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01 February 2012 @ 09:15 pm
The Arrow Family Meme  
Arrow Family Prompt Post

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♥ This meme is for Arrow family prompts. Gen prompts focusing on any member of the Arrow family are welcome. Pairing prompts can be Arrow/any character.

♥ The members of the Arrow family are defined as Oliver Queen, Roy Harper, Dinah Lance, Lian Harper, Connor Hawke and Mia Dearden.

♥ Both anon and signed-in posts are welcome.

♥ One prompt per comment. You may post as many comments as you wish.

♥ All canons and continuities welcome. This extends to games, movies and television, be it animated or live-action.

♥ When prompting, note your desired pairing in the subject line. For gen, note the main character(s). Try to include keywords in your subject line.

♥ When filling, add the word FILL to your subject line.

♥ Warn for anything that could be triggering. For those who do not want to use specific warnings, please warn for ‘no warnings’ or ‘disturbing content’ as applicable.

♥ Be respectful and warn for spoilers!

♥ Please report your fills. Multiple fills are encouraged.

These are an extremely condensed version of the rules. Please try to take the time to read through the full rules when you can. If you have any questions, let me know here.
Salmon Pinksalmon_pink on February 9th, 2012 08:43 pm (UTC)
FILL - Ignition (2)
He doesn’t really know if that’s a good noise or a warning to stop, only knows that it makes his hips buck up of their own accord. Trying to read Tim’s reactions isn’t helping, because he keeps getting lost in all the sounds Tim makes, so he’s just relying on instinct when he drops both hands to Tim’s ass and squeezes hard.

Tim throws his head back, top of his head brushing the Redbird’s ceiling, a high, reedy cry escaping him that seems to echo around the car’s interior. It burns Connor’s ears, breath catching in his chest, and his hands squeeze again, again, putting enough strength into it that he must be bruising Tim. But Tim only whines for it, hips rolling, bucking up into the air between their stomachs before pushing back into Connor’s grasp.

He should be doing more than this, should be doing better than this, but Connor doesn’t really know how. Not when Tim’s cries are beginning to mix into one long, hitching moan, not when his face is flushed almost as red as his tunic.

One of Tim’s hands pushes into Connor’s hair, tugs at it, sweet pressure above Connor’s temple that pulls in rhythm to the movement of Tim’s hips. The other locks around the headrest of Connor’s seat, muscles in his arms standing out taut and braced, and Tim makes a sound that could maybe, just maybe be Connor’s name, before he gasps and stills so suddenly that Connor’s heart almost forgets to beat. But then the second passes, and Tim’s in motion again, hips shoving forward, back arching, hand pulling at Connor’s hair as he shudders and moans and (oh Tim) comes in his tights.

Connor watches through dazed eyes as Tim shivers his way through orgasm, his mouth slack, lips wet and swollen.

There’s something prickling at the back of his eyelids; not tears but something that feels more like sparks, like showers of stars. It’s entirely possible he’s gulping down oxygen so fast that he’s actually hurting himself, but he can’t seem to help the way it never feels like enough, like a drowning man getting his first real taste of air.

“Tim,” he hisses, and he doesn’t even recognise his own voice, but Tim gasps like he’s been scalded and shoves their mouths together hard enough to click teeth. His fingers move jerkily at Connor’s waist, pulling material up, shoving it down, and Connor can’t even raise his hips properly to help because Tim’s weight and the damn seatbelt are in the way.

But somehow Tim’s hands find their way, press inside his costume, pushing their way into his jock. And then there are fingers wrapped around him, and Connor shouts, nonsensical jumble of letters, and his hands instinctively squeeze at Tim’s ass again. For a moment, Tim’s grip on him is almost painful, and then it’s perfect, and Connor never knew it could like this, somebody else’s hand on him, moving so intimately.

It feels like he’s being pulled apart in the best kind of way, everything else being stripped away until there’s just this intense, overwhelming need. He tries to push up into Tim’s grip, but he can’t get leverage. But Tim seems to understand anyway, stroking hard and fast, and his gauntlets feel almost unreal against Connor’s flesh, cool and slick and smooth. He wants Tim’s hand, wants Tim’s calluses, Tim’s sweat, Tim’s heat, but he knows it would be too much, knows he’d just fall apart for it.

Except he is falling apart for it, can hear himself groaning like a wounded animal. Tim’s forehead leans against his own, so close that Tim’s face is just a blur, flushed skin and the darker gash of his parted lips. Sharing breath between them, almost like he can taste Tim even though they’re no longer kissing.