Two hours ago (or less), I started writing this.
...it's about a REALITY TV SHOW for SUPERHEROES. And one of them is a down-on-his-luck scruffy older dude who believes in saving people over publicity and he has the cutest daughter ever (who doesn't know her daddy's a hero, aaaw~) and then he gets partnered up with another superhero who has the same powerset to be that hero's foil and sidekick. Said newcomer is a total dick.
You can imagine why I wrote porn. Angry, fighty, did-I-mention-they-have-superstrength porn.
(go here for more context, if the above is not enough! Or watch the show on Hulu. Seriously. Watch it.)
Title: Five Minutes
Fandom: Tiger and Bunny
Rating: NC-17. Guess why.
Summary: Kotetsu likes to charge in. Barnaby prefers to hold back. Kotetsu tries to get Barnaby to see the merits of his approach. In bed.
Kotetsu has to give Barnaby this much: he's a hell of a lot easier to put up with when he's not talking, especially when he's not talking because his mouth's stretched wide over Kotetsu's dick. He's got a smart mouth on him, hot and soft and teasing, and when he pulls back enough to let Kotetsu see him smirk it's like he's saying this is just the beginning.
"Do you always have to take this much time with everything?" Kotetsu asks, makes a grab for Barnaby's hair. Barnaby's too fast, though, twists out of the way and glares up at him, fluffing his hair back into place. He's just the kind of guy to spend hours in front of a mirror getting everything styled just right, isn't he?
"I could always stop," Barnaby points out, cool and crisp as ever. The tip of his tongue darts out, flicks against Kotetsu's cockhead as a taste of what he's offering, enough to make Kotetsu's hips snap forward and his cock burn hotter. Barnaby's nails tighten on Kotetsu's thighs, scrape deeper, and if this is the kind of grip he has when his powers aren't active, Kotetsu can just imagine what he's like unleashed.
The guy always holds back. Let's see what Kotetsu can do about that.
"Hey," he says, "get back here," and lunges off the couch enough to drag Barnaby's head where he wants it. Barnaby squawks something like you can't ever wait, can you? and sends him sprawling back, shoves his cheek into the couch cushions. "Hey," Kotetsu says again and grabs another fistful of his hair, which is fighting a little dirtier than he usually likes, but it's even dirtier to stop giving a guy a blowjob because you're afraid he'll muss your hair.
"You're insufferable," Barnaby snaps, drives his knee into Kotetsu's stomach and knocks the wind clean out of him. Not the hard-on, but definitely the wind. "I do you a favor—"
"You kissed me at the bar, and don't tell me that was for points, your tongue was halfway down my—"
"—and you manhandle me," Barnaby continues, louder, trying to drown Kotetsu out, probably because he knows he's right. "Has it been so long since you've done this that you've forgotten how?"
That cools down the fire in his blood some. "None of your business, kid."
"I'm surprised anyone put up with you long enough to—"
Kotetsu swings his fist around and cold-cocks him in the jaw. Barnaby reels back but doesn't fall off the couch; he grabs Kotetsu's wrist and wrenches it over his head, and it's not a bad hold. "You want a fight?" Kotetsu asks, grabs Barnaby by the collar with his free hand and pulls him close. "You want to see how much I can dish out?"
Barnaby smirks again, and Kotetsu swears to god he's going to fuck that grin off his face. "I'm sure I can take it."
"Then come on," Kotetsu growls, and he's running hot again, skin alight and the air around him crackling with the flow of his power. He calls on it and it surges to fill him, swell him, make his blood sing. The couch groans and sags under him and on top of him Barnaby glares, but the rush of transformation hasn't faded yet and Kotetsu's still giddy from what's building under his skin, waiting to be let out.
"You idiot," Barnaby says. "Now you're only good for five minutes."
"Then you'd better hurry up," Kotetsu says.
