Current mood:	embarrassed
Entry tags:	die hard fanfic, movies

Live Free or Die Hard (Review and Fic)
I went and saw the new Die Hard movie with my brother last night. It was awesome. Easily as good as the first (and way better than the second and third). As long as you go in realizing that they aren't even going to attempt to be realistic, it's a perfect action film. Bruce Willis was great, Justin Long was fabulous. I'm probably going to see it at least once more in the theater. So much fun.

Of course, I'm still holding out hope for a Die Hard 5 that features zombie!Alan Rickman.

Also, I'm a giant pervert and I wrote a John McClane/Matt Farrell fanfic.

Title: Aftermath
Rating: NC17
Pairing: John/Matt
Summary: John knows all about the inappropriate feelings that develop during crisis situations.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.



John McClane always had a good grasp of the inevitable, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Matt was going to be calling on his daughter, warning or no. He understood about bonds that form in tight situations, and that the gratitude from someone saving your life is easily misunderstood as love. Hell, that’s what had given his marriage a few extra years. But he didn’t have to like it, when the kid showed up at his front door, ducking his head nervously, a bouquet of daisies clutched in his hand.

“Those for me?” John asked.

“Daddy,” Lucy said, and pushed around him. She gave Matt a quick hug and tugged him inside, taking the flowers from him. “These are so sweet! Thanks! How are you feeling?”

“Uh...” Matt was still looking at him, but allowed Lucy to pull him along. “Okay, I guess.”

John followed them into the kitchen. If he was going to have to deal with a punk, pansy-ass, criminal hacker sniffing around his little girl, at least he could watch it go down in his own apartment. Matt was limping, not a surprise, but John had to resist the urge to come along beside him and help.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he said gruffly, pulling a chair out for the kid. “I made spaghetti.” Matt took a seat and Lucy sat across from him, while John went into the kitchen and grabbed the pot off the stove. When he turned around, Lucy was making big eyes at Matt, who was looking down at the table and fiddling with a lose string on the tablecloth.

“Looks good, John,” he said, after John slopped a helping onto his plate. John grunted. He liked it better when Lucy’s boyfriend’s called him “Mr. McLane,” or maybe “Sir,” but he supposed they were past that.

“Yeah, Dad, thanks,” Lucy said, shooting him a strong “go away” look that John ignored. He sat down at the table, and she rolled her eyes. “So have you been doing, Matt?” she asked. She reached out her hand and touched his arm, pointedly ignoring her father.

Matt darted a quick, nervous glance at John before turning back to the table. “Uh. Well, I’m living out of a motel right now, since my apartment is kind of blown up. And, um, the FBI is trying to decide whether to prosecute me or hire me. So, fingers crossed, right?”

“I talked to Bowman,” John said.

Matt gave him a shy smile. “Yeah,” he said, “which is why I’m here talking to you and not sitting in a Gitmo cell. Thanks, by the way.”

John shrugged. What was he going to do? The kid saved his daughter, saved everyone really. Like a phone call was ever going to balance that out.

Lucy spent the rest of the dinner trying to get Matt’s attention back on her, and John grit his teeth as the two flirted back and forth. The pasta was undercooked, the meat overcooked, but no one complained. By the end of dinner, Lucy seemed to be growing tired of Matt’s increasingly obvious awkwardness, Matt was still looking nervously over at John ever few moments, and John was afraid he was going to need dental work.

“Well, I better go,” Matt said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You got a ride?” John asked, and when Matt shook his head, he said, “Lemme get my keys.” He stayed back when Lucy leaned over and kissed Matt’s cheek, but when it looked like she was thinking about going for his mouth, he clasped his hand on Matt’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go, kid.”

Matt looked weary when he got in the car, not that John could blame him. The drive started out silent, save for directions to the motel Matt was staying at. Finally, John said, “You know I’m a dangerous guy, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Matt said.

“Okay, then.” John gripped the wheel tight.

“I’m...not actually interested in your daughter. You know. Like that. I mean, she’s hot, don’t get me wrong...”

John looked at him, incredulous. “Am I going to have to kill you?”

Matt laughed, and John thought it pretty much sucked that somewhere along the line he’d lost the ability to scare the crap out of the kid with a growl.

“What, are you saying she’s not good enough for you?” John asked after a while.

“No! Lucy’s awesome. Nice girl. Funny. Ho--cute. Just. You know. Not my type.”

“Not your type,” John repeated. He was both elated and irritated that anybody could consider his little girl to not live up to a “type.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent again. The streets were crowded, the drive taking a hell of a lot longer than it should. John didn’t know whether he was happy about that or not. It was comfortable, having Matt next to him again. More than comfortable. He’d felt the first punch of attraction soon after meeting him, adrenaline heightening his normal appreciation for a pretty face. But the kid was a kid, young enough to be his child, and dating his daughter, for Chrissake. John had no business thinking about him like that.

Yeah, John knew all about the inappropriate feelings that developed during crisis situations.

“We’re here,” Matt said. John pulled into the motel lot, drove into the parking spot in front of room 1013. Matt didn’t make any effort to get out of the car.

“I don’t think Lucy knows that you aren’t interested in her,” John said.

Matt shrugged.

“You playing my daughter?” John asked.

“No! Dude.” Matt laughed again, shook his head. “Fine, I’ll call her, all right? I don’t think she’s exactly pining for me, but I call her, let her know we should be friends, okay? Does that meet your approval?”

John didn’t say anything. Matt didn’t get out of the car. They sat in silence, staring ahead at the building.

