Post #1

Apr. 16th, 2011 07:02 pm
fringekink_mod: Olivia, in bed and naked under the sheets (what? Totally!), eyes closed, smiling blissfully, hair fanned out on pillow (Default)
[personal profile] fringekink_mod posting in [community profile] fringe_kinkmeme
This is a kinkmeme. You may just be familiar with the concept.

If not: explicit, adult content; read at your own risk, and keep the kids -- wherever that arbitrary line is in your jurisdiction -- out. Also, please wear your seatbelt.

RULES

1. When prompting, use the comment field to jot down character, pairing, or moresome first, then the kink(s), then any other prompt elements; after a line break, you can elaborate via words, images, or links. Like so?



2. When responding, use the subject line for the original prompt (plus your title, if you have one).

3. All kinks are welcome -- sexual, emotional, conceptual, likewise all gen, het, slash, bitextual and other fic from crack to drama.

4. Anon is encouraged but up to you.

5. Mark all spoilers, mmkay?

6. Go for it!

REMINDERS

7. With a view to some prompts: Spell Check is your BFF. Don't make Alt!Astrid cry, please?

8. A kinkmeme's more than a promptmeme. Here's [personal profile] eliade's non-definitive and non-exhaustive (but pretty illustrative) List of Fan-fiction Kinks, Tropes, Clich├ęs, and Fetishes.

9. Could you -- in the subject line or the first line of the body of text -- draw attention to the fact there's rape or non-con, major character death, underage, and/or graphic violence in your response (which is the Archive Of Our Own (AO3) policy).

Date: 2011-04-21 03:31 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Walter/Olivia, fetish

(no subject)

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Date: 2011-04-21 03:33 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Peter/Olivia, Olivia likes to be spanked

Date: 2011-06-12 11:50 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I will be eternally grateful to whomever can make this prompt work

Repetitive Action - Olivia/Peter

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-06-22 04:18 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Repetitive Action - Olivia/Peter

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Re: Repetitive Action - Olivia/Peter

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Re: Repetitive Action - Olivia/Peter

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Re: Repetitive Action - Olivia/Peter

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Date: 2011-04-21 03:36 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Peter/Olivia, olivia's hair as a fetish

blue Astrid/red Lincoln

Date: 2011-04-21 06:03 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
blueAstrid/redLincoln authority figures, domination

Re: blue Astrid/red Lincoln

Date: 2011-08-06 03:47 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
this one could be so cool, it sucks that i can't write for nothing :(

Date: 2011-04-21 06:05 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
blue Lincoln/red Lincoln, glasses

Perfection, squared

Date: 2011-08-16 12:32 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
(I'd started writing this awhile back, before I saw the prompt. I hope that's allowable!)


The first thing Lincoln thinks is: those glasses, who does this guy think he is, Clark Kent?

And the second, hot on the first's heels: of course he's Clark, because I'm Superman.

Third: We are *smokin'.*

The other Lincoln's mouth is still hanging open in shock at seeing another version of himself, but Lincoln has to give him credit for not completely losing his shit. This guy's had only minimal contact with Fringe Division, his world isn't subject to wormhole events, and he's part of the FBI, which hasn't been dissolved over here and still investigates ordinary crimes. Seeing his double suddenly materialize in his apartment isn't anywhere in his lexicon. Fair's fair; a couple of months earlier, it wouldn't have been in Lincoln's either.

"Hey," he says softly, trying not to spook his alternate, "it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Yes, I am your double from an alternate universe, and I know that's a lot to believe, but--"

The other Lincoln (and that's it, Lincoln decides to think of him as "Lee" to keep things straight) swallows hard, pushes his glasses back on his face, and says, "This is a 'Fringe Division' thing, isn't it."

Lincoln blinks at him and wow, it's nice to have all his assumptions about his own intelligence and adaptability confirmed. "Yeah. They know about us, but how did you--"

Lee interrupts just like he would. "I ran a case with them not too long ago, my security clearance got hiked up a couple of levels. Enough to know they're working on things that aren't--aren't normal. I put in for a transfer, but...." he shakes his head. "Alternate universe. So over there, you're...?"

"Part of Fringe Division, yeah. It's--a lot different." Lincoln looks around at Lee's apartment, a virtual mirror to his own. "I came through here because it's easier in a place with a lot of sympathetic resonance."

