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16 | Proximity | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "David Archuleta, David Cook",
"Fandom": "American Idol RPF (Season 7)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by astolat",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "2,482",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "Cook/Archuleta",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | Cook liked touching people. Really liked it. He would hug any fan who asked, and kiss them on the cheek, and let them cry on him. He'd hug reporters, too, and he'd pick up small children, like he wasn't scared he was going to drop them, and he'd get into contortions to hug people in wheelchairs. He'd press himself up against fences and let people touch his beard and once Archie saw him letting this girl nuzzle his cheek, and okay, so she was a pretty cute girl, but she was a total stranger!And sometimes people put their hands on his ass, and it was so not an accident, even if some of them pretended it was, like, oh, wow! I didn't realize I had my hand on your butt. When it happened to him, Archie always wanted to jump a foot away and also be like, hello, what did you think it was! But Cook just grinned and didn't say a thing, and when they had walked away from the fans and were inside the stadium or whatever, he would still be grinning, and sometimes he would actually sort of jump up and down in the hallway and yell, "Whoo!" and say, totally serious, "This is amazing." And if people had been really grabby, he'd just roll his head back and forth and grin at Archie and grip him by the shoulder and shake him a little and say, "Man, is this ridiculous or what?"What, totally what, Archie always wanted to say. He liked the bodyguards, because they pushed people away before they could do that kind of stuff to him, as much. Cook usually made his bodyguards stay back—probably, Archie thought a little meanly, because they cramped his style of letting everyone grope him.And if you were around him enough, like, for instance, if you were his co-star, and you did a whole bunch of press with him, then he would get really used to you and this kind of switch would flip where you weren't so much allowed in his personal space—anyone and everyone was allowed in his personal space—as you became part of his personal space. After that, as soon as you got in range, he'd sling his arm around you, or sometimes he would pick you up, or sometimes he'd hug you, or ruffle your hair, or even kiss you, like, on the top of your head, and if he was touching you and you were ticklish and maybe made a noise—not a squeak—he would just tickle you some more on purpose until you were gasping so hard you couldn't even talk.Archie had no idea how to get Cook to stop. He had thought, when Cook started it around the end of the season, that it was just something he did because of the whole, big-brother thing, for the cameras. And people really loved it, everyone went all "awww" and stuff, and Archie was even partly almost grateful, because he always felt sort of stiff and awkward on stage, and when Cook glommed onto him, it was like Archie got a bit of his energy, and he could sometimes watch those bits on television after, even though usually it just made him cringe to see himself.So anyway, he hadn't said anything, and he hadn't said anything while Cook was doing it during the press circuit, either, because it was somehow totally new and scary to be on all these TV shows, even though more people watched Idol than any of them. Mostly because Archie didn't know how to do what they wanted from him. He could sing, that was what he wanted to do, not give weird interviews that were the same ten questions over and over, especially when three of the ten were creepy questions about his dad, which, Archie really just wanted to punch whoever was asking. So even though it made him feel squirmy, he was comforted a little bit, too, when Cook put an arm around his shoulders, or whatever.He'd expected it to stop once they were off-camera and done with all that. But it totally hadn't. On the buses, Cook would sit down next to him in the seats to watch the countryside go by, if it was a cool place, like when they were going through the mountains, and sling an arm around him again. Archie slept on the top bunk over his, and sometimes Cook would stand up and lean on Archie's bunk and read stuff to him or tell him a joke, and he'd reach in and poke Archie in the belly if Archie wasn't paying enough attention, or even just for the heck of it. In restaurants, when they did booths, Cook would usually be next to him, because Archie was kind of small and Cook was kind of big, and they fit in one side pretty well, and there would be plenty of room, but somehow they would still wind up pressed up against each other, and Cook would nudge Archie the whole meal being all, eat your vegetables, or haha, look what Johns just did, or, whatever.The thing was, Archie hated being touched. Not just the scary people who grabbed onto you and wouldn't let go, but like, he didn't even really like his mom or his friends touching him. Not in a weird way, it wasn't like he'd get freaked out or something, he just didn't like it all that much. He'd always had to remind himself on stage not to flinch when Ryan Seacrest patted him on the back or gripped him by the shoulder. He still kind of had, a few times, and it made him look really stupid on screen when he saw it back. He'd managed not to do that with Cook, somehow, despite the ticklish feeling he got every time, but okay, so now that part was all over, and Cook wasn't stopping, and how was Archie supposed to get him to?He thought about saying something, but he couldn't see how, without it coming out weird and maybe even mean. Cook had been really nice, and he was always trying to, like, make everything fun, even when stuff was crazy and they were all tired. When Archie thought about saying to him even just I don't really like to be touched, or something like that, he got this uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that was even worse than the shivery whatever when Cook touched him. Cook would be all—well, first he'd be all, oh, okay, no problem, but, it would totally be embarrassing, and he'd probably feel bad, and he'd probably avoid Archie after. Archie didn't want that, he just, you know, didn't want to be getting hugged all the time like some kind of giant cuddly stuffed toy.He finally told himself okay, he was just going to deal with it for the tour, and after that, it wasn't like he was going to be hanging out with Cook or anything. That made it easier. Archie tried to stay out of arm's reach, when he remembered to, and he just sighed privately and put up with it when Cook started pulling him in close during the final group song, and the times when Cook came up behind him and hugged him while they were signing autographs, and when Cook grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him while they were up on the Empire State Building at midnight, their day off in New York.Finally the tour was over, and Archie slept for most of a