“Look,” Matt said. “Look. I just want to say thanks, okay? For everything.” He reached over and patted John’s leg. John nearly jumped at the contact. He looked over at Matt, who looked back at him. John couldn’t seem to look away. Matt didn’t move his hand.

“Yeah,” John said absently.

“I...” Matt started, then twisted up and kissed John. It was barely a kiss, a brief touch of lips, before Matt was scooting back in his seat, eyes wide, hand going for his door handle. “Ohmygodpleasedon’tkillme,” he mumbled.

John clenched a fist in Matt's ridiculous hair and dragged him forward for another kiss.

Matt’s lips were shock-still, his hands flailed and hit the window, but John mashed their lips together, heedless of the seatbelt digging in his neck. It took a second, but then Matt made a sound, low in his throat, and he was pushing back, his hands coming up to clench John’s shirt, moving as close as he could while still restrained by the belt. One hand pushed under John’s shirt, smooth and hot against the soft skin of his belly, and then it was John’s turn to groan.

Matt pulled away with gasp. “Holy shit,” he said. “Aren’t you straight?”

“Uh,” John answered.

“Holy shit.”

“This is probably a really bad...” John’s voice trailed off as Matt unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled off his jacket and t-shirt. He only hesitated a second before unbuckling himself and pushing the set back from the wheel. Then Matt kissed him again, he ran his hands up miles of warm, bare skin under his hands, and John forgot what he was going to say and why it was important.

Matt started sucking on his neck, his hands going for the zipper of John’s jeans. John coughed. “This—ah!—this is just...the emotion...tight situation...”

“I’m going to blow you now,” Matt said, and pulled John’s cock out of his pants.

“Oh,” John answered.

Matt licked his palm and pumped him a couple times before resting his fist at the base. He had to maneuver into an awkward position, half on the seat and half off, and John shifted to try and accommodate him. “Um, stay still,” Matt said. “You’re kind of making it worse.”

John really didn’t know what to say to that, but he sat still, gripping the seat to keep from bucking into Matt’s spit-slicked hand, until Matt adjusted himself and licked a long strip up the underside of John’s cock. “Jesus.”

Matt smiled, then took him in deep. John let his head fall back against the window. His hand moved to curl in Matt’s long, sweat-tangled hair, and it took every conscious thought to keep from thrusting in his hot mouth. Matt had obviously done this before, which made John feel a little better about the whole thing. He opened his eyes, saw the flickering lights of the cheap motel and the exposed parking lot, thought about pulling Matt off and moving inside or maybe putting a stop to the whole thing (the sensible solution)...and then Matt moaned around his cock, pressure increasing, vibrations making his eyes roll, and John realized that he didn’t give a fuck about being outside, and the whole of New York could come and take a peek for all he cared. His fist tightened in Matt’s hair.

“Farrell...Matt...” he tried to tug him up, but Matt wouldn’t move. His eyes slid shut and he came. The feeling of Matt’s throat working as he swallowed made John groan.

“Whoa,” Matt breathed. He pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Uh,” John said. He suddenly felt incredibly awkward, with his soft cock hanging wetly out of his jeans. Matt smiled shyly, his lips bright and pink. He reached over and tucked him back in his pants.

“So, um,” Matt said.

“C’mere,” John said, grabbing Matt’s upper arms and pulling him as close as he could. Matt ended up half-straddling his legs, and he rubbed his cock against John’s thigh. John couldn’t resist grabbing one of Matt’s small, hard nipples between his teeth, and Matt gasped and arched into him. John ran his hands down Matt’s side, up his things, enjoying the play of muscles under his fingers as Matt bucked. He palmed Matt’s cock through his jeans and went for the zipper.

“You don’t have to,” Matt said.

“Shut up,” John answered. It didn’t take long before he could push his hand inside, pass the opening in his boxers to the hard member underneath. He thumbed Matt’s slit, used the pooling pre-come to lubricate as he pumped the younger man.

“Shit,” Matt hissed, and then kissed him. The kiss was hard, wet, Matt’s tongue thrusting forcefully as John jacked him. It didn’t take long before Matt was coming into his hand. John held him gently as he shuddered, then pulled his hand down and wiped it on Matt’s jeans.

“Hey,” Matt protested weakly.

“If I come home with your jizz on my clothes...” his voice trailed off, and he realized belatedly there probably wasn’t a worse time to bring up his daughter.

Matt looked uncomfortable, and started to slide off his lap. “Yeah,” he said. Then he grinned. “I can’t believe we fucked in a parking lot! I haven’t done that since high school!”

“Oh, so last year, then,” John grumbled, and he tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d been in high school. Or fucked in a car.

“Not bad for an old guy,” Matt said. He pulled on his shirt, and it was inside out. He looked so...adorable, really, that was the only word, hair mused and cheeks flushed, a self-satisfied smirk on his red, swollen lips. John could resist grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down for another kiss.

“So, I’ll be seeing you,” Matt said, when the kiss ended. It didn’t sound like a question, but John knew it was.

“Yeah,” he said. “You got my number.”

“Yeah,” Matt answered with a blinding smile. He started to get out of the car, and John grabbed his arm.

“Hey, you call me if you get any trouble with the Feds, okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Matt said. He pulled away, stepped out of the car, and grabbed his jacket off the floor. “I can take care of myself.”

John snorted. “The hell you can.”

Matt winked at him. “I’ll call you,” he said. “Thanks for the ride.”

He shut the door, and John watched until he was inside the motel room.

**END**