"And you're here because?" Lee's tone is wary, and Lincoln approves.

"Reconnaissance. Seeing if the crossover would work. And I--" oh, who was he ever kidding that he could keep from spilling everything, even without prompting. "I was desperate to meet my doppelganger."

"When you're here, aren't you *my* doppelganger?" Lee retorts tartly, and Lincoln has to laugh because it's true and also, the indignation is too damn cute. He really is too damn cute. Both of him.

Lee watches him laugh, assessing, and Lincoln would really like to wipe that apprehensive look off his face. It should be as simple as determining what would work on *him,* but he's always been more swayed by actions rather than words, and the particular action he's increasingly wanting to take might just get him punched. He can take a punch--and this FBI version of himself can't have half Lincoln's field training or specialized skill set, so he's not worried on that count--but still, he's invaded the other guy's space and manners are manners.

Finally Lee sighs and rubs at his forehead. "I should be calling my superiors. Digging out those first contact protocols we're not supposed to know about. But unless you're really more different than I can imagine...I know you'll tell me the truth."

"I'd be the worst spy ever. Can't keep a secret," Lincoln agrees, and by Lee's rueful smile he can tell that's true for his other self as well. "So honest truth, I'm here because my world needs help. Our side is facing environmental degradation on a massive scale. Our tech is more advanced in some ways, but you guys have a knack for innovative solutions."

"In that case, why not send--"

"A science or diplomatic team? Because we had to know the crossover would work, that the thin spot would hold stable. And I'm expendable." It's flat truth and he accepted that, honestly, when the assignment came up. He's Fringe-trained, sure--but ultimately he's just a soldier with a science degree, and on his side there are more of those than ever coming out of the Academy. He doesn't have a wife and kids to leave behind. And most important, he'd won the coin toss with Charlie to see which of them would make the jump. (And a good thing he never told Charlie about how his brother'd taught him to spin the toss, too.) But Lee looks appalled. "Hey, it's cool. Part of the job."

"Not 'cool,' by any means," Lee mutters. "But you're here, and..." he pauses. "Uh. This isn't a matter/antimatter thing, right? The world won't blow up if we touch?"

"No. You nerd," Lincoln says fondly, because it's just the kind of thing he'd asked when this all started. "Here, give me your hand."

Lee looks at his outstretched hand for a second and then reaches out, his palm cool when he touches Lincoln. Lincoln grins a little and squeezes before dropping the grip; no sense in freaking the mundane. "See? No earth-shattering kaboom."

Lee's laugh is as full of as much relief as amusement. "So you've got Marvin over there, huh?"

Talking about kids' cartoons is pretty much the last topic of conversation Lincoln'd figured on, but he is nothing if not flexible. "Oh, sure. Marvin, Bugs, Zip, Daffy--"

"What's a 'Zip'?"

"Little orange dude, goes running around like a maniac."

Lee's face scrunches up under the glasses. "Like Speedy Gonzales, I guess."

"'Speedy'-- okay, sure." It sounds a little racist to Lincoln but getting into a cross-cultural argument really doesn't interest him much. "So, look, is it okay if I hang here? I'd love to walk around and see your world but that's probably more of a security risk than you're willing to take, and I don't want to get you in trouble. Should just be a couple of hours before I'm, uh, called back."

The wary look is back. "And I'm supposed to, what, keep my mouth shut about this?"

"No, you're going to report everything you're inclined to, although I'd suggest calling up your Fringe people first so your superiors don't slam you in the nuthouse." At Lee's grimace he knows he's right on target. "Like I said, this is only a test to make sure the crossover is stable. Since I don't seem to be imploding or anything, you'll be hearing more from us soon."

"I am," Lee says suddenly, "taking all of this more calmly than I should be."

"All that Star Trek you watched as a kid," Lincoln reassures him. "I watched it too, that's part of why I was chosen. You're, you know, open to the possibilities."

"So open minded that my brain's fallen out, apparently," Lee says dryly, and scrubs at his head, then checks Lincoln out again. Or maybe he's just taking stock of the differences, but it does kind of look like--

"So, uh, what's with the hair?"

Lincoln grins because the question sparks such a cherished memory. "Old girlfriend made me up once for a club, I decided I liked it." The rest of the outfit--leather pants, makeup, and all--only made reappearances at Halloween or the occasional Rocky Horror midnight show.

