Because the second that Killmonger touches him, the second that his hands are on T’Challa’s bare skin, wrapped around his throat–T’Challa can feel him, every inch of him, Killmonger’s rapid heartbeat, his too-quick breathing, the adrenaline coursing through his body, the fear and rage and confusion, all of it running through T’Challa’s mind like a spark of fire along dry grass.
“No, no, no,” and T’Challa thinks it’s his own voice speaking until he feels the puffs of air against his fac…
Because the second that Killmonger touches him, the second that his hands are on T’Challa’s bare skin, wrapped around his throat–T’Challa can feel him, every inch of him, Killmonger’s rapid heartbeat, his too-quick breathing, the adrenaline coursing through his body, the fear and rage and confusion, all of it running through T’Challa’s mind like a spark of fire along dry grass.
“No, no, no,” and T’Challa thinks it’s his own voice speaking until he feels the puffs of air against his face, until he realizes that it’s Erik speaking, his own face inches away from T’Challa’s as he says, “Not you, not you.”
Kiyotaka dies, and that's that.
And it's so beautiful / that you can't catch the fire.
Frank is a late night DJ, Gerard is an avid listener.
Eddie has a horny alien living in his head and a functional dick, and the combination almost immediately becomes a problem.
Brent doesn't understand why his linemate and roommate is being so weird about his Olympic fling with Johnny Weir.
Written for a prompt at The Borgias Kink Meme. All of Naples is mad.
Mexico City, 1954.
Thomas and Sol enjoy a closeness.
Two douchebags cross paths on a joyful occasion.