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Title: For A Quiet Life
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mardy/Tommy, implied Mardy/Tommy/Marat, implied Carlos/Rafael
Summary: Tempers fray to breaking point when Marat, Tommy and Mardy move into their new headquarters in Zurich.
Notes: Set in the Halcyon universe, between part 11 and the epilogue of Halcyon.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope, not even a little bit.
Dedications: Christmas!fic for [livejournal.com profile] scoobydumblonde, sorry it's not quite Datta but I'm getting closer. ;) This kind've turned into a little bit of a set-up for Datta overall, even though it takes place before Halcyon ends. You probably need to have read Halcyon to get the set-up and backstory, but not the three Datta WiP extracts I posted a while back. Hopefully this'll get everything moving on the Datta front now, since it sets up a couple of things for it. :)




For A Quiet Life

September 13th 2011, New Zurich Headquarters, Switzerland



Mardy's getting tired of being woken by screaming. Not the occasions when Tommy has nightmares and makes enough noise to wake the city, those he can deal with. Even though Marat constantly refusing to tell him why the German gets so upset is starting to get more than a little annoying, Mardy doesn't mind rolling out of bed every other night to coax a shivering Tommy from his latest hiding place. Tommy's special and Mardy knew when he effectively signed up to this whole relationship that he'd probably lose some sleep over it. Tommy getting upset, well, it's just part of who the German is now and Mardy would never hold that against him.

He's not tired of the screams from Rafa and Carlos having sex either, though the two of them combined can be louder than Tommy. After the first night -- when even fucking to the sounds the Spaniards were making lost its charm -- Marat had asked them to move rooms but nothing as small as the space of a hallway and a few walls could block out Rafael when he really got going. The new staff, who Marat decided all needed rooms somewhere in the headquarters for convenience, were starting to look a little bleary-eyed as they went about the mammoth task of unpacking the mountains of paperwork and computers needed to, as Roger put it to Mardy over the phone a few days ago, 'rebuild the world'. The Swiss had had no sympathy for Mardy's predicament, pointing out that not only was he himself confined to a hospital but that he was soon going to be stuck in an even smaller house with attention-span-of-a-goldfish Andy and would probably be certifiably insane by the end of the winter. Both of which were hard points to argue with; none of them, especially Andy, had quite recovered from the panic they’d gone through over Roger getting shot a couple of weeks ago.

Mardy had mumbled something sympathetic but it'd taken no small effort to stop himself asking if there was room for him and Tommy to crash on the floor of Roger’s hospital room. At least until everything was unpacked and Marat had calmed down.

Because that was the problem. Marat was touchy at the best of times but lately, a perpetual glare was directed at anyone who dared get in his way -- Mardy and Tommy included – and the big Russian was more likely to throw heavy objects at people than simply swear at them and stomp off like he used to. Organising the new headquarters for Zurich had been stressful, Mardy knew that, but he and Tommy had come through it without throwing anything so he didn’t see why Marat had to overreact every time someone so much as breathed loudly near him. Then Carlos arrived four days ago and things had just—

"MI DIOS MARAT, HOW CAN YOU BE SO STUPID?!"

And things had just got much worse.

"BECAUSE I HAVE YOUR SHINING EXAMPLE TO GUIDE ME CARLOS!" Marat's scream comes echoing through the closed bedroom door and Mardy groans, dragging a pillow over his head. They must've started early this morning because the sun's barely creeping through the gaps between the unpacked boxes stacked high in front of the window. Mardy doesn't think he can take much more of it; rephrases that to 'definitely can't take much more' when the next screamed Spanish insult makes him blush even through the muffling pillow.

Carlos must've learned that one from Rafael. Ouch.

