biotrash | BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires
- bioshock trash crew proverb

== A RAPTURE REMINDER: ==

PROMPTS AND FILLS WITH INFORMATION ON BURAL AT SEA 2 ARE SPOILERS.

THIS POST IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE UNTIL APRIL 27th.
PLEASE ADD ALL SPOILERY PROMPTS AND FILLS TO THIS POST UNTIL THAT TIME.

Spoilery comments to this post will be deleted, and their authors vanished in the night to volunteer in our city's fine Protector Program.

Thank you for your attention. Have a nice day!

Welcome to the Bioshock kink meme.

You can find a semi-frequently-updated list of prompts, with links and an indication of whether they've been filled, here at the index.

it is a kink meme. people anonymously (or not) request fic and pictures; other people anonymously (or not) write that fic and draw those pictures. everyone masturbates, peace is achieved.

there are two ways to take part!

1) start a new comment thread with a pairing/ship, and a kink. there's a kink masterlist here if you find yourself strapped for ideas.

2) swoop into an existing comment thread, and fill the person's request with art or writing. if someone's already filled the request, go for it anyway -- the more the merrier! if you need somewhere to upload/host images, try imgur.

there are some beautiful gems on the old kink memes. if you want an example of how this whole thing works, or you're digging for gold, look no further: on Livejournal, on Dreamwidth.

NOW GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY, MY CHILDREN

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i dont even care how you interpret this

there's art somewhere from like 2010 on another meme that someone drew of jack shoving a wrench up his ass do you want it 100% serious here on the meme

there's another meme? and hell yeah

they're all super duper old so not active at all anymore and this was posted anonymously on there along with some other art back in 2010. i recognize the style from lots of other fills way back when and theres one of jack with tentacles i actually have saved somewhere. oops

http://www.postimage.org/image.php?v=TsuhsB0

I was struck with the sudden need to try my own version of this.

---

Jack sits quietly on a ragged chair as per Atlas’s kind request.

He glares lightning and daggers into the back of Atlas’s head, trying with all the weak force of his own new will to break through those binding chains. He imagines standing tall and with purpose, jumping Atlas now, crushing his skull or his spine with his wrench before he could even start to turn around. But he does turn around and he looks down upon Jack, and he takes a step forward and sighs.

“You really thought you could get the drop on me, didn’t you, kid?” Atlas wipes a streak of red from his temple, the only evidence that Jack was close, that close to bringing him down before he could open his mouth and speak so kindly. Atlas, Atlas. Or rather Frank, now. “You really truly did. Thought you could just waltz in here like a big boy and take me down.” Atlas –Frank – Atlas leans down to run his fingers through Jack’s short hair just to prove he isn’t. “You really thought – you really thought you were anything other than a tool, a toy.” Atlas straightens up and walks over to a table obscured by Rapture’s darkness. “My tool, my toy. As if I didn’t make you.” Atlas walks back into the wretched light and something glints in his grip. “As if I couldn’t unmake you.”

Jack sees the knife real well now but isn’t worried. A knife. He’s had worse, felt worse. Hooks and drills and the screams of little girls. What’s a knife to all the sickness here beneath the sea. He looks up at Atlas with a crooked smile and Atlas laughs. But Jack isn’t worried.

Atlas walks up to his chair all slow and leans his weight down upon an armrest. Getting up close to Jack’s face he presses the point of the fresh sharp knife against Jack’s shoulder. From here he sees the perfect symmetry of Atlas’s constructed face, the line of his jaw and the strength of his chin, Atlas as Rapture: brutal, ugly horror wrapped in fake dark beauty.

Jack keeps easy eye contact with him. As if he’d give the bastard a single ounce of satisfaction that wasn’t wrenched from him. Atlas seems to hear the thought as if that was part of his personal programming too, and as he slides the tip of the knife into Jack, he brings his face closer still. Jack feels the point enter him ‘cause Frank starts slow, feels his nerves catch fire and his face start to sweat. He swallows his pain down into his throat and shuts his eyes tight and tries to keep the scream in when Atlas pushes it in a little harder.

