The One-Shots
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
1,607
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
1,607
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Time
AN:This is a strange little thing that came out yesterday. It\'s uneven and it has much less sex than I had intended when I started it and it\'s scifi, but it\'s still slash, so a-posting I will go.
Time
It was too long a story to get all into so, suffice it to say, Jarit was no longer in the present- or what he generally thought of as the present- time like everything else- faith, truth, location, one\'s place in the universe- was relative. Jarit\'s present had been arbitrarily named 2413 or thereabouts, but the present he was presently enduring was July, 1953- 450 years earlier. He was in a place called New Jersey- at least for the time being. He\'d been in this time for almost a month doing what he could to blend in with the locals and not upset the stream of time. This was because if one went mucking about in the time stream, one never knew when one might run into his own great, great, great (great to the nth power) grandmother, bugger her and become one\'s own (great to the nth power) grandpa, which of course was a highly disturbing possibility. There was also the even more disturbing possibility that buggering one\'s own ancestor could make her unavailable to the real fellow she should have been buggering all along and then one has buggered oneself right out of existence.
Therefore, whenever time traveling, Jarit made sure that it was men only- and really, that was much more pleasing to him anyway.
So, Jarit had spent three months in 1953 New Jersey and found that a good man to lay was pretty damn hard to find. (Although, there seemed to be an abundance of goats available for anyone coming down the lane to have go at and the people here just seemed to look the other way on that one. Too bad he was a bottom- it was unbelievably hard to convince a Billy goat to fuck you if you weren\'t a she goat and then there would likely be biting and serious bruising from the hoof- not that Jarit had any practical knowledge on that subject, of course.) So, the point being- Jarit was getting a bit frustrated. What was worse was that there didn\'t seem to be anyone he could even complain to about it. He\'d mentioned a desire to find a good bathhouse to a fellow in a pub the first week he\'d been there and he\'d gotten a good swift kick out the door for it. He should have done more research on his destimation before he left.
He did have one hope- he was sharing a flat with an athletic looking bloke name of Parnell, Richard Parnell and Richard seemed like he just might be keen on Jarit. The rub being that of he wasn\'t, then Jarit would likely be out of a place to sleep along with the beat down that Richard would be able to give him if he didn\'t like what Jarit was getting at. Still, his hand was no longer sufficient, so Jarit decided to have a try at it.
\"Say Dicky,\" Jarit opened with as he set himself down next to his flat mate on the divan. \"What\'s the score?\" Now, Jarit didn\'t care what the answer to the question was- he didn\'t even know exactly what the sport that the radio receiver was spewing out was, except that Dicky liked to listen to the matches and was always in a loose and glad mood if the team called Yankees took the match.
\"Yanks five, Sox nine,\" Dicky replied disgusted and switched off the toggle for the power. He got up and retrieved a beer for each of them from the icebox. Jarit was still not used to drinking them cold, but it was growing on him some. At least when they were cold, he couldn\'t taste how like horse piss they were. What he wouldn’t give for a good pint of Guinness.
\"Sorry. They could still rally,\" Jarit consoled, again not having a clue what exactly that would entail, but knowing that it was the right thing to say just then.
\"Nah- doesn\'t matter anyway.\" Dicky swallowed the rest of his beer, threw the empty bottle in the waste bin and said, \"You wanna go shoot some hoops? I\'m feeling kind of twitchy.\"
\"Certainly,\" Jarit agreed and followed Dicky out of the flat, leaving half his beer on the table to get warm. Partway down the stairs, Dicky stopped short and Jarit came up hard against his solid back. He smelled good. Jarit backed up a stair so he wasn\'t on top of Dicky anymore and Dicky turned around.
\"You know what? I don’t want to play basketball,\" Dicky explained.
\"You don\'t? Then what do you want to play?\"
\"Not sure. Not basketball is all I know.\"
Dicky pushed past him on the stairs and made for the apartment.
