Two Lines fic: PDA -- Sky High, Will Stronghold/Warren Peace, NC-17

[untappedbeauty]

I've been gone for approximately forever and have surely missed tons of stuff. Sorry to everyone who might have thought I up and dropped off the face of the planet; I've just been internet-less for a goodly chunk of time. Will respond to stuff that needs responses soon, promise. And much love to you guys. At least I come bearing fic! Ridiculously late Two Lines fic, but still. Any fic at all is rather novel at this point. *g*

Title: PDA
Fandom: Sky High
Pairing: Will Stronghold/Warren Peace
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Disclaimer: Characters and 'verse belong to Disney, not me. I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Author's Note: Written for shanalle's Two Lines challenge. This fic is set in the future, when Will and Warren are above the age of consent. Endless thanks to sparklewitch for the read-through and input.

As per the challenge rules, the fic was inspired by these lyrics:
"I'm learning, I'm yearning
I'm burning, all your stuff"
Barenaked Ladies -- "Thanks, That Was Fun"


PDA
All right, he admits it. It's dumb to be worried about someone like Warren who can take care of himself just fine. As if the whole setting-stuff-on-fire-and-throwing-fireballs weren't enough, Warren's got the attitude that means only an idiot would fuck around with him.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of idiots in the world, and they're freakishly drawn to fucking around with Warren. Fine, so they're really after Hothead, but it's all one and the same to Will. And sure, Warren probably had the situation under control and could've bailed himself out like he has so many times before, but when Will saw the guy coming at Warren from behind, who was he to stand around and take a chance by doing nothing?

So Will had given Warren a hand. Big deal.

It's the bear hug and kiss of relief he'd given Warren after seeing his boyfriend was okay that had probably been the problem. Which, yeah, baaaad idea, and he wouldn't have done it if he'd been thinking instead of worrying. But quite frankly, it would've been fine if the media hadn't been hanging around with their stupid cameras and dropped jaws.

As it is, Will hardly gets a chance to see the wide-eyed look of horror before Warren is gone in, like, 0.2 seconds. Will isn't about to face the media alone, so he takes a cue from Warren and runs away, too.

He gets back to the house as fast as he can -- and really, what can be faster than flying, right? It'd been smooth sailing after he'd lost that news chopper -- but somehow, Warren's already there. And Will wasn't expecting any different, but wow, does Warren ever look pissed off.

It might have something to do with the fact that he's stomping across the living room, eyes ... okay, it's a terrible pun, but unavoidable ... blazing. Yeah, yeah. Yuk, yuk. But if you could see them, maybe you could come up with something better, okay? Also, Warren's holding what was once the book Will had been reading. Only now it's a pile of ashes that he lets drift to the floor as he snatches up a framed picture of Will and him together. It bursts into flames, and Will knows it isn't his imagination that Warren's looking at him really pointedly and that that little burning is totally metaphorical, too.

"What are you doing?" Will asks, because yes, it's totally obvious, but the question bears asking, anyway. Maybe there's an explanation, like the book and picture frame were planted with bugs and had to be destroyed. But no ...

"I'm burning all your stuff," Warren replies, and the corners of his mouth lift in this really vindictive sort of smirk that, for just a second, gives Will flashes of how scary Warren would be if he were a villain instead of a hero.

Will stands there gaping like a dumbass, mind scrambling for a response, but he's got nothing. Warren doesn't seem to care. He picks up the next item for destruction -- shit, that's Will's favorite shirt! -- and starts burning.

"Yeah, I thought about dumping it all out on the lawn, but this seemed like more fun," Warren drawls, then reaches for -- oh, no. Not the nifty little wooden scary-face mask his dad got from that African tribe that once!

"Okay, I get that you're mad, really I do," Will says desperately, holding his hands up placatingly. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it, I swear! Just please. Put down the mask."

"You're sorry," Warren says, stopping the flames inches from the mask.

"Yes, yes! Very sorry. It's all my fault, I never should have done it, and I'll never do it again."

Warren cocks his head and looks at Will consideringly. "I believe you," he says. Will sighs in relief. "I do," Warren continues. "But it's too late."

And the mask goes up in flames. Will watches, horrified, as it's reduced to ashes. Oh, God. His dad's going to kill him. If Warren doesn't get to it first, that is.

"Aw, man," Will groans. "Did you really have to burn that?"

He regrets it the minute he says it, because the look Warren shoots him makes him glad looks can't kill. Or, you know, they can, but luckily that's not Warren's superpower.

"You outed us to the world," Warren growls.

"And I said I was sorry!"

"I don't think you get it," Warren says, stalking toward Will, backing him up until he's pressed against the front door. "As if Hothead weren't a crappy enough name, people are probably going to start calling me 'The Flamer' and laughing now. I think I'm gonna need a little more than 'I'm sorry.'"