That’s when Atlas brings his face right up to Jack’s ear. Jack can feel him lick his lips and breathe out slow, certain stimuli clear as day, certain facets of his surrounding melting from the agony. “Jack,” Atlas whispers. “Oh Jaa-aack,” he sings. “Now would you kindly,” he says into Jack’s ear, fist in his damp hair “feel good.”

Jack’s eyes shoot open as Atlas sinks the blade deeper into the meat of his shoulder. It feels excruciating. It feels incredible.

“Would you kindly feel good, would you kindly feel good,” Atlas repeats, pressing all his weight against Jack now, the knife pressing into him and tearing him up inside. “Would you kindly?” and Atlas laughs.

Jack's whole body feels lit up with light as he feels every inch of Atlas’s blade inside of him. He sweats and he shakes with the glory of it all but his guts are twisted because it’s not all he feels. Atlas never said anything to take away the pain so it’s still there, the pleasure layered on top of it in thick heady slices. But he feels good, he does feel so good and Atlas starts to draw the knife out of his shoulder again.

Jack moans at the loss, wants that slicing stinging metal back inside him, and Atlas laughs a little. Jack’s felt his self slip away piece by broken piece since the plane crashed. He’s relinquished control – what control – to ADAM and EVE, to the fire and lightning in his system. It’s been forced out of him by a voice, this voice in front of him. He doesn’t want to lose it again now, here, to the bright hot suffering of his body but Atlas thrusts the knife back into him and Jack hears a high sweet noise slip out of his own damned throat. And Atlas slides the knife back out and in again.

Jack’s completely lost now, only the pain and the pleasure building inside him, deaf to himself and to the hot breath against the side of his face. Deaf to the wet sounds of the knife entering him again and again, and blind to the hot blood seeping thick through his sweater. There’s only that aching glow of pure feeling inside him, burning and pulsing and building with every thrust. None of Rapture’s poison intoxicates ever brought him this high. Nothing has ever hurt so good as this. Atlas stabs into him again and again, so steady, and finally presses it in deep, to the hilt and Jack’s eyes roll back into his head as he whole entire body clenches hard.

Jack can feel the slow drag of the knife when Atlas pulls out and not much else. A big warm hand cups the side of his face, tilts it up. Wipes the wetness from the corner of his eye. Jack looks up at Atlas, his eyes soft and unfocussed.

“Good, kid,” he says. Good, real good, Jack hears inside his own head. His whole body relaxes at the praise. His teeth even unclench and there’s warmth in the curve of his lips. Atlas lets his head go and it drops hard onto his chest as Jack passes out.

---

“Top o’ th’ mornin’ to you, boyo,” Atlas sings, coming in to see Jack still sitting quietly where he kindly left him last night. Jack looks up, eyes still vague, to see Atlas there in front of him, cock hard in his pants and knife sharp in his grip. “And how can I help you today?”

He sees Jack’s eyes land on the thickness in his jeans, and then slowly and steadily track left to his hand.

atlas' new character models all reveal what we suspected this whole time: he's got an ass that won't quit. jack takes advantage of this. don't think about it too hard.

~~I'm really really new here, sorry if I'll do something wrong~~
Your promt made me drew something nearly nsfw-ish and Gooood it was hard and rough/
Anyway, thank you for an idea, OP ^^
()
Aaaand a little bonus
()
~~I know It's not exactly what you wanted, but I wanted to give it a try 6_6~~

Oh, um, tha same anon, well, I guess I've made a mistake.
Is it possible to delete the previous comment?? So I could post it there it should be//

~~I've alraedy did something wrong, but sorry if I will mistake again.~~
Your promt made me drew something nearly nsfw-ish and Gooood it was hard and rough/
Anyway, thank you for an idea, OP ^^
()
Aaaand a little bonus
()
I know It's not exactly what you wanted, but I wanted to give it a try 6_6

Mm I'm thinking of doing Baby Jane splicer and perhaps Rose Bud splicer?

