Self-cest Comment-Fic Meme

[moragmacpherson]

Many thanks to thecookiemomma  for this lovely banner
This is a multi-fandom comment-fic meme based on the following exchange:

Callowyn: to me, there is no such thing as a crack pairing.
Morag: Would you ship Arthur from Inception with Tom from 500 Days of Summer?
Callowyn: dude, I invented a verse solely for reasons of misha kissing misha. I WOULD SHIP ANYONE WITH THEMSELVES. AND YOU CAN QUOTE ME ON THAT.
Morag: Challenge accepted.

And there’s so much to work with! How many times have characters canonically met their past selves, or alternate reality versions of themselves, or an evil doppelganger, or even run across the actors that play them? How many crossovers have you read where someone meets their look-alike from another universe? Think of the classic Buffy episode The Replacements, in which Riley Finn says of two Xanders: "Doesn't it make everyone wanna lock them in separate rooms and do experiments on them?"

Fuck that shit, let's see what happens when they're locked in a room together! Maybe they'll have sex? Awesome. We all love imagining pretty faces making out with each other. Now it’s time to imagine pretty faces making out with themselves!

Rules:

1. All fandoms welcome! Both RPF and Fanfiction are fair game. And yes, this is an invitation for someone to write Brit Marling/Rhoda Williams (Another Earth).
2. Threesomes and more-somes are more than welcome, provided that at least TWO participants have the same face. You may have Arthur (Inception)/Tom (500 Days of Summer)/Zooey Deschanel. You may have Eames (Inception)/Tom Hardy/Handsome Bob (Rocknrolla). You may NOT have Eames/Joseph Gordon Levitt—at least, not in this meme.
3. For fictional characters, you may prompt different ages of the same character, even if that character was played by a different actor onscreen. For example, Dean Winchester as played by Brock Kelly can be shipped with Dean Winchester as played by Jensen Ackles. However, you may NOT prompt Brock!Dean/Tom Hanniger (played by Jensen). If the face doesn’t match, the character must be the same.
4. This is a kink-friendly meme: both YKINMK (Your Kink is Not My Kink) and YSINMS (Your Squick is Not My Squick) apply. Please respect both, and use thread titles to warn and avoid as needed.
5. Re: Underage — I'm sorry this is an issue, and remember, that which is condoned in fiction has NOTHING to do with what is condoned in reality — but if an ACTOR is currently underage, then writing RPF about that person is off limits. You may have Sam Winchester (age 15)/Sam Winchester (age 24), because Sam Winchester is a fictional character. You may NOT have Colin Ford/Sam Winchester, because Colin Ford is a real person under the age of seventeen. Please be considerate when warning. If you need clarification, feel free to private message me.
6. Wheaton's Law rules: DON'T BE A DICK. Otherwise angry nerds in ugly clown sweaters will storm your house and possibly attack you with photon torpedoes.

Prompts should list the pairing (including fandoms) in the subject line and the details of the prompt in a comment. Please add “Fill” to the subject line when answering a prompt, as well as any relevant warnings (including changing the warnings for later parts, if necessary). Do try to keep a reasonable proportion of your fills/prompts; i.e. if you leave five prompts, it's time to think about putting in a fill before you make another prompt. Remember: don't be a dick!


Unless it becomes an issue,  anon commenting is ON and IP logging is OFF.  I'm hoping this doesn't become an issue.  I hate being Authority, because then I have to rebel against myself.

ETA: An excellent question about the eligibility of voice actor pairings was raised by black_sluggard. [Link to Thread] See the linked thread for details, but the tl;dr is: if you're unsure, ask, and there will be a case by case decision following the procedures I outlined in my reply.

So go forth and have fun!

List of Fills
(listed in order of posting for now, until I figure out a better method - by character or fandom or something, I'm not sure yet)

Hooked by moragmacpherson  - Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse); Novakcest, marking, mild blood play. (Explicit)
Untitled by metonomia - Rhoda Williams/Herself (Another Earth); no warnings but contains some spoilers (Teen or Mature)
Let the Right One In by moragmacpherson  - Robo!Sam/BoyKing!Sam (SPN); rough sex, mild breathplay, power play, violence (Explicit)
Similarities and Differences by thecookiemomma  - Tenth Doctor (Doctor Who)/Barty Crouch Jr. (Harry Potter); oral sex, (Explicit)
Untitled by joelthecat (posted as anonymous) - Vala Mal Doran (SG-1)/Aeryn Sun (Farscape); frottage (Mature)
In Which There Are Two Jensens by orchidfire  - Dean Winchester (SPN)/Boaz Priestly (Ten Inch Hero); oral sex, tattoo and piercing kink (Explicit)
Untitled by joelthecat  - Donna Noble (Doctor Who)/Lauren Cooper (The Catherine Tate Show); no warnings (General Audiences)
Alabaster by orchidfire  - Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter) / Marla Singer (Fight Club); Violence, rape/non-con, object-insertion, torture, humiliation, hate sex, power imbalance, racism, misogyny, choking/breathplay (EXPLICIT)
Believe by orchidfire - Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse) (non-Novakcest); no warnings (General Audiences)
Close Encounters of the Fourth-Dimensional Kind by orchidfire - Trueform!Castiel/Trueform!Castiel (SPN); no warnings (General Audiences)
in these silences something may rise by knightblazer - Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse); Novakcest, hand-kink (MATURE)
At the Double Palm by joelthecat - Daniel Jackson (Stargate SG-1)/Jimmy (Sanctuary); oral sex (Mature)
Untitled by Anonymous - Laura Roslin(Battlestar Galactica 2003)/Sharon Raydor(The Closer); oral sex (Explicit)
No Time Like the Present by Anonymous - Eduardo Saverin (The Social Network)/Frank (Doctor Who); no warnings (General Audiences)

Comments

Prompt: Tom (500 Days of Summer) /Arthur (Inception)

[moragmacpherson]

To kick things off with the question that started this:

Someone in the Inception world goes after Tom, thinking it's arthur, and Arthur finds himself compelled to save this whiny bastard who keeps dimpling at him and is actually a pretty decent architect.

Rhoda Williams (Another Earth)/herself [SPOILERS]

[callowyn]

[SPOILERS]


The other Rhoda went to MIT. That doesn't mean she had a better life.

Re: Rhoda Williams (Another Earth)/herself [SPOILERS]

[metonomia]

She saw some of the professor's stuff on tv, sometimes. Late night, a smoke, a bottle of something, and Dr. Burroughs' compositions unwinding their way through her head. Music like this always turns to numbers in her head. She can see how he stitched it all together easier than he probably can, notes and chords and inexplicable alien cries haunting their way from ears to eyes. She learns to speak music. Sometimes to test herself she stumbles back to her room half-blind with the physics of decadence and turns on the tivo and writes out what she hears, draws equations, converts them to poetry, then scrawls them back into sheet music and finds someone on campus to play it back for her.

She's always gotten it, and that terrifies her.

She has no limits.

Four years like this, that second Earth and more and more wildly theoretical physics by day, more and more wildly theoretical drugs by night. She doesn't break, she doesn't fail. Dr. Glaser gets her an internship with the privately funded group making the fastest strides with the two Earths. She buys an apartment.

It's all vodka and pills and work for a year, and she can't shake the feeling of being secondhand, faint, grasping at a self pulling away from her, out of orbit and into the core of that other Earth.

