fleetsummers

[fleetsummers]

"The corsaaaaaaage." Fleet repeated that in pleasure, eyes half-lidded as he leaned his head back and then forward again, chortling when Zack mentioned having considered flinging it into the lake, turning his head slightly against that thumb-touch below his ear. "I was amazed you took it in the first fucking place! And then actually brought it for me. I expected you to crunch it under your boot, in fact." Dragging his thumb along the strong line of Zack's collarbones, Fleet murmured, "I wore it all night. Because I wanted you to take me back to my place -- or your place, or anywhere -- and screw my brains out. So I figured that seeing that corsage on me, that you'd given me, would signal something in your latent desire to mate and there I'd be, the best candidate." Fleet smiled, pressing a light kiss to the freckled bridge of Zack's nose. "Your latent desire to find a mate. For good."

That was starting to get a little too close to soppy, Fleet could tell even though he'd followed Zack there, so he wasn't surprised that his husband's grip on him tightened and hauled him down, against the familiar stirring hardness in Zack's lap. Fleet gave a soft, encouraging grunt, rolling his hips a little as he considered Zack's question and enjoyed being groped, grabbed, with perfect confidence in his place in Zack's life and his affections.

"I thought it was an effective gauge, yeah," he said about the corsage. "If you destroyed it right in front of me, then I would've known to leave it alone. If you grumbled but then never gave it to me, then there was still a prospect for sex, at least. But you brought it and gave it to me properly." Fleet licked his teeth, gaze sweeping over Zack's handsome face, the angles and planes of it. "For me? It was when I found you and Nicki tussling and you got me to lick your wounds clean. That wasn't just a sex thing, not to me. I was doing that and I was thinking, I could get used to this. Being here for this guy when he's fighting, looking after him when he's done."

"Mh. You remember the goat rib, but you don't remember that?" Zack chided, his gaze trailing to where Fleet's soft, pearl-pink lips were pressed against the dark ink on his wrist, before flicking back up to meet the other man's half lidded, dark eyes. Fleet gave out information easily, even without being asked. Little details, like the foods he enjoyed eating as a kid, or how he cried because the lights were too bright in a scene of Music Camp. Sometimes significant things too, spliced in light-heartedly even if they weren't, that needed to be followed up on. Zack was more reserved.

"The corsage. You made out of cedar and pinecones.h" Zack wasn't sure if Fleet still had it tucked away somewhere. It was probably long dried up by this point. "I thought about chucking the damn thing into the lake when you gave it to me. Thought why the hell should I bring you anything? I ain't your boyfriend." Zack's thumb ran circles right below Fleet's ear, feeling the steady pulse against his thumb. "And you wore the thing the entire night when I gave it to you."

And Fleet had done so with a sense of confident, unabashed pride. No trying to hide it, no shame, but displaying the fact that he was there with Zack quietly and constantly. At the time, Zack had figured what was between him and Fleet was sex. Not like Fleet'd been the first young and pretty guy trying to get close to him, though this time there was no money anbody could be after. Even though Zack hadn't quite realized it at the time, and it'd taken until Fleet's first visit at the cabin for it to settle in, the corsage had been a way of asking for more. It'd been a start, too.

Thinking about it now felt so sentimental that Zack almost grimaced. Instead, however, he grabbed Fleet's hips. As muscular as Fleet had gotten, there was still softness giving easily below Zack's fingers pressing down, pushing Fleet down firmly on his lap, meeting it with a soft jerk of his own hips. "Did you make it just to have me give it to you?" Zack asked, fingers slipping down to Fleet's thighs and squeezing them, thumbs pressed into the dip where they met the younger man's hips. "When did it start for you, kid?"

[fleetsummers]

"It's an unorthodox method, but you're so handsome, tiger, you could take the boys you like to exhume bodies and it would probably still work for you." Fleet was, as always, half-joking and half-serious, a midway that worked well with his reticent, reserved husband; he found it an exciting challenge, lavishing love and attention on Zack but never crossing the line that would make it too much, make Zack start to reject the displays of affection. It was a constant work in progress, to gradually teach a man who'd been starved of love how to start being fed on it. And it was probably the work (aside from the Slaying, of course) that Fleet was most proud of in his whole life.

