Kerry (goodtwin) wrote in asongofsixpence,

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Drabbles x 3: You're It, Greg/Ty, R

I know it's too late, but nothing came to me before now. So I'm posting it anyway. :) And I grabbed the song, because I like Springsteen anyway, and it was one I didn't have. :D

Author: Kerry
Fandom: All Saints AU
Pairing: Greg/Ty, Greg/Male
Rating: R
Warnings: Do I need to warn that this is mostly m/f? ~lol~
Disclaimer: Not beta'd, just read through a few times and spell-checked. :)
Summary: The first time Greg sees Ty, he knows there's no hope for him. Series of three drabbles. props to lolly for noticing the Springsteen tribute. ~giggle~

You're It

[Lyrics from "I'm On Fire" by Bruce Springsteen]

i. He

I got a bad desire
I'm on fire


Greg's grip tightened on short blond hair. "Don't stop," he growled, lifted sex-heavy eyes to the figure in the doorway. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"It's... There's a fight, and-"

"Don‘t I pay Mark to... Fuck..." Greg's eyes closed and he grunted, hips flexing in quick, short snaps.

"Yeah, uh, she floored him."

Greg didn't say anything at first, lazily enjoying the tongue still licking. Then he snorted, laughed. "She? Okay, this I have to see. Carl?" He asked the blond.

"It's Chris."

"Right. You can stick around." He fastened his jeans and stretched. "Alright. Where is she?"

ii. She

I can take you higher
I'm on fire


"That ape tried to touch me!"

Everything about her was hot; eyes, body, temper. It was the temper that did it, because there were a hundred girls with figures like that, eyes like that but she, Greg knew, was different.

A groan from the floor, and Greg held out his hand. "I think you showed him. Now, let me buy you a drink to make up for his behaviour."

Ty's eyes narrowed. "I can buy my own drinks."

"I insist. Please?" He never usually said please for anything, and she seemed to pick up on that, because-

"Fine. Whatever."

iii. They
[Greg and Ty]

Only you can cool my desire
I'm on fire

He'd wanted her so badly in the back of the car, but instinct had told him to wait. Wait for soft sheets and light and comfort. Treat her like a princess.

So he'd waited, and now she's sinking down on him again, soft wet heat and sweat-smooth skin. He wants to touch, but she has his hands pinned to the pillow, so he can only look. Only, as if looking isn't satisfying enough.

"Greg," she gasps, "tell me."

"You're it."

"How do you know?" She squeezes his hands, stares down at him. That. That is all he needs.

"I know."

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