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linndechirI wrote this two or three weeks ago for the fic exchange on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blackwoodcoward . The fics were posted anonymously, so the writers weren't supposed to post them elsewhere. Now that everything has been posted and the writers' names have been revealed, I thought I should repost this on my own LJ for the sake of completeness. This was written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mistress_britt , who asked for something romantic but not too fluffy, with a bit of roughness, hand kink, and hair pulling.
Title: Tease
Author:linndechir
Pairing: Mark Strong/Hans Matheson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1582
Summary: A crowded bar, a secret kiss, and Mark gets more than he had expected.
Author’s note: It has been brought to my attention that the beginning looks like this could be a sequel to the Mark/Hans-drabbles I wrote a while ago. However, it is NOT a direct sequel to those drabbles! The drabbles were about them getting together; in this fic they have been together for several weeks or even months. I’m just saying this to avoid possible misunderstandings.
It was a late Friday night in a rather noisy bar in London, the air filled with laughter and chatter that almost drowned out the piano and the voice of the young woman on the stage. The bar was far too full to enjoy a quiet drink, but Hans, for some reason Mark couldn‘t quite fathom, rather liked the jazz singer and had insisted on staying. Mark thought the woman had a voice like a three year-old with a sore throat, but he wasn’t about to tell Hans. Still, after sitting through this for two hours, he felt that he had earned a break.
He suddenly got up from their table in a corner of the bar and grabbed Hans’ hand to drag him along as he easily made his way through the crowd and towards the exit.
“Mark, where are you going?” Hans protested weakly, but there was still a wide smile on his face, and he didn’t resist too much. Mark simply kept going without a word; he knew that he wasn’t hurting Hans, knew by now so very well that Hans didn’t mind a rougher hand. Hans stumbled a little, trying to keep up with Mark’s long strides, looking back occasionally to the stage. No one seemed to take notice of them as Mark led them not outside, but to the dimly lit corridor he had discovered when they had arrived: it led to a second stage room, which was locked and empty tonight.
“What are -?” Hans started again, but he sounded more confused than accusing. The air was knocked out of his lungs when Mark pulled him aside and into a dark corner; his words ended in muffled laughter when the same movement brought his back against the wall with Mark pressed closely against him.
Their faces were almost touching, and just the half-curious, half-hesitating expression in those blue eyes sent a shiver through Mark’s body. Without letting go of Hans’ wrist he lifted his other hand to Hans’ face, fingertips drawing the lightest caress across the soft fuzz of Hans’ beard. He didn’t even like beards, neither on himself nor on others, but somehow he was quite happy that Hans had decided not to shave his off after they had finished shooting Sherlock Holmes.
Mark leant down to kiss him, but was stopped short by a gush of warm air when Hans gave another embarrassed little laugh and turned his head aside.
“Not here … What if somebody sees us?” he objected, but Mark could hear the regret in his voice. Even while turning away Hans rubbed his cheek against Mark’s palm, and that small gesture alone betrayed so much desire that Mark at least wasn’t too worried about Hans wanting to return to the concert.
“There‘s nobody here,” Mark whispered, fingers lifting Hans’ chin gently. “Don’t worry, this will remain our secret. It’s not like we’re famous enough for anyone to care.”
He saw a hint of hesitation in Hans’ wide eyes, in the slight quivering when his lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten them … before hesitation gave way to the excitement that accompanied the fear of discovery. That trademark crooked smile flashed up, and then Hans’ lips were on Mark’s, the sudden passion almost throwing Mark off balance when Hans grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down. In the silence they could faintly hear the soft jazz music seeping in from the bar, and the cheesy love song sounded so unreal, sounded even more ridiculous now compared to what Mark felt when his nose brushed Hans’ as he broke the kiss.
“You could drive a man insane with that smile,” he said teasingly, and his index brushed Hans’ bottom lip.
“Only if I did nothing but smile at him.” Hans’ voice was breathy and yet so very cocky - Mark loved this self-confidence that had grown so much since they had become closer, loved it even more than Hans’ initial shyness. The naughty tone from that innocent face was the sweetest intoxication Mark could imagine, a poison so precious he would never want to share it.