It's not just irritating though, all the fighting. Every disagreement between Marat and Carlos is taking longer to sort out, every hissed insult adding another half hour onto their unpacking time. They'd planned to be up and running now, getting food and shelter to as many people as possible before the Swiss winter closed in. Not to mention dealing with the countless small gangs that had sprung up the instant the Corporation vanished, some helpful, some... well, some Mardy would love to get within knife reach of. Instead most of each day is dedicated to simply keeping Carlos and Marat from killing each other, occasionally keeping Rafael and Carlos from killing Marat whenever the younger Spaniard decides his boyfriend needs defending. Equally difficult, if slightly more entertaining, are the times when Rafa is upset with Carlos for some imagined slight and sides with Marat. It happened yesterday morning and the three of them destroyed half the windows on the third floor before Mardy had managed to confiscate their stockpile of easily-throwable objects. He's starting to wonder whether Marat had an ulterior motive for 'saving' all the precious artefacts from various museums around Zurich. Most of them are just the right size for throwing after all and it's not like the Russian stops to consider how priceless what he breaks is.

How heavy it is and how much damage it's likely to do, well, that he's getting damn good at judging.

It's gone suspiciously quiet outside. Cautiously, Mardy eases the pillow off his head and holds his breath, eyes fixed on the door. Just when he's about to let himself believe they've stopped, there's a stream of yelled Russian and something shatters against the door from the outside with a massive crash. Curled in Mardy's arms with his face pressed to the American's shoulder, Tommy jerks awake with a gasp at the noise.

"Hey Hasi, shhh." Mardy keeps a tight hold on Tommy until the German's focused on him, sleepy frown relaxing into recognition. Mardy heard once that even the sanest of people are certifiably insane in the split second after they've woken up, so it makes sense that it goes double for Tommy. The German once dozed off on a chair in the hospital while they were staying there with Roger, only to nearly break the arm of the nurse who tried to wake him. They'd all apologised profusely but Marat decided, and Mardy agreed, that it was time they found somewhere more permanent to move in. Roger suggested the now-vacant Corporation headquarters in Zurich as a good, central base and somehow, within a few days, that's exactly where they'd ended up. Mardy wasn't sure choosing somewhere so cold had been the smartest move but it was too late now. Though hell, at least in Spain he could've slept on the beach when Marat and Carlos got too loud.

There's another crash that has Tommy flinching again, whimpering into Mardy's shoulder and the American realises with a sigh that it's going to be a bad day. Tommy has one every so often, something inexplicably pushing him a little further down to the path to crazy than usual and it never ends well. They'd had to sedate him once in the hospital which only made everything worse; waking up groggy and upset, he'd almost screamed the place down.

Hugging his shivering boyfriend closer, Mardy grits his teeth. Marat's known Tommy the longest, he should know better than to raise his voice. Should but apparently doesn't, as another screamed Russian curse has Tommy clinging to him harder.

"Ssshh Tommy, it's just Marat being a dumbass again." Stroking a hand over the German's soft hair, Mardy glances worriedly at the door. If Marat shuts up, there's a chance they'll get Tommy calmed down again in time to still achieve something with the day but, from the sound of the screams, Rafa's joined in now and there'll be no stopping them short of physical force. Tommy's pressed against him, almost vibrating with fear and there's no way Mardy can leave him to go separate the screaming Spaniards and Russian outside, so he goes for the next best thing. Shifting his arms to keep stroking the German's hair, he lets his other hand drift down over warm, scarred skin to rub gently against Tommy's ass.

"Tommy," he whispers, rocking his hips into Tommy's just a little, feeling the German's cock harden against his thigh. They're both naked already which makes this easier, distracting Tommy with sex always made much more difficult by the slowing process of removing clothes. "Tommy ignore them. They don't mean it."

"They're so loud." A muffled gasp into his shoulder, the tension trembling Tommy against him not enough to stop the German grinding his hips into Mardy's, pleasure enough to make them both catch their breath. "He gets so mad Mardy."

"Not at you Hasi."

"Sometimes at me," Tommy mutters resentfully.

