STOP FILMING ME

...ya shiteaters!

[hibernationden]

evidently, courtney doesn't find anything worth straining her lungs for as she awaits ben's return. hugging herself, the air too free to grope along her skin in her lover's absence, she's glad in some twisted way that body's trying to kill her right now. at least it means she doesn't have to do any thinking.

the inhaler's in her hand while her eyes are closed and the practiced routine begins to kick in. if any of her desire had cooled as he left her, it's brought back with a vengeance when his tongue's on her.

"fuck!" hand in his hair, sensitive as she is, courtney practically winces at his mouth. god, he's as obnoxious as she is sometimes.

"i missed breathing." her right hand preps her inhaler, but her left drops to cover one of ben's. it's difficult not to be distracted by the frame he makes around her waist, the attention he so readily gives. almost like he wants to knock her up. something could live there, after all, housed inside her and theirs to nurture. it's a weird thought.

"yeah, do i look good like this?" the cap of the inhaler is flipped and her tongue is briefly stuck out at him before she breathes in deep and holds the medicine in. like that, she's gone, just a floating inhaler and the warmth radiating beneath him. it's only for a few seconds, then her smile is back.

"you proud of yourself for stuffing me full?" a quick kiss is stolen. "or proud of me for makin' clean up easy?"

for good measure, considering she's already fantasizing about him again, she takes another puff.

[benrichardslives]

"Bit of column A, column B," Ben answers, returning not just Courtney's kiss, but her smile.

"You didn't have to keep it all in like this." Pulling her closer to the edge of the table, Ben's quick to manoeuvre Courtney's legs to wrap them around himself. "But here we fucking are.

"All mine on the inside, too."

It astounds him how pretty she is, and how even the inhalation of her medication is mesmerising. He remembers, however dim the memory, what it was like when Courtney had first gotten sick. He remembers her as vividly as he remembers everyone else that suffered because of the company he worked for.

But the rattling sound of her lungs subsides with every inhalation she makes, taking some weight off his memory with each breath. Every huff of medicine makes Ben feel a little less selfish, even as he does the incredibly selfish thing of lifting her in one arm and curving a protective palm over her pussy.

(It doesn't escape him, not even for a second, how once upon a time something as simple as a fucking inhaler was impossible for her to get. They're lucky she can be provided for, that Cathy can be provided for, but at what fucking cost? The few weeks they have of solace won't last forever, and then the Network's going to want him to do more than smile and look pretty. Ben's already crap at the smiling part; at least he's got make-up for the latter.)

"I want you in bed, Court."

And as he takes her away from the kitchen, it's clear Ben isn't taking "no" for an answer.

[hibernationden]

"oh, shut up—" she starts, pushing a hand against his shoulder in rebellion until her processing can catch up with the warm, tender hands that hold her face. at least now, she's grounded by his softening cock inside her to help compensate for the nausea, and the flush of their passion hides her blush. he's too fucking good to her.

taking him again sounds more appealing than she'd expect. briefly, she even considers telling him the truth. but courtney's not ready to face a world where he knows that she's dipped her fingers into her underwear to the thought of his voice, with that little growl of command in it, telling her to come. that's probably all it would take. she glares at him fondly instead, taking a deep breath in to let her wheeze speak on her behalf.

"only one way to find out, hm?" her flirting is weak when the inflammation can be heard this strongly in her voice, but he's hot. the death grip her cunt has around him begins to ease. fuck, she hadn't realized how tight she still was, clenched like she'd lose him if she wasn't careful. it takes a whimper, but the core of her begins to unwind.

courtney leans to brush her lips to his jaw and then pouts when there's distance between them. instinctively, her knees draw up, heels catching the edge of of the table. her thighs squeeze shut, hips tipped back to keep his seed from spilling out of her any more than necessary. staring at the ceiling, all her focus is devoted to heaving her chest and shoveling air through lungs that feel full of wet cement.

"come right back. 'm not done with you." as if he'd get her inhaler and then fuck around about it. this time, courtney rolls her eyes at herself.

[benrichardslives]

Ben spends a second too long looking at Courtney's body on the table, unable to keep from admiring how fucking hard she's working to keep their mess inside. It goes straight to his cock-- makes that low heat in his stomach rise into a furious fire-- but because her voice sounds so shot to hell, Ben somehow manages to pull himself back from the edge of insanity.

"You know," he says, beginning to walk towards the living room, "you can keep talking. I'll hear you."

Their too-big, open concept house was furnished by the Network's team of interior designers, but the spots they'd chosen to keep Courtney's inhalers in are theirs. Convenience was a factor, of course, but in Ben's perspective, their lives were so strictly dictated he'd been desperate for something they could do together, without any instructions being dictated into an earpiece. Now, pulling a small basket of coasters from the shelf beneath their coffee table, he takes the inhaler towards the back of it in hand. Ben makes a mental note to replace it later.

When he returns, he doesn't waste any time. The inhaler finds its place slipped into Courtney's hand, and Ben sighs pleasantly because her legs have made such a perfect little home for him to settle in. Fingers curling over the insides of her thighs, he licks the sweet pink of Courtney's clit before kissing up her stomach. By the end of it Ben's hands are resting on her hips, helping her keep them raised like his cum's going to do anything inside her.

God, but he could pretend.

"You miss me?" he murmurs, thumbs drawing circles into the sides of Courtney's belly. Ben isn't normally this cocky, but Courtney always looks like he's inconvenienced her so terribly when he teases her, and that makes it all worth it.

"You look good like this, trying to keep my load in you. I'm real fucking proud."

[goddesspharo]

The Running Man BTS via Glen Powell via Edgar Wright [x]

[benrichardslives]

@finalslay, for nancy. from here.

Prepared, Nancy says, as if Ben has a lick of self-preservation or clairvoyance. His expression goes wry and he shrugs his shoulders; if he knew what the future held for him, chances are he wouldn't be in this big a fucking pickle in the first place.

