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Entry tags:
Not Quite The Morning After, MI4, Hunt/Brandt, Adult
Title: Not Quite The Morning After
Fandom: Mission: Impossible 4 - Ghost Protocol
Pairing: Brandt/Hunt
Rating/Warnings: Adult, schmoopy PWP
Length: ~1400 words
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ghotocol_kink, for the prompt Ethan Hunt doesn't just bottom for anyone. Cleaned up and tweaked a tiny bit from what got posted in the comments there.
Also on AO3, here.
"William." It's fairly impressive how much exasperation Ethan can layer into his voice even when he's spread out on Will's bed, naked and flushed, skin still damp and humid from the shower Will had needled him into.
"Ethan," Will parrots back. He draws his hand, slick and slippery with oil, down the length of Ethan's spine, watching the fine tremors rippling in its wake. It hadn't been much of a surprise when he and Ethan had finally quit ricocheting off each other and found out how easily they could tangle themselves together. Jane had practically rolled her eyes out of her head, while Benji had cackled with what Will is trying to think of as supportive friendship, but knows is probably closer to unholy glee and detailed plans for blackmail.
It'd been even less of a surprise that the sex is the kind that leaves both of them shaking and drained.
Will takes his time, one long sweep along the curve of Ethan's ass, not enough pressure to slide inside, only enough to make Ethan hiss and arch up for more, and that--that's the surprise: how effortlessly Ethan gives himself over to Will, how it's been like that right from the start. Not that Ethan's passive in any way--Will knows he'll go to his grave with the memory of the first time burned into his brain, Ethan over him, riding his cock with a slow, deep rhythm that drove both of them crazy--but he lets go with an ease that belies how really fucking complicated things between them could be. Will will be goddamned before he lets that trust go unfounded, and so here they are, strung out from yet another job, and all Will wants is to bury himself in Ethan and tell the world to fuck off.
"Seriously, Brandt," Ethan's saying. "Any time you want to get with the fucking portion of this evening's activities, I'll be right here waiting for you."
"It's morning," Will answers absentmindedly. It really has been a hell of a night, an overall mess of a op with trash for intelligence. Will's going to have to do something about that, but for right now he allows himself to be diverted by how easily Ethan takes two of his fingers, opening around them with nothing more than a soft, almost inaudible, sigh and a shiver so small Will notices only because his entire world has narrowed to this. "And I know you're right here." Will leans forward far enough that he can mouth along the curve of Ethan's shoulder, the strong column of his neck. "It's pretty hard to miss you in my bed."
"Can't take your eyes off me, is that what you're saying?" Ethan ends with a gasp as Will curves his fingers just right.
"Wouldn't want to even if I could." The words are out before Will can weigh them, before he can decide whether they're a good idea out in the open. He halfway stops breathing at the slip. Ethan only turns his head, reaches back to pull Will into a hard kiss, one that Will finds himself returning fiercely. He's not entirely sure who's claiming whom, but he doesn't guess it much matters, not now.
"Maybe you could, y'know, fuck me while you're eying me?" Ethan says with a credible amount of snark, but under that--Will is very, very good at hearing what runs under words and Ethan knows that--he sounds as breathless and shaky as Will feels.
"I'll get to it," Will murmurs, going back to easy strokes, in and out, smiling against Ethan's shoulder at how simple it is. Ethan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like cocktease but he twists slightly and draws one leg up toward his chest, opens himself up a little more for Will. Will takes the invitation and works a third finger inside Ethan even as he presses an open-mouthed kiss-bite to the base of Ethan's neck. "We've got all night," Will says. "No rush."
"Thought you said it was morning," Ethan pants. He pushes back onto Will's hand and Will goes still until he takes the hint and relaxes. It's not that Will doesn't love watching Ethan fuck himself like that, but... not tonight. "Will," Ethan says, and maybe no one but Will could hear it, but there's the smallest of edges to his voice now, desperate and wanting. He's holding himself still, though, so Will flexes his hand, rocks his fingers a tiny bit deeper with each motion.
"That's it," Will tells him. "Just like that; you like that, don't you, like just taking it." Ethan's gone silent, nothing but the harsh rasp of breath and the increasingly-helpless shudders to guide Will, but that's so much more than enough. Ethan does love it and Will loves giving it to him and that's maybe the best summary that exists of whatever this is that they're doing. The room is quiet around them, the rising sun edging in around the heavy cloth Ethan had thrown over the windows, bright shards of light slanting across the floor and over the bed, a wordless reminder that they're here, one more op down and they're still breathing.