And here Zack was requiting that effort, as he did from time to time on his own schedule, fingers locked into Fleet's curls as he confirmed that yes, even back then Fleet had been special. A kiss, intimate and lovingly familiar, and Zack kept on with his list as he pulled Fleet into his lap into the same position he'd commanded on one of the first of those visits, one they'd settled into as a favourite while they'd been courting.

A sprig of cedar. A crown on your wrist. Mark you up like me.

Fleet shivered in pleasure, only partially brought about by the feel of Zack's strong hands holding him, the lips against his neck. "I love it," he said, his own voice dipping to match, throaty and heated. Fleet took hold of Zack's hand, bringing it up so he could kiss the crown tattooed on the inside of his man's wrist, and murmured, "...why the cedar? It's perfect, where I grew up there was tons of cedar and I had those little cedar balls in all my clothes drawers to scent my clothes, I used to get wherever I lived cedar smudged for cleansing, the whole works, but ... what does it mean to you?"

There was something there that Fleet felt was significant, but it was slipping his mind at the moment -- and getting Zack to tell him, to recount their little stories and ephemera from his point of view, was one of Fleet's favourite things anyhow.

"I take all the people I like to go bury bodies. You gotta admit, it works pretty damn well." A content sound rumbled in Zack's chest, vibrating in his throat against Fleet's lips. There was something about Fleet's weight beside him - in moments like these, sitting on the sofa, but also when Fleet climbed into their shared bed, or they were simply walking or standing next to each other. There was a presence, a heaviness to it. A realness. It felt comforting like warm water heating up his body, and often, when his husband got close enough that Zack could smell the neroli soap mixing with that sweet-and-salty Fleet scent, the heat balled up inside his belly.

Zack cupped the back of Fleet's head, threading his fingers through Fleets hair and feeling them snag on his fingers. His tone was even, almost matter-of-factly when he responded. "You are special." Because, of course, it hadn't been just the dog. That'd been the start, the moment Zack realized there was more to the manicured, pretty boy he'd sneered at. Every part of the man sitting right now in front of him had been there too, back then, waiting to be worked out and refined.

Zack opened his slitted eyes, turning so he could look at Fleet's face and kiss him with the casualness of marriage and that spark of hunger that let his tongue trail over the inside of his husbands lips. "Wasn't just the dog. Plenty of other things, too. Prom, the visits. Testing my limits. You made damn sure to leave an impression, didn't you?" Zack sloped one arm around Fleet's waist, pulling him onto his lap, feeling the weight of compact muscle press down on him. Zack leaned in, pressing his lips to Fleets neck, nipping at the skin just above his voice box. On prom night, Fleet had asked that Zack spare him there, until he had the chance to sing, but still allowing Zack to ruin his voice. Give Zack his body in a way he didn't for anyone else, not with such trust.

Zack felt his hand press into the spot at Fleet's side, pushing it below the fabric to trail alongside the burn mark. "A sprig of cedar." Zack murmured, up against Fleet's skin. "That's what I'm gonna tattoo on you. And a crown on your wrist. Mark you up like me."

[fleetsummers]

tbt being Hedwig. Never did a head bear a wig so bodaciously, I think we can all agree. #knowsthatyou'rewhole

[fleetsummers]

Do you still think about the first guy you murdered?

I'm not sure if you're aware that my dad's the one who springs to mind when it comes to this question?

But if you mean that Daybreaker, then yes. Of course I do. You never forget your first, right?

[fleetsummers]

DRUNK CONFESSIONS

send in asks for my character to answer while inebriated. Happy askmeme weekend!