"I won't say it isn't gonna be shit," he says, "but that's what you expect living in the slums, right? It's just...

"I don't know." He shakes his head, shoving a hand into his pocket as the other sets Nancy's final draft down on his table. "I don't wanna be part of what makes it shitty any more."

And there's only so much he can stay silent about. Fundamentally, he understands he'll never land a job again-- at least, not anywhere that matters-- but even the looming fear of unemployment is nothing compared to the weight that's been lifted off his heart by being honest.

"So... thank you. For your help."

Despite a foreboding knowledge of the shit storm that his life will become, Ben smiles as he meets Nancy's gaze. He's too unimportant to be more than blacklisted by everyone, so he's sure he won't die. The only thing that'll suck will be a significant lack of money for the near future, but at least he'll be able to live with himself. For the first time in weeks, Ben's sure he'll sleep tonight without waking up in the middle of it.

At least when people start getting sick because of what his work did to them, they'll know what caused it. And maybe that'll be enough for something to change, even if it's just a couple new dollars of settlement money.

"Hey," he starts, swinging his foot forward to give a light nudge to Nancy's shin with his boot, "I got a couple more hours before the babysitter comes back with Cathy.

"Let me get you dinner or something. Have a proper Co-op City sendoff-- well. As much as we riffraff can manage, anyway."

[finalslay]

Looking at the draft for Nancy's big article, Ben's stomach twists. Nerves at the fear of what the State would do to him for speaking about the unjust, inhumane work conditions at the power plant persist, but in his heart he knows what's right.

The people have to know. The Network keeps trying to bury the truth, but they have to know.

Sometimes he wishes his moral compass wasn't so staunch. Today, as he reads the final words of Nancy's article, he's proud of it. The act won't come without consequence, but in the moment that doesn't matter. Nancy actually has contacts and colleagues fighting the power-- Ben could never be so important, but at least he could help. Maybe the victims might actually get payouts. Maybe safety conditions at the plant might improve, even if Ben can never work there again.

"It's amazing, Nance," he says, chuckling. The sound comes out wry. "You actually made me sound pretty smart, and that takes real skill."

But as the joy subsides, Ben hesitates, lips pressing together. A tentative gaze is sent Nancy's way.

"You'll have to disappear after this is published." It isn't a question. "Are you gonna be okay?"

@benrichardslives

“ c'mon, don't sell yourself short. this story wouldn't be what it is without you, ben. ” nance waves her hand in dismissal.

in this particular instance, nancy is just the messenger ; a vessel for one man's desire to help those around him and do some good. it might be her name on the by-line, but the true story, the truth behind those words, is all ben richards.

she's about to say that, too, and express her gratitude for him trusting her with all of this, but then ben speaks again and the topic shifts to something far more serious.

nancy frowns.

there is risk involved with this. that is both undeniable and unavoidable, given the circumstances, but nancy knows that it is worth it. the people deserve the truth. they deserve justice. still, admittedly though, she does worry for ben — in a way, the backlash that comes from this will be worse on him than it is her. she is used to playing with fire, used to toying that fine line that comes with writing scathing pieces about the corrupt state and the goddamned network.

“ i'll be fine, ” she replies, shrugging as if this were nothing more than an everyday conversation. “ i'll go underground for a bit until it all cools down. change my name, cut my hair. that sort of thing. ” cue the half-smile. “ don't worry about me, ben — worry about yourself instead, okay? ”

after all, she has been warned before, and it has not ever stopped her. these encounters have all just been fuel to the fire — a reminder that what she's doing is the right thing.

yes, all of that risk comes with the territory of her job, but for ben ... it is a different story altogether. this exposé will cost him terribly, will put another stain on his already damaged record.

it takes a lot of guts to do a thing like this, and nancy greatly admires the fact that he had still wanted to tell the truth, still wanted to try and let the people know about the things that were happening at the power plant.

he's one of the good ones, in a world where there doesn't seem to be so many of those left.

she reaches out, fingers brushing against the top of ben's hand, as she adds, “ you're the one with the family to take care of — this affects you a lot more than it does me. ” a pause. “ it's going to be hard for you after this, ben, and i just ... i just want to make sure you're prepared for that. ”

[hibernationden]

it infuriates courtney that ben makes her come so much harder than she could with her hands. even as her orgasm passes, the relief is bone deep unlike anything she's felt. it's as if everything wrong in her had been cored out and replaced with him. he fucks his hunger into her, all that need, and she takes it happily. her body moves against her will, heels digging into his back, nails scraping gently across his scalp, while he spills into her. warm wet that sloshes when he moves inside her.

her tongue is lazy against his, all soft noises and wandering hands.

dark eyes roll and there's another laugh, which is quite a feat given her panting. it's still a new sensation to giggle with her cunt full of seed, the fluid moving as her muscles do. when courtney leans into another kiss, it's surprisingly chaste with a smile against his mouth. utterly smitten, it's easy for her to ignore the itch in her chest for a while to savor this moment. he's gifted her this translation of their bond in their new home, yanked her from her stupid useless self loathing like a leashed dog guided back to the path. and where she would've assumed that'd be a boring, if not mortifying affair, instead he was hot as fuck.

"you're such an asshole." her tone says nearly the opposite. does he absolutely need to defy her expectations so often? change is such an ugly process but he keeps goading it from her.

"but hey, we found the only silver lining to not fucking for like a week straight." she untangles herself only enough to cup his cheek. her legs still haven't allowed him any space to pull away. "i think you just pumped an ocean into me." which, apparently, is something she's into, based on the playful swing of her voice.

it practically hurts to not be kissing him right now. she wants to be tasting him. but each breath is enough hard work right now that she'd rather not push her luck and totally spoil things. the rattle in her exhale is already worrisome enough, they're working with only what time she's borrowed from adrenaline.

