Short, off the top of my head Lancer/Archer.
Archer was use to pain; in fact he had a very clear knowledge of it. It was something he had to both ignore and take clinical note of. The knowledge would let him know how long he had before his body couldn't perform anymore, and he would push the sensation back to keep on.
However, this pain and pleasure mix was something all too new to him.
His body was being stretched open and invaded by something slick, hard, and hot. A subtle movement of slim hips would strike something inside of him. It was akin to a hammer striking an anvil, and white hot sparks shot through him when it hit.
His rough fingers were currently gripping a brick wall, his cheek pressed up against it as a hot, hard, lithe body was pressed against him. Blue hair caressed his cheeks, ears, throat, shoulders, chest and back. Surprisingly soft lips were pressing tiny kisses along his neck and shoulder as he was held against the wall. Hands used to battle were showing him just how well they wielded a spear as they ran up and down Archer's own heated length.
He did not cry out, but he couldn't stifle the groan that escaped his lips.
A low, rough male voice in that crazy accent growled something in a language that Archer didn't understand, but knew it as the other man's own.
Not to be completely subdued, he arched his back out, forcing another growl and a cry of, "Gods damn you, Bowman!"
"Already did, Irishman," Archer managed to force out between his clinched teeth as he felt Lancer move within him, that pain laced bliss flooding his senses and threatening to pull him in the undertow. There was another strike and those sparks flooded within him again, the pressure starting to concentrate as lightning flooded his veins. Instinctively, his inner muscles gripped the admittedly pleasant invader, forcing more of that ecstasy again.
With a growl, Lancer started to move, faster and faster, their breaths mingled with grunts, gasps, and growls. Each strike brought Archer higher and higher until it exploded in a shower of white hot sparks. Through the haze of bliss, there was a sharp, quick pain on his shoulder. A different sort of burn than the spurts emptying out from both men.
Muscles quivered, essences were released, and the two of them were leaning against the wall in a dazed haze, catching their breath. Yet Archer was still aware of that sharp, hot pain in his shoulder as he felt liquid warmth leak from it. Absently he opened his eyes, not even aware of when he closed them, and saw Lancer's mouth smeared with bright crimson that was a few shades darker than his glowing eyes. The Celtic demi-god was wearing a smile, displaying sharpened canines wet with blood.
The same blood that was currently trickling down Archer's arm and back.
He scowled, squirmed because Lancer was a dead weight on him, and snapped, "You bit me."
A long, pink tongue snaked out and laved the wound and Archer gritted his teeth at the warmth it brought. Lancer chuckled and said, "Well, its only fitting a virgin should bleed their first time, right?"
Archer flooded prana through his pleasure soaked limbs and managed to shove the Celt away. "Ass," he said, but he was smiling.
