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1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
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Hi everybody, sorry I missed last week I was camping with no internet service but we are back!
Here are a few rules we ask you to follow:
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc... Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc... Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc... Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc... Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
Summary: Your romantic getaway with Sergeant Hound hits a snag, but luckily, you're resourceful. Hound isn't so sure about this whole "camping" thing, but you know the best way to get him on board.
“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Hound grumbles as the two of you wrangle a pile of tent poles and canvas.
“Because the hotel didn’t allow massiffs,” you say, grunting a bit as you struggle with the heavy tent.
Technically, the hotel doesn’t allow clones, either, but you leave that unsaid. You had booked the room, paid the pet deposit, and traveled from Coruscant to Alderaan, only to be abruptly turned away at check-in. Before you left, you told the hotel concierge your opinion of their corporate bigotry, and now you are also banned for life. And so here the three of you are, setting up an ancient, decrepit canvas tent that you dug out of your parents’ attic.
Well, technically the two of you are setting up the tent while Grizzer explores your campsite, sniffing the lush greenery of Alderaan with interest. The massiff is accustomed to the hard plastcrete and rancid smells of Coruscant, and you wonder if she’s ever been in nature before.
“Relax,” you say. “I did this all the time growing up. It’ll be fun!”
“Sleeping in the dirt and eating rations is your idea of fun?” Hound asks.
“The tent has a floor,” you point out, “and believe me, we can do better than rations.”
Eventually, you wrestle the tent into submission and get two bedrolls laid out inside. The scent of old canvas, saturated with woodsmoke and memories, pulls you right back to your childhood: camping under the stars, swimming in the lake, lying in the sand and exploring the world around you. You can almost hear the shrieks of laughter and your father’s deep baritone as he sings a lullaby to you and your siblings.
You hang up a few strings of twinkle lights, and then, satisfied with the cozy little retreat you’ve created, you go back outside to get a campfire started. Hound is standing with his arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.
“Has it occurred to you that there are wild animals in these woods?” he asks. “Gree told me about the wolf-cats of Alderaan.”
“Grizzer will keep us safe,” you reassure him. “Won’t you, girl? Who’s my sweet baby?”
Grizzer wiggles happily over to you and nuzzles into your chest as you squat to scritch behind her ear holes.
“Grizzer, have some dignity, for kark’s sake,” Hound says. “You are a soldier of the Republic, not a pampered lap-tooka.”
Grizzer ignores him and flops onto her back to beg for belly rubs. Seeing the way you fawn over the massiff, Hound can’t help but smile, remembering the day he met you.
“Grizzer! NO!”
Hound chased after the bolting massiff as she charged an unsuspecting civilian in the middle of Monument Plaza. Grizzer had yanked the leash out of his hands and was running full-tilt through the scattering crowds. Too late, he saw her target: you.
You were standing in the sun, laughing with a street vendor, and Hound would have taken a moment to appreciate your beauty if you hadn’t been standing directly in the path of certain doom.
“Grizzer!” he shouted again. “Heel!”
You turned toward the commotion with only a few meters between you and the charging massiff. Hound fought the urge to close his eyes before Grizzer launched herself and savaged you, but then something completely unexpected happened.
You called out a word in a strange language, and the massiff skidded to a halt in front of you. You allowed her to sniff your hand, and then you pulled something out of your pocket and offered it to her. She took the treat and licked your hand as Hound finally caught up, heaving with exertion.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he panted. “She slipped her leash. I don’t know what got into her.”
You smiled up at him, and his heart thudded with more than just adrenaline when he saw the way your eyes sparkled.
“She just smelled the treats,” you said with a shrug. “We always had massiffs when I was growing up, and I never got out of the habit of carrying a few treats in my pockets. I hope it’s all right that I gave her one; I really didn’t want to lose a hand.”
In that moment, Hound knew he was utterly lost.
“Awww, is Daddy grumpy?” you coo at Grizzer as you rub her belly. “Is he a Cranky McGrumperson? Is he spreading his grumpy energy all over our campsite because he’s afraid to get his hands dirty?”
You shoot Hound a teasing look, and he stalks over to you, pulling you away from Grizzer and into his arms for a kiss. You sigh happily. You’ve been seeing Hound for a few weeks now, and you were hoping that a romantic trip to your home planet of Alderaan during his shore leave would give you an opportunity to take things to the next level. You had booked a room at a posh boutique hotel with a luxurious soaking tub and an incredible view of the mountains. Who knew the hoteliers would turn out to be gigantic dicks?
So you made a quick change of plans. You had been worried about Hound’s reaction to the idea of camping, but your other option was to take him to your parents’ home and sleep in your childhood bedroom, which… No thanks. Not the ideal setup for the intimate weekend you are planning.
You break away from Hound’s kiss feeling lightheaded. He’s an excellent kisser, and as you’ve discovered over the past weeks, a man who can kiss like that will bring a similar level of skill and enthusiasm to the bedroom (or the bedroll, as the case may be). Now all you have to do is coax him out of his sullen mood.
“Did I mention I happen to be an amazing cook?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes.
His interest is immediately piqued. “How are you planning to cook out here?”
“Watch and learn, city boy,” you say with a grin.
One hour, two shaak steaks, and four bottles of ale later, Hound’s temper is remarkably improved.
“Where did you learn to cook over an open fire like that?” he asks.
“My dad taught me,” you say as you pull out a deck of sabacc cards. “I told you we used to do this all the time when I was a kid. You in?”
He nods, so you shuffle and deal.
“Your dad sounds like an interesting man,” he says. “Too bad he wasn’t home when we stopped by to get the camping gear. I’d like to meet him.”
You laugh, “Trust me, it’s better this way. You might be ready to take down the entire Separatist army, but you are not prepared for my parents’ boyfriend interrogation.”
“Boyfriend, is it?” Hound asks, his brown eyes twinkling.
“If you play your cards right,” you say with a smirk.
You play a few hands of sabacc, betting with pebbles since Hound doesn’t have any credits, and when it gets too dark to see the cards, you decide to change into pajamas. Grizzer goes into the tent with you and immediately flops down on a bedroll. When you’d packed for your trip, you were planning to be spending your nights in a luxury suite, and your choice of sleepwear was not exactly suited to the great outdoors, so you regretfully tuck away the lacy little chemise. You strip out of your clothes and pull on a pair of short shorts and an old Alderaan University hoodie—the best option you could find in your old bedroom at your parents’ house.
