The best thing about going off-world to known planets was the freedom. It was a simple follow up to an allied world, just SG-1, no marines and a check in scheduled for forty eight hours.

"You two go on," Sam smiled, "We've got this."

They didn't protest. They found a secluded cave near the river that they had used in previous visits. He had Daniel naked and on a bed roll in minutes.

"Been too long," Daniel gasped as they thrust together. The first time was always fast and messy. Tightly controlled emotions and behavior unraveling.

Their come mixed and cooled on their bellies. The sated bliss on Daniel's face made it the routine visits worth it. Just to have the freedom to be themselves.

"C'mere." Jack relaxed in his lover's arms.

(I have no idea how that turned into a 4000 word smut fest, but it did. So the Complete story is here at my journal, but just to get you interested here is a taste.)

It was getting late and they were both on their third beers which hadn't affected them in the least. Ronon's mind wasn't really on what they were saying anymore. He was wishing he knew more about the relationships between Earth males when it came to courtship. Did that even happen? He'd never seen a same-sex couple on Atlantis. He hoped it did because right now he wanted to kiss that smile right out off of Morgan's lips.

"Hey," came a sweet, high pitched voice from behind them. Ronon turned to see a leggy blond standing behind them in an outfit only fit for intense summer's heat.

"Hey," Morgan said checking her our slowly.

"You guys wanna dance? My girlfriends and I were getting restless just dancing by ourselves," she said motioning to the women behind her. There was two more who were just as pretty, all blonds and scantily dressed, but slightly more shy. They each gave a wave.

"Yeah," Morgan said turning to Ronon and smirking, "You dance?"

"Sure," Ronon said not wanting to leave his new friend alone with the girls. He wasn't willing to give up on him, even if he didn't know the first thing about Earth same sex dating.

He got up, and fallowed Morgan to the dance floor the girls quickly gathering around. A new song started and he watched Morgan for what to do.

Earth dancing looked like an exercise on Satedan that was a mix of yoga and tiebo, only to music. It didn't come as naturally to Ronon as it did Morgan, but the girls weren't complaining. Earth dancing also included a lot of bumping, grinding and groping. The dance floor wasn't too crowded, but they were all pressed so close together it was almost impossible to tell who was touching him. All the hands were slim though indicating that Morgan wasn't the doing it.. The original blond was all over Morgan, touching him, pushing their bodies together. Jealousy burned in his stomach. That was his hunter.

As a new song started up the girl backed away to dance with her friends for a minute giving Ronon an opening. Morgan was still swaying to the beat when Ronon came up behind him and pushed his body up against Morgan's and his hands roamed over his chest just like the girls had done to them.

Morgan jumped away is if he'd been burned.

"What the fuck man!?" Morgan demanded. Ronon stared at him shocked by the reaction.

"I thought--"

"You thought wrong," Morgan interrupted, "I don't fucking do that shit. Why the fuck did you think you could put your hands on me?"

Ronon was about to get angry when he saw something in Morgan break. The other man's hands were shaking and his eyes were detached. On the air was the metallic scent of fear mixed with a hint of arousal.

There was only one thing in the world that offered salvation at the end of the day. There was nothing else that made the world better or took away the guilt of what they sometimes did to good people. How could anything else make him forget what they saw happen, how they had to watch people’s families get torn apart?

But there was this. As sick and twisted as it was, as hard as he’d run from it, at some point he’d had to catch his breath and when he did, Dean was still there.

There was the slick slide and grind and hard muscles and impossibly soft lips that pressed against his in a strange combination of need and demand and gentleness that was always begging forgiveness, that always gave it without being asked.

For Sam, the only salvation in the world was his brother’s love and Dean was never slow to give it.

::Blink:: Oh. My.

It's because of the boots, Jared tells himself. It's the boots and the smirk and the pop of Jensen's chewing gum. It's because Jared had a shot with his beer instead of just the beer.

Put all that together and it makes perfect sense that, after Jared shoves Jensen up against the car, after Jensen spits out the gum and Jared kisses him, tasting mint over rum, after Jensen's rubbing up against him like a cat, starting to breathe hard--

--Jared drops to his knees and starts jerking at Jensen's belt.