Once they were inside the flat again, Dicky couldn\'t seem to still himself. He spent several minutes tidying the sitting room with an eye for the oddest details- fluffing the throw pillows and straightening the bric-a-brac before getting himself another beer and taking a large gulp of it. After swallowing nearly half the beer, he set the bottle down too hard on the kitchen counter, said, \"All right, then,\" and stepped up to Jarit, who\'d been quietly standing in the sitting room corner staying out of the way of whatever it was that Dicky was doing.
Dicky gave him a worried look, took a deep breath and kissed him. Thank you Dicky. It was about time.
Jarit slid his arms around his flat mate\'s shoulders and held on tight. Dicky was kissing him with a singular determination that Jarit wouldn\'t have interrupted for all the world on a platter. Dicky crushed him into the corner- as if he thought that Jarit might want to escape- crushed him in so that he could hardly breathe- or that just might have been Dicky\'s tongue- his hot, thick tongue that was needfully exploring Jarit\'s mouth, working across his face and round to the side of his jaw, then up to the sweet spot behind his ear and down again to the juncture of neck and shoulder to suck and bite and lick.
\"Dicky-\"
\"No talking.\"
\"It\'s just- do you want to fuck me?\" Jarit offered.
\"Ohh,\" Dicky breathed before grabbing Jarit\'s wrist and dragging him towards his bedroom.
***
The next morning Jarit had to admit to himself that he\'d already finished the job he\'d been in that time to do days before and that he\'d only stayed on until the Dicky broke the tension between them and buggered him into next week. Jarit looked over at Dicky sleeping so contented and knew that he\'d better get before he tried staying and risked everything- his whole career just to stay with this man. So, Jarit got gingerly out from the bed, packed his things, set the dials and winked into the future.
***
\"Good dispatch, Jarit?\"
\"Standard, really. How are my numbers?\"
\"99.974 percent- another superior dispatch.\"
\"Thanks. Just out of curiosity, what caused the variation in the time stream?\"
\"Uh- let me have a look- fellow you interacted with- Richard Parnell.\"
\"What happened to Richard Parnell?\"
\"Offed himself right after you left.\"
\"Oh- how much longer should he have lived.\"
\"Shorter, actually- the old record had his suicide placed three weeks earlier. Guess you gave him something to live for.\"
\"Right. I guess I did.\"
***
THREE YEARS LATER
\"Dispatcher Taylor- Jarit, my boy, come in.\"
\"Thank you, Architect.\"
\"211.\"
\"Yes. One more dispatch.\"
\"Not that many dispatchers make it to the end, you know.\"
\"I\'m aware, sir. I\'ve been very lucky.\"
\"Lucky is not the reason you\'ve done such fine work, my boy. You were born for this work. It\'s almost a shame to retire you from it- except for the cellular degeneration that going past 212 would cause, of course.\"
\"I\'m not sure what I\'ll do with my time, sir.\"
\"Ah- very amusing- time. I never tire of that joke, even though I hear it all the time.\"
\"It is a classic, sir.\"
\"So, to the point of this meeting- there is a well known rumor that any dispatcher who succeeds in completing 211 dispatches is allowed to choose the time and location of his or her final trip and thereby correct a nagging mistake or make minor changes to the time stream- such as to retrieve something that would be unlikely to be missed.\"
\"I\'ve heard that rumor myself, Architect.\"
\"It is utterly and completely true. So, on the morrow, you will have free reign over time itself- so long as changes remain within tolerable variant levels.\"
\"Thank you, sir.\"
***
\"All set, Jarit?\"
\"I believe so.\"
\"I\'ll need some information about your destimation and return. Will you be retrieving something larger than five pounds?\"
\"Yes- approximately 210 pounds.\"
\"Sounds like a person.\"
\"Yes.\"
\"Destimation?\"
\"The exact moment I returned from on dispatch 97.\"
\"Seamless- so you\'ll never seem to have left?\"
\"If you\'d be so kind.\"
\"Set your dials.\"
\"Set.\"
\"Happy Trails, Jarit.\"
\"Thanks.\"
\"Destimation- July 14th, 1953- Go.\"
\"Hang on Dicky. Here I come.\"
*wink*
Time
It was too long a story to get all into so, suffice it to say, Jarit was no longer in the present- or what he generally thought of as the present- time like everything else- faith, truth, location, one\'s place in the universe- was relative. Jarit\'s present had been arbitrarily named 2413 or thereabouts, but the present he was presently enduring was July, 1953- 450 years earlier. He was in a place called New Jersey- at least for the time being. He\'d been in this time for almost a month doing what he could to blend in with the locals and not upset the stream of time. This was because if one went mucking about in the time stream, one never knew when one might run into his own great, great, great (great to the nth power) grandmother, bugger her and become one\'s own (great to the nth power) grandpa, which of course was a highly disturbing possibility. There was also the even more disturbing possibility that buggering one\'s own ancestor could make her unavailable to the real fellow she should have been buggering all along and then one has buggered oneself right out of existence.
