Prompt 026: Teammates
Title: Dance on Moonlight
Characters: Kyle Rayner, JLA
Rating: R for non-graphic sexual situations
Word Count: 1099
Summary: Second meeting with the JLA? Not going so well. No spoilers. (This should, again, look familiar to some of you.)
Music roars in his ears, guitars wailing and the bass line thrumming. It travels through the walls and pulses in his veins. It curls around his limbs and tickles his skin, evoking a flush of heat. A lone voice sings in harmony, soaring unchecked, and he can almost make out the words.
“….the Watchtower…”
The bass grinds harder and he shudders. There was something before the music, something important, but he can’t concentrate past the near-discord in perfect harmony wailing through his mind and across his skin. Concentration should be important, should be…
“You’re new,” someone familiar says.
“I…” he says. He should say something else, but he doesn’t know what.
“There’s too much confusion.” His vision clears enough to see the figure in red and blue. Superman, red cape flaring off his impossibly broad shoulders, bright primary blue that would look ridiculous on anyone else failing to conceal anything at all of a body that would make an artist weep. He would know. “I’m going to show you how it’s done,” Superman says, and grabs him.
He has no time to react or respond. Superman’s mouth is on his, bruising and demanding, and the guitar’s melody trembles. A rush of air sweeps over his heated skin, and he’s being touched. Superman is straightforward, kisses and caresses and before he knows it he’s on his back. Guitars scream and his vision grays out.
“Plowmen dig my earth,” says another voice. He’s standing, fully clothed, leaning against a wall. A constructed deck of cards is in one hand, but as soon as he notices it, his concentration fades and it vanishes.
“J’onn,” he says, unable to form more of a coherent thought.
Drums beat, their persistence pounding into the red sands of Mars. J’onn’s form shifts, becoming liquid and flowing around him. He can’t help it, he breathes in and it’s as if every nerve is on fire. He reaches out, but there’s nothing for him to hold onto.
“What are… what are you doing?” he chokes out, and he can speak in sentences after all.
Claws rake up his back and he falls to his knees, fingers flexing helplessly against the heated sand while J’onn pulls away and coalesces behind him. Drums, drums beating in the dark and Mars is gone.
A hand on his shoulder slams him into the wall, hard enough to bruise. “None of them along the line know what any of it is worth,” Batman growls, the stress of the words falling into place perfectly with the fading percussion and rising harmony.
“Get…” he says, but the notes are too loud, and he can’t think. Wet heat trickles down his back, and the cold rock behind him scrapes painfully through the tears in his uni- he isn’t wearing his uniform. Batman shoves him into the wall, one knee parting his legs, and Batman’s rough armor tears his soft skin. He bites his lip against the pain, and Batman reaches downwards. The bass line jumps and rushes through his veins, even through the pain.
“All along…”
He stumbles, landing hard on the open ground. She stalks towards him, stretching her lasso between her hands.
“I … I don’t understand,” he says.
“This is not our fate,” she hisses and the lasso wraps around his neck. The guitars scream to the open sky and he screams, too, but there’s no air in his lungs and she’s pressing down on him. Naked, her skin is soft, and he can feel that every inch of it is so smooth, but he can’t breathe and the music sinks into him.
No, it rises around him and the water licks against his overheated skin, hissing. It’s as soft as she was, as strong, but infinitely more yielding, until the currents sweep him downward and it doesn’t matter that he can’t breathe. Aquaman is holding him down, keeping him from moving, teeth nipping at the base of his neck and the curved hook in place of Aquaman’s hand slides between his ribs, pinning him to the ocean floor.
“Let us not talk falsely now,” he hears, but there’s no answer he can make.
He can’t hear the music down here, but he can feel it, shoving him into the wet sand and slipping into his mouth and eyes. He opens his mouth to draw breath, but there’s nothing there except water, rushing past, so quickly and then the water is gone.
“The hour is getting late,” the Flash whispers in his ear, and suddenly comes to a dead stop. He crashes into the Flash, saved from falling only by the Flash’s reflexive catch and the music in the walls pushing him upright. The Flash’s hands are quick, so quick he’s not sure what the Flash is really doing, but he can feel the water still trickling through his hair and the sand in his toes, the blood oozing down his back and the music is forcing him to his knees. The Flash tilts his head back and kisses him, tongue flickering along his lips until they part, one strong arm holding him up, the other cupping the back of his head. He can’t move, can’t feel anything other than the pressure of the Flash’s hands and mouth, until finally the music thunders between them and he takes a breath.
“There must be some way out of here,” he whispers, and it shatters. The music is gone.
“Breathe, Kyle, breathe!”
He does, he breathes and then chokes and coughs and panics, and then he’s leaning against someone and trying to remember that breathing requires rhythm.
“Nice and easy,” he hears, and someone - the Flash - is rubbing his back slowly. “Think you can stand?”
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, but it’s a little bit optimistic, and he can’t stand without the Flash supporting most of his weight.
“The compound’s been neutralized,” the Flash says, and the next thing he knows he’s inside somewhere, and the Flash is explaining that he really should have been wearing a suit like everyone else and not depending on his ring to keep the toxin out and next time the Flash is not going to perform CPR or anything else, so he’d better keep himself out of trouble, but that the assault has been stopped anyway, no thanks to him. The Justice League saved the day, even with the rookie Green Lantern breathing in a batch of poison on his second mission out and nearly going down permanently. Kyle drifts to sleep with the Flash’s voice in his ears.
The walls are silent.
FINIS
Also half the lyrics for Bob Dylan's All Along The Watchtower are in here. Randomly.
