What? They've acted in OTHER things?!

[hhanon]

So, you may be aware that some cast members of HH have acted in other things.  Give their profession, this is understandable.

This post is for those who would like to prompt/fic about the other things the guys/girls have been in, without mixing it up with HH-related/non-crossover fic on the other posts.


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Comments

UNPROMPTED: The Wednesday Sixty-Niner, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [1/2]

[(Anonymous)]

It’s late when they get back from their anniversary celebration (well, three days post-anniversary trip to scare people at the cinema) and she’s a little bit giggly as he presses her back against the door and kisses her thoroughly with her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands curving over her narrow hips.

“I’m so glad I started fucking you,” she breathes in between kisses, giggling yet again as he wrinkles his nose and reaching up to peck it (she gets his top lip, he figures that’s hardly something to complain about).

“Couldn’t you be more romantic?” He frowns, mock frowns for he’s a little too dizzy at the moment to manage anything proper, as he draws back – still can’t resist letting her lean after him with her long leg coming up to wrap around his hips.

“Why?” She giggles, aiming for his nose again and ending up with his cheek (still nothing to complain about).

He makes a slight face at it, only a slight one – still a little too dizzy, wraps his arms all the tighter around her and drags her up for another proper kiss, “it is technically our anniversary…”

“So?”

At her snort, and a snort should really not be attractive on any person, he decides to go for broke – wraps his arms even tighter around her waist and picks her up, spins her around with a certain sort of joy that should probably be allowed on occasions such as these…

And ends up tripping over his own feet, crashing down on the stairs with her giggling on top of him and his back already hurting.

“…You should be nice to me today,” he finishes in a slightly out of breath way, after he’s done pretending not to notice her subtle checking of his head.

“Why?” And as she sits back on his chest, a wicked smirk curving her lips as she taps her fingernails (half of them far too long, half of them far too short) against his shirt.

“If we’re having fantastic sex on a regular basis…”

And she’s snorting again.

And leaning down for another kiss, one that practically invites him to raise his hands and bury them in her thick, slightly curly hair (still a mane, for she is Chris and will be sure to have a mane even when she’s ninety and hitting people with a cane).

“It is pretty fantastic,” she purrs, the moment she draws back and casually tugs up the straps of her dress.

“Mm,” he has to agree, for it is one of those facts that you can’t get away from – like the sun rising and Marcus treating him with faint scorn, Chris will always be absolutely amazing in bed “…So fantastic that I wonder why you decided to do it with me, sometimes.”

She only smiles down at him for a second, incredibly fondly.

“…What?”

“You idiot,” and wrinkles her nose equally fondly, as she leans down to give him an enthusiastic hug (which does not help his back any, but he’s still hardly going to raise a fuss), “I knew, for about two years before I actually made my move, that if I turned to you and kissed you or asked you out for a ‘date’ or even proposed marriage that you’d probably blink for a few moments and then happily accept.”

…Blink for a few moments, as he’s doing now, “really?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He considers this for a few seconds, it seems something to consider as he slowly slides his hands up her legs and feels the soft flesh of her thighs beneath his fingers “…Do you know everything before me?”

“Pretty much,” she only giggles, and slowly levers herself to her feet with the aid of the banister and his always helpful chest beneath her hands, “including what we’ll be doing tonight, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

…He smiles, in a lovingly resigned way, and extends his hand – letting her pull him up and onwards to the bedroom waiting ahead.

He can hardly protest, after all, considering that everything that she says is true.

UNPROMPTED: The Wednesday Sixty-Niner, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [2/2]

[(Anonymous)]

When they finally get up to the bedroom, and to the bed with his shirt discarded messily over a chair and her dress tossed casually into a corner and his trousers gone god knows where, she seems unable to restrain further giggles as she perches upon his waist. He can only smile, fondly, slip his fingers up to caress the still warm skin of her thighs as she laughs and laughs.

“…Well?”

“I’m a little bit drunk,” she confesses, in something that is probably meant to be a whisper, but that ends up more of a shaking snort.

“Right…” He makes another face, still not entirely serious because nobody could manage entirely serious in this sort of situation, flips them before she can protest and kisses her so thoroughly that she won’t even want to.

“…Well?” He asks again when he comes up, maybe gasping for breath.

“Well,” she only drawls in reply, holding onto his shoulders and beaming up at him so brightly that he couldn’t resist (even if his boss was holding a knife to his throat, which is quite something if you think about it), “Have you ever heard of sixty-nine?”

…Oh.

Oh.

No further words are needed, for he may have fantasised about that sort of thing all the way through university and the many long years of marriage to Judith, and instead they do, indeed, end up kissing for some time. Her nails scratching at his shoulders and his hands tangled in her hair.

“…Well?” It is her turn to ask when they part again, her fingers caressing ever so lightly up his neck.

“Yes,” he can only breathe, and is already shifting into position before a single word more can be said on the subject.

It is quickly decided, after a few more moments of giggling and awkward shifting (and almost kneeing him in the shoulder, but he can forgive that), that he should be the one to start and she can quickly follow – it seems sensible, after all, she is usually the one with the most stamina (unless he’s had a few beers and is perfectly amiable to make her come screaming against most surfaces) and is generally better at dealing with such things.

…He still has to poke her in the thigh after a few moments have passed, of course, but it would’ve been worse with him.

And is worse with him, actually, as his tongue briefly stills upon her (so sweet and slightly tangy and he will never get sick of that taste) and he can’t help but moan as her lips close tightly around his cock.

But, then, at least he recovers with the needy twitch of her hips.

And leans forward to run his tongue over her again, closing his eyes and moaning into her flesh as she responds with a pleased rumble of her own and a happy hollow of her cheeks.

…And he has to say, as he starts seeing stars after only a few minutes of such treatment, this? Is the sweetest torture ever devised by man or woman or porcupine from outer space (and he really has been spending far too much time with his boss), and he loves it about as much as he loves her.

He finds himself absently thrusting his hips after a few moments, also finds himself closing his eyes and giving an involuntary shudder as she simply takes him deeper with every single movement.

He has to respond, of course, and hopes that he does so in style – she still tastes wonderful, brilliantly and strangely wonderful, and he speeds up his pace: lapping at her over and over again and feeling her writhe over him in the happiest way possible.

She rewards him with a flick of her tongue, a happy scrape of her teeth…

And when he comes, only a few moments after that treatment and with a happy flick of her fingers just behind his balls, he narrowly resists the urge to flop boneless to the bed and close his eyes – instead uses the extra surge of energy to speed up his tongue, to daringly thrust it into her as she lifts her head from swallowing and groans helplessly out at the air.

When she comes, only a few moments later and with a happy tensing of her thighs, he may take it as a sort of victory.

When he wakes the next morning, with her wrapped in his arms and the sound of birds tweeting outside, he may soppily take it as a far bigger one.