~~(nervous laughter this is probably not the best thing in the world)~~

___

The blond was different from the black haired one, Jack realized after perhaps ten minutes with the two of them. The press of their bodies against him was disconcerting, but not as dizzying as the strong smell of Atlas all around him. The blond was slight, thinner than the other man that leaned into Jack and pressed kisses to his trembling flesh. A man that was lean and graceful, all smiles and kind words. A true prince charming.

The black haired one was harsh, the only smile one would get out of him would be a gross parody of a smirk. He was rough, cruel. But in a way, Jack preferred it that way. The blond was far too kind, it felt-

It felt like a lie.

Even then as both men guided Jack closer, pushing his legs apart with a powerful, crushing grip, Jack felt like he was being lied to. There was something different about the men, not like the smooth voice that filled his tired ears- No, there was something genuinely off about the situation. It wasn't the fact that there were /two/ of the men. No, it was more of the fact that if all felt too much like a dream come true to be true.

Before Jack knew it, the positions were being swapped. The black haired Atlas was flat on his back, one brow arched incredulously as the blond slid over his body. They were powerful and beautiful, and Jack was now completely left out of the fold. A huff of irritation left him, and the blond was now staring at him with the same questioning expression. Their faces were only slightly different, but the expressions would always be the same.

"Y'alright there, boyo?" His voice was sweet, far too sweet to be truly kind. He was using that honey sweet voice to lay a trap to catch a fly. In that case, Jack was the fly, and he was going to be drawn in by a pretty set of mouths, curved into cruel smiles. Venus Flytraps, carnivorous and beautiful-

Jack really needed a better term to describe the pair, 'beautiful' just didn't feel right. The blond prowled closer, climbing off of his copy to push the youth down against the bed. He was the most dangerous one, the black haired one was so straightforward- A bite was all it took for Jack to moan, shaken out of his trance. The wet slide of a tongue across his flesh was all it took to realize that both men were now pulling him between their powerful bodies. If they really wanted to, they could snap his neck and leave him a pretty corpse.

"Y'never answered 'em, lad," The darker one was leaning in to breath into Jack's ear, teeth bared just a hair's breadth away from sensitive cartilage. If Jack weren't so sure that they were actually about to fuck, the youth would have assumed he was about to lose his ear. The man's breath was warm, but it still sent chills down his spine all the same. Jack turned his head towards the man and kissed him, cutting off whatever smarmy little speech would have left him if he were not silenced. The kiss was brief, all teeth and pain, nipping at tender lips, drawing brilliant beads of blood. The sharp tang drew Jack closer to the man's now torn lower lip, sucking on the flesh harshly to feel him squirm.

There was a small moan from the man holding him the impromptu headlock, and then he was being dropped, pulling away from Atlas with a slick sound, a diluted trail of blood dribbling down the older man's face. The sheen of saliva was oddly endearing, but that was most likely because it was Jack's. Who would have ever imagined he had become territorial over two men he hardly knew?

He dully noticed his legs were being lifted. His gaze fluttered towards the blond, who had both of Jack's ankles clutched in his slender, calloused hands. The youth uttered nary a breath, watching with wide eyes as the man pressed lube slicked fingers against his entrance. There was a gasp from the boy, and then, those fingers pushed deep inside him. If it weren't for the pair of lips that met his at that moment, then Jack surely would have erupted into a wail that would have drawn every Splicer in the area right to them.

"Kid's a regular whore," Rough lips caressed Jack's trembling ones, sucking at tender flesh and creating vibrant red marks, "Surprised y'aint broken'm in yet."

There was a low chuckle from the man stretching Jack, scissoring his fingers leisurely. Jack was torn between flinching in pain and curling his toes, green eyes screwed firmly shut. He could hardly differentiate between their voices that way, but he supposed it didn't make a difference. One was biting and licking along his sensitive throat, the other still between his legs. For a split second, the room was filled with only Jack's labored breathing and the wet sounds of slick flesh parting under skilled fingers.