Mardy goes still, sudden shock rendering him speechless for a moment. "Wha… You mean he’s been yelling at you?" If he so much as suspects Marat’s been yelling at Tommy again, then he and Tommy will be on a plane back to Paris in the time it takes them to get dressed and to the airport. Of all people, the Russian should know how dangerous Tommy can be when he gets really upset and yelling at the German, of all the stupid things to do—

"No." Tommy’s mumbled answer has Mardy relaxing weakly back into the pillows; Marat hasn’t been taking his frustration out on Tommy and the German’s next words prove it’s just another of his paranoia attacks over Marat not loving him, something Mardy’s getting used to dealing with every few days now. "He barely talks to me anymore Mardy, not even like he talks to you. He ignores me except to fuck me." Tears drip wetly onto Mardy’s shoulder and trickle down his chest as Tommy sniffles, starting to grind his cock harder into the American’s thigh. "Fuck me Mardy, please—"

It’s tempting, the best way to calm Tommy down being to fuck him into the mattress but Mardy’s getting tired of it. Tommy’s more than just something to keep quiet. Crazy or not, it is possible to talk to him -- even if it sometimes takes longer to sort it out that way than with sex. Tommy’s dick rubbing hard against his thigh is more than a little distracting but Mardy grits his teeth and slides back far enough to tilt Tommy’s head up so he can meet the German’s eyes.

"Tommy," he says firmly. "Marat loves you. He may not be too good at showing it sometimes but he does."
A split second when Tommy blinks and Mardy thinks he’s got through to him, another half second for him to see the green eyes narrow and no time at all for him to react before he’s slammed onto his back, Tommy crouched over him with his hands pinning Mardy’s wrists to the bed. All the air driven out of his lungs on impact, Mardy gasps for breath and arcs up beneath his boyfriend, fighting the tight grip on his wrists.

"Tommy," he demands in a tone of voice he rarely uses, brought out by the trickle of icy fear shivering down his spine. "Tommy, let go now."

There’s a long, terrifying second when Tommy just stares at him, tears still streaking his face, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he hesitates. It’s the expression Mardy hates most because it’s always a fifty-fifty situation, Tommy sometimes himself enough to listen, sometimes too lost in his own head to care. It’s the war between the Tommy they’ve managed to reclaim, the person who’ll let Mardy teach him guitar chords and tease Marat when the Russian’s sulking, and the Tommy who gave Mardy a four inch knife scar along his left hip because the American surprised him.

But after a moment Tommy’s tension begins to relax, fresh tears welling up and Mardy sighs in relief, disaster averted. The relief lasts all of a second and then something smashes against the door, loud enough to have Mardy flinching instinctively. The grip on his wrists abruptly vanishes, followed by a thud as Tommy half-falls off the bed and, opening his eyes, Mardy barely has time to sit up before the German is through the door and out of sight.

"Shit." Off the bed and stalking towards the door, Mardy tugs on his jeans almost as an afterthought, struggling to fasten the button as he walks out to find Marat, Carlos and Rafael all staring at him blankly. "See what you’ve done? You fucking idiots, did you even think what you were doing, screaming outside our door this early in the morning?"

Marat’s expression darkens, lip curling into a sneer as he turns to glare at Carlos. "I wouldn’t have been screaming if Carlos hadn’t been such a pajúo-"

"MARAT." Even Mardy is surprised by his furious tone, Marat spinning round to stare at him in shock. "This is at least as much your fault as his so I want you both to stop screaming at each other and grow the fuck up while I sort Tommy out. Understand?"

"But he--"

"I don't care!" The only time Mardy's been this angry at Marat before was back in the caves, just after he found out the Russian hadn't told him Andy had been caught by the Corporation. He'd hit Marat then and he can see the Russian remembers it too, a suddenly wary look in the dark eyes.

"Mardy, I didn't mean--"

Mardy cuts him off. "I don't care what you meant, or what you were thinking. Shut up or grow up, understand? Tommy's going to take all day to calm down and it's just another waste of a day, on top of everything and the last thing I need is you and Carlos arguing over what colour office chairs to get or whatever inane disagreement you were having this morning, alright?!"

Unexpectedly, Marat's lips twitch into a half smile. "Actually we're pretty much making do with whatever chairs we can find."

"Well-" Staying furious in the face of Marat's charm is impossible, at least without a large amount of effort and it's just too early in the morning. Not quite managing a smile in answer, Mardy at least allows his tone to soften. "That's something. Which way did Tommy go?"