When you leave the tent, Grizzer stays behind. Hound watches you with an unreadable expression, and you worry that he’s still not having a good time. It’s time to break out the big guns.
“Are you ready to have your mind blown, trooper?” you ask with a flirty look.
He sits forward immediately. “What did you have in mind?”
You bend over and rummage through the bags of groceries you’d bought on your way out of Aldera. When you straighten up, you notice his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. You toss him a packet of marshmallows.
“What are these for?” he asks.
You hand him a stick that you scavenged earlier in the day and teach him how to toast the marshmallows over the coals of the campfire. Hound’s immediately catches on fire, which you assure him is part of the experience.
“It’s not a real s’more if the marshmallow isn’t at least thirty percent carbon,” you say.
You show him how to sandwich the resulting crispy, molten marshmallow in between layers of chocolate and sweet biscuits, and the bliss on his face when he tastes it for the first time makes the entire trip worthwhile. You haven’t eaten s’mores in years, and you’ve forgotten how rich they are.
“I think I can only eat one,” you say.
“Not me,” he says. “I’ll eat the whole bag.”
You give him a delighted smile, pleased that he’s finally come around. Hound has such a sweet tooth. All the clones do, he tells you. Something to do with their enhanced metabolisms, and the fact that they rarely get to eat anything other than ration bars and bland mess hall food.
“These are incredible,” he mumbles around a bite. “Messy, though.”
“I can help with that,” you offer, licking the melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. “After all, we both know you don’t like to get your hands dirty.”
His eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He swallows audibly. “You know, I take it back. Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.”
You stand up and tug him to his feet, leading him to the tent. Inside, Grizzer has completely claimed one entire bedroll for herself.
“I guess we’ll have to share,” you say, already planning what kind of treat to give the massiff as a thank-you.
“Oh, no, anything but that,” Hound murmurs as he draws you close to him, running his hands down your back to squeeze your ass. “You know, with the lights on in the tent, I could see everything when you were changing.”
“Everything?” you ask, tipping your head back to gaze up into his beautiful amber eyes.
“Well, maybe not everything,” he admits. He slips a hand inside your hoodie to caress the bare skin of your back.
“Maybe we should turn them off so we don’t scandalize all those wild animals you’re so worried about,” you tease.
“Let them watch,” he says.
***
The soft light of an early summer morning filters through the canvas of the tent. You awaken slowly, feeling deliciously warm and safe. As you drift towards consciousness, you feel weight pressing against you from both sides, and you realize that at some point during the night, Grizzer has joined you and Hound on your bedroll, sandwiching you between her and the trooper. You are wrapped securely in Hound's strong arms, your legs tangled between his, and his fingers are interlaced with yours. You hear the melodic chirpings of avian-song outside the tent, and you snuggle closer to Hound, feeling his warm, even breath against your shoulder.
It may not be the romantic getaway you had planned, but this may be your favorite holiday ever.
Spicy version here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
My first Writer Wednesday fic of the year is up. Hope you all like it.
Tagging @writer-wednesday
Writer Wednesday Week 1
Love is in Session
Ronnie X Ellie (OC)(The Dead Don’t Die)
Ronnie Peterson is the newest camp counselor at Camp Whacki Weechi, and she soon finds himself taken by a fellow counselor, Ellie.
Warnings: OC insert, Camp Counselor AU, Fluff, cuteness, adorkable, mention of serial killers.
Ronnie exhaled to calm his nerves as the line of buses brought the campers to Camp Whacki Weechi for the first session of the summer. It was not only the first session but Ron’s first year as a counselor.
Ron had worked at plenty of other camps since he was sixteen, but this was his first year in upstate New York working at a camp during the summer. He was excited, albeit a tad nervous.
“Welcome, Campers,” Cliff, the head counselor and owner of the camp, greeted the campers as they disembarked from the blue buses, “to the first session this season at Camp Whacki Weechi. My name’s Cliff, I’m the head counselor here.” He motioned to the group of young men and women behind him. “These are your counselors this year. I hope you’ll treat them with respect and help them make this an amazing session, alright?”
The kids gave him a half-hearted agreement, expected of a young group of pre-teens. While Ron was sure most were here on their own accord, there were those that weren’t. And they weren’t afraid to let their feelings known.
No matter. Ron knew he could make it fun for his charges. At least, he hoped he could.
“Now, behind you is the list of cabins on the board,” Cliff continued. “Go find your cabin and get settled in. Then head to the mess hall for lunch.
The campers headed to the bulletin board, eager to find out which one of the six cabins they were assigned to. Each cabin had six campers in it, with a counselor acting as their de facto leader for the session.
The six counselors, four men, and two women, stood around, holding up signs directing the kids to their respective cabins. Ron was number 5, a good number, if you asked him. As he stood, he glanced over at the counselor for cabin 3, a cute blonde named Ellie.
Ron had only recently met Ellie, and already he got on great with her. She was funny, smart, nerdy as all get out (like Ron), and she was gorgeous to boot. Really gorgeous. To Ron, she was perfect.
Of course, she didn’t know he thought that way about her. Heck, she probably had a boyfriend. She’d never date a guy like Ron.
Before long, the campers found their cabins and met up with their respective counselor. Ron led his group to their cabin, or really their tent, a simple seven-person tent on a platform down a path.
“Alright, pick whatever bed you want,” Ron instructed the six boys under his care.
“Are there bears here?” one of them asked.
“Not that I’ve seen,” Ron answered as the boys chose which bed they wanted.
The boys hurried and picked their beds, thankfully with minimal arguments. The group then made their way to the mess hall for lunch: make your own subs with all the fixings.
“Good group we got this year,” Mindy, the other female counselor, remarked as Ron sat down at the table with his plate of food.
“I already got one girl asking about bears,” Ellie said.
“Same here,” Ron said with a chuckle. “Is that a common thing?”
“They ask about all kinds of stuff,” Ellie said. “I had one girl last year think zombies were going to attack us.”
The table erupted in laughter at that.
“Zombies?” Ron asked. “I would think they’d be more worried about serial killers than zombies.”
“Kids get scared about anything,” Mindy remarked.
Ellie nodded in agreement. She reached for the paper towel roll on the table as Ron was, their hands touching. Ron’s brown ones met Ellie’s blue ones; neither of them moved.
Mindy gave them a knowing look. It looked like it wouldn’t just be the kids that would be having a summer fling here at Camp Whacki Weechi this year.
