broadwriting (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
broadwriting) wrote2006-02-14 10:23 pm
broadwriting) wrote2006-02-14 10:23 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: "Terms of the Bet" 1/1 (Football RPS)
Title: "Terms of the Bet" 1/1
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Matt Hasselbeck/Ben Roethlisberger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Small talk about the Pro Bowl. Takes place (not quite) immediately after this. (written by Jo.)
Disclaimer: Never happened, isn't happening now.
Author's notes: All aboard the Special-Hell Bus!!!!
"Alright, so, if the NFC wins, you expect me to wear the skirt? That sound about right?" Calloused fingers wrap around the small jar of marmalade while hazel eyes glance up in curiosity.
"You're the one hammering on about the skirt." White teeth flash in a bright grin. On the table in front of them, there's enough food to feed an army. The breeze blowing across their private balcony carries the salty tang of the ocean. And the two of them are sprawled comfortably together, legs tangled, naked...and likely to stay that way until they have to be somewhere.
"Well, the skirt was the original bet."
Blue eyes narrow as a stray bit of marmalade drops in the webbing between a forefinger and thumb. Warm lips cover the spot before the other's even aware the movement. Small, inward smile at the hitch of breath, tongue flickering out, lightning-quick, before pulling back. "Forty-eight hours."
"That's what you want?" The question is accompanied by a heated look, a liquid-slow kiss.
"That's what I want."
"And if the AFC wins?"
The reply is soft, challenging, as long fingers glide along a muscled thigh. "Anything you want."
"Oh, I'm going to love this bet..."
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Football RPS
Pairing: Matt Hasselbeck/Ben Roethlisberger
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Small talk about the Pro Bowl. Takes place (not quite) immediately after this. (written by Jo.)
Disclaimer: Never happened, isn't happening now.
Author's notes: All aboard the Special-Hell Bus!!!!
"Alright, so, if the NFC wins, you expect me to wear the skirt? That sound about right?" Calloused fingers wrap around the small jar of marmalade while hazel eyes glance up in curiosity.
"You're the one hammering on about the skirt." White teeth flash in a bright grin. On the table in front of them, there's enough food to feed an army. The breeze blowing across their private balcony carries the salty tang of the ocean. And the two of them are sprawled comfortably together, legs tangled, naked...and likely to stay that way until they have to be somewhere.
"Well, the skirt was the original bet."
Blue eyes narrow as a stray bit of marmalade drops in the webbing between a forefinger and thumb. Warm lips cover the spot before the other's even aware the movement. Small, inward smile at the hitch of breath, tongue flickering out, lightning-quick, before pulling back. "Forty-eight hours."
"That's what you want?" The question is accompanied by a heated look, a liquid-slow kiss.
"That's what I want."
"And if the AFC wins?"
The reply is soft, challenging, as long fingers glide along a muscled thigh. "Anything you want."
"Oh, I'm going to love this bet..."
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So are we all. *g*
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Good thing, as we still have more to come. *g*
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*thud* It's pretty, so pretty, the amount of wanting and love being conveyed with almost nothing. Yay.
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