"Y'think he can take us both?" The voice closest to his ear all but purred, like a cat that was all too satisfied with chasing down some forlorn mouse. Jack supposed he was the mouse. There was a laugh from further down his body, and the fingers withdrew with a vaguely disgusting sound, leaving Jack feeling empty and craving more.

"Dunno, but we can sure as hell try, eh?" There was something morbidly casual about the blond's tone of voice. It sent a thrill of excitement through Jack, who opened an eye a fraction just in time to witness the man slowly prowl over his body, sleek muscles moving gracefully. Those eyes were too cold to be considered anything but predatory.

The youth shuddered hard, then flinched and glanced back as the man behind him slipped down to lay under him completely. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he was now trapped between two murder machines. There was a mumbled conversation between both of the men, and the blond arched his shapely brow again. A perfect expression of curiosity that shifted into maliciousness. Jack opened his mouth to speak, to interject that he was new to it all when-

They were pushing inside of him.

Jack wailed, regardless of the harsh kiss that was pressed to his lips to silence him. The wet slide of two thick cocks against his trembling insides was almost a blinding sort of agony that left him wheezing, fisting blankets in a kind of frenzied desperation that he had hardly ever known. He was too full, shuddering and clenching around swollen flesh that drove deeper and deeper with every plunging thrust. The man behind him rocked in leisurely in comparison, sucking harsh marks just under Jack's jawline. The entire world would know exactly what happened between the three of them.

The pleasure that curled in Jack's gut spread through out his entire being, a warmth that was impossible to deny. Small, wounded cries turned into low, sensuous groans. He moaned softly, sweetly even, as the men he had fallen so hard for fucked him senseless. Each new thrust set his nerves aflame, a burning that licked every sensitive inch of his sweat slicked body. At some point, the youth became aware to the fact that he was gripping the blond's shoulders, digging blunt nails into flesh that was dusted with soft, golden freckles. Blood pooled around the press of his fingers, but the man didn't even seem to mind.

One strong arm suddenly looped around Jack's throat painfully tight, and his vision went black around the edges and his vision filled with brilliant starbusts of silver static. He wheezed, desperately fighting for air, a collection of choked noises leaving him as the man behind him continued to squeeze. He was barely aware that the two men were sharing a heated kiss, feeling as if he were in a distant tunnel. When he reclaimed his breath, an incredible heat pooled in his stomach. Had he really gotten off on being choked? That was certainly depraved, but not unexpected.

It seemed Rapture had really made a mark on the boy.

It was then that he arched (as much as he could trapped between two musclebound Irishmen) and he had the most powerful orgasm in his short life. The two men followed shortly after, filling him to the brim with their combined fluids. They lay in a heap, curled closely to each other with only their panting as communication.

As far as conversation went in Rapture, that was probably as good as it would ever get. The press of hips and and the silken slide of warm, wet flesh was a luxury.

I've done this but dreamwidth formats are weird, so I've got it on ao3. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/2227695/chapters/4886859)
~~only months late~~
~~and not even properly done yet~~

Oh my god that was beautiful

pLEASE I NEED THIS

eue oh you had me at virgin.

This shall be a reader fic where you get to frickle frackle with Jack and it'll be hell dorky as a virgin Jack has no clue what to do and you just be a loving person, minus the laughing fit at some point, and walk the guy through it step by step.

Give me about two days and it'll be real as my love for Biosock [which is pretty real if I do say so]

Imma make this a thing!

Oh I am sooo on this that smug fucker wont know what hit him~!

eue ooooh I might do this

The kid’s fucking tight, stretched and trembling around Frank’s cock. He probably should’ve stretched him out more, the tightness just barely verges on painful, but a good fucking’ll loosen him right up. Anyways, he doesn’t really think the kid gives a damn, not with the way he’s shoving back onto Frank’s dick. Besides, with the way the kid sounds after a splicer gets him—the same punched-out grunt he’d given when Frank finally bottomed out—he’s not one to mind pain. Frank knows his type. He’s fucked it before.