Lee sort of "hmmmms" noncommittally and offers, "I never got my vision corrected. Always meant to, but..." he shrugs a little.

"I had to, for the job." And even if he hadn't on purpose, it would have been fixed by default during one of his several injury-repairing nanite baths. But again, there's no sense in freaking Lee out with the reality of life on the other side. "So Le-- Lincoln," and it's so weird to hear his name come out of his mouth, addressing someone else, "if you wanna make those calls, it's cool."

Lee's stare is very intense suddenly, very focused. "I'm an analyst. I'm used to assessing the situation...thoroughly...before making a recommendation. And I'm not quite sure what I'll say, yet."

It *sounds* like the kind of line Lincoln wants to hear, but he's not willing to risk cross-universal relations on his intuition. Yet. "Well, we could compare childhoods, or if you had questions--"

"I want to know," Lee says, "who *really* did your hair."

And Lincoln starts to laugh, helplessly, because--seriously, did he really think he could dissemble, even a little? Especially to his mirror-double? "Okay! I wasn't lying, though. My girlfriend did the makeup. My boyfriend did the hair."

Lee holds perfectly still for a moment before he nods and smiles, his expression wry. "I'm afraid your life stories are going to be a lot more exciting than mine. Especially given that you're..." he waves a hand toward Lincoln's leather jacket and camo pants, "Action Guy, in addition to the more...exciting social life." He nods again, looking like he's come to some kind of decision. "But this is too unique an opportunity to pass up and I really do want to learn as much as I can about you before the mad scientists descend. --but you'd probably counted on that," he adds, and Lincoln grins in agreement.

"Seal it with a kiss?" Lincoln suggests, mostly joking and only partly hopeful, but the flare of interest in Lee's eyes tells him that yeah, they *are* thinking the same thing, and when would he have this chance again?

Lee takes off the glasses and hey, there is steel under there after all, in the directness of his look. "So you *are* thinking what I'm thinking, Pinky."

"What's a--" Pinky, he wants to ask, but Lee's mouth is on his and damn. This is way hotter than it should be and nothing he's ever going to put in a report. The others can find out with their alternates, if they want.

"Think I'll leave this out of the report," Lee murmurs against his mouth, and again, the congruence of thought is so perfect that all he can do is snicker a little against his double's skin.

"It's legitimate research," he says as his hands start peeling Lee out of his so-formal suit. "Find out how alike we really--"

"You're a *talker,*" Lee says, sounding amused and surprised. "--no, that's fine, just try not to scare my neighbors. I do," he adds, his hands now busy on Lincoln's pants, "have to live in this universe."


And it's not really unexpected, how much they end up having in common, although the specific differences make them both laugh or gasp, as appropriate. Lincoln hadn't planned on this, but c'mon, the possibility had been there right from the start, and there was no way in hell anyone who knew him would expect him to pass up the opportunity. Charlie will have the truth out of him in less than a minute, and Liv...

Liv's going to laugh her ass off when he gets home.

Re: Perfection, squared

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-08-16 06:28 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Perfection, squared

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Re: Perfection, squared

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Re: Perfection, squared

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Date: 2011-04-21 06:10 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Alt-Charlie/Olivia angry, dirty

Date: 2011-04-21 06:11 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Alt-Charlie/olivia/Alt-Lincoln ,they found her!

Date: 2011-05-10 11:00 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
As olivia was running down Chinatown, her one thought was, damn Walter for making me do this on this side.
Not only could she not torn off the machine on her side but to crossover to do it, this just was not her day.
As she turn the corner olivia took a moment to look over her shoulder to see if they were still following her, she could see Charlie just down the steet with her in his sites full change,
but Lincoln was now were she could see but that didn't mean he wasn't there.

Date: 2011-04-22 01:03 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
red olivia/blue Lincoln, your so beautiful!
From: (Anonymous)
The tug that gets Lincoln out of the way of the beams of lightning is sharp enough to be called a jerk; he chokes a little, his hands automatically clutching around the ones that grabbed the collar of his dress shirt so suddenly.

Slim hands, long fingers. When his eyes have stopped watering -- when she has dragged him around the corner -- he blinks at his saviour.

"Agent Dunham?" he rasps, and she grins in a way that seems even less familiar than the expressions of the man inhabiting her body that last time.

That said, the red hair and the black leather jacket do underline this vague impression of his.