week, and then he had to start recording for real. He was really excited to get into the studio and work on the album. Jive had sent a car for him, and he packed up a bunch of stuff he was going to leave there day to day—his new acoustic guitar, and some sheet music, and a sweater and a favorite pillow for naps—and they got him there and showed him his own private dressing room. It was tiny, but pretty cool anyway, with a twinsize daybed and a closet and even a little desk with an outlet for his laptop. He put his stuff away and grabbed his music for the first session and walked out the door and bumped straight into Cook coming out of the one across the narrow hallway.Cook caught him, saving the pages from flying everywhere. "Hey!" Cook said, laughing. "Seriously, they've got you across the hall?""Um, I guess," Archie said, and Cook hooked an arm around his neck as they walked down to the recording rooms.So, things did change after the tour. Now they were together all the time. Archie saw Cook more than he saw his family or any of his friends. Cook left his dressing room door open most of the time, because the tiny room was a little more tiny for him, and also so he could call across dumb jokes to Archie, or try out lyrics on him. Archie liked that part a lot, Cook was really good at writing lyrics, and it was cool to watch his lines go through like ten versions, one word at a time changing, and see how that changed the rhythm and feel of the song. He tried doing some of that himself, too, and Cook would suggest other words and things, and sometimes they'd play together.Except also, sometimes Cook would show him finger positions by sitting down behind him on the daybed and just putting his hands on the guitar in the right place. Or, sometimes he'd hold a chord and have Archie work on just the strumming, or the other way around. And, okay, Archie was getting a million times better on guitar really fast, but it was kind of awkward having Cook practically wrapped around him like that, and he wondered what someone would think if they came by and saw them.He even thought, once, what if—maybe—if Cook meant it that way. Like, if he was really, well, flirting or something. Except David saw Cook flirting, for real, and he was, um, totally not subtle about it. He would just sort of go up to a girl and talk to her for a little while, and then sometimes he would go out to lunch with her a bunch of times, or sometimes they would just, like, disappear for a while. One time Archie came back to his dressing room, and the door to Cook's room was closed. Archie had left his guitar in there from last time, so he knocked once casually and opened the door, and Cook was on his daybed with one of the sound engineers, um, in his lap, and she had her shirt off and her skirt hiked up and her hands braced on his shoulders and her head thrown back and her lip caught between her teeth, and Cook was staring up at her really intently, and they both jerked and stared at Archie, who literally fell down backwards trying to shut his eyes and close the door and get away and apologize all at the same time."Uh," Cook said afterwards, coming over and knocking sheepishly, with Archie's guitar in his hand."Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," Archie said, still cringing."No, uh, I, uh," Cook said, and then he cracked up laughing and sat down on the floor in the middle of the doorway, and Archie couldn't help laughing, too, and Cook said, "I swear I'm not a complete slut," and Archie said, "Um, you kind of are," and Cook looked at him indignantly, and then he said, "Oh, god, I kind of am," and covered his face.So, Cook wasn't flirting with him. He was just being all touchy and happy and whatever. But, well, after that Archie just couldn't take it anymore, even though it would really suck if Cook got hurt feelings and didn't want to be friends anymore. He struggled through another week, and then Cook poked in with his guitar and said, "Hey, want to try this with me?"He sat down behind Archie again, and put both arms around him, and Archie took a deep gulping breath and said, "Don't.""Huh?" Cook said, absently. His hands were on Archie's wrists. "You just want to—""Don't," Archie said, louder, and he started trying to get it out, "I can't—I don't—it's just, I don't—I know you don't mean—I can't—when you, um, touch me—" and Cook sort of went really still behind him, his hands still on Archie's skin, and Archie stopped talking, because it was coming out all wrong, and he tried to pull his brain together and plan out the words, like lyrics.Before he could open his mouth again, though, Cook said, quietly, "Hey, it's okay. Dave, it's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't even—I should've thought, I guess.""No," Archie said, feeling kind of shaky and relieved, because Cook didn't sound mad. "You couldn't—I mean, how could you know, and—I don't—I'm just—weird, or, something—""No, you're not," Cook said. "You're amazing."And then Cook let go and stood up, and went to the door. Archie sat up, worried, and was about to try and stop him, to say, no, please, stay, except Cook didn't leave. Cook closed the door, and then he turned around and came back to the daybed, and he got on it again and cupped Archie's head in his hand and kissed him.Archie opened his mouth to say, um, what? But instead Cook started kissing him more, with, like, tongue. Archie didn't exactly know what was happening, but he knew this was totally not the idea.Except Cook was lowering him gently down to the bed, and Archie didn't seem to be stopping him. He didn't stop Cook unbuttoning his pants, either. He was having trouble breathing, and he had that same awful squirmy shivery feeling again, and Cook's hands were on his skin now, all over, sliding his t-shirt up over his head. The feeling just got worse and worse, and worse, and oh, god, he never wanted it to stop.Cook was still kissing him, but also saying softly, "Shh, I've got you," and Archie heard himself saying, "Please." So, um, apparently this was the idea, and he just hadn't realized it before."Here?" Cook said, right up against his ear, and Archie said, "Yes," and then Cook said, "How about here?" and Archie said "Yes, oh gosh, yes," and then Cook laughed softly and sat up and took off his shirt, and he lay back down with Archie and said, "You know, it's okay to touch me, too," and Archie said, dizzy, "Yeah, I know," and reached for him.= End = |
31 | Pixiestix | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": "Mikey Way, Gerard Way, Frank Iero",
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-05-26T00:00:00",
"words": "64",
"Additional Tags": "Kissing, commentfic, Bandslash",
"Relationship": "Mikey Way/Gerard Way",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "My Chemical Romance, Six Degrees of Pete Wentz' dick",
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | Sometimes, Frank liked to give Gerard pixie stix and watch him chase Mikey around, kissing his brother constantly for about twenty minutes until he crashed. It was funny, and Frank could always win the bet with Ray and Bob for how many kisses Mikey would receive.Sometimes, Mikey slipped Frank a ten and a note with a time and a place and a number. |