“Little whore,” he murmurs in Atlas’ voice, and grunts when the kid tightens further in response. Franks leans back, hauling the kid up onto his knees as he goes. It’s a fucking gorgeous sight, all shaking back muscles and fine ass. Frank hasn’t had his dick in something this lovely for a while – he’s got a rule, funnily enough, to never stick his dick in a crazy, which counts out most of the people around here. Goddamned splicers. The kid looks far more like Ryan’s moll than Ryan, thank God, a pretty, wide-eyed thing like she’d been. He’s got Ryan’s jaw and nose, not that it matters when the kid’s stretched out on his stomach, hands wrapped tight around the cold iron of the bed frame. Frank’s not sure if he’s still hard, he’s buggered enough men to know that most of the time a man needs a bit of extra attention at the start.

“Would you kindly be a good boy and jerk yourself off?” he breathes into the kid’s ear. Pleasure curls through his gut as the kid obeys. Frank’s never claimed to be a good man, but it probably says something about him that that unquestioning obedience arouses him far more than any ass or pussy ever has. His very own Pinocchio, pretending to be a real boy. Dark pleasure, hot, heavy arousal, threads through his cock regardless of how the kid shifts around him. Fuck, but sometimes it’s good to be Frank goddamned Fontaine. Paying Suchong to make the kid was the best decision he ever made.

But WYK isn’t the only trigger the boy’s under. He stutters in his rhythm as he remembers, mentally runs through the list the slant gave him, and grins violently as he remembers the most perfect fucking words.

“Code yellow, boyo,” he murmurs. His breath hisses out of him as the kid’s whole body tightens up, bucks back against him unconsciously. Fuck, but that’s sweet. He shifts so that one hand is on the kid’s shoulder, forcing him down further into the mattress. It’s got two benefits: it forces the kid’s ass to the perfect fucking angle, and his heart is pounding hard enough that Frank can feel it. Can feel when his heart literally skips a beat.

The kid shifts, maybe uncomfortable, maybe just shifting. Frank bites his lip, weighs up the tightness in his stomach and how close he is, and leans back, swaps the shoulder for the kid’s dick. It won’t do for the kid to remember ‘Atlas’ trying to suffocate him, after all. Not that he’ll say anything, if previous experience’s anything to go by. Kid’s the silent type. Makes the groans, the huffs of breathe Frank makes him make just that little bit sweeter, with the added bonus of the kid never mouthing off to him. He’s left more than one bed partner high and dry because the fucker wouldn’t stop bleating. In any case, he can feel the kid’s pulse in his dick a damn sight better than his shoulder. His body’s got the rhythm back now, rocking back eagerly onto Frank’s cock, breath hissing out of him whenever his pulse kicks it down a notch. Kid’s probably never been fucked before—possessive annoyance flickers through Frank for a moment, the kid’s his goddamned science project, bought and paid for with his money, he owes Frank everything about his Frankenstein of an existence, and he hates it when others play with his toys, so the kid had better be a goddamned virgin—so with any luck, he’ll chalk it up to the buggery. From the way the kid staggers out of them and has to be reminded of what he’s ‘kindly’ doing, the vitachambers do a number on his short term memory anyway.

Frank rolls his hips quicker, harder. His skin’s tightening, like he’s climbing a mountain and the top’s in sight and he’s so close to being there. He tightens his hand around the kid’s dick, not that it matters, the kid’s losing his erection, pulse’s too slow to keep him hard. But his body still clings, tightening up and slacking off as the kid’s heart gives out on Frank’s order. He shifts his hips, manages to nudge the kid’s sweet spot, and the kid’s close enough that it feels good enough to make his body tense just enough to fucking pull Frank’s orgasm right out of his balls. He bites down hard on the back of the kid’s neck, fingers clench bone-bruisingly deep on his hips. The kid’s legs are shaking, thigh muscles like iron. His dick’s mostly soft in Frank’s hand. He rests his forehead against the kid’s shoulder, sucks in a few deep breaths, and sits up.