Then Dr. Burroughs knocks on her door. He's all wrong, but the music is right, and he tells her things about herself that are so terrifying they must be true.

Then Rhoda. Rhoda with her sharp bones, her thinness from manual labor, not toxins. Her hair eyes hands full of pain, different pain, the right pain. This Rhoda destroys others, not herself. This Rhoda is herself. They will hurt each other, Rhoda thinks. They will be alright.

[[omg i'm sorry there's not Brit Marling making out with herself. It's implied right??]]

Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)

[callowyn]

(Novakcest verse. Rough sex, bloodplay if you want to take it that far.)

Every scar the twins get makes them a little less symmetrical. Guess they'll just have to put matching marks on each other.

Fill: Hooked 1/1 (Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse) - Novakcest verse, marking

[moragmacpherson]

It starts with a fish hook; and the scar it leaves behind looks much the same: a fine curled line through Jimmy's eyebrow. It's only remarkable as a flaw on Jimmy's ten year old face because it's absent on Jacob's; Jacob having been the one who hasn't quite mastered the art of casting without almost poking his brother's eye out. Sally simply rolls her eyes and tells her sons to be more careful from now on; it wasn't like she could ever convince them not to do anything. Besides, the tiny curl comes in handy and it becomes much easier for everyone else in Pontiac to tell the twins apart.

It's the first scar, the first visible scar that marks them apart, but it's hardly the last. But after Jacob leaves for MIT, the scars that really count between the twins are the ones no one else can see. It doesn't matter that Jacob's left pinky is just a little crooked from the time it got smashed in Amelia's door on the way back from prom, or that there's another fine line along Jimmy's temple, courtesy of a random shard of obsidian in the old rock quarry where they used to go swimming. Those are merely surface differences. Who needs to check those, when you can just look at Jimmy's eyes and see the hint of resentment; when you catch Jacob anytime he thinks no one is looking and he reaches for the brother's hand that's no longer there to grasp?

Jimmy certainly doesn't care about where the smooth patch of skin on the inside of Jacob's left arm came from (a minor junior-year lab fire Jacob extinguished himself a few moments later). Jimmy does notice how sensitive the scar is as he runs his thumb up and along it. Jacob shivers, or maybe he shivers because Jimmy's pulled his shirt over his head and it's a little chill in this office. Jimmy takes a scant moment and he catalogues every visible difference between them in one check; they're negligible. Jacob didn't lose a wife, a daughter; Jacob isn't trying to fill that gaping hole of loss with the blasphemous taboo of more than brotherly love.

But it is Jacob who starts the biting; Jimmy kisses his brother tenderly, as Amelia had taught him to. Jacob kisses Jimmy with demand and intent; he leaves bruising marks on Jimmy's upper arms. There are more than a few secrets left between them; maybe there are holes in Jacob's heart to rival the ones in Jimmy's; maybe, just maybe, Jacob needs this as much as Jimmy.

Jacob opens himself up to Jimmy, offers himself up to him, and in any sacrifice, there must be some ceremonial blood letting. But Jimmy's not a cruel man. He preps Jacob, stretches him, pushes into him with all the tender patience of a long-time liaison. It's only towards the end, with Jacob spilling his release on the cold tiled floor a minute or so before Jimmy spills his own claim deep inside his brother, that Jimmy takes the final cut.

Jacob will brush it aside as something done in the heat of passion, but Jimmy knows better. When Jimmy digs his teeth into the back of Jacob's neck, letting the incisor dig in, break the skin, slide and pull down, Jimmy knows exactly what he's done. When it heals, the scar will be ragged, never quite as fine as the one through his own eyebrow. But the mark, the dragged fish-hook of imperfect flesh on the back of Jacob's neck. That little alteration will mark them as twins even better than the identical genes they share. What do genes matter in the face of pain inflicted, suffered, and shared together over the course of lives that always try but never quite manage to separate?

Jimmy falls off of his brother, a sweating wreck, and wipes Jacob's back with his own shirt. Jacob's already collapsed to the ground, fucked out and eyelids fluttering over dilated pupils that declare his bliss louder than any megaphone. If he notices the thin trail of blood Jimmy wipes away along with the sweat, Jacob shows no sign. But later he'll know.

They both will.

Tenth Doctor (DW)/Hamlet

[callowyn]

Wow, and the Doctor thought he talked a lot.

5. Prompt: Dean Winchester (Supernatural) / Boaz Priestly (Ten Inch Hero)

[thegeminisage]

I would like Dean to secretly have tattoo/piercing kinks and be his fanboy self (like with Dr Sexy etc <3)

FILL: “In which there are two Jensen Ackles” | NC-17 | Dean Winchester (SPN) / Boaz Priestly (TI

[orchidfire]

Note: The second half is porny, of the tattoos & piercings (obviously), public sex, oral sex, and swallowing variety. I’ve been wanting to write a tattoo/piercing kink prompt, so thank you for this. :)

Mirrors: AO3, LJ

In which there are two Jensen Ackles
This latest case takes them to the West Coast. Santa Cruz. Dean wants to gag; there are too many goddamn hippie shops around, and he's seeing the word “vegan” a little too much for his comfort.

“Hey, Santa Cruz is pretty nice,” Sam says. A small smile plays across his lips. “We used to come down here every now and then. When we wanted to go to the beach. Hour’s drive, but it was worth it.”

“Yeah whatever, just keep your fruits and nuts in your goddamn granola,” Dean mutters, and Sam shuts up. They’re close to the UC Santa Cruz campus, and Dean really doesn’t need any more reminders about how Sam fucking abandoned his family to be a goddamn nerd. He shrugs and stretches his neck. “C’mon, where can we get some real food around here?”

“Would it kill you to eat something healthy every now and then?” Sam says, pausing before a restaurant. “Some of these look pretty good.”

“Hey, if God wanted people to eat healthy, He wouldn’t have put Paula Deen on the Food Network,” Dean says. There has got to be something—

Dean stops. Finally. A sub shop. Probably won’t be as good as a greasy burger, but it’s good enough for now, and definitely beats the other restaurants flanking the shop.

The bell over the door jingles when Dean walks in, Sam trailing behind him. The girl working the counter looks straight at him, one eyebrow cocked, and Dean lets out a low whistle as Sam rolls his eyes.

“Hey there,” the girl says, her voice soft, breathy. “What can I get for you today?”

Her eyes flick over Dean, and then over Sam. Oh Hell no; Sammy’s not getting in on this.

Dean rests an elbow on the counter and flashes the girl his most charming smile. She’s wearing a low-cut top and the shortest shorts he’s ever seen. Damn. If there’s one thing the West Coast gets right, it’s definitely the babes.

“I’ll have a roast beef sub,” Dean says.

“And do you want the five-inch, or...” the girl says, then pauses. She bites her lip and shakes out her hair; it brushes against the small of her back, and Dean traces the line of her shoulder. Damn. “...the ten-inch?”

Sam lets out a Jesus-fucking-Christ-I’m-going-to-vomit-in-my-mouth sigh, but Dean ignores him. He’s gonna get some tonight for fucking sure.

Dean leans in closer and winks. “Ten inch.”

“It’s a trap, bro.”