Therefore, whenever time traveling, Jarit made sure that it was men only- and really, that was much more pleasing to him anyway.
So, Jarit had spent three months in 1953 New Jersey and found that a good man to lay was pretty damn hard to find. (Although, there seemed to be an abundance of goats available for anyone coming down the lane to have go at and the people here just seemed to look the other way on that one. Too bad he was a bottom- it was unbelievably hard to convince a Billy goat to fuck you if you weren\'t a she goat and then there would likely be biting and serious bruising from the hoof- not that Jarit had any practical knowledge on that subject, of course.) So, the point being- Jarit was getting a bit frustrated. What was worse was that there didn\'t seem to be anyone he could even complain to about it. He\'d mentioned a desire to find a good bathhouse to a fellow in a pub the first week he\'d been there and he\'d gotten a good swift kick out the door for it. He should have done more research on his destimation before he left.
He did have one hope- he was sharing a flat with an athletic looking bloke name of Parnell, Richard Parnell and Richard seemed like he just might be keen on Jarit. The rub being that of he wasn\'t, then Jarit would likely be out of a place to sleep along with the beat down that Richard would be able to give him if he didn\'t like what Jarit was getting at. Still, his hand was no longer sufficient, so Jarit decided to have a try at it.
\"Say Dicky,\" Jarit opened with as he set himself down next to his flat mate on the divan. \"What\'s the score?\" Now, Jarit didn\'t care what the answer to the question was- he didn\'t even know exactly what the sport that the radio receiver was spewing out was, except that Dicky liked to listen to the matches and was always in a loose and glad mood if the team called Yankees took the match.
\"Yanks five, Sox nine,\" Dicky replied disgusted and switched off the toggle for the power. He got up and retrieved a beer for each of them from the icebox. Jarit was still not used to drinking them cold, but it was growing on him some. At least when they were cold, he couldn\'t taste how like horse piss they were. What he wouldn’t give for a good pint of Guinness.
\"Sorry. They could still rally,\" Jarit consoled, again not having a clue what exactly that would entail, but knowing that it was the right thing to say just then.
\"Nah- doesn\'t matter anyway.\" Dicky swallowed the rest of his beer, threw the empty bottle in the waste bin and said, \"You wanna go shoot some hoops? I\'m feeling kind of twitchy.\"
\"Certainly,\" Jarit agreed and followed Dicky out of the flat, leaving half his beer on the table to get warm. Partway down the stairs, Dicky stopped short and Jarit came up hard against his solid back. He smelled good. Jarit backed up a stair so he wasn\'t on top of Dicky anymore and Dicky turned around.
\"You know what? I don’t want to play basketball,\" Dicky explained.
\"You don\'t? Then what do you want to play?\"
\"Not sure. Not basketball is all I know.\"
Dicky pushed past him on the stairs and made for the apartment.