Ben decides to go on a solo adventure one night in New York and meets someone from his past.
Warnings: Modern AU NYC, mild swearing
The party was boring as all hell.
Ben’s mother, Ambassador Leia Organa-Solo, was hosting yet another event at the family Manhattan loft near Central Park, and Ben was bored out of his mind. He had been trying to figure out some way of making an exit for the better part of an hour, but so far, he was having zero luck.
As Ben was trying to think of some way to sneak off, his phone in his pocket buzzed.
Thank Gods, he thought as he pulled it out.
It was a text message from his college roommate Cian: You free for a hot dog?
Yep. Ben replied. The one near Times Square?
Cian sent a thumbs up emoji in reply.
Ben glanced around the room, making sure the coast was clear. His mother was busy talking to some delegate from China, and his father was standing next to her, awkwardly drinking a glass of whiskey. Now was his chance.
He quietly slipped out via the side door and made his way down the elevator to the front lobby of the Dakota. He made his way to the subway, taking the B line from his family apartment on 72nd St. to Times Square.
As Ben had expected, Times Square was busy with the tourist crowd and locals alike. He scanned the area, soon seeing the familiar sight of his friend Cian along with his other college roommate, Poe Dameron; their friend Finn, standing next to a hot dog cart as well. And Aria, Cian’s younger sister.
Even though Ben and Cain were close, he considered her one as well. They still hung out and often talked, as well as followed each other on their social medias. Of course, it never went beyond that, although Ben would be lying if he didn’t want something more. Still, if she was happy as friends, so was he.
“Oi, Solo!” Cian greeted him with a hug. “’Bout time you showed up. Was beginning to think you couldn’t get away.”
“Nah, my mom didn’t even notice I left,” Ben replied.
“I don’t get why your mom makes you go to those things,” Poe remarked as they stood in line to get their food.
“Polite politics and shit, the same since I was a kid,” Be said.
Aria gave him a sympathetic glance. She was one of the few people that knew how much Ben hated having to attend all of his mother’s functions. Still, he knew he had to attend them, at least for now.
“So, what are you guy’s plans?” he asked as the group ate their food.
“Not much,” Cian said. “Thinking about going bowling or something.”
“What about that one bar on the west side?” Poe said. “That retro themed one?”
“Fine with me,” Cian said as Finn, Aria, and Ben nodded.
The group finished up and headed to the Chelsea neighborhood to hit up a bar. Cian, Poe, and Finn walked ahead while Ben and Aria hung back.
“I’m kinda surprised to see you out,” Ben said as they walked.
“Yeah, my brother forced me to come,” Aria said. “He was complaining I spend too much time studying.”
That made Ben chuckle. “Yeah, you are a bit of a bookworm,” he teased her.
Aria just giggled in response. They continued to walk awhile, still trailing behind the others.
“You really don’t want to go to this bar, right?” Ben suddenly asked her.
Aria gave him a look that told him he was right on the money.
She took Ben’s hand, and they crossed the street, the others failing to see them. As the couple made their way back uptown, Ben got a text.
Take care of my kid sister, it said with a winky face emoji.Will do, he replied with a smile.
Ben Solo / Aria Lyons (OC) (Star Wars Sequel Trilogy)
Ben and Aria spend some time alone following a mission.
Warnings: smut, oral, cunnilingus, adorkable
One of the things Ben Solo had learned during his years in the Resistance alongside his mother, was that their work was never done. Once he finished, a mission, there was always another one to be completed.
So when Ben and his bondmate, Aria, had managed to get away for a while to a planet in the Outer Rim, they both jumped at the chance.
“Holy hells, this place is amazing,” Aria mused as they exited the Millennium Falcon.
Ben nodded in agreement.
The couple had picked the planet not only for its remoteness, but for its scenery as well. And it definitely lived up to their expectations.
The surface was filled with a forest of lush trees. The soft sounds of the various wildlife filled the air, along with the unmistakable sound of water running somewhere nearby.
Aria headed in the direction of the sound, Ben following behind her. They soon came upon a small waterfall.
“Oh, wow,” she breathed and made her way to the pool at the bottom.
She sat on one of the rocks and removed her boots, rolling her pant legs up to her mid-calf. She then stood up and waded into the ice-cold water. To the side, Ben was also taking his boots and shirt off, rolling his pant legs up as well. As he carefully started to wade into the water, Aria slipped on a rock. She fell backwards into the water.
Ben immediately ran to help her up, but as he hurried over, his foot slipped, and he fell face-first into the water as well.
Aria burst out laughing at him. “I’m sorry,” she said through tears of laughter as Ben pushed himself up, his dark hair hanging around his face in wet tendrils.
Ben couldn’t help but laugh as well. He had to admit, it was pretty funny that he fell as well. He stood up, helping Aria up as well. They gathered their things and headed back to the ship to dry off.
Granted the weather wasn’t too chilly, they still did not want to risk catching a cold. Aria shivered as she removed her soaked shirt. Ben rubbed her arms to give her some warmth. She smiled and leaned back into his wide, warm chest. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. Ben leaned down and kissed the top of her blonde hair.
Aria sighed happily as she rested against Ben’s chest, savoring his sweet, musky smell. It was absolutely heavenly. She leaned up and tenderly kissed Ben on the lips.
He melted into her lips. Ben reached up and gently cupped her pert breast, his large thumb rubbing her tender nipple. She moaned in bliss as her nub perked up. Aria turned to face her lover and resumed deeply kissing him on the lips. She ran her hands over Ben’s chest, her delicate touch sending a pleasurable wave up his spine.
Ben smiled and picked her up bridal-style. He carried her into the captain’s quarters and playfully tossed her onto the bed. He crawled over her smaller frame, taking in her gorgeous body. Fuck, Ben swore he was never more in love with her than at that moment. Everything about her was absolute perfect.
He leaned down and deeply kissed her, his large hand cupping her breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh in his hands. Ben kissed a trail down her chest, over her stomach, and down to the downy patch of blonde pubic hair covering her essence. He settled in between her legs and tugged her pants and underwear off, tossing them to the side. He spread her lower lip and dotted the area with soft kitten kisses. Ben then licked a strip upwards, his tongue flicking her bud at the top of her opening.
“Oh shit,” Aria gasped, arching her back in bliss at the sensation.
Ben again licked a stripe up Aria’s core before suckling on her lower lips. She reached down and threaded her fingers in his hair, keeping his lips firmly planted on her sex. She arched her back and squirmed in ecstasy as her lover devoured her folds, delving into every nook and cranny that he could.