“Good boy,” he says, and shoots Jack in the back of the head.

(Vitachambers only work for violent deaths, after all.)

((OP anon, if you're still here, I hope you like this. And I know you said Jatlas, but I figured that Frank'd refer to himself mentally as Frank, even if he's in his Atlas persona.))

i'm speechless

Is there anywhere this is on tumblr because brUH

u heard me. the kid's a 6'2 genetic monstrosity and you can be damn sure that doesn't disclude his dick. atlas REALLY wants that sweet boy's dick.

bonus points if atlas is a mega slut unafraid of doing whatever is necessary to get satisfied.

hey hi hello there how's it goin friend I just would like to tell you I would like to just let you know that this is the greatest of all time and you are the greatest of all time and. and this might just be. the best day of my life. god bless. god be with you. my son

P much what I was gonna say

(( I'm sorry I never wrote to this prompt earlier... but i never forgot it existed ;( I started writing this as an exercise and then gasped as I realized that this prompt fit in quite well IMO!!
You can find this on AO3 as well!))

Andrew Ryan wore his temper flamboyantly; it burned at the ridge of his curled lips, at the severe creases next to his patronizing eyes, and torched his sharp knuckles white. Frank Fontaine, for the first time in this setup, played spectator as Ryan swooped down on the bungled link in his devout “chain”--a chump rubbed raw from the pampering of his well-to-do parents, no doubt, if his thin-skinned frame of mind towards the the nature of business was any indication.

“I do not sympathize for ineptitude, Mr. Wales.” Ryan gnashed each consonant between his teeth, and Fontaine imagined he would be spitting pins at the bloke if his mouth had not become a desert when his blood had begun to boil. “I will not have every man who encounters defecting customers come clamoring to me for what's nothing better than a write-off!” Fontaine watched quietly from his position behind the desk, leaning back languorously in Ryan's leather-bound chair. His thumb rested against his antagonistic smiling lips, arms crossed in front of him and one foot bobbing on the edge of Ryan's polished Ruhlman desk. He had a nearly perfect view from here; the desperation of Ryan's guest was as plain as empty pockets on a goose straight out of the slots, and Ryan was angled just so he could see the steam burning off from the side of his face.

The chump was had been scraping a dry tongue into the neck of a long-empty bottle for at least ten minutes, curdling Ryan's humor with ill-pitched pleas. Unfortunately for him, Ryan was not an easy mark for last resorts. “Mr. Ryan, I promise I wouldn't be comin' to you if there were anythin' else for me,” Wales appealed, “but we worked closely once, and now I'm hurtin'. My work in architecture's left me, my brother's left me, and Rapture don't have anythin' else for me. Mr. Ryan, I'm comin' to you as a partner--”

“Yes, perhaps we were a coalition before, and you did bring my vision into physical manifestation.” Now Fontaine itched to see if the anger had drained from Ryan's face as it did now from his voice, but the man had shifted his back towards him when Wales' whimpering memoir became too trivial a test to his patience. “However, while you designed Rapture to stand on metal and obsidian, I designed Rapture to stand on emancipated commerce and the sovereignty of man.” Ryan's verse existed most caustically in the furnace of his temper; his inclination to poetic balance was a frustrating charm, and nearly every time Fontaine heard him get himself bent on his brass tacks credo, suddenly Fontaine would be slipping on floor polish. While Fontaine withheld a nauseous giggle, Ryan continued matter-of-factly; “You insist on producing faulty structure, and no one can share in your retribution.” The cliff of Ryan's cheek was a blanched rust color when it was turned tauntingly into the peak of Fontaine's view, the slant of a dark whisk of eyelash perched at the top and a rigid sculpt of mustache betraying an exclusive mouth. He was staring dismissively at a gelded Wales, if only for means of conveying just how much of a waste of time his visit was. “Mr. Wales, our discussion is over. If you would please take yourself out.” The smitten reeling in Fontaine's stomach, incited by the buttoned-up threat enfolded by Ryan's final words, was embittered, Fontaine realized, by jealousy. Ryan's temper was a thing stroked by Fontaine's bantering devilry; to see its manacles after this Daniel Wales was, sure as hell, a slump.

