1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2009-06-01 10:28

Every repost is a repost repost. By Xiggeh.

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So Owl wrote up a summary of a James and Bond porning which she wanted to see written but didn't want to do herself. I, for some reason, took up the torch. This bit takes place soon after this (http://danceflower.net/TF2chan/read.php?b=fanfic&t=1348&p=46) though after another meeting with Lotta that Owl hasn't written yet. Yes, this is considered part of her story canon. :3c

~~~

"Jesus Christ, what more do you want?" Bond demanded as he slammed the door shut behind the both of them, fingers trembling to remove leather gloves getting caught around his fingers.

"What MORE do I want? You mean besides a fucking headache, and, oh, getting completely fucked over and stuck 25 years before I was even born?" James snapped back, all teeth and snarling frustration. He stomped over to his desk, slamming items around with no real objective in mind, scattering a cup of number 2 pencils across patterned hotel carpet.

"Hey, I got you places to stay, clothes that don't make you look like a pig farmer, ridiculous amounts of whiskey, a drafting table - fucking hell god, I even found a- a sliding ruler thing - "

James appeared in front of him in a maneuver much too spy-like for either party's comfort, slamming him against the wall. "I wouldn't need any of it if I weren't stuck in 19-fucking-63, would I? And it's all your fault."

Bond gave a glorious sneer and started to quip about how his brand new lapels were getting wrinkled to shit. The Engineer would have none of it. ALL-" Slam. "YOUR-" Slam. "FAULT!" And that's when James went for the face.

His fingers grabbed and tried to dig into soft patches of eyes, ears, throat, convinced that he was acting out of self preservation rather than blind, unsuave furry. James reacted by pulling the jacket in his fists down around the arms of the spitting, affronted Bond, only to be rewarded with an elbow to his gut. The spindly, fuck-all skinny bastard had wormed his way out of the coat before he'd had the chance to blink, knotting hands into the charcoal gray material of the Engineer's coat. The attempt at leveling the playing field somehow saw them toppling over each other's flailing limbs, rolling across the floor, breaking a lamp, expensive seams giving ominous pops.

Bond kicked his legs out to purchase against the nearby bed frame and rolled so he was sitting heavily on James's diaphragm, still trying to go for the face in the heavily unsportsmanlike way of his profession. A deeply prideful growl of 'Oh no you don't' saw the Spy on his back and pinned by the heavier mass of muscles tempered by years of wielding wrenches.

It was unclear who actually started it. If the opportunity to question them later ever arose both parties would point a finger at the other and say things of questionable nature about their respective mothers. But for now there was simply growling and 'I fucking /hate/ you's, rutting heavily like impatient teenagers, and Bond's wiry but ultimately small-boned wrists being held securely and one handedly above his head. Clothing decreased, anger and hurt pride flared, and James was fucking Bond into the carpet hard enough to leave burns along the other's back.

Bond's teeth sank into James's pronounced trapezius muscles in retribution, eliciting a hiss and sinfully direct thrust that sent the spy's toes curling. Then the bastard actually had the gall to /kiss/ him and James bit back into it, dropping his hand to pump the other's cock just as roughly as everything else had been thus far. The lithe body shivered and... /whimpered/, of all the fucking annoying things, thighs curling up around James's waist to drive him deeper, deeper. Hot threads of liquid splashed across their chests accompanied by a string of dialect too foreign to pay attention to. Two, three, four more plunges into that gripping heat which he felt all the way to his toes and James was spending himself with a silent cry and twitching limbs.

It was several moments before either of them could calm their breathing, and several more before they deigned to move apart from where they had collapsed in a pile treacherously similar to cuddling. They rolled apart in silence, staring at the ceiling with varying degrees of sated disbelief, before moving at the same time to sit up and without making eye contact.

"Sooo..." Bond said as he inspected the white stickiness coagulating on his skin.

"So," James agreed, sitting crosslegged after gathering his clothes together into a semblance of censorship in his lap. Long and rather painful silence.

"I call the shower." The door to the bathroom had already slammed closed by the time James scrambled to his feet, awkwardness forgotten in the flash of usual affronted anger.

"Fuck! Fucking Spy!"

A laugh of, "Little late for that!" filtered through the sound of water being turned on and all James could do was scowl.