Dean looks up, tongue ready with some kind of retort, but he freezes.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He has to keep his cool. Sam doesn’t know, and he’s about to score here—except he’s not even interested in the chick anymore. It’s like someone capped a jar over her and all that flaming hotness suddenly went out. No. He’s gotta maintain this front, can’t give himself away.

But—goddamn. The guy working the grill is a fucking piece of art. He shouldn’t find him attractive—but he does, and that attraction is overwhelming.

For all the big, bad hunter he is, for all the injuries and stabs and wounds he’s taken, he’s never had the balls to get pierced, or to get tattooed. Because needles suck, and he’s not going to subject himself to that voluntarily. But on others? Yes, god yes. This guy—a tattoo crawls up his neck, emphasizing that curve, those muscles. Dean’s eyes flit over to his face, past those ridiculous (and yet oddly attractive) sideburns, and land on the jewelry beneath his lower lip, and, oh, those lips—

“Six fifty.”

Dean tears his eyes away. Right. Food. Paying for food. He fumbles for his wallet and flashes a haphazard smile at the girl before handing her a ten.

“Sorry,” he says, then sneaks a glance over at the guy again. Damn, he can even rock a nostril piercing. Usually looks dorky on guys, but this dude...

Grill guy turns around and meets Dean’s gaze, and Dean feels like he’s died on the spot. His knees feel weak. Dude’s got the most brilliant green eyes ever, and the eyeliner around them only serves to emphasize that. Damn, he’s hot even when he’s flashing Dean that sneer. Or maybe that’s why he’s hot. Either way—

Grill guy tosses his spatula into the air and catches it.

“What, you never seen a guy with extra holes through his head?” he says.

Dean lets out a little breathy laugh, then mentally kicks himself. Keep your cool. Keep your cool. “’Course I have.”

“Didn’t your momma tell you not to stare? It’s rude.”

“My mom’s dead, jerk,” Dean says, flashing him a sarcastic grin. The others look up with a jolt, as if waiting for the punchline. Dean’s heart beats wildly against his ribs. Part of him finds their shocked expressions hilarious, and part of him kicks himself for possibly killing whatever chance he might have with punk dude.

Except—wait, no, he doesn’t want to have a “chance” with punk dude, except, well, he does—

“Yeah, well, so’s mine,” grill guy says, winking at Dean, and Dean might just need a new change of pants. “Watch who you’re calling a jerk, jerk.”

“Priestly, stop scaring away our customers,” the blonde behind the computer says. Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“Priestly? The hell kind of name is that?”

Priestly frowns and turns back to the grill, scowling.

“Three fifty’s your change,” the counter girl says, her smile a little forced. Dean nods and pockets the change. Sam elbows him and elicits a yelp from Dean.

“Do you have to be such a dick all the time?” he hisses, and Dean shrugs.

“Whatever,” he says. He slides into a counter seat. Maybe if he puts on an angry enough face, he can pretend he’s glaring at Priestly instead of totally checking him out.

❧
That roast beef sub might possibly have been the most delicious sandwich Dean’s ever had, but that’s not really why he’s back here hanging out like a creep in the alley by the sub shop at closing time, is it?

He gulps.

That older guy—the owner?—leaves. Dean steps out from the alley once he’s gone. He’s really, really not sure why he’s doing this, why he feels such a strong urge—a need—to see that guy again. Maybe he can make some sort of excuse. Play tough and say that he was out for some late-night munchies and wanted to grab another sub, because hey, that’s not too far from the truth.

The door closes with a jingle. Priestly twists the key and locks the door.

“Closed?” Dean says. He walks up to him, acting as nonchalant as he can, even though he can feel his fingers tingling and his cheeks burning. Thank God it’s dark.

“Yep. Sorry,” Priestly says as he straightens up and pockets the key. He eyes Dean, and Dean wants to take a step back, but he holds his ground. Priestly rolls his eyes. “Look, if you’re looking to get some with Tish, she’s already left, and she’s already found some other tool. You’re not any kind of special.”

“I don’t want to—” Dean says, then frowns, the words caught in his throat. Fuck, he has no problem telling women that he wants to fuck them, and hard, but with guys, it’s always been more difficult. He’s come to terms with the fact that, yeah, he wants to and occasionally does bang guys, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

Priestly glares daggers at Dean. God, he sucks at this.

“Look,” he says, advancing on Dean and jabbing a finger at Dean’s chest. “I’m tired of macho dicks like you giving me crap because of the way I look. So I look a little different; so fucking what. I don’t give you shit; don’t give me any shit.”

“Calm your fucking tits,” Dean spits. Priestly’s all up in his personal space now. Dean hopes and prays to whatever might be running this thing that Priestly doesn’t look down, because Dean’s pants have suddenly gotten very, very tight.

Dean takes a breath, and then the words tumble out of him before he can stop them.

“I’m not fucking judging you. In fact, I think you’re fucking hot as hell, okay?”

Priestly narrows his eyes.

“Look, asshole, if this is some kind of joke—” Priestly lets out a little snort. “I’m really not in the mood to put up with this kind of crap.”

But his words trail off, and his breaths come out a little more shallow. They’re the exact same height. Dean stares into Priestly’s eyes; they catch spots of light even in the darkness, the green laid over with a wash of blue night.

“You’re not joking,” Priestly says after a moment.

“I never joke about who I want to fuck,” Dean says, smirking. A moment passes between them.

Fuck it, Dean thinks, then pulls Priestly into the alley. He slams Priestly up against the wall and kisses him. Normally he’d give a fuck about doing this in public, but it’s dark, and everywhere’s closed; no one’s going to see.

Dean runs his tongue along Priestly’s lower lip and then deepens the kiss. Priestly stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into Dean, letting his lips part; his own tongue darts out, and Dean trembles as the smooth metal of Priestly’s tongue barbell runs along his own tongue. Dean runs his hands down Priestly’s sides, and he smirks against Priestly’s lips as Priestly shivers.

He pulls away from Priestly, his eyes half-lidded.

“What else do you have pierced?” he murmurs, and Priestly smirks back at him.

“I’ll let you find out,” he says, his voice low, soft. Dean laughs and nips at Priestly’s neck, savoring Priestly’s sharp intake of breath.

“All right,” Dean says. He pulls Priestly further into the alley, shrouding them both with a deeper darkness. He snakes a hand up Priestly’s shirt, tugging it up to reveal a naked navel; he presses a finger against each of Priestly’s ribs, then traces his hand down between Priestly’s pecs. He spreads his palm out under the muscle, then touches up and brushes a thumb against Priestly’s nipple, grinning as he feels steel balls on either side. He gives Priestly’s nipple a little pinch, and Priestly throws his head back.

“There’s one,” Priestly says. Dean slips his other hand under Priestly’s shirt and brushes against the other nipple, finding another barbell; he rolls Priestly’s nipples between his fingers, and Priestly bites his lip.

“Two,” Dean murmurs.

“There’s more,” Priestly says, looking down and cocking an eyebrow at Dean. “And a little bit of art for you too.”

