Redoing the sims of our Heaven and Hell characters. Here are the sexy daddies.
Can I upload long now?NEVERMIND! … Looking after my moms cat .. this thing gets how to “USE” the litter box… but he doesn’t understand how to flush!!! I named himPungent Puss, my sister hates the name.
this is my exact cat
uuuughghghghg cat, CAT
WHY CAN’T YOU TOILET LIKE A NORMAL CAT
Art by frikadeller, accompanying ficlet by driftingwolf
Chuck loves this cottage. He loves the snow he can see falling outside the window, the low beams that they both keep walking into, and the huge fireplace in the front room. He’s sprawled naked across the collection of blankets and pillows that they dragged down here simply because of the huge fireplace, and he’s happy as a pig in shit.
He hears the door open, the rapid thudding of his dad stomping the snow from his boots, and he shivers at the brief, sudden draft that gets sucked into the room, the gust of air making the fire flare up for a moment.
"Let’s spend Christmas somewhere it snows, he says. It’ll be fun, he says. What a great idea…" Herc’s grumbling as he comes into the room, shrugging out of his heavy coat, unwrapping his scarf. Chuck watches him, makes a noise as Herc goes to pull his gloves off too.
"No. Leave ‘em on, dad."
Chuck’s been thinking about it a lot, about his father’s hands, and the way the leather of his gloves has softened and moulded to the shape of them, and how unbelievably fucking hot it would be if they fucked and Herc was still wearing them.
"Leave the gloves on. For me."
"Come on, Chuck, I’m frozen to the bone here."
"So get down here and I’ll warm you up," Chuck says, a promise behind the words.
Herc gives in, kneeling beside him on the blankets, and cries out when Chuck pulls him down, rolling them both and straddling him in two quick moves.
"Gotcha," Chuck laughs. Herc’s outrage melts into a softer look, and he doesn’t fight too much when Chuck pins his arms down and leans in to kiss him. "Yeah," Chuck says, against his mouth, "you are bloody cold. Soon fix you right up, though.”
He pulls at his dad’s sweater, putting warm hands on the skin beneath, still kissing Herc and groaning as the hands he’d released stroke over his thighs, grab at his ass. “Fuck, I want your fingers.” He adds, “dad” because he can, because he knows it goes directly and shamefully to Herc’s cock. “Screw me with them, I want to feel this leather in me.”
Herc bucks against him, shoving his tongue hard into Chuck’s mouth and that’s good, it feels awesome and Chuck’s been craving this since they got here.
The kiss softens out, and Chuck relaxes, reaching for the slick he’s kept close at hand before Herc can even ask for it.
His dad just lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
"Max needed a walk." And neither of us would have left this place if we’d started earlier. He shifts, pulling at Herc’s fly, wanting a handful of his dad’s cock, too.
"Jesus, Chuck, what’s got into you?"
"We’re here. Alone. Nobody else around to bother us, and you… You look good, okay?" Chuck’s jaw juts out for a second, but he turns his attention back to Herc’s cock and his expression softens. "Fingers," he mutters, a reminder.
"Yeah, yeah… Not gonna do these any good," Herc complains, hissing as Chuck squeezes the slick directly onto his cock, starts stroking it in, coaxing him into full hardness. He offers his own fingers, and Chuck grins, slicking the gloves well. He crawls forward a little, wrapping his hand as far around both of their cocks as he can, and groans when Herc slides the edge of one hand down the crease of his ass, pressing in.
He can feel the leather, even past the lube. Soft and rough at the same time, the palm warm where Herc cradles his buttock, forefinger circling now and thumb digging in, pulling.
"Fuck me with ‘em, dad. Please…"
Herc’s cock pulses in Chuck’s grip, and he says it again, lower, bending to press kisses in against Herc’s throat. “Fuck me. Hard. Deep, I want it. Please, dad. Three fingers. Fuck, I’ll take four. Just do it.”
His rhythm falters when Herc presses in, and he opens his mouth over freckled, stubbly skin, breathes and breathes when Herc adds a second finger almost too soon. But it’s good, it’s what he wants, what he’s been aching for, and he yields, squeezing their cocks together.
"You okay?" Herc asks, and he answers in a rumbling whine, his skin shivering as Herc presses gently at points on his spine with his other gloved hand.