"ben, i--" leave it to courtney to be shy while he's inside her. flustered and regretful, as if an apology is at the tip of her tongue, "i missed you too..."

[benrichardslives]

Calling it an ocean ought to be a point of embarrassment, but instead Ben feels pretty fucking self-satisfied. He even smirks a little and rolls his hips where he's buried inside her, rutting that half-hard cock and encouraged by the sweeter lilt of Courtney's voice. This is the woman he was hoping to see after leaving Cathy to sleep for the night-- not that he resents when Courtney loses herself in the mess that their abrupt lifestyle change brought about, but he worries. Hell, he hasn't stopped worrying since the Network announced he'd won.

In this moment, though, with Courtney's tone so soft and her admission so honest, all his worry melts away into fondness instead. Saying she'd missed him matters. Hearing her say it without the flash of lights or the prying cameras matters.

"See," he murmurs, "I knew you liked me."

And if that earns him a swat to the face or the chest or what have you, it will have been utterly worth it. Both Ben's hands cup Courtney's cheeks, and because he isn't deaf to her breathing, he kisses her sweaty forehead instead of defiling her mouth like he wants to.

"I've got you from now on."

Replacing his lips with his own forehead, Ben shuts his eyes to simply relish the proximity between them for a few more seconds. You and me, forever.

"I gotta grab your inhaler," he says once his head dips to meet Courtney's gaze. The but I don't want to pull out is heavily implied by the fact his hips don't move away (not that they'd get far, considering Courtney's legs are merciless).

"I can't fuck you again if you have an asthma attack." Ben thinks on this. "I mean, I could," he corrects himself, "but I was already mean to you today.

"Never mind that you came untouched. Hm." The kiss to her cheek is soft, contrasted against his teasing. "You think you could do that again?"

[finalfuck]

she had slipped up. she had gotten careless during her investigation into ben's whereabouts after the competition ; she had asked questions that probably shouldn’t have been asked, and continued to write stories that they didn’t like being told. nancy wheeler wasn’t controllable — she was unpredictable — and so the network had sought to fix that.

hell, nancy doesn’t recall how long she’s been inside their lab’s walls. a handful of months, she knows, but who can tell anymore with the way they keep her compliant?

in between the poking and prodding they'd done to her — it was always after that, always when it was wet and aching between her thighs, always when she felt so fucking empty that she thought she might scream — they had shown him to her on the screens, showed her the modifications they had run on him. made her watch as they loaded him full of drugs, enhancing him in ways that shouldn't even exist. originally, nancy had thought it was just because they wanted to torment her ; thought it was because they wanted to show her just how little good their attempts at rebellion had managed to achieve.

and while she is sure that still played a part in it, the words that had been whispered in her ear as she had watched ben tear apart some other person that had fallen into the network's grasp, have not been forgotten : “ the two of you were wanting to work together to make something new, were you not, miss wheeler? ”

in that moment, all the experiments they had run on ben, all the testing and prepping that had been done to her ... everything had clicked for nancy.

and now, here she is, watching through hooded eyes as ben stalks towards her. this time is different than all the times they've made her like this before — the gnawing ache is worse, the heat underneath her skin almost enough to burn her alive, and with the way they had positioned her, chasing that sweet reprieve of friction on her own is near impossible. it's enough to drive someone mad.

she likes to think that if she didn't trust ben so implicitly ( the recognition in his eyes had been undeniable ) that she wouldn't be practically presenting herself to him like a bitch in heat — it's easier to tell herself that, anyway. easier to tell herself that it's only because it's ben, her friend, and not because she thinks that she might die if something doesn't touch her soon.

“ shut up, ” she hisses, the words obviously aimed at the voice crackling through the speakers. “ just shut the fuck up. ” even despite the things they've done to her, that stubbornness of hers refuses to die out just yet.

acutely aware of the wet, sticky mess between her thighs and the chain keeping her bound, nance shifts slightly, just enough that those big blue eyes of hers can lock onto ben's face. his name falls from her lips in a breathy sigh. the sight of him should fill her with guilt, perhaps even with apprehension, knowing what she knows — but instead she feels relief. he'll take care of her. she knows he will.

“ they ... they're wanting us to ... ” she starts, groaning softly as a cramp, vicious and demanding, stabs through her abdomen. her hand instinctively comes to rest against it as if it will somehow make the pain go away. nancy's chest rises and falls with every sharp breath, accentuating the baby pink lace they've seen fit to adorn it with.

[ she is empty and she is on fire, desperate to be filled with something, anything. ]

“ ... they want us to make something, ben. ”

and that's the point of all this, isn't it? ben, the creator, and her, the vessel.

almost as soon as the words are out of nancy's mouth, a laugh echoes over the speakers. “ she's a smart girl, ben. you could learn a thing or two from her. ”

[benrichardslives]

Ben hasn't heard his name spoken with fondness in what feels like forever. Hell, the version of him that existed outside this facility seems so fucking far away-- almost unreal, considering everything that's happened since. He isn't the same Ben Richards that said goodbye to Nancy months ago, arms around her in what he thought was the last hug he'd have before the Network decided he wasn't worth keeping alive. He isn't the same guy who fought against all hell to keep a sense of hope alive in his chest: something, anything, so that he might see his wife and kid again.

Instead, his family is dead and gone, and Ben's killed more people than he can count in more ways than he can count. Slaughter has come so easy to him it's almost his primary nature; Nancy speaks of creation and Ben isn't sure he has that ability any more. How is he supposed to touch her gently when the only thing keeping him alive was his ability to rip things apart?

He wants to say something, but that damn muzzle keeps him silent save for a muffled grunt of concern. Ben lumbers forward, and to his embarrassment barely keeps himself from falling to his knees in the opening Nancy makes for him with her thighs. Somehow, he manages to crouch, and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as soon as his palm touches Nancy's ankle. His thumb strokes the bone and his eyes shut against the feeling of it-- her skin is fucking burning, and he's torn between terror and fury at what these fuckers have done to Nancy's innocent body.