"Upstairs." Worry clouds the smile on Marat's face and he takes a step forward, hesitantly. "I should come with you. He's my boyfriend too."

Now he realises that, Mardy thinks to himself, irritated, but it'd only start another fight if he said it, so he bites it back. Marat does look genuinely worried and if Mardy can forgive Tommy for being crazy, he can forgive Marat for not always thinking before he started fights. "No, it's you who've upset him. I'll go calm him down while you sort things out with Carlos."

"I'll sort things out if Marat agrees to be reasonable--" Carlos starts to object but gets smacked on the arm by Rafa before Mardy can do more than open his mouth. "Rafa! Wha-"

"Mardy's right." Rafael's glaring at the older Spaniard furiously and for a moment Mardy could kiss him, because he's not used to having anyone -- at least anyone sane -- on his side anymore. "You're acting like children. Get along or--"

"Or there'll be no sex for a month," Mardy finishes over his shoulder as he walks away towards the stairs, tiptoeing cautiously through the shards of ceramic and glass littering the floor. There's a chorus of hastily-stifled gasps behind him.

"Mardy!" Marat and Rafael sound equally horrified, enough to make Mardy struggle to hold back a smile. "That's--"

"-- my final offer. No fighting, or no sex. PICK ONE!" He shouts the last words back over his shoulder before he rounds a corner and the incoherent splutters from the three of them fade away. It's a fair threat in his mind, especially when he knows Marat will do anything, including swallowing his pride, for sex. He'd be willing to bet that any disagreements will be sorted by the time he's done convincing Tommy to calm down.

"Should've threatened him days ago," he mutters to himself as he starts to climb the stairs, pausing to wince as he catches sight of himself in a mirror. He's wearing only crumpled jeans, ripped across one knee, and the silver identity bracelet Andy gave him that he only ever takes off to shower. It catches the light as he pushes his hand back through tangled blond hair and he sighs. Andy could practically be called low maintenance in comparison to Tommy and Marat, though he's not sure yet whether he envies Roger. Maybe just a little.

He doesn't let himself consider it might be jealousy rather than envy. That's a path he never wants to go down.

At the top of the stairs he hesitates. The hallway stretches out in front of him, empty except for a few scattered boxes and dust. No one's made it up this far in the unpacking effort yet, since the bedrooms only take up the second and third floors of this wing and there hasn't been enough of them to spill over onto the fourth yet. He's not sure why Tommy ran up here, except that the German has a tendency to run for higher places rather than say, the basement.

"Tommy?" he ventures softly, taking a step down the hall. The first door has nothing more than an empty room behind it and he keeps going, trying door after door. He finds a small kitchen behind one and makes a mental note of it, since even getting a cup of coffee downstairs can take a good half-an-hour while waiting for a turn with the kettle but there's no Tommy in any of the rooms. He's about to give up and storm back downstairs to demand an explanation from Marat when he steps into a room that makes him stop short.

"Wow."

It's huge, a dusty, empty expanse of cream carpet from wall to wall, unbroken apart from a battered four-poster bed in one corner. Mardy's not interested in it; he gives it a brief glance and then his eyes go back to the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the extra height of the fourth floor making all the difference. Downstairs all they can see are buildings and a few trees but from here, he can see clear across Lake Zurich to the mountains beyond, a patchwork of rooftops and streets against the icy blue of the lake.

Starting to walk over to get a better look -- already planning the best way to talk Marat into moving their bedroom up here, because *wow*, that view would make even being woken by yelling okay -- Mardy's attention is caught by a choked sniffle. Instantly all thoughts of moving rooms and the Swiss scenery are gone; he's found Tommy huddled in the corner nearest the windows and is across the room before he's even had time to murmur the first syllable of "Tommy."

The German's sitting with his knees drawn up, head down and his legs crossed at the ankles so one foot is off the floor. Mardy frowns at the odd position as he crouches down, confused until he spots the smear of red on the carpet and hisses through his teeth with worry. Tommy flinches when he rests a hand gently on the German's ankle, turning the foot to get a better look. There are a few splinters of glass lodged in the skin, small enough to let him relax a little even as Tommy whimpers.

