thalia/j.r. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thalialunacy2) wrote2011-10-08 01:50 am
thalialunacy2) wrote2011-10-08 01:50 am
Entry tags:
FIC: 'Parallel Motion' - Epilogue
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Epilogue
Karl’s laugh echoes through the living room as he throws Chris down onto the couch. Chris heaves up, suppressing his own laughter, and nearly lets out a loud guffaw when Karl straddles him and proceeds to grope the shit out of him.
“Jesus, Karl!” he hisses between snatched breaths as he pushes at Karl’s shoulders. Karl doesn’t budge until Chris dials up the strength, and he barely has time to cushion the blow before they’re in a heap on the ground. He has one ear cocked to the baby monitor (Bedazzled, you bet your bottom, by Zach, as a present for his ‘little God-monster’) for sounds from the nursery, but hears nothing... yet. “The baby--”
“Is asleep,” Karl says confidently, slipping his hand under Chris’s ugly-ass sweater and wrapping strong thighs around Chris’s midsection. “Where do you think the term ‘slept like a baby’ came from?”
“Uh... irony? She’s not exactly-- Oomph--”
His deep etymological thoughts are cut off when Karl flips them over and pins him to the carpet.
---
Because they’d had a girl. And that’s alright, really: A month prior, just after the birth but before much-delayed filming of Trek 2 began, Nat and the boys had been out to visit, and Chris had known the second he’d accepted Indy’s solemn handshake that in a few years, he’d be having another sleepless full moon.
And one werewolf offspring is quite enough, thanks.
---
He forgets that, though, once he has Karl naked and sweaty and on all fours in front of him. Their scent is so strong he’s having trouble thinking anything at all beyond wantneedmine, beyond a ceaseless chant of claimclaimclaim...
(He’s made the claim several hundred--thousand--times. But his body wants it desperately, innately, wholly, just the same. Every damn time.)
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against the back of Karl’s neck as he pushes three slick fingers inside him. The chase always gets them both on edge with arousal, and the fact that they haven’t really done anything like it for months makes it even more intense, but he refuses to go in without some sort of prep. “Gonna fuck you hard, like I know you want it.” He takes a bite of Karl’s skin, the skin at the back of his neck. Leaves a mark. Because he can. Karl whimpers, and Chris feels triumphant. “Such shenanigans. Coulda just told me you wanted to.”
Karl growls and pushes back. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Chris feels the tightening around his fingers and loses his already-veering train of thought. He straightens up and enters Karl without any more preamble, fucking into him with a strength that makes them both groan. “Yeah,” Chris says roughly as he pistons in and out, “you like that. Fucking perfect.” He holds onto Karl’s hips so hard there might be bruises tomorrow. If they were anybody else. If they were normal.
But they’re not. And Chris has never been so thankful.
“Take it so well,” Chris mutters as Karl ruts back into him, intent and hot and tight. “Give it well, too.” The sounds of wet slapping skin and heavy breathing fill the room, and Chris knows with the all the tussling around they did that this stage isn’t going to last long.
Which is fine with him.
He drops down as soon as he feels it. Folds himself over Karl and whispers things in his ear as his knot begins to form, as his thrusts begin to shallow out from the resistance against Karl’s rim. “Gonna fill you up, you know. Breed you full up, make them wait even longer to make any more movies. Watch you grow fat and happy again, take care of you when you’re grumpy and huge.”
He doesn’t even know what he’s saying; his knot is full bore inside Karl now and and it’s all instinct, all words tumbling out as they rock together, locked together by this thing.
Locked together by this thing that they are.
---
It hasn’t been perfect.
Juniper’s birth was messy--literally and metaphorically; Chris had never chainsmoked so much in his life--and they are both still adjusting, constantly rearranging things, fitting pieces back together: Karl as a husband and father, but in a new way; Chris as an alpha, but with a partner; them both as working actors trying to live their lives under the radar, having even more to hide now. Sometimes it feels like they’ll never be done adjusting.
So it’s not perfect. It’s fucking hard, actually. But as Chris pushes his hands through the sweat on the skin of the man curled up next to him, making tracks through rough hair and smooth liquids, he knows deep in his gut that there’s no other imperfect thing he’d rather be a part of. And that, like Crunchy Cheetos and Jolly Ranchers, this imperfection is part of his fate. Destiny.
Life.
And now you should go leave praise at the
Art Master Post.
Because the artist deserves all of it and more.
Master Post
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Page 1 of 2