Clearing The Air
New Version of my little ColdBlazer/Captain HellCanary thing.
This is roleplay specific content for this blog and @inmywiring’s Sara. It is not meant for widespread distribution! Anyone not directly associated with this particular verse may NOT reblog.
"Out, both of you!", Sara says finally, having just pushed her way in between Leo and John.
She's facing John, staring him down with a fire in her eyes that makes him choke on the 'e started i' that he had had lined up. "Don't even think about it. Let it go.", she hisses at him and he knows with the same clarity that he'll take his next breath, that she doesn't mean the argument. She means the magic he's gathered to his fingertips, ready to strike at Snart.
Later, much later, he'll wonder when she'd become so familiar with his … everything, that she could tell.
In that moment, he gives her a sardonic little grin and let's go of the power with a physical shake of his arms.
Snart smiles down at him over her shoulder and just like she's sensed John's magic, she seems to sense the smugness on him. Without even turning around, she inclines her head to acknowledge the thief. "And you. Wipe that grin off your face. I meant it. Get out, both of you."
They slink out of the room, one after the other like chastised schoolboys only a moment later, Sara following them with her arms folded under her chest. Right before she closes the door on them, she gives both of them a once over and says: "You better sort this out. The sexual tension is giving me a headache." And with that, the two men are left alone.
It takes the span of a sharp breath in for John to spin around to Snart and say: "There's no..."
Snart shakes his head in a quick little move, brows furrowed even deeper than his natural scowl. "No."
They face each other, John with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, Snart with his arms folded over his chest. Two sets of blue eyes, one suffused with acid green, the other dulled to an icy blue-grey, hold each other for a second, before they trail along the other's body.
Slowly.
There's a moment of tension when their eyes meet again.
And then, a small start of leaning towards each other, even if neither of them moves from their spot.
"Bloody'ell…", John groans and rolls his eyes and a second later, Snart has crossed the distance and pinned him against the wall.
"Shut up.", Snart purrs. Not growls, purrs. And John's already pressing up into his bulk, even if it is with a shiteating little grin.
"Make..." me, John wants to say, but he's interrupted by another one of those purrs that seems to run straight down his spine and settle as heat in his groin. "Don't dare finish that."
And John doesn't finish it.
Because the next thing he knows is cool lips against his, the scent of freshly fallen snow in his nose and the taste of something sharp and herbal against his tongue when Leo doesn't waste time coaxing his mouth open with a grip on his jaw.
They end in Snart's room, because, as the thief points out "It's closer." and John is half out of his coat when one of those strong, cool hands stops him. "Leave that on.", Snart drawls with a grin that is positively sinful and John replies with a grin of his own and a small arch of the brow, but he doesn't say anything.
Well, not anything related to his coat.
What he does say is: "Only if you pu' on those gloves la'er."
Leonard let's John push the smooth, black wool coat off his shoulders, so the warlock can run his hands over the the thief's shoulders, curl his fingers into the contours of the body he usually keeps so well hidden.
There's muscle there. The kind of casual muscle that doesn't come from vanity, but necessity, and the flex of them under his palms is exciting when Leonard grips him by the tie and pulls him back into another kiss.
When those clever, skilled fingers make short work of the buttons of John's shirt, just touching through expensive cotton isn't enough and John reaches for the hem of Leonard's shirt.
Only to be stopped with a hard grip on his wrist.
"Don't", Leonard snaps. "do that."
The grip is cold and near painful. The expression in those glacier eyes matches it perfectly.
And John remembers something … something Sara's told him when John made a cruel throw away comment about Daddy issues.
His free hand lifts away from Leonard's chest and moves to his own, pushing his tie out of the way before shrugging one shoulder out of the shirt and coat. Under his collarbone, in the hollow before chest curves into shoulder, there's a puckered, round scar.
"Cigare'e.", John says quietly, his mouth pressing into a thin line when he jerks his head into something between a shake and a shrug. "Me dad. 'e didn' like me much."
The expression on Snart's face softens, lips curving into a gentle smile.
"I still won't let you take off my shirt." John scoffs a laugh. "Didn' mean i' tha' way, luv. Jus' sayin' I ge' i'. Fuckin' shame, bu' I can work with tha'."
And apparently, that's the right thing to say, because Leonard kisses him again, harder this time, with a kind of rough sensuality that has John painfully wanting by the time that cool tongue curls against the roof of his mouth.
John's always known that Leonard's good in bed, not least of all because he's caught him and Sara weeks ago, her legs around his hips, her back against the wall. The kind of abandon on her face, even as she kept herself quiet with a hand over her mouth while he sucked a mark into her neck … John didn't know if he should be jealous of her pleasure or of the apparent ease with which Snart seemed to cause it.
Now he's on the receiving end of Leonard's eerily composed focus, of that sardonic mouth and those thrice damned hands and by the time John slides into Leonards lap, drawn in by the lapels of his coat, he's already nearly fallen over the edge twice.
The thief is strangely gentle as he guides John down and oh, Christ the bastard is exactly as well endowed as John'd thought (why not admit to having thought about it now that the bastard's shagging his brains out?) and that inhumanly low body temperature extends all the way, chasing shivers up his back.
John's shaking, gasping and there's barely more than an uptick of Leonard's breathing as he holds John by the back of his neck with one hand and under his thigh with the other. It irks him, the way the man can keep his … well, his cool while he's taking John apart.
So for the second time that evening, John gathers his magic. He lifts one hand from Leonard's shoulder and to his lips. "fulgur super cutem meam", he growls, breathless and delights in the shudder, the small faltering of Leo's movements when those icy grey eyes catch sight of the hellfire glow in John's own.
"What are you …"
Leonard doesn't get much further than that, because John's already touched his tongue to his fingertips and placed his hand against what little bare skin he can reach along the side of Leonard's neck. The prickle of electricity to the touch drives the breath out of Leonard's lungs and John grins before he leans in and kisses him again.
And that, the magic on his skin, his lips, his tongue finally pulls a low, deep purr from the thief. A second later, John is on his back and in heaven.