Once she was ready with slick, Ben pulled his throbbing member out of his pants, gave it a few quick pumps, and placed it at Aria’s drenched opening. He ran it up and down a few times, making sure it was soaked as much as could be. When he was sure it was ready, he ever so carefully plunged his rigid shaft inside her.
Aria gasped as she took Ben’s full length. Holy hells, was he always this big? But, he was always so gentle and caring with her, never rushing or pushing her to do anything that would hurt her. It was one of the many things she loved about him.
Once she was good and ready, he began to slowly rock his hips. Ben’s organ slide in and out of her canal with ease, aided by a mixture of their natural juices. He kissed her deeply on the lips, never breaking his movements. Aria reached up and held him close, never wanting to let him go. They were the only two that mattered on the planet, in the galaxy.
Before long, Aria felt her core twitch in anticipation of her release. She hugs Ben tighter, pulling him closer to her. She felt him quiver inside her and knew he was close as well. They soon came together, Aria’s body shaking as she orgasmed and Ben shooting his hot sperm inside her.
Ben collapsed on the bed next to her and pulled her close to him. He rested his head on top of hers, basking in the glow of their sex. He was sure glad they took this well-deserved break.
If you’ve been writing for the last few Writer Wednesdays would you send me the story in a message? Our tags have not been working and I want to share all the incredible stories I’ve been seeing.
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno
Summary: Dieter and Marcus meet a second time.
WC: 4K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI Explicit sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, handjob, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, a smidge of edging. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy).
A/N: A Saturday night fic drop? Why not? I'm literally just a chaos demon at this point. Big thanks to @writer-wednesday for this prompt and for inspiring me to revisit my boys (and basically create a whole entire universe for them). This is a follow-up to my random little drabble You Can. I have wanted to revisit these boys for so long and when the inspiration struck, I couldn't help but run with it. Thank you to my beloved @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning for listening and encouraging every unhinged thought inside my head. The very best of enablers.
Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist
For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.
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Dieter refuses to spend another meal in some stuffy, overpriced hoity-toity bullshit restaurant. Ever since his plane touched down at JFK he’s been dragged from meeting to table read to some supposed ‘life-changing’ meal and back again. Which, okay, there are worse things in life than a $100 dollar plate of food, but the pretentiousness of it all was starting to eat away at him.
And the problem with the meals in particular is that even if they were somehow able to change the trajectory of his life, there were only so many tiny portions of shaved truffle caviar foie bullshit he could eat.
No. Tonight he needs something else. Cheese, and bread, and beef. Something warm and comforting and covered in just a touch too much grease. Something he can purchase with a 20-dollar bill and bring back to his hotel room to eat while he watches something trashy on television, before downing an edible or two, and jerking himself off until he passed out.
Marissa, thankfully, was a manager who knew when he had hit his limit. She waved him away with only two reminders of his call time for tomorrow and a promise to send a car. Dieter half mumbled his acknowledgment before slipping out of the lobby that housed one of the many studios he had met with that day, turning left and disappearing into the crowded streets of downtown Manhattan.
This was Dieter’s favorite part of the city. Sure, it was too loud. Too busy. Too bright. But hiding in plain sight? That became easy. Even in his most outlandish of outfits he blended in, able to make the walk to his hotel in relative peace.
He passes a myriad of carts on his way, each one smelling better than the last. He’s not sure what he’s craving, but Dieter is positive he’ll know it when he sees it. The sun has completely set by the time he turns the corner, the city lights guiding him towards the Park Hyatt just up ahead. And there, across the street, was a cart, neon signs for gyros and knish calling to him.
The line was only one man deep by the time he jaywalked his way over, the street light shining down like a spotlight, catching the actor’s attention almost immediately. Dieter stops short at the sight of him, the breadth of his shoulders and cut of his jaw enough to drag up a memory that has his toes curling and his belly swooping low. The memory of a frustrated frown shifting into a soft smile, brown eyes wide beneath thick glasses, a kiss that should have lasted a lot longer than it did.
He’s traded the tux from that night in for a black leather jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his head bent low, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose. Dieter smiles, stepping in line with a little more bounce in his step, his lips caught between his teeth, his appetite suddenly shifting. It seems he’s finally figured out exactly what it is that he’s been craving.
— — —
Marcus doesn’t really know how he feels about New York. He thinks maybe in another life he would hate it; one where he had a family at home waiting for him, someone to share the day-to-day mundane things with after all the superhero crap was put to bed. He probably would have pulled every string in the book to bring along this hypothetical family, and that thought alone takes his mood from sour to rancid. As it was, home, New York, Paris. It hardly mattered. He just wanted to wrap up the last of this press tour shit and get back to the real work.
There was only one more round of interviews tomorrow, most of them with the entire team. God willing, he could get away with a few quick answers and then nod along as the rest of the Heroics did the heavy lifting.
He was supposed to be out with the team right now. Drinks and dinner that he had (sort of) politely begged off, content with something hot and cheap to eat in the solitude of his hotel room. The smells from the Greek-themed cart had been calling to him since he first walked out of the Hyatt earlier that day and he was intent on stuffing his face full before passing out to the sound of some trashy reality show playing in the background.
He’s just starting to rationalize ordering one of everything, the Heroics Amex card already in the palm of his hand when the flick of a lighter and the smell of a cigarette catch his attention from behind. He wants to frown as the smoke invades his senses, the nasty habit once something that turned his stomach. But now all it does is drudge up a memory, almost 6 months old, but still there at the back of his mind; a dimpled grin and a searing kiss that left him aching.
He breathes in deep, letting the smell fill his lungs, humming at the bitter taste that coats his tongue. If he closes his eyes, he swears can almost feel the warmth of a breath on his neck, a man much too free for Marcus to keep, but who he wanted to anyway.
A loud cough yanks him back to reality, a gentle nudge urging him forward.
“Your turn, Heroic.”
Normally the call out would make his skin crawl, a signal to the beginning of either a very uncomfortable fan encounter or a 20-minute lecture on the interference of government sanctioned vigilantes. But the tone of the man is neither fawning nor judgmental, instead a teasing warmth that almost feels familiar. Marcus turns, an apology on the tip of his tongue and….
“It’s you.”
Dieter Bravo smiles around the cigarette dangling from his lips, all teeth and dimples and Hollywood charm, just as Marcus remembers.