Will takes his time--like he told Ethan, there's no rush and that's something to be savored--and when he can't take it anymore, he curls himself around Ethan and replaces his hand with his dick, slides in deep, biting back a moan at how good Ethan feels around him, hot and tight, but letting Will in. Ethan sighs out once and reaches back to pull Will closer; and for all that they can fuck like animals, for all the times they've taken each other on floors and against walls, snarling and biting and clawing until it's hard to tell which marks came from the op and which ones they've torn into each other, this time this is all they need, skin to skin, not a breath between them.
Will breathes deep and holds himself motionless, everything in his consciousness bounded and defined by the man in his arms, everything he feels, everything he sees, everything he breathes and tastes and hears. Even when Ethan takes Will's hand, laces their fingers together and wraps them around his dick, sets a slow, unhurried rhythm, Will stays still, buried in Ethan, lets the feel of Ethan's body tightening and shifting and building toward orgasm, surround him.
He's shaking by the time they bring Ethan off, wracked with spasms he can't control, but still where he wants to be, where he needs to be.
"Will," Ethan says, his voice hoarse and soft, an underlay of emotion that Will doesn't know what to do with, can't believe Ethan wants him to hear (but Ethan knows Will can hear it, Ethan's always known, Will can't pretend otherwise.) Ethan brings their still-joined hands to his mouth, tastes himself on Will, alternates kisses and bites, smiles against Will's skin. "Will, come for me, come for me now," he says, and that's all Will needs, all he can take. He buries his face against Ethan, in the curve of Ethan's neck into his shoulder, and comes in a blinding rush that leaves him breathless and weak, but still safe, because it's Ethan who's there with him.
The sun's lost a little of its early morning sharpness when they finally ease apart, stretching out muscles gone stiff from disuse. The sheets are rough and the wool blanket is scratchy, but they're here and together and Will is too exhausted to work that thought to its logical conclusion.
"'S bright," Ethan complains, squirming and twisting until Will flops over onto his back and Ethan can tuck himself along one side, his back to the window, his head under Will's jaw.
"'S morning," Will says, with what he feels is impressive patience.
"Whatever," Ethan mumbles, his breath slow and warm against Will's collarbone.
Fandom: Mission: Impossible 4 - Ghost Protocol
Pairing: Brandt/Hunt
Rating/Warnings: Adult, schmoopy PWP
Length: ~1400 words
Notes: Written for
ghotocol_kink, for the prompt Ethan Hunt doesn't just bottom for anyone. Cleaned up and tweaked a tiny bit from what got posted in the comments there. Also on AO3, here.
"William." It's fairly impressive how much exasperation Ethan can layer into his voice even when he's spread out on Will's bed, naked and flushed, skin still damp and humid from the shower Will had needled him into.
"Ethan," Will parrots back. He draws his hand, slick and slippery with oil, down the length of Ethan's spine, watching the fine tremors rippling in its wake. It hadn't been much of a surprise when he and Ethan had finally quit ricocheting off each other and found out how easily they could tangle themselves together. Jane had practically rolled her eyes out of her head, while Benji had cackled with what Will is trying to think of as supportive friendship, but knows is probably closer to unholy glee and detailed plans for blackmail.
It'd been even less of a surprise that the sex is the kind that leaves both of them shaking and drained.
Will takes his time, one long sweep along the curve of Ethan's ass, not enough pressure to slide inside, only enough to make Ethan hiss and arch up for more, and that--that's the surprise: how effortlessly Ethan gives himself over to Will, how it's been like that right from the start. Not that Ethan's passive in any way--Will knows he'll go to his grave with the memory of the first time burned into his brain, Ethan over him, riding his cock with a slow, deep rhythm that drove both of them crazy--but he lets go with an ease that belies how really fucking complicated things between them could be. Will will be goddamned before he lets that trust go unfounded, and so here they are, strung out from yet another job, and all Will wants is to bury himself in Ethan and tell the world to fuck off.
"Seriously, Brandt," Ethan's saying. "Any time you want to get with the fucking portion of this evening's activities, I'll be right here waiting for you."
"It's morning," Will answers absentmindedly. It really has been a hell of a night, an overall mess of a op with trash for intelligence. Will's going to have to do something about that, but for right now he allows himself to be diverted by how easily Ethan takes two of his fingers, opening around them with nothing more than a soft, almost inaudible, sigh and a shiver so small Will notices only because his entire world has narrowed to this. "And I know you're right here." Will leans forward far enough that he can mouth along the curve of Ethan's shoulder, the strong column of his neck. "It's pretty hard to miss you in my bed."