Barnaby shifts as Kotetsu rolls on top, and the blue wreathing his skin crawls up Kotetsu's hands and arms, stands his hair on edge. The last time he felt anything like this, it was eight years ago and some punk in mobile armor threw him into a tangle of telephone wires. This is like that but without the pain afterwards, just the crackle of light inside him, the racing of his heart. Barnaby finishes and the couch cracks down the middle, tumbles them both to the ground—Barnaby's saying something about that but Kotetsu kisses him so he doesn't have to hear it. It's as much of a spar as a kiss, teeth and lips and tongues clashing the way their hips are.
Something pokes Kotetsu in the ribs, and he chucks it out of the way. A chunk of the couch's frame, it turns out, and he threw it through the window. Kotetsu groans, but now's not the time to worry about his security deposit, now's the time to drag Barnaby's mouth to his throat and rub his groin against Barnaby's leg. God, he's hard. They both are. He's never done it like this before, never been with anyone who could take all of him like this. But Barnaby's asking for it, biting down hard enough that he'd rip Kotetsu's throat out if they both weren't transformed, clawing at Kotetsu's sides with enough force to rip open brick. He's blistering, shuddering, can't tell how he can contain all the power coursing through him right now but he's glad as hell he can.
The lube explodes in his hand when he makes a grab for it. Next time, they should take care of that first. Too late now, though. Barnaby doesn't seem to mind too much either—well, this part, at least—because he's already got his legs spread wide like he's just daring Kotetsu to do it.
Oh, Kotetsu's gonna take that dare.
He twists his fingers inside, cocks them. No need to go gentle when they're both like this, no point, and Barnaby hooks his legs over Kotetsu's shoulders and clamps on like a vice, snarling, saying, "We have three minutes left—"
"Then let's make the most of 'em," Kotetsu says, and shoves in.
Barnaby's impossibly tight, impossibly tight, clenching hard enough around Kotetsu to anchor him there forever if he didn't need to move so badly. And he needs to move, needs to push in and see how far he can go, needs to bend Barnaby just about over double and see how he likes that.
He likes that. He grips Kotetsu's shoulders hard enough to bruise the bone underneath. There's fluff from the couch clinging to his chin, dust on the bridge of his nose, wood chips tangled in his hair and he's still goading Kotetsu on, pounding his heels into Kotetsu's back to push him deeper. "One and a half minutes," he says, hoarse, and ragged as it is that stupid smirk's still there.
"Will you move, I can't reach—"
Right. Kotetsu shifts back enough to get a hand around Barnaby's cock but Barnaby slaps it away, jerks himself off instead. Kotetsu watches, or watches as much as he can with his world going red at the edges. Barnaby's motions are fast, sharp, sure, like he's calculated the perfect angles and the right strength and god knows what else. Kotetsu shakes his head and gets back to pounding the breath out of him. He feels each thrust in his bones now, feels the floor tremble under them and maybe even the foundation of the building. Barnaby's stretched tight around him still—everything's stretched tight, even the space behind Kotetsu's eyes, and when he finally comes it’s like everything shatters all at once.
"Get off me," Barnaby mumbles, then with a sigh: "Three seconds."
"Just in the nick of time," he manages before the strength floods out of him.
He's been wrung out after sex before, but not like this. Even breathing hurts, and when he tries to lift his head sirens seem to go off in his ears. He'd cover them, but he can't move his arms, either.
God, his back. What the hell did he do to his back? He hears it snap and creak and he's not even moving.
"Shit," Barnaby says at last.
It takes Kotetsu about five minutes of working his jaw before he can say, "That about covers it."
"I hope I can walk."
"You said you could take it."
Barnaby sighs. "At least the building didn't collapse."
"You owe me a couch."
Barnaby struggles to his elbows, enough that Kotetsu can see him without having to turn his head too much. "I don't owe you a couch. You started it. You always start it."
"Yeah?" Kotetsu grins, just as wide as Barnaby ever has. "This time, I finished it, too."
There aren't any couch cushions left, so Barnaby throws a broken beam at him instead.