“And it’s you.”
— — —
They end up ordering enough for two small armies, both men overtipping the patient cart owner enough that he promptly starts closing up shop the second they step away with their food. Marcus shrugs, the bag held tight to his chest, compelled to offer an explanation that Dieter didn’t ask for.
“Superhero metabolism.”
“I get it,” Dieter hums, wanting to put the other man at ease. It’s clear he’s wound just a bit too tight, the pressure of whatever responsibilities he carries with him not so much weighing him down as they do hold him up. Dieter thinks, assumes, the joy of being a hero left Marcus Moreno far too long ago, and he wonders if he could help him save just a tiny piece of it. Or at the very least get the man to smile once before they part ways again.
“I’m up for this gladiator thing. I have a feeling once I get back to L.A. it’s going to be all protein shakes and boiled chicken and green-colored juice. Probably best to indulge while I have the chance.”
Marcus frowns, shaking his head. “That’s not right. Starving yourself to hit some sort of stupid unattainable body image that was set by others.”
“Yeah,” Dieter hums, poking Marcus in one of his firm shoulders. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”
The other man blushes and shakes his head. “Mine’s mostly genetics. Which…hearing out loud just makes me sound like an ass.”
“Mmm, I actually think your ass could use a bit of work,” Dieter clicks his tongue, eyes drifting around to Marcus’s backside.
His blush only darkens, and Dieter can’t help but delight in the reaction. “I’ll be okay, Heroic. All par for the course! Besides, it’s a 6-month shoot in Morocco. It’s been ages since I’ve been back there.”
“Oh, well…if you need help…I mean before you leave. Shit. I’m pretty handy in the gym, I mean,” he stammers out, hands clinging tighter to the greasy brown bag in his hands.
“Do superheroes make house calls?”
Marcus grinds his jaw to the left, his eyes shifting as far from Dieter’s as they can, but the blush remains. “If it’s something important.”
— — —
They’re staying in the same hotel. It shouldn’t surprise Marcus. Honestly, nothing should at this point, serendipitous coincidence managing to bring the two men together again despite all odds. They cross the street side by side, the doorman quick to open the door with a nod and a wave. Their steps echo through a seemingly empty lobby, most of the hotel guests having stepped out, their nights just getting started.
Dieter moves easily, the hand holding his food swinging back and forth in time with his steps. His jaws works effortlessly at the piece of gum he traded with the cigarette he had been puffing at, the tip of it crushed into the side of the hotel perfectly in time with their entrance. Marcus watches from the corner of his eye, admiring the way the other man moves, as if he’s dancing, each movement as fluid as the last.
The actor chatters beside him, an endless barrage of words that would be easy to write off as nonsense but despite that, Marcus finds himself listening with rapt attention. The actor talks about his meetings tomorrow, a chemistry read he hasn’t quite prepared for, an interview with Variety magazine scheduled directly after. Then he talks about the painting he had started before he left L.A. How he hopes the inspiration is still with him when he gets home.
By the time they get on the elevator, their shoulders brushing in the tight space, Marcus knows the type of bike Dieter owns (a 10-speed he likes to ride down to the pier), how he likes his toast (just shy of burnt, butter and jelly), and his plans for the night (food, edible, jerking off).
Marcus had even been caught up in the moment briefly, his own surprise at seeing the other man loosening his tongue just as it had all those months ago. He had stammered and stuttered in a way that he hadn’t since high school. He can’t seem to decide if he should be embarrassed or not, so he settles for quiet instead, only muttering his floor number once the elevator doors slide shut.
Dieter eyes him over his shoulder, the flecks of grey in the scruff of his jaw illuminated in the low light and mirrored walls. He leans closer, just enough to nudge Marcus’s shoulder, his smile slipping into something more tentative, mint and menthol and something sweet hypnotizing the heroic. He can’t help but match the other man’s movement, leaning in and licking his lips, trying to capture the taste on his tongue. Dieter doesn’t miss it, brown eyes flickering to Marcus’s lips and back again.
“Would you like some company?”
— — —
They ultimately decide to go to Dieter’s room, a joke about seeing the Penthouse tilting the actor’s grin to just this side of wolfish. Marcus is instantly drawn to windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, the whole city lit up, a glaring shine just beyond the glass.
“It seems brighter from up here.”
“The lights are so bright but they blind me,” Dieter sings beneath his breath, spreading out the food with careful dedication.
Marcus smiles at the sound of his voice, marveling at the sudden domestic turn his night has taken before placing his attention back on the skyline. Dieter moves around the couch to join him, carrying that same intoxicating smell with him.
“Haven’t you seen it from rooftops?”
Marcus shakes his head, eyes still glued to the sparkling spectacle in front of him. “The world looks too dark from that angle.”
Dark. Or Ugly. Honest. Yeah, Marcus can see everything from the rooftops, but none of it glittered. Not like this. Not like Dieter Bravo.
The tip of a finger, softer than he expected, touches his chin, the pressure light but insistent, impossible to ignore. He turns to find Dieter watching him, brown eyes reflecting the city stars back at Marcus, and he fights the urge to blink and miss what comes next. They move in together, almost close enough but not, and Dieter laughs, a soft chuckle that rumbles in his chest.
It reminds Marcus of that first kiss, so very long ago, down a dark alleyway, both of them pretending, for just a moment. He takes in a breath, a quick pull of air that steadies his nerves, before finally, finally, closing the last of the distance between them.
The kiss is soft at first, a brush of lips and a scrape of stubble. It’s faint, the sweetest shade of something new between the press of their lips, the taste of mint and menthol permeating his senses. Marcus can’t help but take one more, letting his lips linger on Dieter’s, his hands fitting perfectly along the dip of the other man’s hips.
It’s Dieter who deepens it, one palm sliding along the curve of Marcus’s cheek, the other grabbing where his leather jacket hangs open, fingers clenched into the fabric and yanking him closer. It’s the slip of a tongue between his lips that breaks him, a moan parting Marcus’s lips, the sound only encouraging Dieter to continue.
The hand on his hips pushes him back gently, one, two, three steps before they stop. Marcus pulls away to catch his breath but Dieter keeps him close, soothing the pad of his thumb across the flush of his skin.
“I missed you, baby.”
He wants to laugh, to point out it was just one kiss, and how? How could he miss him when he barely even knows him? But the endearment has him dizzy, the roof of his mouth tacky with desire, and all he can do is nod because yes. Of course, Marcus missed him too. What else was there to do but miss him?