I'm sorry, he thinks, hazel eyes catching Nancy's bleary gaze. Ben can only pray that she can see he means it.

Water collects beneath his fingertips before he can think about it, leaving cool, wet trails as he slides his touch along her leg. He watches, eyes going half-lidded, as Nancy spreads her legs for him with barely a command. It's like she's been practising for this. Like she was made for it.

"That's a good boy," comes the voice from the overhead speakers. "You aren't as stupid as we thought, huh?"

Growl muffled behind his muzzle, Ben uses his free hand to flip the cameras off. The act doesn't earn a reaction, but he didn't expect it to.

Ben shakes his head. The heavy feeling in it is new. The water conjured by his touch grows on its own in turn: thin, wet tendrils curve around Nancy's thigh in a single helix.

And he groans, distraught, as his fist tightens around her calf.

He's killed people with this before-- drowned them from the inside, filling every orifice they had with liquid until it was all their lungs could carry. He's made it so water spilled out of their mouths even as it entered from elsewhere. But what control Ben might have had is as slippery as the clear, viscous fluid that's begun to creep up Nancy's torso.

He reaches up in an attempt to stop it, but freezes with his hands pressing on either side of Nancy's waist. Eyes wide in alarm, he watches all those tiny tendrils sneak beneath Nancy's bra, soaking it with liquid. The cloth shifts with their movement: they trace the swells of her breasts, offering several points of cool, wet pressure as they memorise the shape of her. Eventually her nipples grow hard beneath their touch, each little tendril tracing around the peaks of them before they start flicking and pressing against pebbled skin.

Hips twitching, Ben's mouth fills with saliva at the same time his cock swells with blood.

Oh, fuck, I can taste her.

[kaizsche]

The Running Man star Glen Powell says he's happiest "chasing the danger"

[benrichardslives]

@finalslay, for nancy.

Ben feels the familiar pump of drugs into the port on his spine as soon as they open the door to his gilded cage.

He's finally ready for the first test, Killian, he remembers some whitecoat saying a few hours prior. Stupid fucker. Ben doesn't have the liberty of understanding what "testing" means, but it can't be good, not when he's spent the last six months throwing up, doing physical tests, having shit injected in him, and counting the days until he could murder every last bastard around him.

He's been feeling stronger, but the restraints used on him have evolved with it, too. Ben figures these people're just underestimating how much being pissed off elevates him.

He suspects the drugs his captors just shoved into his system ought to give him some kind of augment; when they aren't the stuff that's meant to knock him out, they unlock some latent abilities instead. The opened door, meanwhile, usually heralds the appearance of another test subject-- Ben's ripped through enough of them to know the deal.

Steadying his breathing even beneath his muzzle, Ben watches the nervous lab assistant-- a fellow named Tim-- wheel a cage in. The man runs as soon as he's able, the door locks (and Ben hears all the other safety measures being put into place), and remotely the cage presented to him clicks, its door swinging forward in invitation.

Like clockwork, the implement in his spine pulls out of its port. Ben's nerves are suddenly his own again, and he lands on his feet when his restraints have him coming off the wall. His hazel eyes are sharp with a mix of anger and bloodlust as he stalks forward, muscles shifting beneath the loose fabric of his clothing, and when finally he approaches the mouth of the cage...

He hesitates.

The muzzle on him keeps him from saying anything, but Ben's frozen all the same. Before him, chained to the inside of the cage, lies a face he hasn't seen since that god damn competition.

Oh, no.

The horror Ben feels realising they captured Nancy Wheeler takes a backseat almost as soon as it forms in his head. Not only have they captured Nancy, but they've done something to her too-- he smells it through his muzzle, sees it in the flush that covers her skin, and has to tear his eyes away because he's sure the wet spot in her pants between her legs isn't supposed to be there.

What have they done to her?

The glare he fixes the camera in the top corner of the room is hard.

"No," says the Network's top producer over the speakers, "we don't want you killing her, Ben. Come on. Look how pretty she is.

"But there's something else about her you should be noticing. Hell, I'm sure you've already realised it. What do you think that is?"

Ben swallows thickly. He can hear Nancy panting, can hear the chain clinking as her position shifts, and most of all can hear the rapid beating of his own heart as the blood beneath his skin heats with interest.

Turning back to face Nancy's prone form, Ben shivers. They can't want what he thinks they want. Maybe she can explain it to him.

[hibernationden]

courtney's weight rests nearly entirely in his arms and her lip is bitten so hard it almost bursts. she's so utterly helpless here, hammered into with abandon, his thrusts shallower now because he stays so perfectly seated within her. it's a welcome change. each stroke out of her had felt like a betrayal to her body in its eagerness to grip around him, feel the seed spill from him. the sound of her cunt taking him, again and again, so wet for him that it's spreading down her thighs, is only somewhat muffled by the mix of their ragged breathing and noises. she makes attempts at words, but they're half formed, abandoned time and time again in favor of his name or another moan.

it hurts, how far he's stretching her, and the pain brings blissful tears to her eyes. clung to him, gaze unfocused, she's swallowed in his presence. the history of his passion aches across her body in the bruises left by his fingers, the imprints left by his teeth. her augments illuminate them, the red light trapped and only piercing through what few gaps there are between them.

her noises grow more frantic, more high pitched. his voice is taking that pitch too, the one she knows by now, the one that makes her clench especially hard around him because it's a sign of what's to come. it's been too long since she's heard him gasp her name.

"don't stop," her hips move in circles, grinding her clit against the curls at the base of him. "oh, please don't stop. fuck fuck fuck." her nails take another pass over his back, her grip landing at his side where she can feel his muscles work beneath his skin. all for her.