"Shhh," Mardy soothes him, mentally swearing to give Marat hell for inadvertently injuring their boyfriend. He knows Tommy runs around in bare feet all the time; leaving broken glass outside their bedroom probably qualifies him for whole new levels of stupid. "It's okay Tommy, they're just splinters. Can I take them out?"

A nod, half hidden behind the hair falling over Tommy's face and accompanied by another sniffle. Mardy hesitates, wondering if he should get the first aid box but knowing it'll mean leaving Tommy alone again, probably to find the German's vanished by the time he gets back. Another sniffle makes him decide; he settles himself more comfortably and rests Tommy's foot across his folded legs, studying the splinters before carefully easing the first one out.

"Marat's agreed to work things out with Carlos," he says quietly, wincing in sympathy at Tommy's muffled sounds of pain. Three of the splinters are out, the German's foot twitching under Mardy's hands with each one. "He won't yell anymore."

There's no answer from Tommy, not even a sign that he heard. With a sigh, Mardy focuses on the glass until he's sure he's got every piece, dropping them in a small heap to one side. None are very big, no thanks to Marat he thinks with a hint of resentment, and he'll find the antiseptic later, when Tommy's calmed down. He smiles at the German's shiver when he rubs his hand over Tommy's foot and up his leg, enjoying the feel of the hair against his palm.

"So. Marat's calmed down, he's worried about you, and there'll be no more yelling, I'll make sure of it." Leaning forward, he tilts his head to peer up at Tommy's face through the curtain of brown hair, keeping his tone lightly teasing. "I think I deserve a smile for all that."

"You only shut Marat up because you threatened no sex." It's muttered, muffled because Tommy's got his chin tucked right down against his chest but Mardy's surprised blink is enough to get a smile, a bare twitch of the German's lips behind the tangled strands of hair. "I was listening on the stairs."
"Because you're a brat," Mardy tells him, happily because it looks like it isn't going to be one of those days after all, not when Tommy's coherent enough to talk calmly. He risks shifting to sit beside the German, wrapping an arm around his bare shoulders and it gets the response he was hoping for as Tommy snuggles in close. They sit in silence for a minute, Mardy idly stroking his fingertips over warm, soft skin and content to wait for the other man to make the first move. The first, open-mouthed kiss dragged over his shoulder isn't even a surprise.

"Mardy," Tommy whispers against wet skin and his voice sends shivers through the American. "I scared you earlier."

Pinned against a wall, Tommy's snarl inches from his face--

"Yes." Mardy swallows, forcing his voice to stay neutral even as he shuts his eyes against the memory. "I'm sorry Hasi but you know you scare me when you pin me down. I don't like it."

A shift in the body pressed against his, Tommy turning further to wrap his arms around his waist and the American shivers again at the contrast of warm skin and cool air. Trying not to think of how close they were to sex just a few minutes ago downstairs isn't helping and hey, he may have threatened Marat with no sex but he never promised to include himself and Tommy in the deal. In his own defence, apologetic Tommy does things to him, makes his knees weak and his stomach tie itself in knots; Marat's teased him for his maternal side more than once but Mardy thinks it's not just that, knows it isn't when Tommy lifts his head to look at him with wide eyes and bottom lip trembling, tear tracks down his cheeks silvery in the morning sun through the window. No one could resist that.

At least, that's the mental excuse Mardy makes as he's climbing into his boyfriend's lap, curving one hand against a tear-wet cheek and tangling the other in Tommy's hair, mouth pressing hard to lips laced with salt. He's had a stressful few days, Tommy's calmed down now so this fine, it's okay, excuses flashing through his mind as he braces a hand on the window behind them, palm sliding slickly on glass when Tommy pushes up into his weight, dick pressing hard to Mardy's through worn denim. They grind together for a while, too long for Mardy who wants skin on skin only that involves working buttons and he isn't sure either of them are capable right now.