"Not the one you were expecting." Olivia Dunham lets him go, but not abruptly, and she's still standing pretty damn close for someone who's just confessed to not having been properly introduced yet. "Not who anyone was expecting, I guess."

Lincoln swallows. He's missed not one memo but a whole file folder full of them, full of alternate universes and their inhabitants, but she's quite right about her latter point. Still, he can't see any reason for this double from the other side to save a random agent on the FBI payroll in the midst of the apocalypse, so maybe she's not currently hell-bent on helping to destroy their world. "Maybe we should find the team and --"

"Or maybe we get the hell out of here instead." Her smile is a razor, but it's not its threat that makes Lincoln nod. It's how thin it is: as if there is little left of her.

She pushes him forward, presumably for the chance to shove a gun into his kidneys if he doesn't behave, but the motion is almost gentle. "Okay," Lincoln says in his most reasonable voice, "we can do that." He guesses he actually can, although of course Broyles will silently curse his absence, and Peter -- well, okay, Peter has other things to worry about at the moment.

"Good boy." He cannot see her while he's stumbling forward into the darkness and away from the explosions, their sound and light and vibration, but her voice is smiling.

Other side or not, she knows this place, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, because unerringly, she guides him into back-alleys and through passageways, even through a narrow cobble-stone conduit that he didn't even know Boston possessed, rainwater flowing freely across their shoes, soaking them almost up to the knee. He half-expects hounds to start barking far behind them.

That Olivia Dunham is not chatty, but she does speak, eventually. "This door, up the stairs. Hurry."

He does; they both do. The floorboards creak under the soles of her boots, his tread not much lighter. Her hands resting not-so-loosely on his shoulders, she pushes past him to stick two fingers into a niche between two bricks, to fish out a key. "Open the door."

The room they enter is small, sparsely furnished: kitchenette, table, a second room where he can glimpse a bed. "A safehouse?" The thought of the shapeshifters, of another Walter Bishop having set aside such spaces in their world is disconcerting, if probably too late now.

"Yes, but it's mine and mine alone, set up on a whim during my assignment here." He dares to look at her, and her eyes are softer now, focused on his face. "A stitch in space, if you will."

He can't be wrong about this. Mostly because she might kill him. "You learned more after that assignment and decided not to go along in the end. You ran."

Her eyes are like the sea before a storm, but not the way one would think: like there's a volcano erupting deep underwater. "I don't run." She does glance away then. "But I did walk away, you're right. All of us did, and we--" she exhales. "It doesn't matter now what we did. I'm here, and I need to hide for the time being."

He's only read about her, and hell, he doesn't even know this side's Olivia Dunham well. Why did she take him along, of all people. There are better hostages (if, he thinks ruefully, probably each of them stronger and more dangerous, so). "And I?"

"You stay with me," Olivia says, and says the thing that throws him most, out of everything today: "Lincoln, please".

He opens his mouth to laugh, an incredulous little huff at the very least, but he sees her expression, so he says yes, yes he will.

[tbc]

Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2012-06-19 06:42 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

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Re: Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

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Re: Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

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Re: Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

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Re: Blue Lincoln/Red Olivia - One linc at a time

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Hallucination & infected!Peter

Date: 2011-04-22 04:38 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
1. Olivia/Peter; hallucination, mindfuck (literally). One hallucinating the other, for some reason. Sex ensures, despite being aware it is possibly a hallucination.

When Olivia was stuck on the other side, she hallucinated Peter ("Real is just a matter of perception."), which made me go pervert-mode because I've always been fascinated by the idea of hallucinations, astral projection, psychic connections, etc, involving sex. The way he was speaking to her was rather seductive, I noticed.

2. Olivia/Peter; aggressive!Peter, animalistic, not-in-the-normal-state-of-mind, drugs/infections.

I've actually seen one or two fics that expanded on the episode where Peter had become infected and fought with Olivia. I just want more, because I'm greedy. And the idea of Peter pissed and out of control but determined is just so damned hot.

Re: Hallucination & infected!Peter

Date: 2011-04-25 04:56 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Olivia/Peter; hallucination, mindfuck

Olivia stares at the ceiling where colors bleed from the corners and snake down the wall. She kicks at the sheets that are tangled around her feet until they fall to the floor at the end of the bed. Faint pulses of light dance above her, a tiny, contained aurora.

"Pretty," Peter says from his spot beside her on the bed.