[fleetsummers]

Fleet gave Zack a flirty little flick of his eyebrows, over his shoulder about that goat rib being his ticket in, before he went into the house, getting stuff ready by the time Zack made his way inside. In his purposeful, deliberate, confident way; they'd been sharing this home for over a year now, and Fleet still got a thrill every time he saw his husband come through that door on his mile-long legs. Knew that Zack not only expected to find Fleet in their home, but enjoyed it.

"You make me sound so mercenary," Fleet said, but laughed. Acting was a mercenary profession, after all. "You're not totally wrong. I knew if Kurt and Blaine were a hit with the fans then that was gonna explode, considering what a phenomenon Music Camp was already. I guess it all proved a little overwhelming for Emmit." He dipped his chin, giving Zack a significant look. "But then again, he wasn't consecrated to singing and acting in the cradle, like I was."

He could tell that Zack was looking at polished, bright-eyed Blaine with his slicked-down hair and prim chipperness, and then up at the real thing standing in front of him: Fleetwood, more heavily-muscled through the arms and chest, beardy and tousled, gazing at Zack through the same long lashes but more sultry, more real.

And Zack answered the unasked question by slitting his own green eyes, mentioning the dog. Ronnie's dog that had gone crazy, that they'd killed and buried without anybody knowing. Fleet not shying away from the dirty job like Zack had expected him to. "You started liking me because I demonstrated I knew how to sneaky-bury a dead dog?" Fleet repeated, through a spreading grin as he moved closer to his husband, reaching up to loop his arms around Zack's neck. "Is that -- mmmm--" he started to press kisses along Zack's jawline, firm below his own beard, "--is that your typical method of sussing out whether or not you're interested in a hot boy who insists on encroaching on your personal space? Or am I just special?"

"You still remember that." It was more of a statement than a question. Zack still remembered the cider and the spoon bread, not the goat rib. And the reason Fleet had stopped by. Hadn't been a spontanous, random visit for the sake of it. *I want to do good for you. I like you.* It had changed things. The warmth of Fleet's hand pulled him out of his thoughts. A year ago, being touched like that would've made his hackles rise. Now, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he let the touch seep into his side. "Carefully planned it all out, mh? Distract Rex with a goat rib while you were winning me over. Worked out well."

He stayed still for a moment, watching as Fleet went inside. The spot where his hand had been still felt warm in his wake. Yeah. Things had changed a whole damn lot. Not just because the world required it of them. And they still were. Zack followed inside to the living room. The boxset was laid out on the table, one case open.

"Because the gig gave you a stable share of popularity?" Zack asked as he sat down and leaned back into the leather cushions. "Figured out he didn't like it. Ain't for everyone." His eyes trailed the cover of the box, familiar faces, until he found Fleet. With a big smile on his face, hair parted and geled neatly, wearing a bowtie and patterned dress shirt. Zack's attention fixed back on his husband. Still the same person, but also, so distinctly different. Changed. Adapted.

"It was when we buried that dog." Zack started as he closed his eyes to narrow slits, the shapes blurring into indiscernible splotches of color. "Before prom. When you came to me because you wanted help with those grouse, and we had to get rid of Ronnie's dog. I thought you were just a prim and proper kid back then who had a big mouth and didn't know what getting your hands dirty meant. Who wouldn't be able to handle shit. You proved me wrong." The body was still there, probably rotted down to a husk of what it'd been, with only Fleet and him knowing it was there.

"You remember what you said when you came by for the first time? 'I think you like me too.' It started with the dog."

[fleetsummers]

[ sexy photoshoot time ]

[fleetsummers]

[ since this has now become an actual plot point i might as well post it lol ]

Fleet Summers in "Hedwig and the Angry Inch"

[fleetsummers]

.. which ao3 tag are you?

only one bed

the main character, the mood the vibe the moment, you might be a little basic, but cliches are cliches for a reason!

[fleetsummers]

Flex those new muscles! The people demand it

Ask and ye shall receive!!