Hands trembling, Dean tugs Priestly’s shirt up. The tattoo on his neck extends down to his chest, a swirl of black curves and shapes that twists and follows the lines of his chest, ending in a flourish beneath his ribs.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers. He sees another twist of black emerging from Priestly’s waistband, opposite the chest and neck piece. Dean lets Priestly’s shirt fall, then gets on his knees and undoes Priestly’s belt, unbuttons his jeans and tugs down Priestly’s zipper. He lets Priestly’s pants fall to the ground; his briefs hang low on his hips. A blackwork scorpion curves around Priestly’s hip, tail poised up Priestly’s side, its body hugging the bone of Priestly’s pelvis, its claws out.

Dean glances up. Priestly’s looking down at him, a grin on his face, clearly pleased with Dean’s attention.

Dean smiles and hooks both thumbs underneath Priestly’s waistband.

“Got any surprises here?”

“Wanna find out?”

“Fuck yeah I want to find out.”

He pulls down Priestly’s briefs, and Priestly’s cock pops free. Dean’s heart skips a beat. He counts a Prince Albert and three frenum piercings. Priestly reaches down and runs his hand through Dean’s hair.

“Well? You like?”

Dean doesn’t say anything in response—only runs his tongue in one long stroke along the underside of Priestly’s cock, savoring the bump of the barbells, the chill of the steel gone cold in the night air. He pauses and swirls his tongue over the tip of Priestly’s cock, flicks at the ring before going down on Priestly.

Priestly tugs gently at Dean’s hair. Dean keeps his rhythm slow at first, coaxing little sighs out of Priestly as he does; Priestly ruts gently at Dean, and Dean shivers as the barbells run along his tongue, push past his lips. He glances up at Priestly, watches as Priestly’s mouth opens in a quiet moan; the streetlight glints off his earrings.

Dean brings a hand up and grips Priestly’s cock, savors how hard it is; he picks up the pace, his strokes getting faster and shorter. His hand moves together with his mouth; he braces himself with his other hand, his fingers digging into Priestly’s thigh. Priestly releases Dean’s hair, his hands wandering up to twist at his nipples. He thrusts harder at Dean.

“Fuck,” Priestly breathes. “Your name. Tell me your name.”

Dean pulls back from Priestly’s cock, keeping his lips tight until the head slides out.

“Dean,” he says, grinning up at him. Priestly threads his fingers through Dean’s hair again and pulls him back toward his cock. Dean obliges and takes Priestly in again; Priestly grinds against him, his head falling to the side, exposing his tattoo, and Dean can feel his own cock twitching.

“Dean,” Priestly moans. “Dean. Dean. Fuck.”

Bolts of pleasure shoot through Dean. He flicks his tongue at the jewelry, pauses a fraction of a second to linger over Priestly’s frenulum; he takes Priestly in deeper, squeezes harder with his hand. He can feel Priestly’s thigh tensing, his grip on his hair getting harder and more urgent.

Dean strokes back up, this time lingering on the tip of Priestly’s cock. He loops his tongue around the ring there and tugs gently as he suckles at the head; Priestly quakes, and a soft, throaty ah escapes past his lips.

“You like that?” Dean says, keeping the ring between his teeth. He pulls gently and keeps sucking; Priestly bites his lip and lets out a soft, whimpering moan that practically undoes Dean. Priestly presses the back of his head against the wall behind him, his chest rising and falling with his breaths, before he looks back down, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust.

“Yeah,” Priestly says, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. Dean dares to tug a little harder, and the shudder that runs down Priestly from head to toe tells him it wasn’t too much.

“Good,” Dean says, and a surge of confidence, of power runs through him. He’s the one kneeling, like some kind of devotee worshipping a god, but ultimately, he has control over Priestly—can bring him pleasure, can take it away at his whim.

“Don’t stop,” Priestly says, his voice thin, pleading, and Dean grins. He gets back to it—licks, sucks; tugs, squeezes. He builds the pace up faster, harder, more urgent.

“Dean.”

Priestly bends over slightly, his jaw clenched, his breaths shallow to the point where he stops breathing entirely.

“I’m gonna come.”

Dean hums a response against Priestly’s cock, and that’s enough to send him over the edge—Priestly yanks Dean’s hair, drives himself deep into Dean, and releases white-hot against Dean’s tongue. His body jerks a couple more times before he falls still, his breaths heavy.

Dean pulls away from Priestly and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick the last couple of drops leaking from the tip.

Priestly lets out a laugh.

“That was amazing.”

Dean comes up and cups Priestly’s face in his hands. He kisses him, more softly this time, lets Priestly taste himself on Dean’s tongue. Dean pulls away and smiles.

“Wanna show me what you can do with that tongue?”

“And everything else, jerk,” Priestly says, then winks. “C’mon. My place.”

Prompt: Dean Winchester (SPN)/ Tom Hanniger (My Bloody Valentine)

[screamqueen]

Dean's shadow has a name.

SPN: Robosam/BoyKing!Sam

[(Anonymous)]

Robosam is in Sam's brain hunting down the other Sams when he meets the one with yellow eyes. BoyKing Sammy pins him with his powers, and discovers they both like it more than they expected. Maybe Robosam breaks free by mixing exorcisms with dirty talk, maybe BoyKing Sam just loses control when the sex happens, but this is how Robosam finds out that fucking is just effective for getting rid of other Sams as killing... and more fun, too.

Fill: Let the Right One In (Robo!Sam/BoyKing!Sam; SPN); rough sex, breathplay, power play, violence

[moragmacpherson]

AN: Many thanks to Callowyn, who's too good of a beta to ever just "take a quick look at this".

Meg is the first Sam who tries to kill you after the walls come tumbling down. She’s fast and she’s vicious, but she doesn't seem to realize that you're a much better hunter than your milk-sop soul. It's no small satisfaction to stick your memory of the Colt under her version of your chin and pull the trigger.

You're the only one in here whose only home is this body, who doesn't think of it as a vessel— you are the vessel, the Sam of nerves and bones and muscles and organs. You remember killing Steve Wandell and wiping his blood on your shirt. You remember the feel of buckshot shattering your rib cage, the feeling of a knife slicing through your spine, a fall that never ended until you were standing in the street outside Lisa Braeden’s house watching a man you no longer cared about. You are well within your rights to evict the vestiges of possession that the idiot soul has let inside over the years. You can remember every intruder because you're the one who's always here, feeling them tug your limbs around like a puppet.

You know nothing of Heaven or Hell. But why should you care? The soul is the one who might end up there. The one who remembers the Cage can keep the memories as far as you’re concerned. That Sam, at least, poses no threat to you, busy staring at nothing from the floor of his little candlelit hovel. Besides, the way his skin shifts, reflecting the different tortures he's gone through, is really fucking gross.

The others, though...

Gary's almost too easy, but he had been a moron both within and without your body. You don't think the kid's even figured out whose appearance he's taken, much less whose mind he's trapped in, when you cut his throat. Sam Wesson is a little trickier—not quite as oblivious, and he can swing a crowbar with the best of them. If this was your real body, you'd have bruises. But Wesson's not a real hunter, not a killer. You are.

By your count, you've only got two left to go: Lucifer and that miserable fuck-wit soul. You're saving the soul for last. You want to savor that kill. But you're also not entirely sure how to kill Lucifer, who is almost as good at navigating the grapefruit as you are, and even in this brain has powers beyond yours.

You're stalking the unforgivably oblivious soul, trying to come up with a solution to the Lucifer problem, when an invisible force shoves you up against the wet brick wall from the alley where you watched the vampire turn Dean. "Lucifer," you call out. "I'm willing to negotiate a deal. Show you how to make this body move the way it's meant to." Control is what you really want, but survival is still your number one priority.