“I hope smiling at them is all you do with other men,” Mark heard himself growl in a sudden fit of possessiveness, of a jealousy he still wasn’t sure he was even entitled to. Yet Hans looked almost insulted by his words, he downright scowled for a split second before he slowly drew one of Mark’s caressing fingers between his lips. His words were muffled by tiny kisses bestowed on Mark’s fingertips, and although Mark couldn’t understand a single word the gesture alone reassured him.
And Mark felt like he should reply something, something sappy or maybe even just a growled demand not to stop, but his mouth was dry and he could only stare when Hans sucked his finger into his mouth. Mark had never quite understood why some people, including some directors he had worked with, always went on about how he had such beautiful hands, not until now, as he saw them sliding in and out of that wet, nimble mouth, moist lips proceeding to press lazy kisses on his knuckles. Mark’s free hand moved to Hans’ neck, silently begging him to go on, and he ended up curling his fingers into that silky, messy hair when Hans’ tongue dipped between two fingers, blue eyes lifted up to Mark in a mixture of playful submission and genuine affection.
“Tease,” Mark whispered, and regretted it when a puff of laughter blew warm breath on his moist skin. Laughter turned into a groan when Mark’s grip tightened and pulled Hans’ head back. Fingers were finally released from parting lips and brushed over Hans’ chin, nails scratching the sensitive skin of his exposed throat. Another soft tug on his hair, and the younger man sank to his knees, as gracefully as he could while being caught between Mark’s body and the wall.
Mark released his grip and combed through Hans’ hair, smiling when Hans stubbornly grabbed his other hand and raised it back to his lips, resuming his earlier caresses. Slightly calloused fingers pushed up the sleeve of Mark’s black shirt to kiss on the oversensitive skin on the inside of his wrist, nibbling on it as intensely as if he were about to bite down. Minutes seemed to pass before he returned to languorously sucking on two fingers with such obviously fake innocence in his eyes that Mark would have laughed if he hadn’t been concentrating on keeping his moans down. No matter how dark this corridor was, there was no need to alert anyone to their presence. And while one secret, stolen kiss here had felt safe, the still functioning part of his brain told him that he should stop Hans when the younger man tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against Mark’s groin.
He very much tried to ignore rationality, but the last thing he wanted was to be discovered with his trousers down and a former co-actor sucking him off in a corridor. It wasn’t only about his career - who knew if they would even be recognised - but he genuinely cared about Hans, and he wasn’t sure if their budding relationship could take the embarrassment, just as they were about to become more than just colleagues with a short set romance.
Gathering his remaining self-discipline he made a step backwards and withdrew his hand, index finger hushing Hans’ protesting grumble. He lifted Hans’ chin and sighed, his other hand still petting messed-up hair.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, and despite the reproachful pout Hans nodded in resignation and got up, moving into Mark’s offered embrace and leaning against him. He was quite out of breath, and now that they were standing so close Mark realised that this had affected Hans as much as him.
“And you call me a tease, dragging me here and then telling me to stop?” Hans mumbled against Mark’s shoulder, delivering a playful slap on Mark’s arse. “Admit it, you just wanted to convince me to leave. You could have just told me you hated the music.”
Mark merely laughed and nuzzled Hans’ hair; he never grew tired of how soft it felt when he ran his fingers through it or kissed it, he loved its smell, he loved how it always seemed to be too long, with unruly strands hanging into Hans’ face or tickling the white skin of his neck. And while it was true that he had wanted to get away from the bad music - he still didn’t understand how Hans could like the singer’s squeaky voice - he had been much too distracted by Hans’ smile to conceive some sort of devious plan.
Hans looked up and stretched a little to kiss Mark’s chin. Mark wrapped an arm around Hans’s shoulders and kept him close even as he turned to leave. His fingertips brushed Hans’ upper arm just where his t-shirt ended, and the responsive shiver that ran over the pale skin made Mark smirk victoriously. Hans couldn’t like that singer all that much if his attention could be so easily drawn to other things.
“Home it is,” Hans consented and grinned. His hand, still resting on Mark’s arse, gave a light squeeze. “I have plans for that.”
If there was one thing Mark had learnt since they had first met, it was that arguing with Hans was pointless. Mark always lost.