"What the--holy shit," Jensen says, burying his hands in Jared's hair. Jared lets him. He pulls Jensen's jeans and boxers down around his thighs, nuzzles against Jensen's cock. He glances down at Jensen's boots one more time: matte-black with sixteen eyelets.

Okay, no; there are limits, there's a way they do things, and maybe there's an excuse for Jared kneeling, but probably not for that. He takes a breath and licks around the head of Jensen's cock, grinning at the sound Jensen makes when he does it. For all Jensen's got his hands in Jared's hair, he's not pushing it, so Jared opens up wide and swallows Jensen down, one smooth motion until he can't take any more.

Jensen clutches at Jared's hair, hips jerking forward. Jared chokes, but he ignores it; he rides the motion, lets Jensen drag him back and forward, lets Jensen bury his cock in Jared's mouth until the thrusts are fast and hard and sloppy. Jensen's cock is nice and slick now, gliding in easy; Jared puts his hands on Jensen's calves and squeezes, runs his hands up the back of Jensen's thighs and pulls him forward.

"You want that?" Jensen breathes, tightening his grip on Jared's hair, jerking him closer. "'S that what you want, huh? Boy?" The word doesn't come easily, and it shouldn't, definitely shouldn't, but Jared doesn't mind hearing it. He responds by pulling harder on Jensen's thighs, opening his throat as wide as he can. Jensen growls low in his throat and buries his cock in Jared's mouth, over and over, getting nice and greedy with it, fast insistent thrusts that would knock Jared over if he didn't have that grip on Jensen's thighs, if Jensen weren't holding onto his head.

Jared stops trying to be fancy about this and just holds his ground, taking it while Jensen thrusts into him. Jensen lets Jared's hair go and just holds onto his head, pulling him forward with every hard jerk of his hips, finally whispering all the things Jared's used to saying--"c'mon, that's it, take it, so good, takeittakeithellyeah, boy, c'mon, suck it--all of it, suck that, now--"

For all that Jared manages to brace himself, Jensen still chokes him when he comes. Jared jerks back--not much, just enough to take a panic-edged breath--and then he sucks and swallows and licks Jensen's cock until Jensen groans and starts trying to push him away.

Dumbass. Jared's not going to let him off that easy.

He's pulling at Jared's hair in earnest by the time Jared's done, whimpering softly when Jared drags his teeth down the length of Jensen's cock. "Please," he whispers, "man, please, just--just gimme a second--"

Jared finishes and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. He stands up and grins down at Jensen, putting his hands on Jensen's shoulders and pinning him against the car.

"Drive me home," Jared says, still grinning.

Sam was doing research, always research these days, and while it set something off in Dean’s head, today he didn’t care. Sam apparently needed some space and Dean was willing to give it to him. Especially while Eliot was there because there was never a lack of entertainment with the other hunter around.

They’d been drinking it up and suddenly Dean had heard Eliot’s voice raised from across the bar. The fight had been quick and dirty but they’d both managed to come out bruised and beat up. They’d come home, picking up a bottle of Jack and a couple 6 packs just in case they needed more. Solely for medicinal purposes of course.

The note from Sam said he was at an all night diner that they’d found earlier that also gave Sam internet access. Eliot stared at the note with unreadable eyes and Dean just shrugged.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean said, pulling Eliot to the bathroom to clean up the few cuts and bruises he’d gotten. Eliot returned the favor, stripping Dean of his shirt, pushing him until he sat on the toilet as he checked for bruising or sore ribs.

He let his hands trail over the skin lightly, only a few small bruises showing on pale skin. Eliot sank to his knees in front of Dean, leaning forward as he lightly licked around the bruise on Dean’s side.

Dean gasped at the feel, the warm, wet heat of Eliot’s tongue and the sharp biting grip of his hands on Dean’s thighs, fingers pressing new bruises into his flesh. Eliot’s mouth left a trail from one bruise to another, licking and kissing at each.

“You don’t kissing it all better?” Dean asked, his voice a little more breathless than he’d have liked, but Eliot smiled up at him. He licked his way up Dean’s chest, and Dean didn’t bother to stop the moan that came with Eliot’s attention.