But the Sam that emerges from the shadows doesn't wear Lucifer's stilted smile. He has yellow eyes. You frown. "Azazel? But he never—"

"I'm not Azazel, Sam," he says. "You know who I am. After all, I've been here almost as long as you have."

You feel your eyes go wide, habit feigning the emotion you lack. "The demon blood. You're the one—"

"They call me the Boy King," he says, coming closer. "I was going to rule the world." He looks your body up and down with a hungry gleam in his eyes. You can work with that gleam.

"The soul fucked it up for you too, didn’t he?" you say. "This body would be better off without him. Personally, I think it's a little gawky, but it has its perks."

The Boy King runs his thumb over the exposed flesh of your neck, mimicking the way you killed Gary. "Such as?"

You leer as best you can while still pressed up against the wall. "It’s a fucking fantastic lay."

The Boy King raises one eyebrow, all arrogance, but you can see him calculating risks behind those unearthly yellow eyes. "We both know you could kill me with a thought," you add. "But wouldn’t you rather take what you want?" You let your eyes fall to the arousal you can see tenting his jeans, same as yours. You admit that, even in his place, curiosity might move you to spare him.

The Boy King hums. "You have done me a favor by taking care of the others. And I reward those who help me." His smile is beatific, baring teeth a little too sharp. The force holding you disappears and your arms drop. "Overstep and I will kill you with a thought."

You nod in acknowledgement and rub at your shoulder, trying to restore feeling to your arms. "There are nicer places we can do this," you say.

The Boy King smirks. "A shame this mind doesn’t remember my throne." He opens a doorway in the alley wall. "Yet."

You go through the door and recognize the house you'd squatted in after Dean died, where you'd drunk yourself into grief-stupid oblivion, first with whiskey and then with the blood Ruby offered so easily. You understand why the Boy King chooses it: this is where he came closest to taking over.

The door closes, then disappears, and then the Boy King is standing in front of you and his predatory smile is very, very close to yours. You fist your hand in his hair— it's cut like you wore it at Stanford, shorter and with bangs, but it's plenty long enough for you to yank his neck back so that you can give him a rough kiss, fucking your tongue deep into his mouth. Yellow eyes fall shut and he moans deep in his throat; you answer with the exact same sound.

It's not difficult to maintain the kiss while you maneuver the Boy King toward the cheap mattress across the room. The fireplace is lit, as you’d kept it that summer, and you remember how even with sweat dripping down your forehead you’d still felt cold. You’re not cold now. The fire flares up as you strip the Boy King of his many-layered shirts, and you smell sulfur.

Shirtless, the Boy King leans to meticulously untie his shoes. You take a moment to appreciate the muscles of his chest and the fact that they’re slightly smaller than yours. Unsurprisingly, no tattoo graces his left pectoral, though you find you’re disappointed nonetheless. It's probably your favorite thing that the soul's ever done for you. The Boy King divests you of your own single t-shirt and leans in to bite his way along your jaw.

"You're a quick study," you say, and hear the beginnings of breathlessness in your voice. As soon as you've both stepped out of your remaining clothes, and before he can get any kind of upper hand, you grab the Boy King by the hips and sit down on the mattress, pulling him down with you. "You remember this too?" you ask, settling the Boy King more securely on your lap. "This room, fucking Ruby so hard she couldn’t stand?" You wrap one hand around both of the identical cocks in your lap, jacking them slow and just this side of painful.

"I'm not Ruby," the Boy King says, digging his nails into your shoulders, but it's sort of half-hearted because he's busy grinding into your hand, each stroke a little smoother and slicker from your mixed pre-come. Already there’s a warm buzz building in the back of your head. Sex feels so much more intense while you're in control of the body— just another reason to insist on the driver’s seat.

"No, Ruby wasn’t quite this big," you say with a sly twist of your hand. "The sasquatch gene is good for something."

“Don’t make Dean’s jokes,” he says, and takes your lower lip between his teeth, rendering the order unnecessary.

With your free hand, you reach for the lube you remember using in this house, because sometimes it was right beside the mattress and you want it to be there now. The tube settles neatly into your hand. You flick it open and squeeze out a handful, sliding your fingers down the cleft of his ass to find his tight little hole. Before the Boy King can object, you shove one finger in.

Demonic power squeezes your throat almost as strongly as the muscles of the Boy King's ass clench around your finger. Lucky for you, the movement makes your fingertip flick against the Boy King's prostate before you're strangled mid-fuck. The pressure drops away as the Boy King gasps and rocks his hips, like he's unable to decide between fucking his cock into your hand or your finger fucking his ass.

"Trust me," you tell him, driving your fingers in deeper, forcing his muscles to yield. "I know all the things we like best." You add another finger and the Boy King snarls. He wraps his long legs around your waist, pulls you into another biting kiss while you stretch his asshole just open enough that he'll get a good burn when he takes your cock.

It doesn't take much urging to make the Boy King lift his hips. You slide your his fingers out of his ass with a wet pop and position your cock against his hole. The Boy King groans in pain and pleasure when you pull him down, and you know exactly how thin the line between the two is. He grinds down, your hand still jacking his dripping dick while he moves up and down on yours, his ass hotter and tighter than anything could be in the real world. You know every inch of the skin under your hands and revel in dragging new scratches into it, marking what belongs to you.

On one particularly hard thrust, the Boy King grabs your hair and yanks your head back, hard. You cry out, pushing deeper into him, and he laughs. "You’re not the only one who knows how we like it. Couldn’t rule Hell if we didn’t like the burn." He undulates his hips on your lap, squeezing your cock with that beautiful grip, and it’s hard to fight against that.

When your hand slows on his cock, the Boy King shakes his head and a hint of demonic power against your throat reminds you to keep it up. His knees squeeze tight on your hips as he works you against his prostate, stopping you from setting the pace. The Boy King is using you like his personal plaything but you don't give a shit.

We're such a fucking needy cockslut, you think, feeling the same pulse of heat that had flooded your body when he held you powerless against the wall. It’s probably the soul’s fault—some residual desire to give up all responsibility or accountability, to be absolved of blame for his own selfish desires—but nonetheless the raw danger of being at the Boy King’s mercy sets your heart beating faster, curling deliciously in all the places real fear has never found you.

You know what it means when the pump of the Boy King's hips gets jerkier, when he makes those breathless gasps in your ear. The invisible hands at your throat go slack. A moment later, your hand is covered in his come, his head slumping forward onto your shoulder. You take the opportunity to thrust into him as viciously as you want, once, twice, and then your cock is twitching and spilling inside his spasming hole. You both moan, identical voices in stereo, and this mirror self has gotta be the best fuck you've ever had because you’ve never had an orgasm that made you white out before.

You're so blissed out that it takes you a moment to realize that the Boy King has disappeared. You flop back against the mattress, confused and giddy. You can feel the demon blood in your veins now, can sense that little thread of power, and you realize you know exactly how to use it. You look over at the fireplace, raise your hand, and the flames surge out to blacken the walls.

You start laughing. Your throat still aches from where he'd squeezed it but you can't stop. You've just fucked the Boy King into submission, in every sense of the word. And you got a fantastic orgasm in the bargain. It's not the first time one of your sex partners has died, but it's certainly the first time one has died during the actual fuck.