"Mardy," Tommy's whimpering into the kiss. "Mardy, Mardy, please, Mardy--"

"Please what?" There's a rhythm now, hips pushing together for maximum friction, their breath coming in short gasps that sound thunderous in the empty room and the part of Mardy's mind that isn't focused on the heat of Tommy's dick between them wishes he'd thought to lock the door. Not that anyone would be overly surprised to see them; there's an inevitable degree of exhibitionism in their threesome, given that one third of it is crazy and one a Russian who thinks of sex first and explanations later. Mardy's getting over the remnants of his shyness remarkably fast.

"Please-" Tommy's pressed back against the glass, face shadowed by the sun that's rising over the distant mountains. It occurs to Mardy briefly that someone might look up from the street below and then he dismisses it, as improbable or not worth caring about, not when his jeans are tight to the point of pain now and Tommy's fingers are fumbling with the zipper. He takes a hand off the window to help, leaves a wet handprint painted in sweat across the glass. Everything gets in the way of undoing his jeans; his hand; Tommy's hand; Tommy's dick; then finally, finally just when he was about to scream, it snaps open and he's fighting his way from sweat-damp denim without leaving Tommy's lap. Jeans tossed aside, not looking where and there's a pause as he resettles himself across the German's thighs with a wince for the rub of damp skin on skin, Tommy's chest heaving under his hands.

Bracing himself against the window again, Mardy watches the German as he tries to catch his breath. He's biased but he still thinks there's nothing more beautiful than Tommy naked, except possibly Tommy naked with Marat fucking him, moving together in a glistening tangle of skin, a patchwork of scars, especially Tommy, but no less beautiful for it. Tommy hates his to be touched but Mardy maps Marat's sometimes when the Russian is sleeping, pushing back the sheets and memorising the pattern of smooth skin and rough by touch and moonlight, the shape and size of each imperfection and what might've caused it. Sometimes Marat will half-wake under the exploring fingertips, explain a particular mark in slow, sleepy words to Mardy before drifting away again, often mid-sentence. He's beautiful then too, a smile catching in the shadow of his lips as Mardy kisses him, curls spread in a dark fan across the pillows but, in a dark, buried corner where he refuses to look too often, Mardy knows it's Tommy he loves more, Tommy that he might have had a relationship with if the opportunity came up, if Andy and Marat and the world ending hadn't been factors in the messed up equation that was his life these last few years. Marat's charming -- when he wants to be -- beautiful, confident in the way that made you believe anything he told you -- and Mardy knows if they were still tennis players, he’d never have taken more than a passing glance at the Russian.

It's something he hasn't quite got around to rationalising yet. Not to mention it's all made a hundred times more complicated by-

"Mardy," Tommy begs, head leant back against the window, flushed and with red lips parted. "Why've you stopped?"

- by this, by Tommy and everything that's too big to so much as consider right now and Mardy puts it out of his mind, finding Tommy's wrist without looking and bringing the hand to his mouth to suck on the fingers. Relationships and the bigger picture, it doesn't matter when Tommy's moaning between his thighs and when Mardy knows where the fingers in his mouth are going to be soon.

Not soon enough though; he eases Tommy’s hand from his mouth and guides it down, kneeling up to give them room. The German’s eyes flicker open as Mardy presses the tips of the wet fingers to his own ass. He looks surprised through the lust, lips curving down with uncertainty and Mardy can’t swallow his groan as the fingertips pressed to his asshole twitch.

“You’ll let me?”

Disbelief that hurts Mardy’s feelings, just a little, because he’s lost count of the times he’s mentioned switching, no matter that the suggestion is always met with a glare from Marat, another thing the Russian refuses to explain. “Yes… If you want to—“ The slide of wet fingers into his ass is enough to cut him off, two together and he pushes into them with a gasp. He bottoms frequently for Marat, used to the stretch but Tommy’s different, rougher in a way that suggests lack of experience or practice maybe. Rocking against them anyway, he bites his lip and tilts his head back as Tommy drags wet lips and tongue over his throat.

“Can’t believe we haven’t done this before,” he gasps and Tommy’s giggle makes him smile, even through the burn as the fingers in him scissor. One rubs his prostate and his back arcs, everything suddenly hot and sparks going off in blurs of white behind his eyelids. The whine in his throat when Tommy slides his fingers out echoes around the room.

