Ari's imaginary friend (jenlittlebottom) wrote in slashababy,
Ari's imaginary friend

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Title: Cheat
Author: Jen Littlebottom
Pairing: Karl/Bean smut, for Cykie. Merry Xmas!
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I am a big fat liar. This never happened. Although wouldn't it be pretty if it did?
Thanks to: Ari and Aqui, for much help and encouragement. :)

Karl cheats.

It’s the sort of thing that nobody else could get away with. Of course, the hobbits have attempted any number of (mostly stupid, drunken, or both) plots to get their sticky fingers into other peoples cards, chips, and beer. These, Sean mostly deals with by threatening to tickle Elijah, prompting cries of ‘We’ll save you, Frodo!’ and full-body tackles. All in good fun, and quite pointless, given that Dom and Elijah get bored of poker long before any serious betting starts, and that Billy is a fucking shark who bluffs like a pro.

Karl, though, is both more subtle and far more blatant. More subtle, because even when Viggo is sitting right between them he doesn’t seem to notice Karl cheating. He doesn’t seem to notice the constant innuendo, the wide grin, that wicked little thing Karl does with his tongue against the neck of the beer bottle that makes it quite impossible for Sean to concentrate on the game.

And then there are the times when Sean doesn’t know whether to smack him or snog him. Like now, when Billy is growling at Elijah, who has settled in next to him and is peering at his cards, and Karl gets up, pushing past Sean and Viggo to get himself another beer. When he comes back, he swipes two fingers, cool and slightly moist from digging around in the icebox, across the small of Sean’s back, and Sean yelps, and Karl leans forward and says “Nice cards, Bean.” He’s back into his seat before Sean can think of a suitable retort, and when the betting comes round to him he folds – scowling at Karl, though it was a shit hand, anyway – and decides to cut his losses. There’s only a few token protests before Billy and Karl happily return to fleecing Viggo.

Outside the trailer the breeze is warm and gentle, and the New Zealand night sky is dark and clear and altogether rather zenlike. And the beer-bottle against his neck is very very cold… “Karl, you fucking wanker!”

“What? Nobody’s allowed to come out here and brood unless they’ve at least got a beer in hand while they’re at it.” Karl leans against the doorframe and upends his own bottle, draining at least half of it before settling back with that same wide, easy grin on his face.

Sean thinks that smile should be illegal, at least when clothed, but all he says is “Shouldn’t you be inside helping Billy cheat Viggo out of his beer money?” Not that the beer is not welcome. It’s helping distract Sean from Karl and Karl’s smile and Karl’s admittedly fine arse, although not all that much.

Karl shrugs and plonks his fine arse ungracefully down onto the steps. “I wouldn’t cheat Viggo. Trust is an important part of a working relationship, Sean. Now, since Eomer and Boromir don’t have any scenes together, I can cheat you all I like.”

“I see.” Sean sits down besides Karl and takes another swig of the beer, because, really, how do you answer that? Beer and the whiskey he and Viggo were drinking earlier really don’t mix, but fuck it.

“Sir Ian calls it damnable Kiwi logic.” Karl adds, and grins. “There is an upside, though.” The rest of the beer disappears, and Karl reaches back inside the doorway and tosses the bottle at what might be the waste-bin.

“Wh-” Sean starts, and then talking becomes impossible as Karl’s mouth and hands go to work robbing Sean of speech, along with breath and capability for logical thought. And he’s half lost in it, forgetting everything except the feel of Karl, the scent of him, before he remembers that they are right outside a trailer full of hobbits, and he’d most likely never hear the end of it…

He jerks back, and the beer he didn’t realise he was still clutching slips out of his grasp, splashing over Sean and Karl and the ground, but mostly over Sean’s lap. “The upside,” Karl says, “Is that because we don’t work together there’s nothing stopping me doing that.” His hands start to slid up Sean’s thighs. “Or this…”

Sean bites back a moan, and then a curse, and lays his hands over Karl’s, stopping them in their tracks. “You are impossible. You know that?”

“Does that mean you’re not inviting me back to yours to help you get out of those wet jeans?” And god help him, even if Sean didn’t already want Karl as much as he does he doesn’t think he could – would dare anyone to be able to – say no to that.


As it is, Karl only helps Sean halfway out of the wet jeans before he gets distracted. Not that Sean is complaining, because having Karl’s hands on your hips gripping so hard he’s surely going to leave bruises while Karl’s lips and tongue are wrapped around your cock doing insanely pleasurable things is not really the sort of thing that any sane man would complain about.

Who needs a bed? The door seems plenty sturdy enough. Sean shifts just enough to help Karl finally pull the jeans off his ankles and throw them to the side, and he doesn’t realise why Karl’s got one hand fumbling through his jacket pockets until it’s too late.

The hand on his hip leaves for just a moment before it’s back, pinning him to the door while the fingers of the other, slick and cool with the lube that Karl had just happened to have in his jacket (yeah, right), busy themselves, stroking him, probing him, prepping him. Sean’s torn between all the things he might say, from just how long have you been planning this? to no fair, why do you still have clothes on? to hey, who says you get to top, fucker? but what actually comes out it “Fuck…” and it sounds an awful lot like he’s saying please.

In response, Karl’s fingers change angle and Karl does something with his tongue that has Sean biting down hard enough on his lip that he tastes blood, hips thrusting forward so hard that he thinks Karl is surely going to choke – but he doesn’t, he swallows instead, and sweetmotherofchrist…

He’s shaking, boneless, and the room appears to be moving. No, he’s the one who’s moving. Karl half-lifts, half-drags him into the bedroom, onto the bed, and says “You’re drunk. Go to sleep, you wanker.” curling a (still clothed) leg around him and apparently planning to do just that.

“I’m not that drunk.” he complains, and he’s not, he’s really not. “Besides, aren’t you going to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state?” He’s barely slurring. That doesn’t count. And just because he’s having a little trouble keeping his eyes open, is no reason for Karl to withhold sex.

“Nah.” And an arm is slung around Sean as well, holding him in place. “I’ll take advantage of you in the morning. Anything else would be cheating.”

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