Characters: Kyle Rayner, JLA
Rating: R for non-graphic sexual situations
Word Count: 1099
Summary: Second meeting with the JLA? Not going so well. No spoilers. (This should, again, look familiar to some of you.)
Music roars in his ears, guitars wailing and the bass line thrumming. It travels through the walls and pulses in his veins. It curls around his limbs and tickles his skin, evoking a flush of heat. A lone voice sings in harmony, soaring unchecked, and he can almost make out the words.
“….the Watchtower…”
The bass grinds harder and he shudders. There was something before the music, something important, but he can’t concentrate past the near-discord in perfect harmony wailing through his mind and across his skin. Concentration should be important, should be…
“You’re new,” someone familiar says.
“I…” he says. He should say something else, but he doesn’t know what.
“There’s too much confusion.” His vision clears enough to see the figure in red and blue. Superman, red cape flaring off his impossibly broad shoulders, bright primary blue that would look ridiculous on anyone else failing to conceal anything at all of a body that would make an artist weep. He would know. “I’m going to show you how it’s done,” Superman says, and grabs him.
He has no time to react or respond. Superman’s mouth is on his, bruising and demanding, and the guitar’s melody trembles. A rush of air sweeps over his heated skin, and he’s being touched. Superman is straightforward, kisses and caresses and before he knows it he’s on his back. Guitars scream and his vision grays out.
“Plowmen dig my earth,” says another voice. He’s standing, fully clothed, leaning against a wall. A constructed deck of cards is in one hand, but as soon as he notices it, his concentration fades and it vanishes.
“J’onn,” he says, unable to form more of a coherent thought.
Drums beat, their persistence pounding into the red sands of Mars. J’onn’s form shifts, becoming liquid and flowing around him. He can’t help it, he breathes in and it’s as if every nerve is on fire. He reaches out, but there’s nothing for him to hold onto.
“What are… what are you doing?” he chokes out, and he can speak in sentences after all.
Claws rake up his back and he falls to his knees, fingers flexing helplessly against the heated sand while J’onn pulls away and coalesces behind him. Drums, drums beating in the dark and Mars is gone.
A hand on his shoulder slams him into the wall, hard enough to bruise. “None of them along the line know what any of it is worth,” Batman growls, the stress of the words falling into place perfectly with the fading percussion and rising harmony.
“Get…” he says, but the notes are too loud, and he can’t think. Wet heat trickles down his back, and the cold rock behind him scrapes painfully through the tears in his uni- he isn’t wearing his uniform. Batman shoves him into the wall, one knee parting his legs, and Batman’s rough armor tears his soft skin. He bites his lip against the pain, and Batman reaches downwards. The bass line jumps and rushes through his veins, even through the pain.
“All along…”
He stumbles, landing hard on the open ground. She stalks towards him, stretching her lasso between her hands.
“I … I don’t understand,” he says.
“This is not our fate,” she hisses and the lasso wraps around his neck. The guitars scream to the open sky and he screams, too, but there’s no air in his lungs and she’s pressing down on him. Naked, her skin is soft, and he can feel that every inch of it is so smooth, but he can’t breathe and the music sinks into him.
No, it rises around him and the water licks against his overheated skin, hissing. It’s as soft as she was, as strong, but infinitely more yielding, until the currents sweep him downward and it doesn’t matter that he can’t breathe. Aquaman is holding him down, keeping him from moving, teeth nipping at the base of his neck and the curved hook in place of Aquaman’s hand slides between his ribs, pinning him to the ocean floor.
“Let us not talk falsely now,” he hears, but there’s no answer he can make.
He can’t hear the music down here, but he can feel it, shoving him into the wet sand and slipping into his mouth and eyes. He opens his mouth to draw breath, but there’s nothing there except water, rushing past, so quickly and then the water is gone.
“The hour is getting late,” the Flash whispers in his ear, and suddenly comes to a dead stop. He crashes into the Flash, saved from falling only by the Flash’s reflexive catch and the music in the walls pushing him upright. The Flash’s hands are quick, so quick he’s not sure what the Flash is really doing, but he can feel the water still trickling through his hair and the sand in his toes, the blood oozing down his back and the music is forcing him to his knees. The Flash tilts his head back and kisses him, tongue flickering along his lips until they part, one strong arm holding him up, the other cupping the back of his head. He can’t move, can’t feel anything other than the pressure of the Flash’s hands and mouth, until finally the music thunders between them and he takes a breath.
“There must be some way out of here,” he whispers, and it shatters. The music is gone.
“Breathe, Kyle, breathe!”
He does, he breathes and then chokes and coughs and panics, and then he’s leaning against someone and trying to remember that breathing requires rhythm.
“Nice and easy,” he hears, and someone - the Flash - is rubbing his back slowly. “Think you can stand?”
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, but it’s a little bit optimistic, and he can’t stand without the Flash supporting most of his weight.
“The compound’s been neutralized,” the Flash says, and the next thing he knows he’s inside somewhere, and the Flash is explaining that he really should have been wearing a suit like everyone else and not depending on his ring to keep the toxin out and next time the Flash is not going to perform CPR or anything else, so he’d better keep himself out of trouble, but that the assault has been stopped anyway, no thanks to him. The Justice League saved the day, even with the rookie Green Lantern breathing in a batch of poison on his second mission out and nearly going down permanently. Kyle drifts to sleep with the Flash’s voice in his ears.
The walls are silent.
FINIS
Also half the lyrics for Bob Dylan's All Along The Watchtower are in here. Randomly.