"ben, i'm--"

her peak hits quickly like this. her panting breath is interrupted with the first of many shaky, sweet moans and the lock of her walls around him. somehow, she manages to curl up even more tightly in his arms, her lips brushing his shoulder. the tear run down her cheek meets his collarbone and mingles with his sweat. whatever pleasure she had known before him, this is tenfold. both because he fucks her like an absolute champion and because, bizarrely enough, she believes that he needs her. the surge of emotion leaves her an exposed nerve, every movement from ben making her body twitch, each beat of her heart a throb of her cunt wrapped around him.

[benrichardslives]

Ben didn't even have to touch her for Courtney to come around him, wet and hot and dripping.

"Fuck."

She doesn't give him the time to recover, either. Going impossibly tight around his cock isn't enough-- he feels Courtney's mouth on his shoulder, feels the cling of her arms and legs, and swears because her cunt squeezes without mercy.

In turn, Ben's head tucks itself against her hair. His left hand comes up to curve tight over her nape, his right holds her steady, and he shudders as that tightness around him makes it impossible to do more than rut. Courtney's primed like this: soft inside from getting fucked so thoroughly and wet from the mess of her own orgasm, and Ben moans as he loses himself in it, slap after inconsiderate slap.

"Coming," he breathes, nails digging in Courtney's neck like a bite. Scratching, almost, as she bounces with every smack of his pelvis. "I'm fuckin'--"

Then they're stuck, hips pressed flush against each other, and Ben feels his toes curl as his balls tighten and his cock spurts inside her. They haven't had any real sex since all this began-- not the way they did before Ben won-- but as he shifts, pinning Courtney to the table beneath his weight, he feels a sense of relief amidst the familiarity.

"Fuck," Ben swears again, seeking solace in Courtney's throat. "Oh, Christ..."

His feet space apart, his hands slot themselves over her waist, and as he rolls his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, he feels the absolute mess of them smearing inside of her. Some of it oozes out the seams of where they're joined, but he cares little for it; Courtney milks him so good Ben can do nothing else but empty his load inside her, rope after rope.

By the end of it, Ben's cock is buried to the hilt and he resists the urge to touch Courtney's stomach (to press, caught somewhere between sadism and the desire for her to feel overwhelmed with fullness). Instead, Ben curves his palm over Courtney's jaw--

"C'mere."

--and, tongue swiping over Courtney's lips, he kisses her.

It's messy. Breathless as Ben is, he can't even bother with technique. Even as his body attempts to recover, however, he's already thinking of turning Courtney over and taking her from behind.

"Welcome back to Earth," Ben whispers, thumb tracing down Courtney's chin. "I missed you."

[hibernationden]

years of refusing to refusing to lose control, even here in her pleasures, means the probe of his fingers is as much an exploration for courtney as it is ben. the stroke and the coaxing makes her relax around him, her fluid pooling in the crooks of his fingers. she can feel where he's left a smear across her thigh. her hips raise lightly with each breath, moving with him in tandem.

courtney whines as his cock rests there, at her entrance, and tangles herself into him further to grab at his shoulder blade. he brings her close, slides himself into place, and she yelps. stretching her walls, it all becomes so much more real. thank fuck she met him. thank fuck for her shitty life if it brought her to him.

his rhythm is set and her trim nails dig into his back. her swollen clit throbs with each smack of his pelvis against hers, her quiet noises filling the rest between nearly each one. the sound of his laugh, through it all, breaks her into a smile too.

forever, he says. her cunt twitches and she cups the back of his head, thighs squeezing around his trunk. a giddy mania sweeps through her, ankles crossing behind him. it's still a spectacle for her, the hardness within her like his body is rushing forward to merge with hers. ready to burst at the seams as slick, desperate muscles welcome it. this is what she's been playing pretend at for so long with her plastic and leather.

"forever?" her voice is more confident now, mirthful as the force of their union knocks the breath from her. it turns out, when she's loved, she's capable of a filthy and girlish delight. courtney laughs too now, the noise melting into another moan. what place could fear have here, when she's home? when it's theirs to do with as they please.

ben will drive her mad. if this is to be their future, raw and emotional, aching and eager like a thumb pressed into her bruise, it'll change her. there will be a courtney before him and one after him, brought forth with the chisel of his fucking audacity. cut from the same cloth. family. her grip tears down his skin, as unforgiving as his faith in her.

"is home where you…" caught in the hope of a life full of moments like this, "leave me dripping, ben? our home." another whimper. the air itself feels steaming, the heat of their bodies trapped between her bowed spine and the wood.

"mine and--" a deep shudder. to claim something that no one else has possession over is such a rare thing. she ducks her head, mouth near to his cheek and wanting. "and yours."

[benrichardslives]

They don't deserve this house. They don't deserve this expensive table. But they leak out the seams of where they're connected, and their sweat drips onto the varnish, and as Courtney marks him with her nails, Ben's moan is a heady mix of pleasure and god damn fucking relief. She tears just enough to cause the slightest bleed, and the imperfection of it all reminds him they don't have parts to play any more.

Our home, she whines, and Ben is right there with her, breathing out soft, half-manic "yes"-es in time with the slap of their skin. His hands are gripping her waist, blunt thumbnails digging into soft flesh, but with Courtney clinging onto him so firmly, he lets them slide up her back and lift, drawing her close to lick into her open mouth again.

The kiss is messy, unconcerned with finesse when Courtney's so fucking near. Ben's right hand curves over her ass to hold her up, the other pressed to the table to keep himself upright, and with their faces so close the air they share is hot and heavy and not at all refreshing. But it's a god damn relief filling her with cock, feeling the way Courtney opens up around the beating length of him. Once Ben teased her, calling her pussy the most generous thing about her; now he's grateful, wanting, thrusting into plush, wet heat and carving a space for himself inside.

"Your home's with me now."