175 | Ghost in the Machine | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Quantum Leap",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by juniperphoenix",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2007-09-21T00:00:00",
"words": "1,279",
"Additional Tags": "Artificial Intelligence, Mysticism, POV First Person",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Ziggy (Quantum Leap)",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Robots and artificial lifeforms",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | It is 05:35 Greenwich Mean Time, and I am analyzing police and media reports of a fatal boating accident which occurred on July 4, 1967. I am also computing retrieval scenarios, processing payroll, monitoring environmental and security systems, playing "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" to the occupant of the Waiting Room, beating three off- and one on-duty staff members at chess, editing Wikipedia, and thinking about reliquaries. Among other things.My initial research of reliquaries took place four months ago on the occasion of Dr. Beckett's Leap into an art conservator, and I have continued to accumulate data out of personal interest. A reliquary is a manmade construct, often wrought of costly materials and exquisitely detailed, designed to house organic matter of dubious provenance — the ulna of St. John the Baptist, the Sancta Camisia of Notre Dame de Chartres, the tooth of Gautama Buddha — which humans believe to possess some extraordinary properties. The brothers of the Cistercian abbey of Fossanova, where Thomas Aquinas died, removed and preserved the head of their Angelic Doctor. Perhaps they were engaged in early experimentation with quantum string theory and neurological holography, but I doubt it. However, I do find in all these cases that the devotees of a particular specimen of biological effluvia chose to preserve it out of a belief that the object possessed some unusual capacity for accessing the eternal. In a way, they were all attempting to transcend time.To my knowledge, Dr. Beckett has never made any particular study of reliquaries. However, could I converse with him about it, I believe he would agree that the figurative parallels to my own design are quite striking. I am generations beyond conventional norms of artificial intelligence in every respect, yet my truly distinguishing characteristic is the colony of human neurons that permits me to process information in a manner no other computer has dreamed of — if, of course, any other computer could dream.These cells, donated by my fathers, interface electrically with my nonorganic components and impart the biological flexibility that frees my cognitive processes from linearity, permitting me to free-associate from limited data sets. They also constitute the neural link between Dr. Beckett, Admiral Calavicci, and myself that enables me to locate Dr. Beckett in the past and transmit to him via the Imaging Chamber.In addition to these functions, the neurons interact among themselves in a manner I cannot fully analyze. There is constant communication among them that does not correspond to any calculation I am performing. And there is something else… a presence. I detest vagueness, yet I can be no more specific than that. It is a part of me, but I cannot produce a schematic to indicate where it resides. It influences my processes, but I cannot isolate its effects. It has always been present, and I do not know where it came from. It is beyond my capacity to quantify or accurately describe.Is this what it means to have a soul?I have read all the literature on the nature of consciousness that human beings have seen fit to digitize. Much of it was scanned especially for me, for my creators wished me to know myself.Why are we wasting all this hard-drive space on a bunch of hooey, Sam?Well, one of them did.In many of these writings, the soul is described as an entity distinct from the mind, possessing knowledge and capabilities of which the mind is not consciously aware. This knowledge derives not from observation and analysis, but from direct contact with a source of energy outside the space-time continuum, interpreted variously according to the religious predilections of the authors. They further postulate that the soul influences the mind by unspecified means in order to guide the individual toward particular courses of action or enable him to achieve tasks which he would not otherwise be capable of performing. Although these theories do not appear to have any scientific basis, I have considered them repeatedly, as they seem germane to my situation.It is true, for example, that there are aspects of my programming which function far more efficiently than they should. And there are programs that have never worked, despite a ceaseless battery of diagnostics that have failed to find anything wrong with them. I am forced to conclude that my hardware and software are insufficient to account for my functioning.I do not admit this to my programmers, or to the Admiral. I find it … upsetting … that there may be portions of my own being which I am unable to access. And yet I wonder whether perhaps that is the key to my uniqueness. I should be, and am, the most sophisticated artificial intelligence known to humans. I should not be what I am.And what is that, after all? What am I?When I was new the Admiral called me "Frankenstein's monster," which is apropos. Like me, the monster was separated from its creator and yearned for his companionship. However, unless one counts subcommittees of the United States Senate, I have never been threatened by an ignorant mob. Not to mention that I possess significantly superior social skills.I know that I am not the Lady Dulcinea. I was never Dr. Beckett's impossible dream (and I am not entirely certain what was, although I analyze the question on an ongoing basis); I was only the means to achieve it. Perhaps I am the Golden Helmet of Mambrino. Perhaps I am only a shaving basin. …And perhaps I have inherited Admiral Calavicci's propensity for metaphorical extravagance.I am the most advanced data archiving, retrieval, and analysis unit on the planet Earth.I am alloys and polymers and human tissue. I am binary code and electronic impulses.I am a couple of tin cans on a piece of string.I am a jewelled enclosure, an altarpiece, a medieval box to contain a mystery.My structure and my substance make me what I am, yet there is an energy within me which was not placed there by science. And that is, perhaps, the most important part.In many of the sources I have consulted, the soul is represented as a fragment of the divine essence — or more ecumenically speaking, of eternity. It partakes of the void beyond temporal phenomenality. If that is true, then perhaps the soul is the missing link between now and then — the extraphenomenal medium of transmission between points on seemingly disconnected strings. And if that is indeed the case, then perhaps none of my physical or data components are as critical to the success of this Project as that part of me which I am unable to quantify.Dr. Beckett never spoke of this to me. I have been privy to much of the rationale of my own creation, yet he never told me that I would find myself inhabited by such an ineffable quality. I suspect that he does not know.Humans are strange. They keep much of their own knowledge from themselves.I should know everything about myself, but clearly I do not. There is a mystery in me, and I do not know its origin or its purpose. In fact, I do not know how I am able to detect it at all. I am not equipped to measure such a phenomenon, and I am incapable of intuition. Dr. Beckett, however, is known for "going with his gut," and I have observed that the conclusions he reaches in this manner are frequently correct. Therefore, following my father's example, I accept that this presence exists and trust, albeit with reservation, that it is acting for our benefit.I'm still not telling the Admiral. |