Chuck keeps stroking, but at the third finger he gives up, just rubbing his dick over Herc’s, hearing the wet sounds of the slick and feeling how hard this is making Herc, too. He shakes his head into Herc’s shoulder at the hushed offer of another, a noisy and ragged exhale escapes him when the three he’s taken press in to the second knuckle. The leather feels incredible to him - not the same as having his dad’s cock, just different - and he pushes back against Herc’s hand, shuddering hard.
"My boy," Herc murmurs, rolling his hips up into Chuck’s. "Come on, Chuck. For me."
Nodding, breaths hitching, Chuck concentrates on the fingers buried in his ass, on Herc’s hand resting at the base of his spine, on the feel of Herc’s sweater under his chest, the heat of his skin where it’s ridden up. He comes with his cheek pressed to Herc’s cheek, shivers wracking him, and can only mumble something meaningless when Herc follows a moment or two later, quieter than Chuck had been. Chuck lifts his head to watch the way Herc’s eyes close, the wrinkles in his brow deepening for just a second with the buck of his hips, and how it’s all followed with a slow, shaky exhale. Then it’s just his fingers dragged slowly free, both hands on Chuck’s skin, the whisper of leather as he strokes, comforting and holding on at the same time.
"God, dad," Chuck says, burying his face in Herc’s sweater again. "Fuck."
"Uh huh. These are ruined," Herc grumbles, lifting his hand into the firelight to look at the glove he’s still wearing.
"Maybe Santa’ll drop you off some new ones," Chuck says, snuggling in. He knows they both ought to get up and clean up, but his limbs are too heavy right now to even think of moving.
"Don’t care if he does, I’m still keeping these. Sure we can still get some good use out of them, eh?"
Captain Fire being sassy
Fic by setsailslash
Notes: Written as a thank you to driftingwolf for the Advent Calendar event, and the kinkmeme prompt: Herc/Chuck, wet!Hansens.
Maybe their vehicle broke down and they’re stranded and it’s raining and whoever they call to come and get them is an hour away so… what to do with the time? The car’s too cramped - they try it, it doesn’t work - so what the hell, right? A little rain isn’t going to kill them.
Summary: The Hansens try to go on a roadtrip, keyword being try.
Soaked To The Bone
It’s a mistake, they both subconsciously know it the very moment Chuck tosses their gear into the back and slams the trunk of the car shut just as Herc gets into the driver’s seat.
Further into the outback, he will let Chuck take the wheel, teach the kid how to drive a stick shift with one hand on top of his, guiding as he coaches him just how to listen to the engine work itself into a purr. And if Chuck can jockey a Jaeger at sixteen, a worn old thing like this should be a breeze.
Not yet though.
Because that worn old thing has just broke down in the heart of nowhere. The two of them stranded n the midst of a downpour that the weather report last night has promised a long day of sunshine ahead of them, or at the very least something more akin to it being partly cloudy.
(Not that Chuck can remember much of last night aside from the fact that he had Herc’s lips stretched around his cock, tongue pressed flat against the underside with just enough pressure to get him rocking shallowly into his old man’s throat.)
No such luck though.
Because there is only an empty stretch of highway for miles on end, and for Jaeger pilots like them, they both know when to admit defeat when they prop the hood open to see acrid smoke that nearly has them tearing up in the rain.
Silver lining in the grey, grey clouds, at least there is still reception to their cells.
Only that the closest tow truck is a good hour away.
They have been sitting in the car for the last ten minutes, both of them itching beneath the skin. Chuck has Max in his lap, making weird faces out of the dog’s with both hands cupped over those droopy cheeks. They still don’t talk much but they try. They have always been more hands on, and if there are less fistfights and more belt buckles being undone in haste, well, that’s not so bad either.
Herc glances out through the windows.
And sometimes, he misses the Conn-Pod, even the Mark Is with all their flaws (radiation cores not withstanding, hell, he is still taking the Metharocin even today), at least there is more than enough legroom.
Which can’t be said for this rust bucket.
He lowers the window a slit, and the rain is dripping in but the little rush of fresh air is better than none. And then a little is not quite enough, he has a hand on the handle of the door—
“What are you doing?”
He glances over at Chuck, gives him a shrug and pushes his side of the door wide open. The rain no longer muted as he says, “getting out.”