"I'm really sorry?" Will tries.

Warren rolls his eyes. "Not even gonna work this time." He turns on his heel, stomps into the kitchen and starts banging stuff around. At least the burning portion of the evening seems to be over, which is good. And when Warren's rolling his eyes, it generally means the worst part of the storm is past. Will follows him into the kitchen and sneaks up behind him.

"I can make it up to you," he says, putting a hand low on Warren's hip, sliding it easily across the slick, black material of his uniform. It's not spandex -- Warren's exact words had been "Not a chance in hell" -- but it fits like a second skin and has always reminded Will of the suits from the X-Men movie.

"This is worth at least two blowjobs," Warren says.

Will tightens his grip on Warren's hip. "That's not exactly what I had in mind," he says.

Warren makes a put-out sound and starts to turn around, but Will's there, stopping him, wrapping a hand around each of Warren's wrists and holding his hands palm-down on the counter while he controls Warren's lower body with his hips, pinning Warren against the edge of the cabinet and pressing the length of his body along Warren's back. Warren's already breathing heavily, futilely moving, ass pushing back against Will, who gets hard ridiculously fast. Warren grunts, so hot, and the air is thicker, charged now in a way that's completely different than before.

Warren never asks for this, for Will to control him. Will figures maybe it's because to someone like Warren who's used to being in charge, it's not the same to ask someone else to take control as it is for them to just take it. And even though Will wouldn't do anything to Warren he didn't want, Will knows Warren gets off on the fact that Will could. He's strong enough.

He kicks Warren's feet apart a little and leans in even more, snugging his hips in close. Stance spread, Warren's closer to Will's height so that Will's cock can ride right against the cleft of his ass through two layers. Warren's still straining against him, trying to shove his hips back and feel more, panting. Will feels the muscles in Warren's forearms bunching beneath his hands and sees that Warren's clawing at the countertop, so Will growls, "Stop that," and flattens his hands over Warren's, holding them down.

He kisses the back of Warren's neck, buries his nose in his hair and holds himself still, breathing slowly and deeply until Warren's shallow breaths grow deeper and more regular, eventually matching Will's so that their chests are moving in tandem.

Satisfied Warren won't go over the edge too fast, Will noses his hair out of the way and sets his mouth next to Warren's ear. "I'm going to let your hands go," he says, low and trying to keep his voice steady and authoritative. "But you have to keep them to yourself. Don't touch me unless I say you can."

Warren shivers, maybe at the hot breath ghosting past his ear, or maybe at the order. Maybe both. Then he nods jerkily, but Will doesn't let go just yet.

"I want to hear you say it," he says instead.

"I won't touch you unless you say I can," Warren says, right away, voice rough like he could have just woken up. Will shudders a bit himself and pushes his hips forward a little more. He loves that about Warren; he has no shame at times like this. When Warren gives up control, he lets it go, no looking back.

"Good," Will says. He releases Warren's hands, and they stay flat on the counter this time.

Hands free, Will settles one back on Warren's hip, fingers curving around the hipbone, and pushes the other one into Warren's hair. It's thick and slightly coarse between his fingers, and he wraps it around his fist until it's pulling against Warren's scalp, bowing his head back against Will's shoulder and baring the side of his neck.

Warren's neck is long, dotted randomly with freckles, and right now, the tendon on the side is standing out from the way his neck is angled. Will licks a little, tasting, then sets his teeth there while he rubs himself against Warren's ass, setting a slow, steady rhythm. So fucking good.

Warren groans, eyes closed like he's in pain. Will knows better. He bites down harder, and the tension just melts out of Warren's body until he's pliant, leaving Will to take all his weight.

This has always been the weird part to Will. He knows that Warren should be heavy because he's solid and warm under Will's hands, but it's effortless to hold him up. And as good as it feels to have Warren plastered along his front, there's a difference between "not on edge" and "completely relaxed."

So Will gives a little parting lick to Warren's neck and hooks his chin over Warren's shoulder, looking down Warren's body. His lower body is jammed against the cabinets, cock trapped and undoubtedly hard. That doesn't look very comfortable.

Will untangles his hand from Warren's hair, but Warren's neck stays arched back, head resting on Will's shoulder. His lips are parted slightly, eyes still closed, and he looks like he's open to anything. Will suddenly and desperately wants more.

He hauls Warren around to face him, shoves him back up against the counter, and takes advantage of that open mouth. He licks his way in and pushes one leg between Warren's, feeling the ridge of his erection against his hip. They make out like that for a while, rocking together until Will pulls back.