She can feel the warmth of his body despite the fact that he left hours ago so she could sleep off the remains of Walter's latest experiment. "You're not here."

"Ah, my mistake."

She can hear the amusement in his voice, feel it slink along her face and nuzzle her ear. After a while she rolls onto her side and looks at him. "You're not glowing."

"I'm apparently not even here, so that doesn't surprise me."

She reaches out to him, strokes the stubble on his jaw, the little hairs pricking thorn-like at her fingers. She looks at him suspiciously. "If you're not here, why do you feel so real."

He looks disappointed. "We've been over this before."

She flops onto her back and stretches her arms wide, like she's flying and she almost feels like she is. Her left arm encounters only an extra pillow. He's crouched over her now, sly smile on his lips. She can feel the press of his knees at her sides, but the bed doesn't dip under his weight. He runs one hand up her stomach, sliding through her t-shirt like a ghost.

"Neat trick."

His smile gets a little toothy. "Thought you'd like that."

She circles her fingers around his arm, stilling his forward progress before he gets to her breasts. She rubs her thumb over the thin skin on the inside of his wrist, feels the flutter of his pulse. She draws her knees up, urging him forward and he leans over her. His breath is cold for a moment, an icy fan over her face until her mind makes the adjustment and warms it. His eyes are dark blue above her, like a sky filled with stars.

"Should I be worried about this?"

"I think you're asking the wrong person." He brushes his lips over hers, light enough to make her shiver and she darts her tongue out to touch him. She explores his lips with her tongue, mapping the slick contours, the familiar shape. When she bites his lower lips he grinds his hips down into her. She grins against his mouth.

"I can make you do whatever I want."

"You so sure about that, sweetheart?"

The nickname makes heat curl in the pit of her stomach, anger and arousal both. She bites again, and he pushes against her mouth, rough and hungry and she's pulling at his hair to get him closer. His hand is moving again, cupping her breast, tracing patterns that burn and tingle in the wake of his fingers. When his fingers close around her nipple, she can't stop the roll of her hips, the little moan. She wiggles under him, shoving her pajama pants down and off and kicking them away.

"You realize you didn't have to do that?"

"Shut up."

He laughs and pushes her legs apart, settles between them, pushes inside.

The intensity is shocking. He's stretching her just enough, perfectly thick and amazingly hard. She chokes out a laugh between gasps, digs her fingers into the tense muscles of his ass. He draws out slowly, then snaps his hips in a quick thrust that makes her shudder. She lifts her hips to meet his next thrust, rolling into him in a slow grind. He leans his forehead against hers, fucks her slowly, so slowly, until she's writhing under him, until she shatters into little shards that melt under the heat of him.

Re: Hallucination & infected!Peter

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-04-26 12:52 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Hallucination & infected!Peter

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Re: Hallucination & infected!Peter

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Date: 2011-04-25 03:10 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
alt!Lincon/alt!Olivia, stubble and/or exposure and/or finger fucking

Date: 2011-04-25 11:12 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Walter/Olivia, finger fuck

Date: 2011-04-26 03:54 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
red olivia/red Lincoln/blue olivia, we have you now!

astrid/charlie

Date: 2011-04-26 05:51 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
eny astrid/eny Charlie, I'v been a bad bad girl!

blue olivia/red lincoln

Date: 2011-04-26 05:55 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
blue olivia/red Lincoln ,I would die for you

Date: 2011-04-26 07:12 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Astrid/Olivia, D/s

Astrid helps Olivia work through her trust issues.

Date: 2011-04-26 02:46 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
what is D/s?

(no subject)

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(no subject)

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(no subject)

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Date: 2011-04-27 08:10 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Red Olivia/Lincoln and Peter.

Filthy, violent nasty sex.

All Over Again

Date: 2011-08-01 02:07 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
They've done this too many times before. They both know which buttons to push. It almost gets boring, yet she finds ways to keep them entertained.

Peter walks in on them fucking on the table in Lincoln's office. Olivia has her legs wrapped around him, thighs pressed firmly against Lincoln's sides, calves crossed behind his back, arms holding onto his shoulders for support as he keeps slamming hard into her while holding her bottom to pull her closer each time.

He can't look away even though he feels the sting of jealousy in his chest. He knows it's not her, but when she throws her head back and her scream echoes everywhere he can't help but want to be the man inside her.