Once they were inside the flat again, Dicky couldn\'t seem to still himself. He spent several minutes tidying the sitting room with an eye for the oddest details- fluffing the throw pillows and straightening the bric-a-brac before getting himself another beer and taking a large gulp of it. After swallowing nearly half the beer, he set the bottle down too hard on the kitchen counter, said, \"All right, then,\" and stepped up to Jarit, who\'d been quietly standing in the sitting room corner staying out of the way of whatever it was that Dicky was doing.
Dicky gave him a worried look, took a deep breath and kissed him. Thank you Dicky. It was about time.
Jarit slid his arms around his flat mate\'s shoulders and held on tight. Dicky was kissing him with a singular determination that Jarit wouldn\'t have interrupted for all the world on a platter. Dicky crushed him into the corner- as if he thought that Jarit might want to escape- crushed him in so that he could hardly breathe- or that just might have been Dicky\'s tongue- his hot, thick tongue that was needfully exploring Jarit\'s mouth, working across his face and round to the side of his jaw, then up to the sweet spot behind his ear and down again to the juncture of neck and shoulder to suck and bite and lick.
\"Dicky-\"
\"No talking.\"
\"It\'s just- do you want to fuck me?\" Jarit offered.
\"Ohh,\" Dicky breathed before grabbing Jarit\'s wrist and dragging him towards his bedroom.
***
The next morning Jarit had to admit to himself that he\'d already finished the job he\'d been in that time to do days before and that he\'d only stayed on until the Dicky broke the tension between them and buggered him into next week. Jarit looked over at Dicky sleeping so contented and knew that he\'d better get before he tried staying and risked everything- his whole career just to stay with this man. So, Jarit got gingerly out from the bed, packed his things, set the dials and winked into the future.
***
\"Good dispatch, Jarit?\"
\"Standard, really. How are my numbers?\"
\"99.974 percent- another superior dispatch.\"
\"Thanks. Just out of curiosity, what caused the variation in the time stream?\"
\"Uh- let me have a look- fellow you interacted with- Richard Parnell.\"
\"What happened to Richard Parnell?\"
\"Offed himself right after you left.\"
\"Oh- how much longer should he have lived.\"
\"Shorter, actually- the old record had his suicide placed three weeks earlier. Guess you gave him something to live for.\"
\"Right. I guess I did.\"
***
THREE YEARS LATER
\"Dispatcher Taylor- Jarit, my boy, come in.\"
\"Thank you, Architect.\"
\"211.\"
\"Yes. One more dispatch.\"
\"Not that many dispatchers make it to the end, you know.\"
\"I\'m aware, sir. I\'ve been very lucky.\"
\"Lucky is not the reason you\'ve done such fine work, my boy. You were born for this work. It\'s almost a shame to retire you from it- except for the cellular degeneration that going past 212 would cause, of course.\"
\"I\'m not sure what I\'ll do with my time, sir.\"
\"Ah- very amusing- time. I never tire of that joke, even though I hear it all the time.\"
\"It is a classic, sir.\"
\"So, to the point of this meeting- there is a well known rumor that any dispatcher who succeeds in completing 211 dispatches is allowed to choose the time and location of his or her final trip and thereby correct a nagging mistake or make minor changes to the time stream- such as to retrieve something that would be unlikely to be missed.\"
\"I\'ve heard that rumor myself, Architect.\"
\"It is utterly and completely true. So, on the morrow, you will have free reign over time itself- so long as changes remain within tolerable variant levels.\"
\"Thank you, sir.\"
***
\"All set, Jarit?\"
\"I believe so.\"
\"I\'ll need some information about your destimation and return. Will you be retrieving something larger than five pounds?\"
\"Yes- approximately 210 pounds.\"
\"Sounds like a person.\"
\"Yes.\"
\"Destimation?\"
\"The exact moment I returned from on dispatch 97.\"
\"Seamless- so you\'ll never seem to have left?\"
\"If you\'d be so kind.\"
\"Set your dials.\"
\"Set.\"
\"Happy Trails, Jarit.\"
\"Thanks.\"
\"Destimation- July 14th, 1953- Go.\"
\"Hang on Dicky. Here I come.\"
*wink*