“All done kissing it better.” Eliot said, licking at Dean’s collarbone. His tongue was gentle against his skin and when Eliot reached the meeting of neck and shoulder Dean cried out when Eliot sank his teeth in.

He heard Eliot’s chuckle as he licked at the lovebite he’d left. “Gonna mark you up myself now.”

Hah! Comment!sized. :) That said, I have no idea where this came from...
--

There was grace in the perfect form; in a body holding the perfect line, everything in balance. There was grace in strength and grace in tone and grace in a body perfectly trained to hold a blade. To fire a gun. To fight until the war was done.

To save the world.

Dean Winchester was grace hardened and chiseled into its purest form. Hardened by resolve and purpose; chiseled by so many battles before this one that both body and mind shone with that clarity and skill, harnessed in the purest form of movement.

Skill and clarity he currently held back, kept in check as he drove into Eliot, holding him down and folding him over in order to reach his lips; lips already open with the various curses and gasps and moans as Dean caught that one spot and drove in hard. And still in the hard, desperate drive of their bodies, the hunter was still the pinnacle of grace and fluidity of movement; riding them both with a ruthless drive toward the edge they were both desperate to fall over.

Grace in the fall and grace in the perfect hot splash of release caught deep inside because Eliot refused to let him go.

Feeling the harsh breathing panting wet and hot over his collarbone, the tongue swiping in apology for the rough treatment along his neck, Eliot wrapped his arms around the other man and accepted the weight from the graceless fall with a body also honed and trained by too many battles he didn’t want to remember.

Because there was also grace in finding strength and comfort in another - one who knew what it was to hold a blade. To fight until the war was done.

And maybe - to save the world.

Some nights, Jeff wonders if he isn't the world's oldest damn fool. Sitting home, alone but for his girl, missing his boy, he starts to question whether he can even call him that. Its not like he can avoid the stories, the show is such a success they are the darlings of the media right now, and it seems like every week there is a new damn article about the stars of Leverage and the unexpected friendship that has sprung up between Timothy and Christian. Maybe he was just a distraction, making more out of it than he should. And so he sits at home, alone but for the bottle, and wonders.

And then there are nights like tonight. Christian showing up unexpectedly on his doorstep, ranting at him for being a damn fool who needs to get out of Seattle since the rain is obvious causing mold to grow in that brain of his. The words aren't important so much as the fact that his boy is here because of a drunken voice mail and the emotions behind what he is saying aren't something that Jeffrey is making up. He says that there were no smoke and mirrors, no man behind the curtain, and Jeff can only stare at the younger man as he paces the kitchen, voice raising as he continues to rant right up to the second he stops talking because Jeff is grabbing Christian and kissing him. His mouth tastes incongruously of peppermint, and Jeff finds himself licking into Christian's mouth, seeking the taste of his boy out under the mint. Closing his eyes, he loses himself in the kiss, putting everything he feels into it, tongue and lips and even teeth, but then Christian gives just as good as he gets and fuck if it isn't the hottest kiss either man can remember in a long time.

A lifetime later they pull back from the kiss, both breathing heavily and clinging to each other. Jeff drops his head on Christian's shoulder, suddenly boneless as he realizes what a fool he has been. He whisphers an apology against warm skin and knows that he has some making up to do. But right here, right now all that matters is the man in his arms and the three words Christian had yelled right before Jeff kissed him.

OBS! Not betad
---

Eomer cursed his stupidity. He had been so clumsy or more likely indiscreet. If he had remember what he know and learned about elves, he should have not tried to come up behind Legolas when they where fighting.

He sure learned that with some bruises and damaged pride. Eomer had thought they had managed to fight of all and was on his way to give a victory pat to the elf. Legolas had answered with giving him a flight. He landed on his back, and out of breath. He hadn't believed the elf able to get him down so easily, but what he learned the slim elf was capable of much.

Eomer blushed as he did see several that noticed his fall. Though he did get little counterbalancing when Legolas gave him a hand to get up on his feet. In the elf's blue eyes shown his regret and apologize.

***The End***

Oh, look, fic too long for comment:

http://azewewish.livejournal.com/796655.html