“Will you scream for me?” Tommy whispers and oh god, Mardy hadn’t thought he could be harder than he was but he was wrong, shuddering under the hot breathing against his throat, Tommy dragging his teeth over it too lightly to mark the skin. The German leans back just long enough to spit into his hand, Mardy realising he had lube in his jeans pocket too late to be of use as Tommy’s mouth is back on his and a wet cock presses into him, bigger, better than the comparatively tiny stretch of fingers. Waiting to adjust isn’t so much as an option, too much build up and he’s moving before Tommy’s fully in, edge of pain ignored.

They rock for a moment, finding the best position though Mardy’s already resigned to the bruises he’ll have on his knees, then Tommy slams up hard and faster and perfect, Mardy’s scream out before he can hold it back. Sweat stings his eyes as he opens them to see Tommy watching him, flushed, pinned back against the window that’s a mess of handprints and smears by now, not that Mardy cares. He moves faster, spreading his legs wider to get Tommy in deeper and almost comes from the thought.

“Tommy,” he grinds out through clenched teeth and doesn’t need to ask the question, barely needs to think it before there’s a callused, damp hand on his dick, squeezing, and he screams again as he comes. Part of him is aware of Tommy shivering against him, hips jerking and the hot wetness of come inside him but barely, as if from a distance through the haze of orgasm that’s all that matters, everything blanking out for a split second before he lets his head tiredly sink down to Tommy’s shoulder.

“We have to do that again,” he mumbles after a minute, taking Tommy’s grunt for agreement. He aches, knees already protesting their rough treatment but he doesn’t need to move just yet anyway. Tommy’s warm, the perfect pillow.

Until a hand touches his shoulder. He jerks back too quickly, drawing a yelp of pain from Tommy that has him freezing instantly, soothing the German with a kiss before glancing back to see Marat crouched behind them. The Russian looks a little flushed.

“Hey,” he says quietly. Mardy shifts to one side of Tommy with a wince for everything that hurts, which is a lot. He’ll have to remember to bring pillows to cushion his knees next time.

“Hey.” A tired blink is the most he can summon towards questioning Marat but the Russian understands.

“I worked it out with Carlos. We promise to stop yelling.”

“Mmmmm. Good,” Mardy murmurs but without really listening, turning to rest his forehead against the cool glass. Tommy’s a warm, sticky weight leaning into him on his left and after a moment, Marat moves to sit on the other side, lips brushing soft against Mardy’s ear.

“He let you bottom?”

“You were watching,” Mardy makes it a statement, ignoring the question. Marat’s shoulder shrugs against his but Mardy can hear the worry beneath the forced casual edge to the Russian’s tone.

“Should I not have done? I didn’t want to interrupt but you were so… I couldn’t…”

Lifting a hand shouldn’t be an effort but it takes Mardy a second to make tired muscles work, patting Marat’s thigh in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, too tired and sated to judge. “It’s fine. Sort of kinky actually.” He adds the latter in as teasing a tone as he can manage and Marat’s smile curves against his cheek, almost a kiss.

“Good.”

“I don’t mind either, thanks for asking,” Tommy mutters from Mardy’s other side. With a groan, Mardy buries his face in Marat’s t-shirt and thinks maybe, he might never move again. Everything’s okay, Tommy’s happy, Marat’s happy, some great sex is behind him and there’s most of a day still to use if they feel like doing work anytime soon. He’s not even going to ask Marat why Tommy hates topping so much, not when it’s that and risk starting a fight with no answer, or enjoy the peace while it lasts.

After all, it probably won’t last for long.


~ Fin ~


Date: 2005-12-26 07:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] e-goddess.livejournal.com
I didn't realize how much I missed this universe until I read this.

MORE DATTA NOW!

Oh, ahem. Sorry about that.

I just love crazy Tommy. And caretaking Mardy. And surly Marat. The only thing I like better is Tommy/Mardy/Marat love. They are just too yummy together.

The little added Carlos/Rafa drama was nice, too.

Thanks for writing!