Ben feels the give of Courtney's cunt around him and pounds into her because of it-- not nice, not gentle, nothing but hungry after being deprived for so long. His fingers dig into her ass, muscles rippling as he thrusts into her, and with a shudder rolling down his spine Ben presses his forehead to Courtney's sweaty temple.

"I don't care where we are," he says, gasps, as his cock presses in slower, harder strokes, "fuck, Courtney, I don't care where we're goin'.

"Just need you. God, I need you."

Each thrust has the table creaking, but Ben's hand lifts from it, his core going tight and his knees bending to hold them both up. In a bid to match its twin that hand grips Courtney's other thigh, nails pressing into skin. Like this, Ben fills her to the hilt because he knows she can take it. Like this, with barely any space between them, he's so fucking close it should be embarrassing.

"Oh," he moans, low in his throat and not any less wanting. "Courtney, Courtney, Courtney--"

[benrichardslives]

Pain was a longtime companion; Evan's body was way more intimate with violence than any sort of kindness or gentleness. The knife that had been plunged into his chest hours earlier by Richards had been a welcome certainty - the sharp, intense sting was familiar.

The makeshift bandage that followed, the support for clumsy steps after considerable blood loss and shared revenge were alien territory.

Evan wasn't sure where they were - he hadn't needed to hide in years, but the dim lights and the distant sound of water dripping made him suspect of a hideout of sorts. His own right hand moved over the bandage lightly, unconsciously approving of the rushed (even if amateur) work - not too shabby considering their circumstances.

"Why did you do it?" Evan asked, voice sounding remarkably neutral for two men who had fought to death's door (and as if that single round of hand to hand combat hadn't been the most real thing in years in a world so terribly performative for television). "I wouldn't have spared you the same courtesy."

A wry smile followed as Evan recalled his own moment of truth, many seasons ago, "You know I didn't."

— @evanmcconne, unprompted.

No, Ben could have said then, I never did watch any of that shit. But there wouldn't have been a point, and he felt he and McCone had had enough conflict (not even of their own doing, Christ) to last a lifetime.

His expression was exhausted, but more at peace than it had ever been these last few weeks. Ben shrugged, winced, and then relaxed against the wall he was propped against in an attempt to keep himself together.

"You were in the same fucked up situation as I was," he said. "And I don't know if they showed you my file, but I have a really stupid knack for saving other people."

Never mind that the State labelled such things "insubordination".

"I'll be honest," Ben started, hand resting lightly over his bandaged stomach, "it's not like I wasn't aiming to kill you. That part was an accident.

"But I killed enough fuckers on this tour, and the plane exploding meant the show was over-- we didn't have to fight any more." Ben wanted to say that he could see each of his victim's faces if he closed his eyes, but that would be a lie. The murdered he left behind were as faceless to him as he'd been to them. "And I thought, well... you hate the Network, too, right? You want 'em burned to the fucking ground too, right?

"It's all I needed." He laughed, groaned, and then tried to relax again despite the pain. Clearly Ben's manners as a patient were awful. "Fuck. I gotta stop doing that."

[hibernationden]

they've done this more times than she could count and she feels a fool for still marveling at him the way she does. ben's bare in front of her and she can feel her what are they doing here? it's them? forever? then the body she's ogling belongs to her partner. the man she'll watch age. courtney sighs as he moves over her.

there have been so many firsts in her life recently. leaning in can be one of them. letting the heat of possession and pride taint her, ben isn't only her lover. he's her ben. one day, bizarrely enough, her husband. not yet, not in the way the network cares about. but there's simply no way they could undo this moment. and she hasn't been crucified yet for daring to imagine, even in ways that are all wrong, so maybe she's safe here.

the pressure of his nails into her makes her gasp, drawing his breath into her rather than fresh air.

"fuck," courtney hisses. this is real. this is theirs. his hand slaps onto her, the sound of her slick nearly echoing in this huge place, and it's only thanks to years of stealth that she doesn't cry out. her body jolts. her moan, thankfully restrained, tips her head further back, the lines of her throat straining.

"i feel it." bringing her arms up, dazed and fluid, she grabs the far edge of the table. he doesn't even need to hold her like that, she'll do it before he can. at some point, she would've been mortified to be seen long this. spread out like something to be butchered. he's being very not nice, and her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, bracing for the next noise she'll need to stifle. wide eyes watch his, more attentive than she's been in years.

it feels like the words themselves are being pushed into her, deep where she can't ignore them, can't perform for them.

the tide of his movement begins to pull her under, soft muffled moans with each thrust. for a split second, courtney looks like a woman who could die happy. eyes gently shut, lips singing his name. the underside of the table will have new marks in it and her hips buck against his hand.

"have me." she'd say take me if she weren't offering herself. it's ben. he deserves what he wants, consequences be damned.

"i want you." she's begging for his cock but they both know it's much more than that. "us. together—" it's as much as she can manage before her thighs are squeezing around his hand and she's whimpering again. her cunt even spasms around his fingers, the relief of their vows leaving her sensitive and craving.

"i— mm." this time, her words pause not from pleasure, but the nervousness building in the coils of her guts. "ben, i don't want it to stop." the remnants of tears in her eyes and the heartfelt affliction to her voice, like it'd break her heart if she had to leave this life behind, betray what she means.

[benrichardslives]

Courtney used to give him so much shit for wanting her it's almost jarring to hear her desires laid out so plainly. She's wet around his fingers and wet on their expensive table, and the press of teeth Ben shoves into the meat of her shoulder leaves her wet from his saliva, too.

Without any new public appearances scheduled for the next few weeks, Courtney'll have time to heal before their stylist wants her in a strapless dress again.

(A mark Courtney had left on Ben's thigh days prior is fading pitifully, meanwhile, and Ben doesn't think about how long it's been since she's had him in her mouth.)

When his head lifts, one of Ben's hands comes up to wrap his left palm around Courtney's wrist. He feels her pulse fluttering against his skin-- feels it like the beat of blood in her clit, like the motion of her trapped body as she arches and breathes.