[fleetsummers]

"Yeah, he's still got an idea of me as being more domesticated and soft. But that's all right. I'm diligent and I'm dedicated and I've--" Fleet leaned his neck slightly, giving Zack territory for his thumb to trail down. "It is good. I like the changes and I like that they don't serve to make me unrecognizable. I want to still be me."

He nodded at Zack's suggestion that he go get the TV fired up, stooping for a moment to tussle with Rex and ruffle his ears and kiss his head. "It was that goat rib, y'know," Fleet said, squinting up at Zack with a grin as he rubbed Rex's neck. "That time I came to see you here. The first time I was here. Cider and blueberry spoon bread, was it?" He laughed, a little flushed at the memory -- where Zack had ended up ordering Fleet, into his lap to ride him. "I brought Rexy a goat rib and I won his heart forever." Fleet finished petting and stood again, pressing his palm against Zack's side, just over his hip. "Got started on winning yours too, didn't I."

Pressing a quick kiss to Zack's shoulder, Fleet turned and made his way into the cabin, calling out, "Emmit's great! So talented and so steady. I never really got why he made such a hard break with acting and everything. His character was consistently popular right from the start. Which is why I was so excited when I got the gig as his boyfriend."

"Didn't expect you to take up blacksmithing, huh? Or that you'd want to get your hands dirty?" The gentle callback was accompanied by Zack's hand slipping down to the base of Fleet's neck, remaining there. "Ain't like you're a completely different person now, kid. But yeah, you've changed." Trailing his thumb along the side of Fleet's throat, Zack added "It's good."

Fleet had been changing steadily. Recognizing, working out, adjusting. The basis for everything had been there before. Fleet had just casted off some of it, the plaster and the stucco, had built on the foundations some more - and he was still working. Fleet boasting wasn't new, but the confidence that he could take Zack down, the way he talked about it was. Zack's drip on Fleet's neck tightened briefly, squeezing down gently before letting go.

"Want to go get the TV ready?" They'd almost reached the cabin. Rex had already padded down from the porch, wagging his tail and bumping his head against Fleet's thigh in anticipation of pets and affection. The canine had taken to Fleet easily enough, Zack watched for a moment. "Had a talk with that Emmit guy. Seems decent. No objections about him staying from the council."

[fleetsummers]

The confirmation was good to hear; considering that Zack was the one who'd trained Fleet to become a weapon in the first place, who'd been instrumental in his first kills for survival, his was the opinion and approval that was the final word in Fleet's trajectory as a fighter. Not that he intended to make fighting his primary activity, but all the same. It did feel good, both to have that skill under his belt and keep improving it, and to have Zack there as a constant source of training.

"I've always aimed big," Fleet said with an airy confidence, tossing his head, horselike and bold. "And considering how familiar I am with your body by this point, tiger, and the way you move it -- I think I've got a fighting chance. More than." Fleet almost said that he might have Zack on his back, but once the bigger man reached out and cupped his skull, strong fingers fleecing through Fleet's growing hair, he thought better of the boast.

"Apprenticeship is good," Fleet said, warm to the topic from the get-go. "I like the work and Alden likes teaching me, even if I think he finds me sort of ... perplexing." Fleet laughed, shaking his head. "Which is fine. I've changed a lot since when I first got here. Sometimes I hardly recognize myself."

"You're used to it by now, no reason to stop fighting with it. Don't fix it if it ain't broke." Zack turned to cast a short glance at Fleet walking beside him, after hearing the slight hesitation in his voice. "And you're doing well with it." It wasn't the first time Fleet had affirmed his choice to continue using the crowbar. Always took it with him when they went outside the walls, and from time to time, Zack factored it into their training. It worked for Fleet, in more ways than one.

Zack had just turned back when Fleet bumping and rubbing up against him like a cat made him turn his head around again. The short moments of affection had become more common recently. That comment, in turn, pricked at the back of his neck. "Oh really?" Zack asked. "Those are big aspirations, kid. You sure you can live up to that?" He raised his eyebrows, before turning his attention to the path, breathing out softly. "Keep training. Good thing about is that you'll never be done with it. You can keep getting sharper."