The pinched mutt Wales had the scrap to persist, however misplaced it was. “But- I put my feckin' life in this rotting basillica!” Ryan turned the shutter of his back to him as though he no longer existed, and Fontaine was intrigued by the stoic face that was revealed to him, uncreased by expression as it studied the pattern of wood in the desk, or the grooves in the floor. He said, at level, the name of one of his chief guards who typically spent the day flirting with reception outside the door, and as Daniel Wales was collected from the office, Ryan gradually disengaged his frigid eyes from the surface of his desk and looked at Fontaine with all the scorn he had supposedly abated with Wales moments ago.

The acrid contempt that brimmed from Ryan's temper provoked Fontaine's wide-eyed grin. “Here I was, thinking you learned a thing or two about being calm. Thinkin of fishies swimmin peacefully, and breathing air like it was booze,” Fontaine teased, the resentful snag in his stomach beginning to untangle. “But ya do pull off a pretty act.” The way Ryan contended against Fontaine with melodramatic ardor—as he made a point to broodingly pinch the toe of Fontaine's oxford before pushing it off the desk—made Fontaine wonder if it was ever Wales he was upset with at all.

“I have no qualms with Wales. It is an aggravating pity that he chose to come in at the time he did.” Ryan moved around the desk and met Fontaine's agog gaze with an indignant twist of his lips. “I expect he will not forget who he saw sitting like a laggard derelict in my office.”

Finally, a cackle leapt from Fontaine's thrown-back head, and he sprang out of the chair triumphantly, snapping his hands onto an alarmed Ryan's arms and pressing a grinning face toward him. “Some things can't change, can they!” His pitch undulated to a sharp excitement, the uncomfortable twist of his stomach now gone with his revelation. The besotted tension in Ryan's veins—it was always Fontaine, and Wales was goose eggs!

Releasing a screwy-faced Ryan, Fontaine pranced to the cabinet where Ryan stored his liquor and threw the doors open. As Fontaine filled two glasses in devious furor, Ryan smoothed the sleeves of his suit in discomposed contemplation, his teeth tarrying over possible arguments or a reproach to Fontaine's nonsensical outburst. Pointedly, Ryan strode across the office to an incessantly beaming Fontaine. He seized the proposed glass and drew himself vehemently close, his lips drawn so tightly together that his jutting mustache must have mingled for a tantalizing moment with the tightly-trimmed one on Fontaine. As he drew breath for retaliation, Fontaine held his. Heat quickly filled the small space between them, and then, Ryan relented; “Whatever.”

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Page 30 of 34

BIOSHOCK KINK MEME

jack/wrench

Re: jack/wrench

Re: jack/wrench

Re: jack/wrench

Re: jack/atlas sensitivity stuff, alternate fill

JACK EATS ASS

no subject

no subject

Training?

Lesbians

Re: BLONDE ATLAS/BURIAL AT SEA ATLAS/JACK

ur fill sir/ma'am

Re: Fill

Re: dub!Atlas/sub!Elizabeth, dub con

Re: Jack, awkward first time

Re: Jack, honey, ?????

Re: Dom the fuck out of Atlas

Re: Robert Lutece - Public Humilation, Ridicule/Domination

Code Yellow Boyo

Re: Apparition - Jack/Disciples

no subject

jack/atlas; jack has a monster dick

Re: Code Yellow Boyo

Re: Code Yellow Boyo

Ryan & Fontaine are Friends: Fontaine is Jealous and Ryan has an Adorable Temper