His length twitches as it grows heavy between his thighs, desperate for that connection (addicted to her: to her voice, her hands, her cunt). Ben wants to see himself disappear in her, to make the seam where they connect slippery and messy. Ben wants to feel, more than in the flutter of her pulse, how Courtney's body beats around the throb of his cock. Wants us, together. Wants to disappear into her until all that's left is the most real thing about them.

"I'm not gonna stop," he promises. Ben's lips find Courtney's in a kiss, and with a deep curl of his fingers he rests his cock in the space between Courtney's groin and thigh. He releases her wrist to grip himself instead, and with his fingers still buried deep into her core, he draws his hips forward to tease the blunt head of his dick against her dripping walls.

"Gonna get you to come back to me, Court."

Ben pulls out. Courtney's slick, sweet and warm, flicks onto the tip of his dick and marks it shiny when Ben takes himself in hand. He holds himself properly, now-- fingers curled around the base so he can press the tip of him against Courtney's cunt. As she always has, she takes the head easily and drools into his foreskin; Ben's teeth dig into his lip, though, as he takes her hips and pulls her all the way down.

"So come home." The smack of their skin is wet. "To me."

Ben doesn't give her time to adjust before his hips start rolling. He thrusts long, and hard, and mean, and it's so fucking good it makes him leak where he's buried inside her.

He laughs, licking the sweat off Courtney's neck, and presses a kiss to her jaw. "I'm not gonna stop. Oh, shit...

"I'll fuck you forever. S'you and me, just like this, I promise."

[hibernationden]

like this, courtney impresses herself. the ease with which she surrenders to him ought to be lauded as nothing short of a miracle. the worries she holds can be theirs. she'll bear them for him, let him pick her apart and unfold her, and he can decide what to do next. she trusts him with that. her eyelashes flutter at just the sound of his voice, the tension draining from her muscles. it had been a kiss she'd let herself hope for. this is so much better.

another night, she'll argue, bring her usual fire into their intimacy and let him work it out of her. tonight, her back arches and she tastes his digit eagerly. her moan would be louder, but she's practicing being considerate. she doesn't want to wake baby cathy.

"not," his thumb smears her saliva across her lips and chin as she tries to string words together. "not nice." not because she doesn't deserve nice. not because she doesn't want him when he's nice. because she knows not nice will work best to drag her back into the light of the present moment. in all seriousness, he can tease her as much as he'd like.

courtney wants to say she's got no idea where she went. but all that matters is she went somewhere without him, and it fucking sucked.

her hips lift, letting her skirt slide up her slender frame. her panties, delicate fabric that's such a waste of money, have the tiniest bow on them.

the tears swell again. she doesn't understand this feeling well enough to fight it. it's like guilt, it has the same flavor as it, but it pierces so much deeper.

"br--" a soft yelp at the friction between them. "bring me back." the please is unspoken, this time. legs spread wider. her top does little to hide the fact that arousal has peaked her breasts. she touches his hand, at first fearful he'll pull it away from her, then laces their fingers together and feels warmth spill down her cheeks. her other arm stays fixed around his strong shoulders.

the urge to quip dies on her tongue as her head tilts back. let him see. let him be the judge. "you promise it's us, ben?"

[benrichardslives]

There is so little in Ben's control these days that it drives him insane. And yet, with Courtney's hand gripping his own, he feels relief because she's asked him one thing he knows for sure--

"Yeah," he says, "it's us.

"We're real. And we're together." Ben laughs, almost hurt. "And we're fucking alive."

Fingers sliding up Courtney's thigh, Ben catches the hem of her skirt. He tugs it down, feels that strange, dissonant sense of manufacturing at the sight of Courtney's underwear (none of the clothes in their wardrobes were theirs to choose), and then decides he doesn't want to touch anything that isn't her.

Us.

A kiss to Courtney's knuckles comes before Ben releases her, and even then it's only to pull that delicate lace down. He lets her hands get on him, lets her tug the green shirt their stylist chose to match his eyes over his head, and sheds article after article of clothing between them until all that's left is skin. Shameless, Ben's hands travel up Courtney's muscled thighs, and in his head he thinks about all those years she spent hunting. How she was supposed to hunt him. How she chose not to, and yet took his miserable heart anyway.

"Now come back to me, baby."

Pinning her hips to the table, the length of his bare cock teases the line of her pussy as he bends to kiss her again. Ben sucks on her tongue, brings his hands up her sides, and then squeezes her tits with a forceful pressure. When the physical is so visceral, there isn't any reason to go into the mind; twin thumbnails flick over Courtney's nipples, then dig into them in the hopes it'll make her whine.

As he pulls away, spit between their mouths, the glow of Courtney's augment brings out the scars on his torso. Ben's left hand grips her jaw to force her gaze on him; his right smacks her pussy before curving possessively over it, heel rubbing insistently against her clit.

"You feel this?" he says, fingers stroking the parted walls of her cunt-- coaxing her to spread her legs wider, more. Ben lifts his hand to spit on her clit, then draws his fingers up to collect it, dragging wetness into the pink of her pussy.

"It's you and me." Two digits press inward, slow and steady for Courtney to feel the solidity of it-- the weight, thick and insistent and real. "I want you, Courtney. And that's no Freevee bullshit-- that's me."

Without warning, both fingers push in to the last knuckle, pull out, and push again. Finding a steady rhythm, Ben thrusts over and over, fucking her to pliancy for his stiffening cock.

[hibernationden]

he's holding her. courtney's ears feel like they're on fire. her legs fit comfortably over his hips. dark eyes admire his mouth while he says such sweet things, soothing her.

you and me. FINALLY? what kind of sick game is he playing? as if he'd been waiting for this. as if he'd wanted this all along. her stomach turns. she leans closer, her forehead against his cheek. when her arms wind around him, his shirt is gathered into fists. eyebrows are furrowed hard enough that she barely notices the prickles of tears as she blinks them away before they have any chance to form.

fuck him. she was so fucking scared. and now all that fear is replaced with confusion and, painfully, attachment. fear was so much more familiar, manageable. this guy could have the picture perfect life if he wanted it, and he's asking for the one thing that could surely spoil it for him. that won't make sense to her, not for a long time.