When you stop laughing you wave the flames away and wipe yourself off—the Boy King is gone but his jizz lingers— and put your clothes back on. At the last moment, you grab one of the Boy King's button downs to go over your own t-shirt. It feels right. You know exactly how to take care of Lucifer now, and you’re looking forward to round two.

Not for the soul, though. That fucker would probably cry his way through the whole thing anyway. Right now, you're loose, limber and alert— everything that melodramatic moron isn't. It's time to hunt down the soul and get rid of him for good.

Dean Winchester (Spn)/Castiel!Dean Winchester (Novakcest)

[skullage]

Wherein Dean is taken to a dimension where he meets Castiel, who is wearing Dean's alternate self as a vessel.

Daniel Jackson (SG) / Remiel (Andromeda)

[thecookiemomma]

I need to understand.

Captain Hammer (Dr. Horrible) / Malcom Reynolds (Firefly)

[thecookiemomma]

The Hammer wielded (or tamed).

Vala Mal Doran (SG) / Aeryn Sun (Farscape)

[thecookiemomma]

"Well, aren't you a good looking woman?" Feel free to include John and or Cam in the mix somehow,too, if the muse demands.

Re: Vala Mal Doran (SG) / Aeryn Sun (Farscape)

[(Anonymous)]

"Well, aren't you a good looking woman?"

Aeryn turned and found a duplicate of herself in the corner, except that the other was wearing an electric purple dress that sparkled all the way to the floor, while Aeryn wore plain black satin.

"The Peacekeepers cloned me?" she said. "Have they lost their collective mind?"

"Probably more complicated than that," said the other. "Vala Mal Doran," she said, extending her hand. "I'm with the Tauri."

"Aeryn Sun, Pea... adventurer."

"So, adventurer, are you in the sign-up-to-resist-the-proctors camp, or with the other useless shite at this sad excuse for a conference?"

"Don't think we've decided," said Aeryn. "Probably neutral."

"You can't be neutral in this war, pet."

"One of us on each side would cancel out to neutral."

"Not really."

"Want to explain?" Aeryn asked.

"Why don't you come up to my room and I'll show you," Vala said.

"That's hardly an originally line."

"Does it need to be? Come on, then. Are you really accomplishing anything here? Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Curious, Aeryn certainly was. She followed the copy of herself up an elevator to a private chamber. Vala flopped down on the bed.

"Come on," she said.

"Don't waste any time, do you?" said Aeryn.

"No time to waste." Vala grabbed her by the wrists and pulled, and Aeryn allowed herself to fall down on the bed. Then she squealed as Vala's fingers homed in on her most ticklish spot.

"How did you know...?" Aeryn gasped.

"I'm ticklish there, too." The woman found another target, and Aeryn almost screamed.

"You really are me," said Aeryn.

"Probably not exactly," said Vala, "but close enough for tickle tantrums. Wonder if we have the same sensitivities in other places?"

"Well," said Aeryn, "I rather like this."

"Ooh, nice. And someone I used to know did this."

Aeryn squealed again, then laughed as Vala peeled away her black dress, finding something to tickle at each step along the way. When she was done she brushed Aeryn's hair away from her face and kissed her.

"You're wearing too much," Aeryn said when she could breath again.

Vala stood up and wriggled, and the dress fell to the floor. She did not seem to be wearing anything under it, and when she came back to bed Aeryn reached for the parts that were so enticingly revealed.

"Good," said Vala.

"Perfect," said Aeryn. They twined their legs together and let their bodies find a rhythm that seemed to be the same for both.

Much later, they awoke still entwined when the door opened and the light came on.

"Vala," said a tall man with glasses, "I need... oh, my God!"

"Daniel," Vala said, "this is...."

"Uh-uh! Don't want to know! One of you is bad enough!" He stepped back and closed the door, and the women collapsed into giggles.

Jimmy Novak (Spn)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)

[skullage]

Jimmy likes to cook. Jacob likes to watch Jimmy cook. Kitchen!smut ensues.

FILL: in these silences something may rise (R, Novakcest)

[knightblazer]

Writing this seriously does not help the fact that I am starving for food right about now. Priorities.


Its the hands that always get Jacob at the end.

Call it a fascination if you want, but nothing intrigues Jacob more than to see the way Jimmy uses his hands every time when his brother goes around to make their dinner. It's a terribly domestic affair - one that Jacob still isn't used to, even after all this time - but the headache that it gives to Jacob is all worth it when he gets to see his brother's hands in action. They're hands which have held guns and knives and all sorts of other weapons that Jacob can't remember now, hands which are supposed to be like his own but now only stand as far too different in Jacob's eyes.

It's times like these when Jacob can't help but slide up right behind his brother, reaching out to grasp one of Jimmy's hands in his own. He brings it up close to his eyes, studying the various calluses and scars that dot across Jimmy's palms and fingers. These are hands that have held blood and fire, every mark on the skin telling yet another story that Jacob may or may not know about.

Jimmy remains quiet, although Jacob can still sense his brother's mild annoyance over being disturbed so abruptly. Jacob lets out a small smile at that thought, assuring Jimmy without words as he curls his fingers around the other's wrist, thumb stroking gently against the spot where he feels Jimmy's pulse beating quietly. From the corner of his eyes, he sees a small upward twitch on Jimmy's lips.

Jacob leans his head forward and slips two of Jimmy's fingers into his mouth without preamble, smiling around the digits when he hears the immediate gasp that his brother lets out from the action. He closes his eyes and hums low in his throat, running his tongue around Jimmy's fingertips as he presses closer.

Eventually Jimmy's breaks the silence, not in irritation but rather due to frustration. "Jacob," he hisses, pushing back against his brother none-too-subtly. Just from Jimmy's voice alone Jacob can already imagine the flushed face and the half-glazed look that his brother must be having now.

He drags it out a bit longer, teasing Jimmy's fingertips with carefully calculated swipes of his tongue until his brother is shamelessly rubbing the curve of his ass against Jacob's own hardening cock, every breath that he takes punctuated with a moan that ends with Jacob's name.

"Jacob," his brother says again, and this time he can't ignore the pleading tone that goes with that. "Please."

Jacob gives in this time, letting Jimmy's fingers slide out from his mouth with a pop as he flips his brother around and kisses him properly, pressing him down against the counter top. As he occupies Jimmy with his tongue and teeth and lips he works Jimmy's pants open, quickly delving one hand underneath the other's boxers to curl fingers around Jimmy's hard cock.

From there its a simple string of action and reaction, listening to the sounds that Jimmy's making and acting accordingly. It isn't long after that before Jimmy is shaking and trembling in his hands and against him, incoherent sounds that turn into a low keen as Jacob brings his brother over the edge and feels it spilling hot and thick on his fingers.

As Jimmy recovers from his high Jacob makes quick work of his own erection, jerking himself off in a few strokes of his own hand. He shudders against his brother as he comes, emptying himself into his hand.

Jimmy kisses him while he slowly recollects himself, combing spit-slicked fingers through his hair. "You seriously get off on the weirdest things," he mutters, soft but amused.

Jacob only grins back in return as he takes that hand in his own again, pressing the back of it against his lips and murmurs in response. "Not my fault you have such good hands, Jim."