Days pass by and the more he keeps thinking about her the worse is the fever. He can hear them in the shower, in the parking lot, he knows every spot by heart, knows when, in which positions and how many times they've done it. He smells sex when he's around them. They've crossed the line.

The bar is too crowded, the music is too loud, he is too horny and everything is too complicated.

At first it's simple, a game, a touch, a slightly open mouth, a tongue licking an upper lip and after a few drinks he finds himself just staring at her. She knows exactly what she's doing.

'You look bored', she pouts. 'Need a company?'

His eyes roam her body. No matter what she wears he knows exactly how she looks underneath.

'I'm married', he barks and raises his left hand. 'I don't do this anymore.'

He doesn't remember how they get home. All he knows is that he's on the bed and the couple beside him is going wild.

Lincoln is kissing her roughly, definitely shoving his tongue into her mouth, but she, of course, doesn't seem to mind. His lips move lower, to her neck, then her breasts and there's a nipple between Lincoln's teeth in a few seconds. He stops abruptly and looks up at Peter.

'That's not a peep show, man', he smirks.

Peter knows what to do and soon there's a nipple between his own teeth. Olivia gasps and grabs onto both men's hair. Nothing is too much for her. She is hungry and she won't be satisfied until she's full.

Lincoln's hand snakes down and there's a moan.

'Whore', he simply says and his tongue continues to taste her breast.

It's been a while since they've done this, but Peter knows that once it gets rough there's no way back. Lincoln is already exploring the heat between his girlfriend's legs. By the sound of it Olivia is being penetrated by the traditional combination of three long fingers. She grabs the pillow, the sheets, everything she can hold on to, she pulls Peter up for a kiss and keeps letting out muffled moans which indicate that Lincoln isn't exactly capable of talking at the moment.

Peter breaks the kiss and feels the bed shift. The look on Olivia's face tells him Lincoln doesn't waste his time.

'Fuck', the younger man's whisper is enough for Peter to turn his head and look. Her legs are on his shoulders and his thrusts are merciless.

Peter is too drunk to control his instincts. Before he knows it her mouth is already around his cock. He hisses with every vibrating groan that Lincoln pushes out of her.

'Good girl', he murmurs pounding into her. 'Don't you love it when you have something in your mouth while being fucked?'

Peter's mind goes absent once she sucks so hard he actually loses it. He pulls himself out of her mouth and comes all over her lips and chin, watching the pearly liquid trickle down her cheeks.

'Such a slut, Liv', Lincoln keeps thrusting as he runs his finger along her face and pushes it into her mouth. 'Such a dirty bitch.'

Olivia can't seem to take it anymore. She keeps on muttering, altering between "yes" and "God" and Peter doesn't know why he suddenly wants to do it, but they've done this too many times. Both he and Lincoln know exactly which buttons to push. He knows that his finger on her clit will finish her off. And after a minute of intensive rubbing her hips raise off the bed to meet Lincoln's mad thrusts. Their simultaneous screams are enough to wake the whole neighbourhood up, but that's the last thing they care about.

What Peter really wants to know in the morning is how they keep dragging him into it again and again after all these years.

Re: All Over Again

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Re: All Over Again

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Re: All Over Again

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Re: All Over Again

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-08-02 04:51 am (UTC) - Expand

Olvia/Walternate

Date: 2011-04-27 03:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Olivia/Walternate - what happened after he slammed down the metal screen on her cell...

Date: 2011-04-28 07:58 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Alt-Olivia/Alt-Lincoln, gunplay

Date: 2011-05-06 08:51 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
A/N: neither safe nor sane, but it is consensual.


It was his father's love of sports and national pride that led to Lincoln meeting Olivia for the first time. Not that he actually met her, but he saw her, poised and solemn among the other shooters at the event that his dad had dragged him to and suddenly Lincoln wasn't able to muster the 16-year-old miasma of apathy that he'd been sulking in since they got to Atlanta. He was able to muster something else and spent the rest of the competition shifting in his seat to attempt to hide that fact.

She was a darling of the media when she won gold, beautiful and talented, interviewed on the talk shows, face on posters, posed with her gun, grinning. It was not any coincidence at all that Lincoln hung his poster of her at the foot of his bed where he could see it easily.

A story that his asshole brother made sure to tell the first time he met Olivia when he'd stopped by the office for a quick visit while he was in town. Dammit.

