ds_recsredux | Chansons de marin, Crossroads, Born on Monday

A trio of cross-overs featuring Gus Knickel.

Title: Chansons de marin
Author:

aukestrel
Pairing: Gus Knickel/Johnny Johannson (Buried on Sunday/My Life as a Dog)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 120KB
Why I'm reccing this fic: AuK has taken two of my favorite characters and brought them together in a believable way. It's a voyage of discovery for both Johnny and Gus. There's sweetness and tenderness. And did I mention, it's HOT.

It’s probably the stillness that catches his eye at first. He can’t say for sure how long he’s been standing there, watching the leisurely progress of boats through the locks outside the Château Laurier, but the man across the canal, leaning on a giant planter, has been there even longer.

Gus squints - he’s going to have to admit he needs glasses at some point but he isn’t there yet - and then puts a hand up to shade his eyes. The late afternoon sun is a novelty after the past few days but is less than welcome at the moment.

He’s pretty sure it’s the same guy from last night.

Gus, unused to the enforced inactivity (not to say boredom) several days in Ottawa had imposed on him, had gone looking for a local curling club, advertised on a handwritten flyer near the cafe he’d begun to frequent, only to find that the club had been taken over for the weekend by a late-season hockey tournament. Off-season, really, but then he realized that it was some junior A tournament, no doubt a precursor to Worlds.

Chansons de marin

Title: Crossroads
Author:

kelliem
Pairing: Gus Knickel/Ollie (Buried on Sunday/Masterminds)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 445KB
Why I'm reccing this fic: Ollie is a character we know very little about. Kellie's picks up where Masterminds left off. She gives him a credible backstory and fleshes out his character while keeping him consistent what we see in canon. Gus is a perfect foil for Ollie. Their interactions ring true.

Ollie sighed and started walking again, trying to ignore the way his favorite boots now squished with each step. Walking in soggy boots was giving him blisters. Felt like he had blisters up the top of his foot and down the bottom of the other fucking side. And on top of that his wet jeans had chafed his inner thighs before they'd dried. He limped on, the bag and the briefcase getting heavier with each step. He was starting to wonder how the fuck paper could weigh so much when he heard the sound of a car approaching from behind him. He dropped the duffle, turned around, stood up straight, and stuck out his thumb, trying his best to look harmless. It hadn't worked the last eight times, but he was an optimist by nature if not by trade. The car passed him without even slowing down.

He sagged, letting his arm fall to his side with a sigh. Funny, that. He had enough brass to buy a whole fleet of cars and he couldn't get a fucking ride. He put the briefcase down on the duffle bag and stretched, worked his toes in his boots, then sighed and picked everything up again. As he turned around he saw the car that had passed him sitting a hundred yards down the road, its brake lights glowing invitingly. The driver stuck a hand out the window and waved him forward. He grinned, and headed towards the stopped vehicle. Finally, damn it, something else was going right today

He stopped by the driver's door and leaned down, to make sure he was really being offered a lift, and found himself staring. The first thing that registered was the face, like something. . . well. . . like a fucking 1940's matinee idol, complete with thick, dark hair, square jaw, pretty mouth, ruler-straight nose and gray. . . no. . . blue eyes. It was the kind of face that tended to make Ollie want to see what the owner looked like naked, and sweaty and . . . suddenly the second thing registered. The important thing. The black and white clerical collar beneath the face. Oh. . . fuckitall. Going to hell for those thoughts, Oliver MacIntosh, even if you hadn't already been headed there. A priest. Shit. That was all he needed. He was about to turn him down when it suddenly hit him. . . what better protection? If the cops were on the lookout for him they wouldn't expect him to be riding with a priest, of all things. The guy gave him a good long look up and down, then lifted amused-looking eyes to his face.

Crossroads

Title: Born on Monday
Author:

akite
Pairing: Gus Knickel/Rollie Saunders (Buried on Sunday/Whiskey Echo)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 31KB
Why I'm reccing this fic: There's not a lot of fic that features Rollie. At least not that I could ever find. Pairing Rollie with Gus works wonderfully. In many respects, they mirror each other, world-weary and a touch cynical.

akite brings them together and the sparks fly.

Rollie never even knew that he'd fallen asleep until a knock on his door woke him. Who the hell it might be, he hadn't a clue. He'd met exactly three people on this island. Four, if you counted the scary librarian lady. Unless it was that oily hotel manager guy, and Rollie didn't want to talk to him again. "Go away!" he called out, "I'm sleeping here!"

"Dr. Saunders? Please, may I talk to you?"

Well, it was a new voice at least. Rollie rolled off the bed and opened the door. "Yeah? Who the hell are you and what do you want?" Standing on the other side of the door was the best looking man he'd ever laid eyes on. He stood there open-mouthed and stared. He took it all in, the long, messy hair that was graying just a bit at the temples, the lines around the eyes and mouth that did nothing to detract from the sheer beauty of the man, wide shoulders, clerical collar, tight pants... Rollie backtracked, clerical collar? That shocked Rollie out of his stupor.

If Rollie was caught out staring, the same could be said for the man at his door. It took several more seconds for him to shake himself all over and respond to Rollie's gesture to come in. "Excuse me, please, it's just -" he trailed off and rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb. There was a flush on his cheeks. "Damn, let me try this again. Dr. Saunders, I'm Gus Knickel. Welcome to Solomon Gundy." Gus held out his hand. There was nothing Rollie could do but take it, and if he lingered longer than usual with the handshake, who could blame him?

Born on Monday