Zack reached out, cusping the back of Fleet's head with his hand, running his fingers through the budding curls, down to the thick, shifting muscles of his neck. He'd been able to see the growth on Fleet's body, the growing heft of compact muscle. When they were training, he could feel their resistance. That he had to use more force, more energy to keep him down. Yeah. Maybe. "How's the apprenticeship going? Alden's doing a good job teaching you?"

[fleetsummers]

"Okay then." Alden's reassurance mollifies Fleet's concerns somewhat -- only somewhat, though! -- and he says, "I want to know about you. It's a tricky path to navigate, is all. Like I said: minefield." He scrubs his face with his forearm, having worked up a sweat with the bellows and with the kindling fire, glowing hotter with more ferocity to it now. "There's a shit-ton to uncover and so long as you let me, I'll keep doing it."

Manifesto stated, Fleet leaves that where it is and listens to Alden give his view on killing, its place even in the zombie apocalypse. "I'm not pretending," he says, watching those coals and stones glow. "It does weigh on me, heavy." Fleet flexes his hands in the gloves, looking down at the frayed edges. "I can feel the way my crowbar jerks in my hands, even when I'm not holding it. There's such a specific way bone crunches when you hit it, y'know?"

Fleet insists he's not sensitive but his tone becomes sharp... Yep, he hit a nerve. If his tone of voice wasn't enough proof, the look he gets in reply sure as hell is. "You think I'm gonna start cringin' every time I see you or somethin'? I'm not sure that's how brains work. And even if it was you got to do a lot more than make me remember bad memories to get me cringing at the very sight of you." With a soft sigh, he lets a beat a silence pass before speaking further. Unlike Fleet, he's not good with words. It takes him a second to piece together what he wants to say.

"I hear you," is how he starts because it feels right. "Killin' somebody isn't an easy choice to make. I'm glad you were able to defend yourself... To defend Redwood. But I hope you don't gotta make a habit of it. Death and killin'... It weighs on a person. You can pretend otherwise but at claws at your heart all the same." His gaze focuses on the hot, glowing forge for a few moments before returning to Fleet's face. "And sometimes protection isn't a need but rather a want. You may not need help but I like to give it. Cause we're friends. Besides, I like to think that no matter how capable I am you wouldn't just stand and watch someone or somethin' try to kill me."

[fleetsummers]

Most overrated pop star that was honored on Music Camp?

Not really a pop star, but I didn't care for Kate Hudson. She was good in what, one movie? Almost Famous? And she didn't even sing in it!

[fleetsummers]

Fleet accepted the hug with genuine delight, pleased that his attempt at filling the nicotine gap had gone over so well. "We'll see how effective they are!" he laughed, patting Harry's back (and, honestly, hanging on to the other man probably for a beat longer than Harry would've intended; Fleet was nothing if not one to take advantage of being hugged to its fullest). "When the craving kicks in and you light one up and huff catnip instead of tobacco. But till then I'm just gonna believe that they'll be good, and you'll be demanding the recipe to make more!"

OMG. For a short moment, Harry had stared at him like an addict meeting his dealer after weeks of abstinence. "You guys did this?" He asked, having a hard time believing it. He opened the case and gently took one cigarette to look at it. "That's fucking awesome." He chuckled and smelt it quickly. "Thanks dude, really." Harry was more than grateful, a huge smile on his lips. "Fuuuck man, I love it, come here, you're not escaping a quick hug." He added before putting his words into action, still chuckling about all of this.

[fleetsummers]

What is the origin of love?

I could tell you, liebchen, but you've got blood on your face and I've got blood in my eyes.

[fleetsummers]

After the ranch and what you went through, is there still something that scares you?

It would be ridiculous to claim that nothing scares me anymore just because I can physically fight now. The same things scare me, in fact. Losing people I care about, the Daybreakers, getting eaten alive. Those things didn't stop being terrifying and they probably won't ever.