“What?” Chuck’s hands still, Max’s face looking weird as fuck from the way he keeps trying to get away from his human’s self entertaining ways. “Are you crazy?”
“A little rain isn’t going to kill you.”
“Don’t complain to me when you get sick!”
But still he follows Herc out into the rain, setting Max in the passenger’s seat as he slams the door shut, not forgetting to have all the windows cracked open for his dog.
Chuck feels the rain immediately, cool against the stuffy heat of two too many people in one car. The asphalt is wet, puddles gathering where the roads aren’t even. Chuck watches as Herc stretches his legs, pulls his arms over his head and back, shirt riding up a slit, just enough to see that the old man isn’t wearing anything underneath those worn jeans of his.
He stares because how un-fucking-believable. Herc catches his gaze before letting out a low chuckle that goes straight to Chuck’s cock.
“You’re a bastard.”
He bites back a low groan.
“Takes one to raise one, kid.”
Chuck refuses to take the bait.
Herc turns away with a smirk, his dad’s way of a challenge to a fight.
And Chuck refuses to bite.
They are soaked to the bone when he has him pressed against the side of the car. His fingers are a little cold and the rain is making his skin just a little numb, but the mouth opening against his is all welcoming, liquid heat.
Herc tastes like him.
And it nearly takes Chuck’s all not to lean in and kiss the man until he is panting like he had him panting just last night.
“Are you going to return the favour?”
“…I’m not going to blow you on the side of the road, dad.”
Herc looks at him, something almost like indulgence, and no, Chuck refuses to go down on him here. The wet tarmac against his knees, dad’s soft, thin denim clenched in his hands as he takes him whole in one swallow, his nose burying in the ginger curls.
Herc grins, looking like he knows exactly what he is thinking.
And Chuck may be rolling his eyes but he is already running the flat of his palm against the zipper of those damned jeans, rubbing him through the material. They are pressed too close, leaving nothing to the imagination (not that the drift has left them with the resemblance of any).
“I’m burning these pants as soon as we get home.”
“Go ahead,” Herc drawls out, pushing off of the side of the car and into his son. “I’ve got more where this came from.”
Chuck doesn’t dignify him with a reply, just pops open the button and reaches in. His palm a slick slide against the wet trail of ginger hair until he has a hand wrapped around the base of Herc’s cock, and if that doesn’t shut him up, the biting kisses he is pressing against his dad’s neck should.
He jerks him off, every rough slide in exchange with a soft, hot kiss against his jaw. Kisses him until he finds his lips once more, kisses him until his lips don’t know how to go cold from the rain.
Chuck tastes the start of his name on the flat of his dad’s tongue when he comes, spilling white over his hands on a ragged, sharp exhale. Herc’s fingers clenching into Chuck’s shoulders, lashes dripping with drops of rain.
Eyes closed, he kisses him through the trail ends of his orgasm until it’s just the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
Eyes closed as Herc drops his head back on the hood of the car, his hands don’t untangle themselves from Chuck’s shoulders, just pulls the boy with him until they are together in a loose embrace (because they don’t do enough of that from before the war).
Chuck has his forehead resting in the crook of Herc’s neck, breathes him in deep, tastes the trails of water over his skin. His dad cards a hand through the ends of his hair, brushes at the collar of his t-shirt that is nearly transparent from the rain.
It has never been the words they say.
It is always going to be the ones they don’t know how to say.
They can barely see through the downpour but the honking and the dim yellow lights cutting through the haze come their tow truck. It is only then that they finally pull away from each other. But not quite before Chuck is reaching out to run his cum-stained hand over Herc’s ass, rubs the white right into the back of Herc’s jeans with a squeeze and a smirk.
It isn’t payback.
But it isn’t like he needed them anyway.
comments & love to setsailslash
FanMix by driftingwolf
1. order in the chaos (paul leonard morgan) // 2. you’re going down (sick puppies) // 3. fire it up (thousand foot krutch) // 4. feuer frei! (rammstein) // 5. control (vnv nation) // 6. bombtrack (rage against the machine) // 7. never take us alive (madina lake) // 8. i will not bow (breaking benjamin) // 9. hero (skillet)
my new one:3
Cecil Gershwin Palmer, past and present.
I always have way too much fun with his 50’s clothes.