Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2009-09-14 02:08 am
scripted_sra) wrote2009-09-14 02:08 am
Fake News (RPF) | Time Limit | PG-13 | George/Jon
Title: Time Limit
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: George/Jon
Summary: George has a bet.
Word Count: 110
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally written for a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fakenews_fanfic Open Thread.
“Take me home, Mr. Stewart.” George pressed Jon up against his desk, grin rivaling the sun in terms of the heat it emitted. Jon swallowed.
“You have a bet about how fast you can get me on my knees, don't you?” he asked, trying—and failing—not to appear too eager.
George smirked. “That would be crass,” he said, leaning in and capturing his lips in a breath-stealing kiss.
“You just want to beat your best time,” Jon panted, groaning as George’s mouth found a sensitive spot on his neck. “What is it, anyway?”
George pulled away, giving Jon a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “Fifteen minutes.”
Fandom: Fake News (RPF)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: George/Jon
Summary: George has a bet.
Word Count: 110
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Originally written for a
fakenews_fanfic Open Thread.“Take me home, Mr. Stewart.” George pressed Jon up against his desk, grin rivaling the sun in terms of the heat it emitted. Jon swallowed.
“You have a bet about how fast you can get me on my knees, don't you?” he asked, trying—and failing—not to appear too eager.
George smirked. “That would be crass,” he said, leaning in and capturing his lips in a breath-stealing kiss.
“You just want to beat your best time,” Jon panted, groaning as George’s mouth found a sensitive spot on his neck. “What is it, anyway?”
George pulled away, giving Jon a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “Fifteen minutes.”