Olivia laughed it off, seemingly forgetting about it, but afterwards Lincoln kept catching her looking at him from under her bangs, dyed red to distance herself from her younger self's specter. They'd already started their ill-advised affair at that point, pushing each other into dark corners of the locker room and meeting up at sleazy hotels. She met his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, and that night when he was doing his level best to fuck her through the wall in the parking garage out of sight of the damn security cameras, she smirked and asked him if he wanted her to wear the medals next time.

And, well, no, that wasn't really what he wanted.

*****

They'd graduated to nicer hotels, sometimes even his apartment, because apparently that's what happened when your fuck buddy from work found out about your ridiculous fetish that was all her fault anyway.

She pinned him against the door as soon as it closed, gun drawn and pressing into the skin just below his ear. He couldn't stop the little sound that escaped his lips, something between a shriek of fear and a moan of pleasure. It made Olivia grin and grind herself against his thigh. She dropped her free hand to his crotch and squeezed the hard length of his cock.

"You know, this reaction of yours is going to be pretty embarrassing if you ever actually get held at gunpoint."

He bucked his hips a little and she pushed the gun harder against him. He throbbed in her hand and let his head thump back against the door. "Jesus, you're telling me. Maybe it'd freak the gunman out and he'd let me go."

She had his fly open and was squeezing the head of his cock through his boxers. She shifted the gun up to his cheek and could smell the oil, the tang of metal. "Maybe he'd like it and he'd want to keep you."

"That's where his clever plan fails, 'cause you'd rescue me, right?" He clenched his eyes shut and concentrated on not coming in his damn pants.

She tilted her head. "I'd consider it."

She stepped away, gun trained on him and he felt sort of dizzy, like there wasn't enough blood in his brain, and hell, there probably wasn't. He watched her hand, the way her fingers curled around the grip, one finger extended along the barrel, the play of tendons and muscles in her forearm. She gestured towards the bed. "Time for you to get naked."

He sat on the end of the bed and pulled his boots off. "You're not joining me in naked-time?" He tried not to sound too disappointed.

"Not yet." She waited until his clothing was in a pile on the floor and said, "On your back, spread your arms and legs."

He complied, because that's what you did when you were naked and a woman with a gun told you to get on the damn bed. She gave his thigh a friendly swat before she crawled on him, settling her weight across his waist, trapping his cock against his belly. Her hand stroked a hot path down his chest, followed by the cold metal of the gun. He shivered and wiggled against the her.

She leaned forward and shoved the gun under his chin. "Hold still."

He relaxed under her, stopped squirming, and she pressed her lips where the gun had been, licked his skin. She nibbled her way up to his mouth, attacked his lips while he moaned into her mouth. The gun dug into his neck, hard enough to make him wince and gasp.

Olivia sat up and shook her hair behind one shoulder, bracing herself against his chest. The metal had warmed when she traced the outline of his lips with the gun, light and feathery, and his tongue darted out to touch the muzzle. She rolled her hips against him. "Like that?"

He nodded and licked again, circling his tongue around the opening. She nudged the gun forward, between his lips, and he closed his mouth around the barrel, metal slick and bitter on his tongue.

She moved the gun carefully, and he was grateful for that; he didn't really want to have to explain any more chipped teeth to his damn dentist. His eyes fluttered shut when she moved enough to circle her free hand around his cock, jerking him off in slow, hard strokes that matched the movement of the gun fucking his mouth. He was so, so close when she said, "Open your eyes, Lincoln."

She was watching him, mouth slack, eyes wide and feral, and sometimes he forgot that he wasn't the only one who got off on this. He tilted his head, took the gun deeper in his mouth and she whined, fingers clenching around him and he came in the hot grip of her hand.

(no subject)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-05-07 12:29 am (UTC) - Expand

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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-05-07 03:42 am (UTC) - Expand

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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-05-10 05:37 pm (UTC) - Expand

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From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-09-18 02:52 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-04-29 03:36 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Olivia/Peter; stripclub

Peter visits a stripclub and notices one of the dancers seems awfully familiar, and decides to pay to get a much closer look...

Date: 2011-04-29 05:05 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Peter/Olivia, stubble

Part 1 of 2

Date: 2011-06-02 11:51 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
That first night up in their bedroom, it's hard. No pun intended.

Her face goes through this complex, complicated routine of surprise, but she's Olivia; she ends up at concentrated and grips his cock with even more determination, maybe even (growing) appreciation. Peter doesn't have to look down, marvel at how small her hand looks by comparison.