He swoops in for another kiss, this time meeting Dieter’s tongue with his own, tasting him full on and groaning into the feeling. The noise seems to startle something awake in the other man, the grip on his cheek growing tight, his own strangled whine rising up the column of his throat.
When the kiss breaks, Dieter leans in, the scratch of his mustache rough where he hums his request in Marcus’s ear. “Can I take you to bed?”
“It’s been a while,” he can’t help but blurt out, pulling back to watch Dieter’s face carefully, preparing himself for the laughter and the teasing. “Almost 2 years.”
Still, Dieter doesn’t say anything, and Marcus can’t help but explain himself just a little bit more. “Most people can’t handle it.”
Marcus hates to say it. Hates the way it sounds and feels and tastes, the words bitter and biting on his own ears. The harsh, unrelenting truth that what he is will always be overwhelming for those that dare to love him. That the painful responsibilities that were forced upon by the realities of his genetics will always be the barrier around his heart. Most days it was easy enough to ignore, and in the time since had last felt another’s touch, Marcus had found a way to cope, where loneliness was just another weight he would bear in order to do what was right.
Dieter nods, eyes wide and frown small, an equal mix of understanding and pity marked across his features, as if to say ‘yeah, people can be assholes.’
And then he actually says it. “Assholes.”
There’s another kiss and then another, their bodies moving slowly back towards the couch. Dieter's fingers are skilled, pushing and pulling, Marcus’s leather coat hitting the ground seconds before his own. Those same fingers find their way beneath his shirt, mapping the planes of his stomach, the quiver of muscle chasing Dieter’s touch.
Marcus can only cling to the other man, refusing to part from their kiss for more than a second, breath traded back and forth, the only oxygen he ever needed between Dieter’s lips. His touch is insistent, smoothing at his heated skin, fingers digging into the flesh, the almost bite of his nails leaving Marcus gasping high and bright into their kiss. His glasses are pulled off somewhere in the fray, finding a home on the floor behind them.
“The …t-the bed?”
“Figured I’d take it easy on you,” Dieter grins in time with Marcus’s knees bending around the couch cushions.
They fall down together, Dieter immediately crowding into Marcus, his large hand palming where he strains beneath his jeans while he takes care to kiss each and every freckle scattered across Marcus’s. His hips buck immediately, even the gentle touch enough to send him lurching. Dieter is quick to soothe him, teeth nipping at his ear as he coos sweetly, the press of his hand only growing more insistent.
“Patience, baby. We have time.”
There it is again. That little endearment. Sweet and small, and so so much that Marcus can only moan, head falling into the crook of Dieter’s neck. Somewhere above him there is a chuckle, the sound vibrating from one man to the other, and Marcus can only hold on tighter as Dieter tugs at the zipper of his jeans. His breath hitches as the sound of it echoes inside his head, and he feels Dieter pause, only the brush of his thumb on the head of his leaking cock ground them to this moment.
Later, Dieter will confess, sweat cooling on Marcus’s temple, the actor's lips kissing the slick of it away, that he was watching him carefully at that moment. Desperate to see him fall apart, anxious to know if he needed to pull back. It’s then that they promise to say it. Always say it. Exactly what they need and what they want.
Secrets have never done either man any good.
Marcus leans into the light touch, awkward and needy, lips fusing to the curve of Dieter’s neck. There’s the musk of his cologne, something earthy and real clinging to his senses, mixing with the smell of smoke that always seems to burn around the other man’s edges. Marcus is ravenous for him, marking him with a bruising kiss, the steady chant of mine, mine, I wish he was mine thumping inside his chest.
Dieter doesn’t falter, pulling Marcus’s aching length from the confines of his jeans, a loose grip around the base as he continues to stroke the tip softly, gathering the bead of precum with the pad of his thumb. It’s more intimate than he expected, reputations always proceeding those in the limelight. Marcus should have known better, the camera always giving away more falsehoods than beautiful truths.
“Eager, aren’t we?” Dieter teases, not an ounce of cruelty in the words. Another kiss is gifted to Marcus’s neck, the drag of Dieter’s tongue follows, his own groan pouring out of him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”
The effect of his words is maddening, and Marcus takes care to muffle his whine into Dieter’s neck, teeth and tongue still working along the salt of his skin. The actor is only encouraged by this, continuing to purr little drops of filthy encouragement into his ear as he starts to stroke Marcus from base to tip.
“Been too long since someone made you feel this good,” he hums, twisting his wrist lightly each time he strokes up the length of Marcus’s cock, the velvet heat of his skin catching on the other man’s palm. The friction is almost too much, a staggering sort of gasp breaking past his lips as Dieter’s voice continues to coach him through each and every stroke of his hand.
“You look so good like this, baby. So good. You can fuck my hand if you want. Go on, use your hips.”
The prompt is all Marcus needs, his hips canting up to meet Dieter’s touch. His fingers dig in hard, one hand finding purchase on Dieter’s forearm, the other wrapped around the curve of his shoulder. He anchors himself to the other man, fucking up into his fist faster and faster and faster still.
“Feel good? Hmm?” Dieter asks, the hook of his nose pressed into Marcus’s temple, lips teasing the swell of his cheek. “Fucking someone else’s hand instead of your own?”
Marcus stutters out a ‘yes’ the word lost between his cries of pleasure. Dieter continues to indulge in the noises, each one helping to shift the weight of his touch, the grip around Marcus’s cock soft then hard, the pressure building faster than he can take in breaths. He tilts his head, eyes searching frantically, a desperate plea tumbling from his lips and hanging thick in the air between them.
“Kiss me.”
And Dieter does, lips molding to Marcus’s, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam until finally, he parts beneath, another moan for him to swallow. All the while, his pace is consistent, up and down, faster then slower then faster again. It’s indulgent, the way Dieter touches him, relishing in each pulse, every sound, and Marcus loses track of how long it’s really been. The pleasure is blinding, keeping him tethered to the edge of the cliff, release blissfully out of reach.
“Bet you look so pretty, all cock dumb, hmm? I’d love to see that,” Dieter teases and Marcus agrees, can only agree, something ragged taking over his sensibilities.
He continues to move with the other man, rising up into the open air, hips awkwardly meeting each and every caress of his hand. Dieter moves with the same freedom he had in the hotel lobby, his own hips grinding up and down, the length of his cock hard and pulsating where it presses into Marcus’s side. Their kisses only grow more wild, just a sloppy press of lips, off-centered and well-intentioned, as they both work closer and closer to the crest of arousal.