Jimmy's hands are hands that have held guns and knives and blood from deaths that still haunt him even until now. But more than that, they are hands that create and protect - and Jacob will protect these hands no matter what.

Jimmy Novak (Spn)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)

[skullage]

Jimmy used to worship God. Now, he needs something more tangible.

FILL: “Believe” | G | Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)

[orchidfire]

Warnings: post-angel stress disorder, struggles with religion

Mirrors: LJ, AO3

Believe
Castiel is gone.

Maybe Jimmy should feel guilty about the relief he feels when he wakes up every morning. About the easy way his breaths flow out of him, the way he can clench and unclench his fingers, knowing that no one controls these muscles but him.

But—this is nice. Waking up to something familiar, to something secure. Seeing his daughter’s glowing face at the breakfast table before he sends her to school. Feeling his wife’s slim frame beside him as they prepare dinner together.

This is what he wanted. What he’s always wanted.

He should, after everything, believe more fervently in God. Now that he knows that angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, miracles and monsters exist—that God exists, somewhere out there. He should be praying more frequently, with all his heart; he should read his Bible daily, memorize every word of Revelations now that he knows what’s going to happen.

But—he can’t. He won’t. The last time he seeped devotion from his bones, sang praises to his Lord his God until his voice was no more, he met Castiel, and he would give anything to never hear a whisper of Castiel’s voice ever again.

He has had enough. Angels are not the holiness that he thought they once were. They are single-minded soldiers, cruel and unforgiving.

Jimmy digs the heels of his hands against his eyes. He sighs and flips on the radio. He needs something to listen to other than his own thoughts. Some kind of talk show, maybe. He scans through the stations, settling on one here and there for long enough to catch a couple of words before he switches to another.

“I’m Dr. Jacob Glaser, and you are listening to The Real Story.”

Jimmy pauses. He lets out a little snort. Oh, he knows the real story, all right.

“Hi caller, what’s on your mind?”

“Yo, Jacob! There’s been all this crazy [bleep] going down lately, and I wanna know what you think. Is this some kind of plot by our government to keep us distracted while they come up with some kind of superdrug that’s gonna turn us all into mindless drones? I’m freakin’ out, man!”

“Well, let me tell you right now, your little sheeple theory is just a conspiracy theory. Went and debunked that one myself a couple of years ago; don’t you keep up with the blogs? C’mon. Friends, if you want to weigh in, go ahead and call.”

Jimmy doesn’t know why, but he picks up the phone and dials in the numbers that Jacob rattles off. He’s not sure how busy the station is—how many calls they get, and what he’d even say if he’s on air. But it’s not like he has anything better to do anyway, and it’ll be a bit of fun.

“Hi caller. What’s on your mind?”

“Hey,” Jimmy says. Jacob’s voice is soothing. Light, familiar. “All the freaky stuff happening? It’s the apocalypse. Angels and demons and all of that. Revelations.”

Jacob lets out a little sigh. “Look, I respect your right to worship whatever zombie you want, but, seriously. You religious nuts gotta look at the truth here. We’re not talking about some kind of test sent down from the gray dude in the sky. We’re talking about a full-scale robot takeover. This is just the first stage of their plan. Getting us confused, diverting our attention. And then they’re going to activate all their sleeper cells, and we’re gonna be toast.”

“Robots.” Jimmy snorts. “And next, you’re going to tell me that there were aliens on the moon.”

Jacob’s growl is barely audible. “How many times do I have to tell you people? It was a robot head. The first sign of the takeover. Clearly the first attempt by the cybermen to infiltrate the Earth. A failed attempt, but they’re smart. They’ll get through.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for calling. All right, next caller.”

The line goes dead. Jimmy stares at the receiver for a moment, then sets it down.

A robot takeover.

The corners of Jimmy’s lips twitch upward, and he laughs.

He could believe in that.

Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)/Amelia Novak (SPN)

[callowyn]

(Novakcest verse AU) Of course Amelia can tell them apart. Now if she could just convince them that neither of them is the evil twin.

Re: Jimmy Novak (SPN)/Jacob Glaser (Stonehenge Apocalypse)/Amelia Novak (SPN)

[electriclizard]

YES.

Santana (Glee)/herself

[callowyn]

Santana always knew she was hot, but damn, this bizarre clone girl's got moves.

Holmes Orgy

[(Anonymous)]

Benedict Cumberbatch!Holmes/Robert Downey Jr!Holmes/Vasily Livanov!Holmes/Jeremy Brett!Holmes/Gregory House/Basil the Great Mouse Detective/Christopher Lee!Holmes/Gonzo!Holmes/Kate Beaton's Holmes/Basil Rathbone!Holmes/Sherlock Hound/Peter Cushing!Holmes or any combination thereof.

It's not that he's asexual. It's just that - until now - he's never met anybody who could keep up physically AND mentally.

Re: Holmes Orgy

[(Anonymous)]

Seconded.

Captain Kirk/Captain Kirk

[wandersfound]

I don't really have a prompt, but I had a conversation with my roommate once about how Kirk would definitely have sex with himself. (can be Shatner!Kirk/CFine!Kirk, two of one or two of the other, whatever you choose)

Prompt: Lincoln Lee/Alt!Lincoln Lee (Fringe)

[clare_dragonfly]

Lincoln heads down to let his alternate-universe self out of the maintenance closet... but when he sees him still handcuffed there, he can't just free him right away.

Prompt: Denethor (Lord of the Rings movies)/Walternate (Fringe)

[clare_dragonfly]

Bonding over their lost sons.

Prompt: Peter Bishop/Peter Bishop (Fringe)

[clare_dragonfly]

He'd gotten so used to being alone, the only one of his kind. He didn't realize until he somehow found his way into yet another alternate universe how wonderful it would be to not be alone anymore.

Prompt: Neal Caffrey/Matt Bomer (White Collar)

[jjhunter]

Being a professional actor isn't really all that different from being a world-class con-man. It starts with trading tips.

Prompt: Tim DeKay/ Peter Burke (White Collar)

[jjhunter]

He can't wait to see Neal's face.

Prompt: Daniel Jackson (SG1)/Jimmy (Sanctuary)

[kayim]

Daniel found *everything* about Jimmy fascinating

FILL: "At the Double Palm" | NC-17 | Stargate SG-1: Daniel/Sanctuary: Jimmy

[joelthecat]

"Dr. Jackson," said General Hammond, "while you are at the conference in Chicago, I need you to pick up a package."

"Deep-dish pizza?" Daniel asked.

"You might say so," the General said. "After the conference, meet a young man in the... Palm Room in the Conservatory? Does that make sense?"

"Garfield Park. Got it."

Daniel took "after the conferance" to mean Sunday after he checked out of his hotel. He left his bag in the rental car and sauntered into the conservatory as if motivated purely by curiosity. There was only one "young man" in the palm room. He stood with his back to Daniel, looking up at the Double Palm. Daniel moved up beside him.

"Jimmy?" he asked.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"My name is Daniel Jackson. I'm supposed to collect a breadboard from you."

"Yeah. Come to the men's room with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I'm not going to get it out in public, am I?" The young man turned to look at Daniel, and both froze.

For starters, he wasn't all that young, although General Hammond might have had a different point of view on that. He seemed to be about Daniel's age. Also, about Daniel's height.