(More Datta soon? Pretty, pretty please?)

Date: 2005-12-27 04:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] atheneglaukopis.livejournal.com
*pop*

That is the sound of a lurker emerging from cyberspace. I've been enjoying your work for a couple of months now, and now that I've received a live update in my favorite universe, I thought it was time I told you so. You are a fantastic writer. Your characterization is fabulous, the equal of anything I've seen among published authors. You have a good writing style with a good turn of phrase, and your plotting is not bad. Perhaps best of all, you have a solid feel for what details to include and what to leave out for best effect.

In conclusion, this was a great Christmas present for me as well! The only thing I really have to offer in return would be grammar/spelling beta services, should you want to take me up on that.

Date: 2005-12-27 06:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] scoobydumblonde.livejournal.com
Best Christmas Present I received. Seriously. SO much I want to say, but right now I'm just happily drooling over the Tommy/Mardy sex. I promise you proper feedback when I stop drooling. ;-)

Date: 2006-01-04 06:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] liroa15.livejournal.com
So yeah, you realize this only means I want more Datta, and I want it now. Especially since you've been working on it for months and it was your NanoWriMo and everything.

I loved this so much. I loved how protective Mardy was of Tommy and I love how their experiences have turned everyone into little pychos, just as much as Tommy, but in different ways. I think they all need anger management classes pronto, but Mardy's suggestion seems to work just as well. ;)

Date: 2006-03-05 06:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] insidebrowneyes.livejournal.com
Precious Child of God,

Hi there everyone. I am a tennis fan, and I am a Christian. When I saw this, I felt complelled to help you young ladies back onto the path so you can walk joyfully with god and free yourselves from your poronography addictions and your misguided beliefs of sexuality. Sex is a gift from God to be shared between a married man and a married women and should be free of lust and dirty pleasure. Sex between two males is wrong. Homosexuality is not to be revered, the poor victims who have succumed to this lifestyle need our help to please God with their bodies in a way that shows the beauty of secxuality and procreation and free of the sin of homosexuality. Homosexuality is the creation of Satan, the enemy of God who wants to destroy the beauty of the world that He created. I urge you to consider this and to comment to me so that I can help you find the love of God once more. Slash is a misuse of the precious gift of sexuality that God has given us to worship and Please Him. Please do not mustuse this gift, please do not continue to sink deeper into sin! HE LOVES YOU. Jesus wants you to live your life in a beautiful way - Marrigae, Children, Love and Praise for Him! Do not turn your back on your Father. The love of Jesus is far deeper than any immoral homosexual sexual fantasy can be.

I will say this prayer for you ladies and for all those infilcted with the disease of Homosexuality:

I refuse to be the slave of Satan longer!
I will not bow to his sick perversions and corrupted filth!
I shall not succumb to his foul, cleverly crafted plans!
I defy his insidious intentions!
For years, he has held me in a chokehold of lust and loneliness!
He has tempted my senses with plumped feminine faces and images!
Caressed my heart with cravings for warm embraces!
My lips have received the kiss of deceit and despair!
No more shall I taste his darkest evil!
I reject his false love fully!
God made me to be a monk, and I shall be just that!
I shall spit in the face Satan, the deceiver of nations shall fall!
The foul destroyer of worlds will be crushed by God's grace!
I condemn Satan to eternal damnation!
I am raised upon an edifice of eternal love and life!
The Holy Spirit within me thrusts a sword to pierce the evil one's twisted, contorted heart!
I hate Satan, because he is sin, the root of all evil!
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, may Satan flee from me!
Satan will not prevent my entry into the angelic life, for the power of God and the army of the Saints are my strength!

Please also visit http://www.mormon.com

Date: 2006-03-05 06:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fionaandlossi.livejournal.com
I'll be saying this prayer for you sweetheart:

I refuse to be a pawn of religious bigots any longer!
I will not bow to their out-dated and prejudiced ideals!
I shall not succumb to idiotic trolling!
I defy your intentions!
For years you have been brainwashed!

...You know what, I'm bored now. Please get out of my religion, you're making the rest of us sane Christians look bad.

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