 |
|
|
|
|
Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. BDSM.
Pairing: Miguel/Dean/G, Sands/El/Abberline/Carolina, Jack/James/Jacques, Will/Elizabeth/Anamaria, Seth Gecko/Miguel Bain, Ahmed/Mort Rainey.
Feedback: Good lines, spelling errors, whatever.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine except Miguel, and that's questionable.
Summary: The next morning. Or, the Aftermath of the Super-Duper-Ultimate-Uber-Depp-Banderas-Action-Adventure-Romantic-Kinkwhore-Kitty-Puppy-Poly-Snarky-Smutfest Crossover.
Notes: Set in a parallel Prohibition-era America, where Los Angeles is called Los Diablos and New Orléans is Nouvelle Lune/New Moon. G is the girl who protects Corso in The Ninth Gate, and Miguel is an OMC who looks like this, while Miguel Bain (they're different characters) is from Assassins. Will uses the occasional French phrase (still shouldn't interfere with reading); translations upon request. //words// in Spanish. Crossover of The City, The Delta and The Road. Supernatural overtones.
***
Tide: for unen2gemismasin
As James was a bit too sore to crawl properly, he managed a kind of ripple over to Jack's side. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'." In the weak light, Jack's eyes glittered like they'd been silvered, reflecting back everything that passed. He turned over and laid an arm over James' waist, burying his face in James' neck, while his fingers drifted across the tattoos on James' back. "Jus' th'Pacific. She's got a voice on her, she does."
"I know. I hear it." James raised up on an elbow, straining to hear the faint washes and whispers. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "She's amazed we made it back to our rooms."
"Well, now. Y've a proper sense of humor, after all," Jack laughed, pulling him back down.
***
Rude Awakening: for inkbug
"You know," Seth said thoughtfully as he lifted up Miguel's hips and shoved in, "One day-one single day-I'd like to sleep in."
Like a jack-in-the-box, Miguel suddenly bolted up to throw his bound wrists around Seth's neck. He squirmed on Seth's cock, eagerly licking at the black flames engraved into Seth's arm. "Then stop keeping weapons in the bedroom. Simple, yeah?"
And the little psycho's ass was still deep pink from last night. Jesus. With a mock-sigh, Seth sank his teeth into Miguel's throat and gnawed till the other man was trembling still. "Simple my whoring aunt," he snorted, already breathless.
Tipping Miguel back took a moment, and then Seth finally had the leverage necessary for a good, mind-blowing fuck. Which he promptly used. With any luck, Mig wouldn't wake up again till lunch.
***
Sun Dance: for the_dala
Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips and glowered from the doorway. "And what's wrong with being an early bird, pray tell?"
"I never…" Will rubbed at his eyes and stumbled after her, hastily doing up his trousers. "Have mercy, wife. I'm the one who had to get Jack and James into the car. You only distracted people from looking."
"Pathetic," she sniffed as she pulled him onto the grass. Sunbeams were trickling down from the brightening sky, threading themselves through the dew so the grass was a living embroidery of light. "Come on. You do this enough under the moon. Now try the sun, for once."
"I am." As he put a hand on her waist and another in her own, Will tiredly grinned at her. Together, they spun in spirals across the lawn.
***
Belled Pride: for wingedkiare
Carolina huddled in the corner of the bed and snarled at the two other lumps. Whereupon Sands popped up over the still-sleeping Fred and snickered. "Come on. Only fair."
"Who said this was supposed to be fair?" she grumbled, tugging at the collar about her neck. As she did, a faint tinkle filled the air, echoed closely by two identical bells as Fred drowsily uncurled and thereby made Sands tumble back into his blanket-nest.
"Are you two still arguing?" Fred began, grumpy and groggy so he slurred half the words. Then he paused. "Where's El?"
"Playing guitar on the balcony again." Sands shrugged and twined himself around Fred, determinedly cuddling until the other man gave up and let Sands use him as a pillow. Still muttering darkly to herself, Carolina grudgingly spooned up behind Fred, and her breathing soon matched the lazy pace of theirs.
When El came back in, step heavy and face shadowed, he had to smile when he saw the tangle of bodies and sheets. He carefully replaced his guitar in its case, then laid down on the edge of the group. Which, to his amusement and secret contentment, immediately rearranged to swallow him whole. With jingles.
***
On the Bay: for fabu
"Mon Dieu, Jacques. It's barely daylight. Did y'sleep at all?" Yawning voluptuously, Anamaria swayed into the kitchen to find him sitting on the floor, handfeeding Edward Scissorpaws while the rest of her cats patiently waited in a half-circle about him.
His shoulders lifted and dropped in an eloquent gesture of nonchalance that didn’t fool her one bit. Anamaria reluctantly gave up on the notion of sleeping any longer in a chilly bed and got down beside him, snagging Santanico and dangling a little anchovy before her nose.
“Two days to go,” Jacques muttered. His smile had a tinge of self-mockery about it. “You’d think I’d be used to this by now.”
“Hush.” But Anamaria leaned into his side, sharing sympathetic warmth.
* * *
Covering: for rokeon
“You like wearing these,” Ahmed murmured, running his fingers along the sodden silk that clung to Mort’s side.
The robe was a mess, fine gauziness ripped and knotted about Mort’s limp, very pliant body. Ahmed hadn’t untied the cord from the other man’s wrists yet, or peeled off the ruined clothing, so right now, snug against Ahmed’s side, Mort resembled a debauched angel, appealingly bound up in tatters of rich dark burgundy.
“They’re comfortable.” Languid grin, laced with a hint of devilishness, and no, Ahmed hadn’t forgotten what his companion could do, when angered enough. But never with Ahmed—here, Mort was sweet and tender and so beautiful that it made Ahmed want to enter into perverse worship of the other man, forget the teachings of Allah. Write blasphemous, rapturous poetry.
Or simply hold him above the quicksand of insanity.
* * *
Codex: for fangirl_lizzie
Shelves and shelves of pristine tomes, lining the way of the light and the dark.
A stray beam passed over Dean’s face, and he blinked awake to see a red ball framed in the window, its cast-off flames racing down the aisle to dapple him and G in scarlets and yellows. Miguel, bent about the both of them, remained in velvet shadow with only a hint of umber to indicate his face. Eyes open, Dean discovered when he looked closer.
“Yes, they’re safe. Ahmed and Mort didn’t touch them.” Jeer that brought an irked heat to Dean’s cheeks, but then a needle-fine tip drew softly down his back, and his bones melted away. G smiled, stretched and let him rest on her as Miguel scribbled looping words on his back, unfolding the pages of his mind.
* * *
Sobriety: for elspethdixon
Fideo willed the coffee to speak to him. It didn’t work, so he tried again.
Over in the corner, Lorenzo hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. //Christ Jesus. Man, never take sides in a catfight. It’s deadly. And I’m not even there.//
//Your fault for keeping five.// Stupid java was still silent, so Fideo took a big slurp, just to show that he meant business.
//Hey, hey. Save some for the rest of the family.// Smirking at himself, Lorenzo dropped into the seat next to Fideo, tilted back the chair and propped his feet up on the table. He snagged himself some coffee and the newspaper. //Whenever the hell they show up. You ever get the feeling that we’re the closest people to normal in this house?//
Burble hiss. Fideo arched his eyebrow, but the steaming liquid insisted. //My coffee says two weeks from now’s going to be worse. Something about some guy named Ichabod Crane.//
Lorenzo stared. Then he shook his head and buried himself in the newspaper. //God. I give up.//
***