Dieter remains focused, his own pleasure secondary to that of the Heroic’s. The kiss breaks just in time for something white hot to settle at the base of Marcus’s spine, everything grows tight and bright and so so sweet. Teeth scrape along his jaw, the tip of a tongue soothing the same path, Dieter’s words coaxing him up to the top of the hill.
“You’re close, baby. So close. Go on, you can let go. I’m right here.”
It’s all Marcus needs, the last of his strength giving out as everything burns, thick ropes of white cum spilling out of him. Dieter hums, using his seed to smooth out his strokes, and continues to whisper little bits of praise into Marcus’s ear.
“I know. I know, baby. You’re doing so good. Tell me if it’s too much.”
It is. It is too much, the way Dieter keeps stroking his cock, half hard and still dribbling drops of cum around the curl of his fist. But Marcus refuses to stop him, leaning into the painful overstimulation until the tips of his fingers go numb, his moans breaking out into sobs, tears tracking down his cheeks to mix with his sweat. Dieter decides for them both then, his hand finally slowing, giving Marcus a chance to adjust to the light touch before pulling away for good, the palm of his hand sliding a sticky trail up his cheek.
It should feel filthy, Marcus’s own cum pressed into his skin while Dieter grinds his cum soaked pants into the dip of his hips. But even now, Marcus can feel his cock twitch in interest, the moment so very decadent and dirty and leaving him hungry for more. Dieter grins, licking his lips, clearly agreeing with whatever look that is crossing Marcus’s features, swooping in for one more kiss, this one there and gone, a fleeting breath of him that leaves him whining.
But Dieter doesn’t go far, his hand smoothing up to push back an errant curl, brown eyes impossibly deep, and he takes his time to kiss away each and every tear. When he pulls away, it’s only to whisper a quiet promise. “I can.”
Marcus tilts his head, his confusion unspoken, the haze of his orgasm still gripping tight to his senses. Dieter takes it in stride, his smile growing, confident and cocky with how dumb he’s rendered the heroic.
“I can handle it,” he clarifies, dragging his hand down to rest his thumb where Marcus’s lips part, the faintest taste of himself waiting there. “Can you?”
And all Marcus can do is nod. Because. Yes. Of course. Of course, he can. What other answer is there?
----------------
Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist
For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.
Dedications:
To my dearest, my wonderful enablers @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning who have listened to me talk about these boys ALL. WEEK. Literally, every random thought I had about Dieter and Marcus, together or separate, was blasted into their DM's. I have become a woman possessed. The best friends a girl could ask for in these trying fandom times. Thank you both, for loving me and my boys.
Another wonderful submission, this time from @lady-of-glass-and-bone who is also the photographer and happy to provide any information should you have questions as to the location and what. If you’re interested in sending in a submission, check out our pinned post for details.
If this prompt inspires you, here a few guidelines to keep in mind when participating:
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc… Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
Another wonderful submission, this time from @lady-of-glass-and-bone who is also the photographer and happy to provide any information should you have questions as to the location and what. If you’re interested in sending in a submission, check out our pinned post for details.
If this prompt inspires you, here a few guidelines to keep in mind when participating:
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc… Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc… Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
1. Remember to tag @writer-wednesday and #Writer Wednesday, we want to see all the amazing stories you create. This also gives us a chance to reblog on this page, so others can enjoy as well.
2. Tag your fics correctly. If you’re writing a reader insert please note if it is a Female, Male, Gender Neutral, etc... Some content may be triggering to readers and we want to respect that, so tag all warnings appropriately.
3. Share this post, so other writers can play too!
4. HAVE FUN! (And remember to reblog, comment, and like).
Summary: Your romantic getaway with Sergeant Hound hits a snag, but luckily, you're resourceful. Hound isn't so sure about this whole "camping" thing, but you know the best way to get him on board.
“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Hound grumbles as the two of you wrangle a pile of tent poles and canvas.
“Because the hotel didn’t allow massiffs,” you say, grunting a bit as you struggle with the heavy tent.
Technically, the hotel doesn’t allow clones, either, but you leave that unsaid. You had booked the room, paid the pet deposit, and traveled from Coruscant to Alderaan, only to be abruptly turned away at check-in. Before you left, you told the hotel concierge your opinion of their corporate bigotry, and now you are also banned for life. And so here the three of you are, setting up an ancient, decrepit canvas tent that you dug out of your parents’ attic.
Well, technically the two of you are setting up the tent while Grizzer explores your campsite, sniffing the lush greenery of Alderaan with interest. The massiff is accustomed to the hard plastcrete and rancid smells of Coruscant, and you wonder if she’s ever been in nature before.
“Relax,” you say. “I did this all the time growing up. It’ll be fun!”
“Sleeping in the dirt and eating rations is your idea of fun?” Hound asks.
“The tent has a floor,” you point out, “and believe me, we can do better than rations.”
Eventually, you wrestle the tent into submission and get two bedrolls laid out inside. The scent of old canvas, saturated with woodsmoke and memories, pulls you right back to your childhood: camping under the stars, swimming in the lake, lying in the sand and exploring the world around you. You can almost hear the shrieks of laughter and your father’s deep baritone as he sings a lullaby to you and your siblings.
You hang up a few strings of twinkle lights, and then, satisfied with the cozy little retreat you’ve created, you go back outside to get a campfire started. Hound is standing with his arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.
“Has it occurred to you that there are wild animals in these woods?” he asks. “Gree told me about the wolf-cats of Alderaan.”
“Grizzer will keep us safe,” you reassure him. “Won’t you, girl? Who’s my sweet baby?”
Grizzer wiggles happily over to you and nuzzles into your chest as you squat to scritch behind her ear holes.
“Grizzer, have some dignity, for kark’s sake,” Hound says. “You are a soldier of the Republic, not a pampered lap-tooka.”
Grizzer ignores him and flops onto her back to beg for belly rubs. Seeing the way you fawn over the massiff, Hound can’t help but smile, remembering the day he met you.
“Grizzer! NO!”
Hound chased after the bolting massiff as she charged an unsuspecting civilian in the middle of Monument Plaza. Grizzer had yanked the leash out of his hands and was running full-tilt through the scattering crowds. Too late, he saw her target: you.
You were standing in the sun, laughing with a street vendor, and Hound would have taken a moment to appreciate your beauty if you hadn’t been standing directly in the path of certain doom.