Not that he ever complained.
blackwoodcoward . The fics were posted anonymously, so the writers weren't supposed to post them elsewhere. Now that everything has been posted and the writers' names have been revealed, I thought I should repost this on my own LJ for the sake of completeness. This was written for mistress_britt , who asked for something romantic but not too fluffy, with a bit of roughness, hand kink, and hair pulling. Title: Tease
Author:
linndechir Pairing: Mark Strong/Hans Matheson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1582
Summary: A crowded bar, a secret kiss, and Mark gets more than he had expected.
Author’s note: It has been brought to my attention that the beginning looks like this could be a sequel to the Mark/Hans-drabbles I wrote a while ago. However, it is NOT a direct sequel to those drabbles! The drabbles were about them getting together; in this fic they have been together for several weeks or even months. I’m just saying this to avoid possible misunderstandings.
It was a late Friday night in a rather noisy bar in London, the air filled with laughter and chatter that almost drowned out the piano and the voice of the young woman on the stage. The bar was far too full to enjoy a quiet drink, but Hans, for some reason Mark couldn‘t quite fathom, rather liked the jazz singer and had insisted on staying. Mark thought the woman had a voice like a three year-old with a sore throat, but he wasn’t about to tell Hans. Still, after sitting through this for two hours, he felt that he had earned a break.
He suddenly got up from their table in a corner of the bar and grabbed Hans’ hand to drag him along as he easily made his way through the crowd and towards the exit.
“Mark, where are you going?” Hans protested weakly, but there was still a wide smile on his face, and he didn’t resist too much. Mark simply kept going without a word; he knew that he wasn’t hurting Hans, knew by now so very well that Hans didn’t mind a rougher hand. Hans stumbled a little, trying to keep up with Mark’s long strides, looking back occasionally to the stage. No one seemed to take notice of them as Mark led them not outside, but to the dimly lit corridor he had discovered when they had arrived: it led to a second stage room, which was locked and empty tonight.
“What are -?” Hans started again, but he sounded more confused than accusing. The air was knocked out of his lungs when Mark pulled him aside and into a dark corner; his words ended in muffled laughter when the same movement brought his back against the wall with Mark pressed closely against him.
Their faces were almost touching, and just the half-curious, half-hesitating expression in those blue eyes sent a shiver through Mark’s body. Without letting go of Hans’ wrist he lifted his other hand to Hans’ face, fingertips drawing the lightest caress across the soft fuzz of Hans’ beard. He didn’t even like beards, neither on himself nor on others, but somehow he was quite happy that Hans had decided not to shave his off after they had finished shooting Sherlock Holmes.
Mark leant down to kiss him, but was stopped short by a gush of warm air when Hans gave another embarrassed little laugh and turned his head aside.
“Not here … What if somebody sees us?” he objected, but Mark could hear the regret in his voice. Even while turning away Hans rubbed his cheek against Mark’s palm, and that small gesture alone betrayed so much desire that Mark at least wasn’t too worried about Hans wanting to return to the concert.
“There‘s nobody here,” Mark whispered, fingers lifting Hans’ chin gently. “Don’t worry, this will remain our secret. It’s not like we’re famous enough for anyone to care.”
He saw a hint of hesitation in Hans’ wide eyes, in the slight quivering when his lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten them … before hesitation gave way to the excitement that accompanied the fear of discovery. That trademark crooked smile flashed up, and then Hans’ lips were on Mark’s, the sudden passion almost throwing Mark off balance when Hans grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down. In the silence they could faintly hear the soft jazz music seeping in from the bar, and the cheesy love song sounded so unreal, sounded even more ridiculous now compared to what Mark felt when his nose brushed Hans’ as he broke the kiss.
“You could drive a man insane with that smile,” he said teasingly, and his index brushed Hans’ bottom lip.
“Only if I did nothing but smile at him.” Hans’ voice was breathy and yet so very cocky - Mark loved this self-confidence that had grown so much since they had become closer, loved it even more than Hans’ initial shyness. The naughty tone from that innocent face was the sweetest intoxication Mark could imagine, a poison so precious he would never want to share it.