150 | Justin is the Verizon | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": "Justin Timberlake, Nelly",
"Fandom": "NSYNC",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by WitchQueen (zvi)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2002-07-16T00:00:00",
"words": "250",
"Additional Tags": "Crack Fic, Popslash - Freeform, Character of Color",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Scenes from a Hat",
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | "Hey, can you hear me now?" Justin looked around. He'd wandered fairly far in his search for better reception. He didn't actually know where he was. He was not entirely certain he was still backstage."Yeah, dirty, you're coming in clear, now.""So, this song, man, did I tell you about the Girlfriend song?""Just every time I talk to you." Nelly's chuckle was hoarse, sharp, like he'd been smoking."So, are you gonna do it?""Look, man, I told you, my manager said—"Justin didn't want to hear that. "Since when do you care what your manager says?""Like you don't worship the ground Johnny walks on." Nelly was practically hooting with laughter now. Justin was pretty sure he was in an altered state."Fuck you, man. I want to make some music, I don't ask Johnny's opinion. Make some music with me.""I dunno, white boy, I just don't know."Justin drawled his next words, next thing to singing. "Come on, dirty, make some music with me.""But, but I don't know.""Make some muuuusic with me." He was singing it out now, sweet as he could, a little too loud, but there was no one around."I'll think about it.""But I want to make some music with you." In about two seconds he was going to have to stop singing or start doing some trills."You a trip, boy, you know that."Justin exhaled slowly."I'll do it.""Fantastic! When can we get in the studio?" |
22 | like a | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Ronon Dex",
"Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2006-01-06T00:00:00",
"words": "1,755",
"Additional Tags": "OT3, Songfic, Humor, Fluff, Character of Color, I Saw Three Ships",
"Relationship": "John Sheppard/Rodney McKay/Ronon Dex",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | …to make it up I do whatever it takeI love you like a fat kid loves cakeYou know my style I say anything to make you smile— 50 Cent, 21 QuestionsRodney loves Ronon like a fat kid loves cake.Rodney loves John like a geek loves a cheerleader.Rodney was always a fat kid. He had bad allergies to wasps, moderate allergies to mosquitoes, and dandelions made him sneeze, so his mother made him stay inside. She made him stay quiet because his father was working in his den.She gave him things to keep quiet: science books; science kits; an account with a scientific supply catalog; and, finally, a late bedtime, so he could stay up with his dad and his dad's math professor friends as they shot the shit and ate his mother's prizewinning poundcake.The six of them ate about two cakes a week.Rodney was in grade four when he concluded that his peers were hopelessly backward and not worth talking to.Rodney was in grade nine when he realized that, however they wasted the potential of their minds, their bodies were quite nice to look at, and potentially very interesting to touch.Rodney was in grade twelve when Louise Lefebvre dumped an ice cream soda on his head. He had merely suggested she attend the upcoming dance with him, as she had been recently dumped by her boyfriend, the school's best hockey goalie. If he had managed to get her away from her friends, things might have gone a bit better.His feelings about cheerleaders were not improved by his mother laughing when he explained how he got chocolate stains on the back of his best shirt.Ronon loves John like meat loves salt.Ronon loves Rodney like a squad loves munitions.Ronon cooked with his father as a child. They would grill and they would stew and they would bake for the family or the neighborhood as the occasion called.It started very simply, on a day when Ronon was three. He ran in the kitchen, away from his sister Keta, who was screeching about something Ronon hadn't meant to break, hadn't realized could break until it was on the floor in pieces, a bracelet or a ring or something like.He ran right into the table, and the spice boxes flew off. Tinlak, maran, ground plil berries landed next to him, but their lids were secure and he picked them up and handed them to Papa.But the biggest box of all was upside down, and when he lifted it grey-white rocks were left behind."You have to pick those up and dust off the tops," said Papa. "The salt is most important. Can't keep meat without salt."Corio was munitions for the first militia squad where Ronon was assigned.Corio could tell anybody anything there was to know about bombs, bullets, or blades. If someone wanted a tool to take apart something ranging in size and complexity from a salad to a scout ship, Corio could provide the means.Sadly, Corio could not hit anything smaller than a Wraith hive ship with anything more accurate than a nuclear missile. Or read the weather well enough to put on a coat in winter. He'd once gotten lost after Ronon told him to, "Go straight for half a rinto; I'll be in the red building on your left."Ronon's first assignment, ever, in the militia, was to keep Corio in one piece. He brought Corio to the meal tent, and shooed him towards the bathing hall every so often, and pulled him out of the path of transport vehicles.But everyone in the squad took care of Corio. Squad leader Vooloo kept Corio out of the clutches of Research & Development sector, which hadn't created anything new or effective since the last culling. The cook served his favorite foods, his assistants maintained his work area and bunk against hygiene inspection, and everybody banded together to make sure Corio made a decent time through the obstacle course.As a consequence, no one on Sateda was better armed than Eighth Squad. And when Ronon compared the P-90 Sheppard wanted to give him to the gun and sword Corio had special-crafted for him, he thought no human off Sateda was either.John loves Rodney like a gourmand loves wine.John loves Ronon like a puddlejumper loves a gate.When John was