Warren's eyes open then, slowly and almost dazedly, mouth slick and swollen. Will rubs a thumb over the lower lip, then pushes it inside Warren's mouth, rubbing over his tongue until Warren closes his lips and starts sucking. Will glances down, sees Warren's hands still clutching the countertop, staying true to his word and not touching Will. He looks back up, and Warren's eyes are still open, but now they're intent, focused on Will, and Will's stomach tightens when Warren pulls his mouth away, scraping his teeth along the pad of Will's thumb.

Will drops his hand to the zipper at the base of Warren's neck, toys with the tab for a second.

"Unzip this," he says, then steps away and pulls a chair away from the table and settles on it, legs sprawled lazily wide. Warren's gaze follows his actions and ends up focused where Will's cock strains against tight fabric. Warren licks his lips, probably unconsciously, and Will has to force himself not to get back up and grab Warren's hair and push him to his knees. His cock twitches, anyway, and he makes an impatient "get on with it" motion that, he realizes when Warren smirks, looks a lot like a "jerking off" gesture.

But he hardly cares, not when Warren finally grabs the zipper and tugs it down. All the way. Will tracks the motion with his eyes, then crooks a finger, beckoning Warren to approach. It should look totally stupid, Warren's chest bare from neck almost to navel like some Elvis jumpsuit, but it's on Warren, so of course it's totally hot.

The minute Warren's close enough, Will hooks two fingers where the zipper stops and jerks Warren forward to stand between Will's thighs. Palming Warren's ass, he leans forward and rubs his cheek against where Warren's hard. Warren gasps, and Will says, "Now. You can touch me now," and Warren does, grabbing Will's shoulders and hanging on while Will mouths along Warren's erection, sucking him through the fabric, getting it spit-slick.

Will shoves Warren's uniform down until Warren's cock is free and wraps one hand around it, licks the tip. He feels it when Warren's knees buckle, and Will catches him before he can fall, pulls Warren into his lap so that he's straddling Will, ass in the cradle of Will's hips, rubbing perfectly against Will's cock.

The chair creaks warningly underneath them, but Warren doesn't seem to hear it. He just digs his fingers deeper into Will's shoulders and leans back further so that he can press in more, grinding down. Will's not about to stop him; he's pushing up into the pressure, rubbing back. He should maybe be worrying about getting undressed, but this feels too good, and he doesn't care enough to stop even for a few seconds, especially not when Warren's moaning like that, head thrown back and eyes closed like the best kind of porn.

Will's been gripping Warren's waist, keeping them both balanced so they don't topple onto the floor, but all he wants right now is to kiss Warren, swallow the soft, hot little sounds he's making. So he moves one hand to the small of Warren's back, feeling the muscles there shifting over bone while Warren moves his hips in tight circles, and grabs the back of Warren's neck with the other hand, pulling his head down and pushing his tongue into Warren's mouth.

Warren welcomes him in, sucks on his tongue, and Will feels Warren's cock pressed against his stomach and reaches for it, starts jerking him. Warren bites down on his tongue and moves his mouth back far enough to gasp, "Sorry," into Will's mouth. He settles his forehead against Will's, and they're panting together, mouths scant inches apart, sharing air.

Will rubs his thumb over the tip of Warren's cock and jacks him harder, bucking his hips up when Warren's mouth forms a perfect "o" and he comes in Will's hand. It's so hot Will can't stand it. Warren is boneless in his lap, but Will rearranges him enough to unzip himself and fist his own cock, pulling it roughly once, twice, three times, and coming hard on himself and Warren, aware the whole time of Warren watching him.

"Fuck," Will breathes when he finally gets enough air in his lungs.

"Mmmm," Warren murmurs, and it sounds like agreement.

"See, not being in control isn't so bad," Will says, figuring a pliable Warren is most likely to be a forgiving Warren.

Warren pulls back and raises an eyebrow. "Dude, you may be good, but you totally can't fuck me into forgiving and forgetting."

Okay, so not so much. "How about just forgiving?" Will says, smiling hopefully.

Warren rolls his eyes. "I might be willing to think about it."

"That's all I ask," Will says, and kisses Warren briefly.

"Great," Warren says, suspiciously brightly. "But if I'm ever subjected to the indignity of being called 'The Flamer,' I'm telling the first reporter I see that instead of 'Titan,' you prefer to be called 'The Not-So Tight'un.'"

That's horrifying and funny enough that Will laughs, and hopes it'll never come to that.

End.

Comments

[rayneing.livejournal.com]

Yay! Pr0n! The prefect start to the morning! Wakes the body up better then breakfast! Excellent story- had me GUHing badly.

[untappedbeauty.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I know I'm terribly late responding, but I'm really pleased it helped start your day off right.