"Can't take your eyes off me, is that what you're saying?" Ethan ends with a gasp as Will curves his fingers just right.
"Wouldn't want to even if I could." The words are out before Will can weigh them, before he can decide whether they're a good idea out in the open. He halfway stops breathing at the slip. Ethan only turns his head, reaches back to pull Will into a hard kiss, one that Will finds himself returning fiercely. He's not entirely sure who's claiming whom, but he doesn't guess it much matters, not now.
"Maybe you could, y'know, fuck me while you're eying me?" Ethan says with a credible amount of snark, but under that--Will is very, very good at hearing what runs under words and Ethan knows that--he sounds as breathless and shaky as Will feels.
"I'll get to it," Will murmurs, going back to easy strokes, in and out, smiling against Ethan's shoulder at how simple it is. Ethan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like cocktease but he twists slightly and draws one leg up toward his chest, opens himself up a little more for Will. Will takes the invitation and works a third finger inside Ethan even as he presses an open-mouthed kiss-bite to the base of Ethan's neck. "We've got all night," Will says. "No rush."
"Thought you said it was morning," Ethan pants. He pushes back onto Will's hand and Will goes still until he takes the hint and relaxes. It's not that Will doesn't love watching Ethan fuck himself like that, but... not tonight. "Will," Ethan says, and maybe no one but Will could hear it, but there's the smallest of edges to his voice now, desperate and wanting. He's holding himself still, though, so Will flexes his hand, rocks his fingers a tiny bit deeper with each motion.
"That's it," Will tells him. "Just like that; you like that, don't you, like just taking it." Ethan's gone silent, nothing but the harsh rasp of breath and the increasingly-helpless shudders to guide Will, but that's so much more than enough. Ethan does love it and Will loves giving it to him and that's maybe the best summary that exists of whatever this is that they're doing. The room is quiet around them, the rising sun edging in around the heavy cloth Ethan had thrown over the windows, bright shards of light slanting across the floor and over the bed, a wordless reminder that they're here, one more op down and they're still breathing.
Will takes his time--like he told Ethan, there's no rush and that's something to be savored--and when he can't take it anymore, he curls himself around Ethan and replaces his hand with his dick, slides in deep, biting back a moan at how good Ethan feels around him, hot and tight, but letting Will in. Ethan sighs out once and reaches back to pull Will closer; and for all that they can fuck like animals, for all the times they've taken each other on floors and against walls, snarling and biting and clawing until it's hard to tell which marks came from the op and which ones they've torn into each other, this time this is all they need, skin to skin, not a breath between them.
Will breathes deep and holds himself motionless, everything in his consciousness bounded and defined by the man in his arms, everything he feels, everything he sees, everything he breathes and tastes and hears. Even when Ethan takes Will's hand, laces their fingers together and wraps them around his dick, sets a slow, unhurried rhythm, Will stays still, buried in Ethan, lets the feel of Ethan's body tightening and shifting and building toward orgasm, surround him.
He's shaking by the time they bring Ethan off, wracked with spasms he can't control, but still where he wants to be, where he needs to be.
"Will," Ethan says, his voice hoarse and soft, an underlay of emotion that Will doesn't know what to do with, can't believe Ethan wants him to hear (but Ethan knows Will can hear it, Ethan's always known, Will can't pretend otherwise.) Ethan brings their still-joined hands to his mouth, tastes himself on Will, alternates kisses and bites, smiles against Will's skin. "Will, come for me, come for me now," he says, and that's all Will needs, all he can take. He buries his face against Ethan, in the curve of Ethan's neck into his shoulder, and comes in a blinding rush that leaves him breathless and weak, but still safe, because it's Ethan who's there with him.
The sun's lost a little of its early morning sharpness when they finally ease apart, stretching out muscles gone stiff from disuse. The sheets are rough and the wool blanket is scratchy, but they're here and together and Will is too exhausted to work that thought to its logical conclusion.
"'S bright," Ethan complains, squirming and twisting until Will flops over onto his back and Ethan can tuck himself along one side, his back to the window, his head under Will's jaw.
"'S morning," Will says, with what he feels is impressive patience.
"Whatever," Ethan mumbles, his breath slow and warm against Will's collarbone.