"ben—" courtney hates the sound of her voice right now. legitimately, she considers that this conversation would be so much easier if he were inside her. she'd like to start fumbling with his belt, quick enough to chase this feeling away. instead, her shoulders slump. drinking tonight was a mistake she'd make again, given the chance.

he wants her here. she wants to be here. does it have to be so difficult?

when her eyes raise to meet his, the wet clings to her lashes. there's a sniffle. he'll have to guide her into the next chapter of whatever the fuck this is. but she's here. she's in it.

"will you kiss me, please?" it takes a lot to bring her to that level of decency. she's exhausted. feels like her heart's been trying to run through molasses. "i mean, didn't anyone teach you it's not nice to tease a girl?" a quiet smile, through all her aching. "i'm not gonna do all the work here for us, you gotta—..." lean in, kiss her, claim her, prove that he wants it, soothe her in a language she knows, let her taste the victory they make together. it matters to her that he does it, brings her over the threshold of what he imagines their future could be.

[benrichardslives]

Underneath all the layers of strength Courtney tries to wear, sometimes the bit of her that's as terrified as he is shines through. He sees it in the wet in her eyes that he won't bring up tomorrow, feels it in the fingers that cling onto him, and hears it in the please that begs to come out indignant, but sounds needy instead.

He can deal with needy. He feels it in his gut, too-- that despite all the touching and kissing they've done for the nation, none of it has sated the hunger that's begun to grow like a fucking void.

Ben's lips brush her ear. "Do you want me nice or not?"

But the hands on her waist push, shove her down into the wood (this table costs more than his old home did), and he kisses her with enough force that their teeth nearly click together. But it doesn't take a lot of coaxing to get Courtney's mouth to open-- she really does taste like booze, and he wonders if she started as soon as he went to put Cathy to bed-- and as one hand comes up to curl around the side of her neck, the other smooths along her thigh as it flattens it over the table surface.

Ben wanted to be more gentle about it. He underestimated how much he missed her, as if they haven't been sleeping in the same bed for over a week now.

"Where did you go?" he asks, taking up space between Courtney's legs to press against her. Ben's thumb strokes Courtney's lip before sliding inward; his teeth catch the curve of her ear, and then his lips start sucking.

"I was gone ten minutes, Court."

Her cunt is warm against his cock, even through the fabric of their clothing. Ben rocks his hips.

"Where'd you go?"

[hibernationden]

@benrichardslives asked: “If I kiss you right now… will you stop me?”

she's been different, now that it's over. weird. unlike herself. cold. there's immense relief, of course, that he's not dead and that somehow, the network decided that she looks better as arm candy than as a corpse. but with it comes its own sense of mourning. whatever they had is over and she has to live with the reality of it. ben's got his kid and all the money they could need. courtney doesn't belong in that world. she's stood in the corner, leaned up against a table with her ankles crossed, cup in her hand. deeper in thought than he's ever seen her.

he asks about kissing her. she keeps her stare on his shirt instead of the tipsy, celebratory haze of happiness that fumes through the room.

fuck. really got herself in it this time. it'd be so easy to hike her knee into his crotch right now. instead, she huffs a sigh and looks up at him, half glaring, half smitten.

"you get through all that shit and then you ask before you do something like that?"

being with him can feel good. that fact bites into her like a bear trap on a wild animal's leg. but even if he kisses her, it won't be the same now. he'll have to live with all the consequences of being with a piece of shit like her.

...though, if anyone could, it's probably the rich guy who's also fucking insane.

courtney kisses him. her cup is placed to the side and that frees her up to grab him, pulling him by his jacket for leverage. half drunk and sloppy, she misses his tongue. there's been too many cameras, too many people, too much noise.

"don't fuck with me, ben." those words could sound a lot more venomous with anyone else, but with him, it's a plea whispered against his lips. "don't make me regret this." and that's what she's reduced to, begging him to only kiss her if he means it.

[benrichardslives]

Courtney's irritation doesn't bother him so much-- things are different, and they both know it, even if they never talk about it. What had once been these fleeting attempts at affection, however unsafe they were, had at least been real because it was theirs. After hearing the producers in his ear enough telling him to kiss his girl for the cameras, the act isn't quite as free as it used to be.

They're alone right now, at least. It's in his contract that, as a winner, after the initial victory tour he doesn't need his living premises accessible by camera any more. They don't have to kiss for the cameras, and they don't have to smile, and Ben doesn't have to dig his nails into the small of Courtney's back because he's resisting the urge to destroy those fucking cameras with his bare hands. There'll be Network events in the future that require his participation, of course, but as the winner of the Running Man the rest of his life is his to do with as he pleases.

Pretending to be the Network's new, shiny champion kills him inside, though. It's for Cathy, he reminds himself. (It's for Courtney too, now.)

I'm sorry, he thinks to say, when Courtney breathes words against him. I'm fucking sorry you have to keep pretending because of me.

"We're together," is what he says, sober against the taste of alcohol in her mouth. "We'll figure everything else out later."

We. It's funny to think only a few months prior Ben half-entertained thoughts of Courtney killing him on television.

"C'mere," he says, hands on her waist to lift her.

Courtney weighs almost nothing, and when he sets her on the kitchen table to press against her he feels her augments dig into his skin. A reminder, always, that their lives are a gift from the state.

"It's just us now." Ben's nose brushes hers, and his grip tightens with a slight desperation. "You and me. Finally."

[goddesspharo]

The spirit of Ben is a guy who's trying to show up for his family.