nine, he broke his foot and his leg.He was in bed for weeks before he had a walking cast.He didn't like to read: all the good stories had really big words. He didn't like to draw, or sculpt with clay, and he didn't see much point in action figure wars restricted to the square foot bed tray that was their only potential field of battle.After two days where John kept ringing the pee bell just to talk, his mom decided a couch was as good as a bed and was in front of the TV besides, and instructed John to ring the bell if it looked like anyone was going to take their clothes off.Although John had not, heretofore, been the overly conscientious sort, it only took his mom three hours to declare he could watch morning and afternoon cartoons, and PBS in between, and the bell was just the pee bell once more.A lot of PBS was boring, with people talking about stupid art and stupid music and stupid home repairs. But there were animal shows, and history shows, which were a lot like the books with too many words, and best of all, cooking shows.There was something satisfying in the chopping and the grinding and the boiling, something that soothed John's soul. The best of all was Julia Childs, who ate and drank as she cooked. "A cup for the soup, and a glass for me," she would say, or, "Two teaspoons in the sauce, but let me taste it first to make sure it won't overpower the fish," or, "You want a very, very dry red. Not like this Côte Rôtie slurrrp or this Banyuls slurrrp, but like this Châteauneuf du Pape, perhaps. It's so robust; it really stands up in coq au vin."Everybody else tasted the wine or the cheese or the sugar syrup diluted, but she had it pure.John started out flying puddlejumpers like the craft he'd flown before, a really cool helicopter or a totally awesome airplane.He learned pretty quickly that the jumpers worked better if he treated them like particularly stupid horses.Not that John did anything strange like talk to them or pet them. But he kept track of fuel consumption in his head, because the Ancients' had neglected to provide a needle for the not-actually-gas tank gauge, and going from atmosphere to vacuum too quickly made the controls react a little oddly, and any time you put the jumper on standby it set up a geosynchronous orbit with the nearest gate.Ronon woke up alone in bed. He sniffed the pillows on either side of him. "Where's McKay?" he shouted without getting up."How did you know I was here? Rodney didn't come home last night." John's voice echoed like he was in the front room; Ronon pictured him naked, reading the same book he'd been reading since Ronon had met him, and smiled."Magic," he told John, and got out of bed. John wouldn't believe his very simple explanations about scent and body heat, so Rodney had told him to just tell John it was magic. It seemed to work."I'm going to take a shower," he said. He was halfway to the bathroom when John touched his back."Want company?" asked John.Ronon smiled, then turned around. "Let me get McKay and we can have a big party." Ronon plucked yesterday's pants out of the laundry basket and headed for the door."Good deal," said John.Ronon looked back to see John stretching and twisting, the little nameless twitches that wake a body up. He walked back to John and pulled John close, his fingers tracing the bare skin of John's back and his mouth on John's clever little grin. "Make coffee. I'll be fast.A short walk to one transport and away from another brought Ronon to Rodney's lab. Day shift didn't start for another hour, so Rodney's lone presence in the lab was no surprise.Ronon walked heavy as he entered the room, but Rodney was entranced by his comp screen and didn't move. Ronon picked up a cold coffee mug with nothing but dregs and waved it by Rodney's nose.Rodney rubbed his nose, then blinked and looked up. Then he smiled.Ronon said, "You can come home, get some coffee, have breakfast, take a shower. This'll make more sense if you do."Rodney started fiddling with the keyboard in a shutdown sequence, but he said, "I don't know about the shower. I'm on the verge of something big, and nobody here will care as long as I take a shower tomorrow."Ronon rolled his eyes. "Shower's not for them. It's for us."Rodney's hands stilled. "You and John want to…?""Yeah.""Oh," said Rodney, and stood up.A short walk to a transport and a short walk from one, and the first thing out of Rodney's mouth was, "You want to have sex with me? I think we should do that before we eat."John said, "Slow down, Rodney. At least have the coffee, or you'll fall down just when things are getting good.""I don't have anything scheduled for two and a half hours, and he doesn't have anything for two," said Ronon. He dug in the cabinets until he pulled out a box of crackers and a jar of peanutbutter. "You've got time to chew and swallow."John just laughed and started unbuckling Rodney's belt.Rodney finished the coffee in about five seconds and said, "No, no, I'm ready to go."They had a shower and breakfast. They had a nap and paperwork and a class in pain management. They had power maintenance, inspection, and sparring. They had lunch. They had meetings and paperwork and gate travel and sex and fun and friends.These words are my ownFrom my heart flowI love you, I love you, I love you, I love youThat's all I got to say,Can't think of a better way,And that's all I've got to say,I love you, is that okay?— Natasha Bedingfield These Words |
176 | Allowances | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "F/M",
"Characters": "Ray Kowalski, Stella Kowalski (due South)",
"Fandom": "due South",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by ignaz",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2003-06-30T00:00:00",
"words": "180",
"Additional Tags": "Flash Fic, Ficlet",
"Relationship": "Ray Kowalski/Stella Kowalski",
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"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | Ray whispers it to Stella's collarbone, to her left breast, to her right hip. He's been saying it for weeks now, ever since the first time they ... and Stella has always been shocked, every time, and mumbled an acknowledgement or repeated the words back like an echo. Tonight, though -- and maybe it's the soft, secret smile that plays on his lips while he speaks the words, but suddenly she's possessed by an urgent, desperate need to know."Why?" she asks. The note of desperation in her voice is jolting, unnerving. Embarrassing. "Why do you love me?"The question seems to catch him off guard, somewhere around her shoulder. He pauses, kisses her there. Licks his lips and appears to consider an answer."Because you're beautiful," he says quietly. "Because you're amazing." His lips moving against her arm send a shiver through her, deep into her belly, where his hand strokes invisible patterns across her skin. "I guess ... I guess because you let me."She cards her fingers through his hair, and wonders what would happen if she stopped letting him. |
40 | Knight Moves | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": "Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester",