But of course he does it anyway. Glances up again, takes in the flush on her face, deepened.

Peter thinks about explanations, about words of comfort, and he knows he can deliver them both without breaking the sweat they've only just started on. But he just smiles and kisses her, kisses her mouth even more wide-open and lets his fingers stroke her: slide across skin, nipples and navel and beneath, across wiry curls and inside her cunt where she's wetter than her wide eyes suggest.

For someone so strong, she weighs very little when he pushes her upwards, holds her above him for a moment, then settles on his back, her spread out above him, sitting astride his lap, and oh yes, she's biting her lip, frowning. Holding onto his cock not so much to protect it but to protect herself, he thinks. Prepare herself, at the very least, and that she has to do, not just mentally. He smiles what he knows is a winning smile, adds a little challenge.

Olivia cannot -- well, she can sometimes resist challenges because her impulse control's good. But Peter thinks she doesn't want to here -- wants to feel him inside her, which is only fair because he's wanted that too for so long: slide into her slow and deep and and deeper. Their eyes meet; Peter really wants more than that but he can't push, not yet, only pull by laying his hand over hers, feel the slight slippery wetness between her fingers where the head peeking out, standing out.

He's about to open his mouth, finally coax her with his mouth in different ways, but there's that fierce vertical line on her forehead, and she slides upwards, her slickness spreading over his hands, her hands, his cock. Deep breath, the one she takes even more than his, and she does take him inside, slides the tip between her folds, lowers herself down just a little. Peter is not surprised about her gasp after the first inch or so -- at the way her right hand grips his biceps tightly, her left hand restlessly trying for a hold on his pecs, pulling at chest hair he's never paid much mind to until now. He winces, and she does too; he slides his hands under the curve of her ass, lifting and ready to lower her the way she wants, the way she will want it.

A minute passes, and Olivia's staring down at where they're joined, where his cock seems almost too wide to take, which he knows it's not; even if it were Olivia has always been about making the impossible possible. Her breath is coming faster now, glistening sheen on her upper lip, and her right thumb and index finger are digging into the muscles of his arm to the point of pain.

But it's so, so good: Olivia tight and slick and hot around him, gliding down a little more each minute, swallowing hard, and he does his best to soothe her and arouse her at the same time, thumb slipping into her folds, catching her -- their -- wetness and rubbing her right where she wants it, where it'll all begin and end, with her body already trembling a little.

With a start, her weight settles onto him. Her eyes have fluttered shut, but her body is moving minutely upwards again, and Peter is glad, no, overjoyed to help her: lift her up, a little, rock into her from below, into heat and wholeness, and she lets out a little cry that he hopes to hell is pleasure, holding still for just a moment, but she doesn't keep going, up and away but instead pushes down again, counter-point, perfect, and picking up speed with every thrust up and down and up and down; there's more wetness beneath his thumb now, slicking them both between their bodies, and he's starting to shiver too, his balls tightening, telling.

Olivia opens her eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, and when he flicks his thumb across her clit she whines, a low sound before her cunt starts contracting around his cock, and he pushes and pushes harder and follows her into blinding, seeing sensation.

Re: Part 1 of 2

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-06-02 09:17 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Part 1 of 2

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2012-02-26 02:06 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Part 1 of 2

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-06-23 06:02 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Part 1 of 2

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2012-02-26 02:05 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-04-29 05:06 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
olivia/walternate - he enjoys torturing her

Date: 2011-04-29 05:08 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
peter/olivia, inside olivia's mind (taken place during 319, maybe?); bell watches.

Date: 2011-04-29 05:10 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Nina/Olivia; d/s

Astrid/alt!Astrid

Date: 2011-05-01 05:36 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Astrid/alt!Astrid, trust in me, just in me

Alt-Olivia/Olivia/Alt-Lincoln

Date: 2011-05-01 05:37 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Alt-Olivia/Olivia/Alt-Lincoln

Re: Alt-Olivia/Olivia/Alt-Lincoln

Date: 2011-05-12 10:09 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Can we get a kink too? :)

Re: Alt-Olivia/Olivia/Alt-Lincoln

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-05-13 08:51 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Alt-Olivia/Olivia/Alt-Lincoln

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-05-26 08:20 pm (UTC) - Expand

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