withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-08-03 03:43 am
withimpunity) wrote2008-08-03 03:43 am
Entry tags:
RPS: Kindred - Shia Labeouf/Robert Downey Jr --whut?
Title: Kindred
Pairing: RDJ/Shia
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This is not trufax.
A/n: Written for ze porn battle.
Robert cradles his face in one hand, thumb brushing aimlessly over the three-day stubble coating Shia’s jaw. His hand slips, thumb too, tracing the plump curve of Shia’s lips, bets if he leaned in and licked them they’d taste like nicotine and tobacco and coffee, four sugars, no cream.
“Why’re you doing this to me, kid?” He breathes against Shia’s mouth, allowing himself just a little taste and yep, he was right. Kid’s lips taste like fucking candy, candy and cigarettes. “Going to get yourself fucking killed.”
His arm slips lower, fingers curling around Shia’s elbow, brushing the spot where the cast ends as he pushes deeper inside of him, watching Shia’s face twist, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. God, the kid’s such a beautiful fucking mess.
He remembers what it was like - well okay, just vaguely. As much as he wants to deny it, tell himself Shia’s just a sweet lay, tight little ass and flat, rock hard stomach he loves to splay his fingers across when he sucks his cock, Robert knows it’d be a lie. He loves this kid, loves him because he sees something kindred in him, and he can’t fucking bear to watch him go down the same slippery slope. It would kill him, maybe not in the literal, dead in the ground, worm food sense, but he’d be dead inside. He knows it. Can feel it.
“Promise me,” He says, fingers wrapped around Shia’s ankle as he pounds into him, so fucking hot and tight, Shia whimpering underneath him. “Promise me or I’ll stop right now, goddamit-”
“Promise,” Shia mumbles, reaching up and grabbing him by the hair, crushing their mouths together, tongue and teeth colliding until they both tastes copper. Shia’s hips thrust upward as Robert slams home, and they grunt and moan into each other’s mouth, wrapped in warmth.
“I won’t be there to bail you out next time, kiddo.” He says and he means it, Shia can see it all over his face.
He doesn’t actually believe it until it happens though , arrested for another DUI in San Diego, and only gets Robert’s voicemail after a dozen calls. He’s never been good at promises. Never been good at anything really, except pretending to be someone else. Maybe that’s why he can’t get a grip on things anymore. He doesn’t know how live without a script, without someone telling him where to go, what to say, when to eat.
He perks up at the sound of metal jangling together and the door creaks open.
“C’mon, kid.” Robert says, slinging an arm around him as they leave the station and get into his car. Shia feels guilty and relieved all in the same breath, warmth spreading through his body when Robert’s hand pressed at the small of his back.
That night Shia promises him, with words, with fingers and hands, tongue and mouth, that he’ll stop, he’ll be a better person, be who Robert wants him to be.
“Shut up,” Robert tells him between kisses, biting at Shia’s mouth. “You’ll just break it. Shut up.”
Shia stays for the first time that night, sleeps on his back with his eyes wide open, Robert’s legs and arms throws across his body like he‘s trying to anchor him down. For the first time in his life, Shia knows what he wants, without anyone having to tell him he should or shouldn’t, if its right or wrong. He wants this.
In the morning, Robert makes them pancakes and brings Shia a mug of coffee in bed, no cream, four sugars. Shia smokes out on the balcony, sipping on his coffee between drags, staring out at the rest of LA. He’s on his second cigarette when Robert joins him, stack of pancakes, and syrup, and enough butter to kill a small African nation.
“Rehab. I think.” Shia says, like he’s waiting for an answer, an okay. “Yeah, rehab.”
He puts his cigarette out.
Pairing: RDJ/Shia
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This is not trufax.
A/n: Written for ze porn battle.
Robert cradles his face in one hand, thumb brushing aimlessly over the three-day stubble coating Shia’s jaw. His hand slips, thumb too, tracing the plump curve of Shia’s lips, bets if he leaned in and licked them they’d taste like nicotine and tobacco and coffee, four sugars, no cream.
“Why’re you doing this to me, kid?” He breathes against Shia’s mouth, allowing himself just a little taste and yep, he was right. Kid’s lips taste like fucking candy, candy and cigarettes. “Going to get yourself fucking killed.”
His arm slips lower, fingers curling around Shia’s elbow, brushing the spot where the cast ends as he pushes deeper inside of him, watching Shia’s face twist, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. God, the kid’s such a beautiful fucking mess.
He remembers what it was like - well okay, just vaguely. As much as he wants to deny it, tell himself Shia’s just a sweet lay, tight little ass and flat, rock hard stomach he loves to splay his fingers across when he sucks his cock, Robert knows it’d be a lie. He loves this kid, loves him because he sees something kindred in him, and he can’t fucking bear to watch him go down the same slippery slope. It would kill him, maybe not in the literal, dead in the ground, worm food sense, but he’d be dead inside. He knows it. Can feel it.
“Promise me,” He says, fingers wrapped around Shia’s ankle as he pounds into him, so fucking hot and tight, Shia whimpering underneath him. “Promise me or I’ll stop right now, goddamit-”
“Promise,” Shia mumbles, reaching up and grabbing him by the hair, crushing their mouths together, tongue and teeth colliding until they both tastes copper. Shia’s hips thrust upward as Robert slams home, and they grunt and moan into each other’s mouth, wrapped in warmth.
“I won’t be there to bail you out next time, kiddo.” He says and he means it, Shia can see it all over his face.
He doesn’t actually believe it until it happens though , arrested for another DUI in San Diego, and only gets Robert’s voicemail after a dozen calls. He’s never been good at promises. Never been good at anything really, except pretending to be someone else. Maybe that’s why he can’t get a grip on things anymore. He doesn’t know how live without a script, without someone telling him where to go, what to say, when to eat.
He perks up at the sound of metal jangling together and the door creaks open.
“C’mon, kid.” Robert says, slinging an arm around him as they leave the station and get into his car. Shia feels guilty and relieved all in the same breath, warmth spreading through his body when Robert’s hand pressed at the small of his back.
That night Shia promises him, with words, with fingers and hands, tongue and mouth, that he’ll stop, he’ll be a better person, be who Robert wants him to be.
“Shut up,” Robert tells him between kisses, biting at Shia’s mouth. “You’ll just break it. Shut up.”
Shia stays for the first time that night, sleeps on his back with his eyes wide open, Robert’s legs and arms throws across his body like he‘s trying to anchor him down. For the first time in his life, Shia knows what he wants, without anyone having to tell him he should or shouldn’t, if its right or wrong. He wants this.
In the morning, Robert makes them pancakes and brings Shia a mug of coffee in bed, no cream, four sugars. Shia smokes out on the balcony, sipping on his coffee between drags, staring out at the rest of LA. He’s on his second cigarette when Robert joins him, stack of pancakes, and syrup, and enough butter to kill a small African nation.
“Rehab. I think.” Shia says, like he’s waiting for an answer, an okay. “Yeah, rehab.”
He puts his cigarette out.