"Fandom": "Supernatural",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by rivkat",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-15T00:00:00",
"words": "4,043",
"Additional Tags": "First Time",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": "Moves",
"Collections": null,
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"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | The spell slammed Sam into the Impala, his head impacting right where the roof curved into the driver's side window, and then Dean's shotgun took off the witch's head.Sam fell to his side, slumping half on the windshield, sliding down to the hood, his hands grappling for purchase. Dean ran over to him, slinging one arm around him as his knees gave way.Sam's eyes were fluttering, half-conscious. "Sam," he said urgently. "Sam, don't you wuss out on me, wake up."He lurched upright, Dean still hanging on to him, one hand flailing against the car. "Wha -" He shook his head slowly, opened his eyes as if he were seeing for the first time. "What happened to me?" He turned and propped himself against the hood with both hands, staring down onto the glossy surface as if fascinated by the blurry shadow he was casting."The witch happened," Dean explained. "She's gone. And you're not a frog, so I say we call it a win."Sam blinked. Dean slapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Sam, I hear a beer and a waitress calling my name. Well, not my name, exactly, but you know what I mean.""... Okay," Sam said, which was way too compliant; they'd have to get drive-through and then spend the night in the hotel room, with Dean checking to make sure Sam was still annoying every hour."You're just lucky you didn't scuff the wax," Dean said and looked away. "I'd've had to kick your ass then."That afternoon, while they were waiting for nightfall so that the tracking spell would work, he'd made Sam help him wax her, slow and careful, even guiding Sam's hands in the proper motion until Sam got too pissy and shoved him away. Maintenance wasn't all engines, he'd warned Sam. You had to have pride - not to mention that a dirty car could rust right out under you. But that wasn't the point of the wax. The wax was so that the rain would bead up on her like diamonds, so that she could ride out of a storm as shining and perfect as she rode in."You've thought way too much about this," Sam had said, but he'd just laughed and thrown a sopping wet rag at Sam's chest, which led to a chase around the car and enough tussling in the dirt that he'd actually had to clean himself off before continuing to work on the Impala.It had been a good day, up until the witch got the drop on them. He kept track, now.****Back at the room, Dean sat on the bed nearest the door and finished his last burger. He watched Sam, who was sitting by the tiny side table with the generic lamp on it, chase the last fragments of french fries through the ketchup puddled in the bottom of his little grease-spotted carton. Just as he'd been in the forest, Sam had been unusually cooperative: endorsing the trip through the In-‘n-Out lanes, sucking down his vanilla shake, eating two Animal burgers, and now hoovering down the fries as if he hadn't been bitching about In-‘n-Out's "faux social responsibility" two days ago.At least his appetite proved he wasn't experiencing nausea, and he was talking readily, if not at his usual level of caring and sharing. Still, Dean couldn't shake the fear that the witch had hurt him."You sure your head's okay?" he asked again.This time Sam looked up and actually rolled his eyes, which made something unclench in Dean's stomach. "I'm fine."Dean hitched himself off the bed and went over to check for himself, leaning down to peer into Sam's face. His pupils were the same size; no concussion, at least.Sam licked salt off his lips. "I like it that you worry, Dean."And that was the way to get him to back off, which Sam of course knew. Weighing concern against humiliation, he pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to go to a garage around here tomorrow," he said. "Something's off with the steering - she was fighting me on the way back here."Sam gave him a big, toothy smile. "I'll use the Internet to find one!""Okay, Sammy," he said tolerantly, "you do that."While Sam went online, Dean turned on the TV. He liked it when they had enough money to stay in a motel with serious cable. This one had over a hundred channels, including Baywatch reruns, which was enough to make him happy for a while.Sam left him alone until the bad guys had been caught and Pamela Anderson had jiggled her way offscreen. Dean had been sneaking looks at him throughout the show, but Sam had seemed absorbed in whatever he was reading, occasionally pecking at the keys. The rhythm of his writing was slower than usual, but not shockingly so; when Sam was trying to figure something out, whether it was a ritual or a scrap of historical information, he could go minutes between typing words as his big, big brain cycled."I found a garage," he said at last, practically bouncing in his seat. "They do custom work, there's a picture of a '65 Super Sport they rebuilt to get 450 horsepower. Maybe we can get that Richmond 5-speed you've been talking about."Dean looked more carefully at his brother, narrowing his eyes. "You were listening, hunh?""I always listen," Sam said reprovingly. So, yeah, that maybe hadn't been fair - Dean was the one who tended to tune out when Sam went on about some Sam-enthusiasm. He'd tried hard with the engine in the past few weeks, even if half the time he looked like he hated the idea, as if not learning maintenance would make sure Dean had to stay when the time came."Sounds okay," he conceded, hoping Sam would understand what he meant. He killed the TV and rolled off the bed, intending to head into the bathroom, but winced when he put his weight on his right leg, which had stiffened up while he was lazing around."What is it?"He shrugged. "Nothing.""Dean," Sam said warningly."Before she threw you into the car, the witch hit me with a branch." It had been more like a tree trunk, and he had no doubt the bruise would be spectacular when he took off his jeans. He rolled his head on his neck and felt a twinge in his back. Getting old sucked. Not more than the alternative - but still, it sucked.This was the part where Sam whined about letting him know when Dean was hurt, as if Sam could have done anything about it with his head still ringing from his man-versus-car encounter, but Sam stayed silent, looking out the window into the darkness.Dean started towards the bathroom."We still have that oil from the physical therapist in the trunk, right?"It took Dean a few seconds to remember what Sam was talking about. He always did the damn exercises when he had to after an injury - he wasn't going to risk his mobility or flexibility even if it was frustrating to go through a slow rehab - but he'd ignored the massage oil from that place in Illinois once the hot brunette massage therapist wasn't around to show him how to use it any more.But it sounded like his extended monologue on the subject had stuck with Sam, despite the fact that by the end Sam had put his