“Grizzer!” he shouted again. “Heel!”
You turned toward the commotion with only a few meters between you and the charging massiff. Hound fought the urge to close his eyes before Grizzer launched herself and savaged you, but then something completely unexpected happened.
You called out a word in a strange language, and the massiff skidded to a halt in front of you. You allowed her to sniff your hand, and then you pulled something out of your pocket and offered it to her. She took the treat and licked your hand as Hound finally caught up, heaving with exertion.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he panted. “She slipped her leash. I don’t know what got into her.”
You smiled up at him, and his heart thudded with more than just adrenaline when he saw the way your eyes sparkled.
“She just smelled the treats,” you said with a shrug. “We always had massiffs when I was growing up, and I never got out of the habit of carrying a few treats in my pockets. I hope it’s all right that I gave her one; I really didn’t want to lose a hand.”
In that moment, Hound knew he was utterly lost.
“Awww, is Daddy grumpy?” you coo at Grizzer as you rub her belly. “Is he a Cranky McGrumperson? Is he spreading his grumpy energy all over our campsite because he’s afraid to get his hands dirty?”
You shoot Hound a teasing look, and he stalks over to you, pulling you away from Grizzer and into his arms for a kiss. You sigh happily. You’ve been seeing Hound for a few weeks now, and you were hoping that a romantic trip to your home planet of Alderaan during his shore leave would give you an opportunity to take things to the next level. You had booked a room at a posh boutique hotel with a luxurious soaking tub and an incredible view of the mountains. Who knew the hoteliers would turn out to be gigantic dicks?
So you made a quick change of plans. You had been worried about Hound’s reaction to the idea of camping, but your other option was to take him to your parents’ home and sleep in your childhood bedroom, which… No thanks. Not the ideal setup for the intimate weekend you are planning.
You break away from Hound’s kiss feeling lightheaded. He’s an excellent kisser, and as you’ve discovered over the past weeks, a man who can kiss like that will bring a similar level of skill and enthusiasm to the bedroom (or the bedroll, as the case may be). Now all you have to do is coax him out of his sullen mood.
“Did I mention I happen to be an amazing cook?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes.
His interest is immediately piqued. “How are you planning to cook out here?”
“Watch and learn, city boy,” you say with a grin.
One hour, two shaak steaks, and four bottles of ale later, Hound’s temper is remarkably improved.
“Where did you learn to cook over an open fire like that?” he asks.
“My dad taught me,” you say as you pull out a deck of sabacc cards. “I told you we used to do this all the time when I was a kid. You in?”
He nods, so you shuffle and deal.
“Your dad sounds like an interesting man,” he says. “Too bad he wasn’t home when we stopped by to get the camping gear. I’d like to meet him.”
You laugh, “Trust me, it’s better this way. You might be ready to take down the entire Separatist army, but you are not prepared for my parents’ boyfriend interrogation.”
“Boyfriend, is it?” Hound asks, his brown eyes twinkling.
“If you play your cards right,” you say with a smirk.
You play a few hands of sabacc, betting with pebbles since Hound doesn’t have any credits, and when it gets too dark to see the cards, you decide to change into pajamas. Grizzer goes into the tent with you and immediately flops down on a bedroll. When you’d packed for your trip, you were planning to be spending your nights in a luxury suite, and your choice of sleepwear was not exactly suited to the great outdoors, so you regretfully tuck away the lacy little chemise. You strip out of your clothes and pull on a pair of short shorts and an old Alderaan University hoodie—the best option you could find in your old bedroom at your parents’ house.
When you leave the tent, Grizzer stays behind. Hound watches you with an unreadable expression, and you worry that he’s still not having a good time. It’s time to break out the big guns.
“Are you ready to have your mind blown, trooper?” you ask with a flirty look.
He sits forward immediately. “What did you have in mind?”
You bend over and rummage through the bags of groceries you’d bought on your way out of Aldera. When you straighten up, you notice his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. You toss him a packet of marshmallows.
“What are these for?” he asks.
You hand him a stick that you scavenged earlier in the day and teach him how to toast the marshmallows over the coals of the campfire. Hound’s immediately catches on fire, which you assure him is part of the experience.
“It’s not a real s’more if the marshmallow isn’t at least thirty percent carbon,” you say.
You show him how to sandwich the resulting crispy, molten marshmallow in between layers of chocolate and sweet biscuits, and the bliss on his face when he tastes it for the first time makes the entire trip worthwhile. You haven’t eaten s’mores in years, and you’ve forgotten how rich they are.
“I think I can only eat one,” you say.
“Not me,” he says. “I’ll eat the whole bag.”
You give him a delighted smile, pleased that he’s finally come around. Hound has such a sweet tooth. All the clones do, he tells you. Something to do with their enhanced metabolisms, and the fact that they rarely get to eat anything other than ration bars and bland mess hall food.
“These are incredible,” he mumbles around a bite. “Messy, though.”
“I can help with that,” you offer, licking the melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. “After all, we both know you don’t like to get your hands dirty.”
His eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He swallows audibly. “You know, I take it back. Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.”
You stand up and tug him to his feet, leading him to the tent. Inside, Grizzer has completely claimed one entire bedroll for herself.
“I guess we’ll have to share,” you say, already planning what kind of treat to give the massiff as a thank-you.
“Oh, no, anything but that,” Hound murmurs as he draws you close to him, running his hands down your back to squeeze your ass. “You know, with the lights on in the tent, I could see everything when you were changing.”
“Everything?” you ask, tipping your head back to gaze up into his beautiful amber eyes.
“Well, maybe not everything,” he admits. He slips a hand inside your hoodie to caress the bare skin of your back.
“Maybe we should turn them off so we don’t scandalize all those wild animals you’re so worried about,” you tease.
“Let them watch,” he says.
***
The soft light of an early summer morning filters through the canvas of the tent. You awaken slowly, feeling deliciously warm and safe. As you drift towards consciousness, you feel weight pressing against you from both sides, and you realize that at some point during the night, Grizzer has joined you and Hound on your bedroll, sandwiching you between her and the trooper. You are wrapped securely in Hound's strong arms, your legs tangled between his, and his fingers are interlaced with yours. You hear the melodic chirpings of avian-song outside the tent, and you snuggle closer to Hound, feeling his warm, even breath against your shoulder.
It may not be the romantic getaway you had planned, but this may be your favorite holiday ever.
Spicy version here:
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