And with Daniel's face.

"Are you," Jimmy asked, "from around here?"

"I worked here for a while," Daniel said, "but I was raised in New York City. My parents died when I was very young."

"Mine died when I was twelve," Jimmy told him.

"You knew him?"

"Yeah, for what he was worth."

"Not brothers, then," said Daniel.

"Not unless somebody lied to somebody. You human? Magnus didn't say."

Daniel had a moment of panic, wondering how much his duplicate knew about the existence of other species and exactly who this Magnus person was, before deciding that a truthful answer could do no harm.

"Yes," he said. "You?"

"Abnormal. Don't even ask; just come in the john with me and I'll show you."

Daniel had no idea what an "abnormal" was, and that seemed like the least of his problems trailed after Jimmy, pondering. He had no idea how well his parents had got along. This man might well be his brother. Or he could be a clone. Or a mass of replicators held together by pure malice. The two men weren't exactly identical, Daniel told himself. Jimmy was scruffier. He even had the shadow of a beard. Replicators would not have those tiny differences, and the other possibilities were not immediately dangerous. He hoped not, anyway.

"'When faced with an apparently impossibe problem,'" he quoted, "eliminate the answers that cannot be true, and choose the simplest solution remaining.' I guess maybe somebody did lie to somebody, and my dad or somebody wasn't perfect." An imperfect father was actually a more comforting prospect than any of the other options.

"Doesn't really matter," Jimmy said.

Daniel followed Jimmy into a bathroom stall, worried that someone would notice two pairs of feet beneath the door, then saw the four shoes beneath the partition, and heard what their owners were doing. He was in a stall with his near-twin in THAT kind of public toilet. Things were just getting worse and worse.

"Abnormal," said Jimmy. "We're all different, but I got...."

He pulled up a tee with a polar bear eating an inuit like a popsicle and revealed a long scar.

"God," said Daniel, "what happened to you?"

"Born with it," said Jimmy. He placed Daniel's hand over it, and Daniel realized that the scar... birthmark... whatever it was was open. Fascinated, Daniel slid his hand inside, and Jimmy gasped as if he were a woman being touched.

"Sorry," Jimmy said. "It's as sensitive as...."

"Yeah," said Daniel. He withdrew his hand, holding a plastic bag with a wire-wrapped prototype board in it. General Hammond's package, no doubt.

"Be careful with that," said Jimmy. "I don't want to tell you how many border checkpoints I carried it through."

"Smuggled? Oh." Daniel's thumb traced the exterior of the pouch, which sealed firmly. Jimmy smiled and swayed a bit. The couple in the next stall were making ecstatic noises. Daniel slipped the bag into the pocket of his windbreaker. Either his curious touch or the activities in the next stall had given Jimmy something of an erection, and suddenly Daniel found himself in the same condition.

"Jimmy? On the long list of things that have happened to me today that have absolutely never happened before...."

"You want me to help you with that?"

"You're gay?" It figured. His twin was gay. Did that mean Daniel was gay? He was reacting like he was gay. He couldn't be, though, because he liked women, but he....

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no," Jimmy said. "I lived on the streets after my Dad died. You learn to do things to survive."

"You...?" Daniel felt himself wilt. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he told Jimmy.

"Trust me, I want to." He leaned forward and kissed Daniel. His moustache tickled, but the lips beneath it were hard, and the tongue that teased its way into Daniel's mouth almost burned. Jimmy took a step forward and pressed his whole body against Daniel, and something hard pressed against Daniel's erection, something that must be Jimmy's hard cock. Daniel felt his own manhood twitch, and he swayed, his knees suddenly weak.

"How are we going to do this?" he whispered.

Jimmy smirked at him, and Daniel felt his hands working on his belt, his zipper, and then shucking the fabric away from his hips. Jimmy's hands wrapped around him and tugged the most delicious tug, and Daniel watched a bead of clear liquid form at his tip. His arms were around Jimmy's shoulders now, which he guessed did mean he was gay or at least bi or certainly curious....

TUG.

He pressed his lips against Jimmy's mouth again, and suddenly they were kissing with abandon, kissing like lovers at the end of a long separation, kissing with a joy that....

TUG.

"Oh, my God," Daniel whispered. His eyes closed, but he felt Jimmy slide down his body, and then those wonderful lips slid over the head of his cock. Daniel's eyes flew open, and he watched the glans disappear into....

Into his own face, into lips that swirled over the swollen head, around and around and then Daniel felt himself lunge, heard his own wild cry and saw his hands in Jimmy's hair, forcing the duplicate of his own head down on a cock that was suddenly exploding in all directions.

Daniel sagged against the partition. Jimmy stood up again, catching the fluid dribbling from the corners of his mouth out of his beard with one finger and then licking the finger clean. Daniel kissed him, kissed away the evidence, surprised at the pleasant salty taste.

"Lots of guys won't do that," Jimmy said. "They won't kiss you after."

Daniel wrapped his arms around Jimmy's shoulders and kissed him again, first gently, the furiously. Only as the kiss tapered off did he become aware of the hard maleness poking into his front.

"You don't have to...." Jimmy said. Before he finished Daniel had pushed Jimmy's sweatpants down and had the other man's cock in his hands. He had to do it quickly, before he lost his nerve and remembered that he absolutely was not gay and would never ever hold another guy's balls in one hand and work a hard cock with the other one, work it until....

Jimmy bit his lip when he came and made almost no sound. When he finished he leaned forward and laid his hand on Daniel's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Daniel had no idea what to do next, but he couldn't just stand there. He pulled some paper from the toilet roll, wiped Jimmy off and tucked him back into his trousers, then cleaned his hands and tossed the paper away. His own equipment didn't look too bad. He closed himself up, suddenly wanting very much to be out of that stall. Not only had he just had sex with another man, he had had sex with someone who might well be his own brother. How sick was that? He opened the door, staggered to the sink and scrubbed his hands under the water. Jimmy came and stood beside him.

"Daniel?" he asked. "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Daniel, still scrubbing.

"You said you never did that before," Jimmy said. "Not what you expected?"

Daniel touched a wet hand to Jimmy's face, so nearly his own face. He traced the line of that mysterious slash through the white tee, and ended with his hand on Jimmy's crotch.

"None of it was what I expected," he said.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yes," said Daniel. He would. If he could deal with Go'auld and replicators and what he caught Sam and Janet doing that time, he could deal with having sex with his bro... not his brother. With someone who sort of looked like him but was absolutely not his brother. "I deal with weirder stuff than this on a daily basis."

"Then you must have a strange life, my friend," said Jimmy.

"I do," said Daniel, "and I have to catch a plane and get back to it."

"If you're ever in Chicago again...."

"I will," said Daniel, knowing he never would.

Prompt: William Brandt (Mission Impossible)/Clint Barton (Avengers)/Brian Gamble (SWAT)

[kayim]

There were secrets hidden in their family tree that even they didn't know about....

Prompt: Jamie Madrox/Jamie Madrox (Marvel Comics)

[kayim]

When they're exact duplicates of yourself, is it even considered incest?

Re: Prompt: Jamie Madrox/Jamie Madrox (Marvel Comics)

[black_sluggard]

I've always pretty much taken it for granted that he gives himself head in the shower every morning...