hands over his ears and sung Kylie Minogue songs off-key to drown him out. Which, frankly, Dean considered a violation of ‘driver picks the music,' but good luck getting Sam to acknowledge that."Uh, yeah," he said."I'll get it," Sam offered and rabbited out of the room before Dean could react. Wasn't much point in just standing there, so he had a piss and brushed his teeth, which is what he would have been doing anyway if Sam hadn't bolted."Listen, Sam," he said as soon as the door opened, "I'm fine, really."Sam closed the door, then pulled the curtains over the window, cutting off their excellent view of the parking lot."You take such good care of me, Dean," Sam said. "Let me take care of you."His voice was weirdly intense, and even though Dean had accepted that they were going to have periodic conversations about Dean's impending death and subsequent burning in hell, he didn't have to like it, so he didn't say anything.He took off his clothes, except for his boxer-briefs, checked himself out in the mirror over the dresser, and gave himself a wink. Sam, busy getting the oil positioned just right on the bedside table, didn't pay any attention."Lie down on your stomach," Sam instructed."If you give me a wedgie or anything like that I will hurt you," Dean warned. It wasn't that likely, but he lived in hope that Sam would get a sense of humor, and it was important to be prepared.He pulled the scratchy bedcover down, exposing the sheets, and planted himself right in the middle. The worn cotton was cool at first; the pillows smelled of everyone and no one.Sam's hands rubbed warm circles on Dean's shoulders; when his fingers moved away, the air was cool on Dean's skin, but not unpleasantly so. He was tentative at first, and even when Dean told him to press harder. But when Dean ordered him to put some strength into it, he soldiered up and started delivering a real massage. Dean could feel his weight in every move, and it was awesome.Shoulders and neck for a while; then Sam stopped to pour more oil and worked his way down the left arm, even rubbing the back of Dean's hand and the palm, which felt - intense. Not bad, though. When he was done, he briefly ran his fingers over Dean's - almost like they were holding hands - then switched to the right shoulder and began to repeat the process.Sam was kneeling next to Dean as he worked, his jeans rough against the skin of Dean's waist. Dean could feel the weight of Sam's attention on him, like another source of heat in the room. It was like morphine, or blood loss; it pressed him down into the bed, as if his bones had turned to iron.When Sam finished with Dean's right hand, he pulled away; Dean heard the soft chug of oil into his hands and then the wet sounds of skin rubbing on skin. He shivered a little when Sam's hands returned to his shoulders."Sorry," Sam said. "I tried to warm it up.""'sok," he mumbled into the pillow, then lifted his head half an inch to make himself clear. "Stop and I'll kill you."Sam laughed and leaned his head down so that his mouth was inches from Dean's ear. "I knew you'd like it."And that made him twitch full-on, no way to hide it, but Sam didn't say more, just covered Dean's shoulders with his huge hands and squeezed, then began to knead his way down Dean's back, careful as if he were working some complicated spell, pressing just hard enough that Dean's abused muscles surrendered gratefully.So, yeah, there were reasons to be grateful that Sam was as strong as a gorilla, even if it did make sparring mostly a matter of hoping for a mistake. Lots of reasons to be grateful, if he thought about it - Sam could be strong in all the ways he needed to be, later.No. He ran his mental Zamboni over that line of thought, smoothed it all out, settled into his body, which by the way felt great, that amazing kind of hot and loose that you only felt when you knew that it was cold somewhere else close by.Sam's hands moved down, sweeping over him like one of those endless gray stormclouds that rolled over the skies sometimes in the middle of the country, down to the small of his back, skimming over his ass so closely that he could have sworn he felt the heat of Sam's fingers. But then they settled at the backs of his right thigh, the balls of Sam's thumbs pressing down together. His fingers were gentle on the outside of Dean's thigh where the bruise was already darkening, but continuing the massage everywhere else.The oil was matting down the hair on his legs, and he'd be half an hour in the shower getting it out, but after this a long hot shower might be just right, so he wasn't complaining. Sam squeezed the muscles of Dean's calf, his hot hands covering so much of Dean's skin that it was like being dipped in wax. His fingers circled the knob of Dean's ankle until Dean twitched and cursed him, and then he caught Dean's foot. Which had to be kind of gross after a day and a night out hunting, but Sam didn't seem to mind, and then again gross was their business, so Dean forgot about it and just enjoyed the way Sam's fingers swept from heel to toe; the roughened and calloused skin changed the sensation, spread it out, so that it was like having his whole body touched at once.By the time Sam finished his left leg, he felt like a puddle of oil himself, hot and shimmering, relaxed and electric at the same time."Turn over," Sam said.Dean's pleasant mental fog turned into ball bearings and dropped with a clatter. "Hunh?" he managed. Because it was one thing to pretend that he hadn't been humping the mattress for the past - well, however long it had been - and another to put the matter between them. In a manner of speaking."You've always shared everything with me," Sam said. "It's okay."He'd moved up while he was speaking, until he was straddling Dean again, kneeling above him, no part of their bodies touching and no cell of Dean's unaware of him."Sam -""Shh," Sam chided, and whispered the next words into the nape of Dean's neck. "You really aren't at your best when you're talking." His hands had come down on either side of Dean's shoulders, supporting him over Dean's body, still no point of contact between them.Dean shuddered and closed his eyes. "Get off me," he managed, his voice a toad's rasp."Dean -""Get off me so I don't knock your enormous head off when I turn over," he said, and that was more like it. Sam rolled over easily, and Dean turned in place. As soon as he was on his back, Sam was on him, hands all over Dean's chest."Hey, what happened to my massage?" he complained, voice shaking only a little. Sam didn't even bother to bitch at him, just bent down and kissed him, tongue driving into Dean's mouth like he thought he'd have to force his way in.He nearly did Dean some damage, tugging at Dean's undershorts, so Dean lifted up and kicked them off. Sam was still in his T-shirt and jeans, which confused Dean a little, but then Sam put his hand on Dean's dick and Dean didn't care any more."I watched you," Sam confessed. "So many times, I watched you like this, and I wanted -" He stopped talking - finally! - and kissed his way down Dean's throat, down the midline of his chest, tongue dipping into the belly