“I hope smiling at them is all you do with other men,” Mark heard himself growl in a sudden fit of possessiveness, of a jealousy he still wasn’t sure he was even entitled to. Yet Hans looked almost insulted by his words, he downright scowled for a split second before he slowly drew one of Mark’s caressing fingers between his lips. His words were muffled by tiny kisses bestowed on Mark’s fingertips, and although Mark couldn’t understand a single word the gesture alone reassured him.
And Mark felt like he should reply something, something sappy or maybe even just a growled demand not to stop, but his mouth was dry and he could only stare when Hans sucked his finger into his mouth. Mark had never quite understood why some people, including some directors he had worked with, always went on about how he had such beautiful hands, not until now, as he saw them sliding in and out of that wet, nimble mouth, moist lips proceeding to press lazy kisses on his knuckles. Mark’s free hand moved to Hans’ neck, silently begging him to go on, and he ended up curling his fingers into that silky, messy hair when Hans’ tongue dipped between two fingers, blue eyes lifted up to Mark in a mixture of playful submission and genuine affection.
“Tease,” Mark whispered, and regretted it when a puff of laughter blew warm breath on his moist skin. Laughter turned into a groan when Mark’s grip tightened and pulled Hans’ head back. Fingers were finally released from parting lips and brushed over Hans’ chin, nails scratching the sensitive skin of his exposed throat. Another soft tug on his hair, and the younger man sank to his knees, as gracefully as he could while being caught between Mark’s body and the wall.
Mark released his grip and combed through Hans’ hair, smiling when Hans stubbornly grabbed his other hand and raised it back to his lips, resuming his earlier caresses. Slightly calloused fingers pushed up the sleeve of Mark’s black shirt to kiss on the oversensitive skin on the inside of his wrist, nibbling on it as intensely as if he were about to bite down. Minutes seemed to pass before he returned to languorously sucking on two fingers with such obviously fake innocence in his eyes that Mark would have laughed if he hadn’t been concentrating on keeping his moans down. No matter how dark this corridor was, there was no need to alert anyone to their presence. And while one secret, stolen kiss here had felt safe, the still functioning part of his brain told him that he should stop Hans when the younger man tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against Mark’s groin.
He very much tried to ignore rationality, but the last thing he wanted was to be discovered with his trousers down and a former co-actor sucking him off in a corridor. It wasn’t only about his career - who knew if they would even be recognised - but he genuinely cared about Hans, and he wasn’t sure if their budding relationship could take the embarrassment, just as they were about to become more than just colleagues with a short set romance.
Gathering his remaining self-discipline he made a step backwards and withdrew his hand, index finger hushing Hans’ protesting grumble. He lifted Hans’ chin and sighed, his other hand still petting messed-up hair.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, and despite the reproachful pout Hans nodded in resignation and got up, moving into Mark’s offered embrace and leaning against him. He was quite out of breath, and now that they were standing so close Mark realised that this had affected Hans as much as him.
“And you call me a tease, dragging me here and then telling me to stop?” Hans mumbled against Mark’s shoulder, delivering a playful slap on Mark’s arse. “Admit it, you just wanted to convince me to leave. You could have just told me you hated the music.”
Mark merely laughed and nuzzled Hans’ hair; he never grew tired of how soft it felt when he ran his fingers through it or kissed it, he loved its smell, he loved how it always seemed to be too long, with unruly strands hanging into Hans’ face or tickling the white skin of his neck. And while it was true that he had wanted to get away from the bad music - he still didn’t understand how Hans could like the singer’s squeaky voice - he had been much too distracted by Hans’ smile to conceive some sort of devious plan.
Hans looked up and stretched a little to kiss Mark’s chin. Mark wrapped an arm around Hans’s shoulders and kept him close even as he turned to leave. His fingertips brushed Hans’ upper arm just where his t-shirt ended, and the responsive shiver that ran over the pale skin made Mark smirk victoriously. Hans couldn’t like that singer all that much if his attention could be so easily drawn to other things.
“Home it is,” Hans consented and grinned. His hand, still resting on Mark’s arse, gave a light squeeze. “I have plans for that.”
If there was one thing Mark had learnt since they had first met, it was that arguing with Hans was pointless. Mark always lost.
Not that he ever complained.
