-eagled but for the tank top curled up under his chin. The image seems so exposed, so dirty, that it almost sends Felix over the edge right then and there.
But then Tony’s mouth has left him, the fingers slide out unceremoniously, and Tony has scrambled onto the table. Felix almost cries at the sudden absence, but Tony kisses him long and deep, until Felix is breathless, the taste of his own juices in his mouth. His shirttails tickle Felix’s skin. Felix’s eyes flutter open at the sound of an opening belt buckle, and he sees Tony arched over him, a lunging, half-naked wolf, with a grin to match. It’s simultaneously so sexy and so frakking comical.
“Wait!” he gasps between laughs, “for frak’s sake, Tony, wait!”
“Yeah, about that,” Tony cocks his head, voice all gravel and sandpaper. “See, Felix, I’m not real good at impulse control.”
Felix growls with throaty desire. “No kidding,” he quips, reaching out to stroke Tony’s already stiff cock, enjoying the thick feel of it in his hand. “I learned all about you geniuses and your impulse control problems last time I fell for a scientist.”
Tony mouth twists playfully. “Care to share what you’ve learned?”
Oh gods, yes.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Tony,” he says, pleased with his new Earth word.
His military training and stronger arms let him slip out from under, then over Tony, who soon finds himself pinned down between the shoulder blades while Felix’s other hand reaches for the bottle still in his prey’s hand.
Tony Stark hisses into his own work table as Felix’s slick cock pushes deep inside him with slow, assured strokes. The two men moan in unison as Felix, holding onto Tony’s splayed hips, makes both of them come in a noisy cacophony.
“Sweet Jesus, Felix,” Tony groans shakily, Felix’s spent cock still inside him. “I can’t wait to see what you get up to with two legs.”