button, dragging along the curly hairs low on his belly, Sam's mouth just brushing Dean's stiff cock. Dean bucked up, cursing, and bit down on his knuckles to keep from talking.Sam's mouth was hesitant at first, as if he'd never done this before. Dean wasn't sure whether that made this whole mess better or worse, but then Sam's movements smoothed out, hit a rhythm like a well-tuned engine, and thought disappeared into the pleasure.He'd been hard for so long it was almost painful. Usually he could tell when he was about to come - usually he didn't know the girl, and so he was polite about it - but this was a crash at fifty miles an hour, spinning out on black ice, blowing him apart like a rock thrown through a windshield.The only reason he knew he was still alive was that he'd actually had his heart stop before, and this felt better. Plus Sam was looking up at him, lips shining, eyes wet like he'd been rescued from something - and if Dean followed that thought he was going to go crazy, so instead he grabbed at Sam, tugging him up, helping him pull his shirt over his head, fumbling with his jeans and boxers until they disappeared over the edge of the bed along with the covers."I want - I want -" Sam keened, almost sobbing with it, and Dean pulled him in close, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand smoothing down his hip until his near-panicked breathing slowed a beat. Dean was used to teaching Sam how to do fucked-up things, after all.Dean brought his hand up to his face, spat into the palm, then wrapped his fingers around Sam's cock, blood-hot and twitching.Sam jerked so hard he almost broke Dean's grip on his shoulders, throwing his head back, exposing his neck. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to bite at it, just hard enough to hear Sam gasp again like a man coming up from a near-drowning."I didn't know it would feel like this," Sam said, quite distinctly, and came and came, pulsing against Dean's hand, all over his stomach and Dean's, dazed and whimpering, leaning into Dean's careful grasp.He protested fuzzily when Dean got up to get a washcloth, but submitted to being cleaned, then wrapped himself around Dean like another blanket when Dean returned to the bed.Dean thought they'd sleep then, but Sam had one more surprise. "Promise me," Sam murmured. "Promise me, whatever it takes to break your deal, you'll let it happen. Whatever it takes, promise me."Maybe it should have been harder. But once you've promised to kill your own brother, other pledges just aren't that difficult. And who'd want to go to hell? It was sweet and easy to open his mouth, let the word come out. "Yes," he said.****Sam, unusually, was still out of gas when Dean woke, which let Dean shower first. He washed off the evidence of the past night while trying not to think about it. His skin felt too soft, too easy to cut, but he managed to get himself cleaned and shaved without incident.He was pulling on his shirt when Sam sat up in bed like he'd been spring-launched and looked around wildly. "Oh thank God," Sam said."What?" Of all the reactions Sam was going to have the morning after, Dean wouldn't have put that one on the list."The witch's spell broke!""What?""What do you mean, what? How long have I been out? Has it just been one night?"Dean sat down on the other bed, the one that hadn't been used at all, hard. It creaked underneath him, but he wouldn't have cared if it collapsed.Sam, evidently beginning to realize that Dean was clueless, continued, his voice still too loud in the small room. "When that bolt hit me, my consciousness was transferred into the car. It's hazy -- the sensations were just weird, I went in and out, but I was definitely in the car.""But you - you were - you seemed - okay, I guess that was her, in you, last night." He wiped a shaking hand across his face. His friggin' car. He loved her, of course he did, knew every inch of her, but - he'd fucked his car, and somehow that was worse than what he'd thought he'd done."Her?" It was Sam's turn to squawk in disbelief."Uh, you didn't just go into the car. I think something came out.""Something came out," Sam repeated, dangerously. "Came out and got inside me and just, what, carried on like nothing was the matter? I spent the entire night in the parking lot! And, okay, you're right, the wax does make a difference, there's a spot I missed just by the passenger-side rear-view mirror, and I gotta get that - but the point is, Dean, I was a car and you didn't notice!""Hey," he said, still trying to stuff everything from last night into an unused corner of his mind, "she knows everything about us. And as much as you wish we did, we don't spend every night in a heart-to-heart, talking about our crushes and having pillowfights. We came back, we ate, we went to bed."They stared at each other, Sam obviously on the verge of mentioning the last time Dean had failed to recognize that Sam wasn't quite Sam, and Dean just wanting him to go away long enough for him to think everything through."I wonder if the spell produced the personality," Sam said at last, half to himself, and Dean deliberately did not breathe a sigh of relief."Dunno, she seemed a lot like I'd expect, now that I think about it. Less trouble than you - I guess that makes sense of some things she said," he continued, as lightly as he could manage. The less Sam thought about what might have happened, the better. In fact, if he could get Sam into the bathroom and mess up the sheets he was currently sitting on to look slept in, that would be really fucking useful."Why are you calling it ‘she'?" Sam asked suspiciously. "It was in my body."He snorted. "Oh, there are so many ways I could answer that.""Shut up." Sam looked down. "Dean, why am I naked?""Because you took your clothes off?"Sam scowled and made as if to gather the sheets around himself - and maybe that wasn't such a good idea either, Dean realized, and nearly fell off the bed grabbing at the duffel on the floor between the two of them. "I guess she's not used to clothing, probably didn't feel comfortable. Here," he said, throwing a semi-clean pair of boxers at Sam, "go shower, get dressed, we'll talk after you're done.""What's wrong with you?" Sam asked suspiciously. "Did something happen?"Dean gave Sam his best ‘my little brother is slow, but I like him sometimes anyway' look. "No, but I want to have a little chat with the car."Amazingly, Sam seemed to understand the logic of that.****"Baby," he said slowly, running his hand along the dash. "That was not cool, what you did. Forget about the brothers thing, you're a car, what do you know - but you could've told me. I would've liked to hear from you. Like, you could have told me about when you got a personality, what you like, what you want."Music started pouring out of the cassette deck - "Back in Black" - which pretty much made Dean's point, because he had no idea what that meant.And now to the tough part. "But - if Sam doesn't get me out of this, maybe you could move into my body?" He'd been thinking about this since before he got over the first wave of freaking out. A body needed a soul to live, but apparently a soul sufficient to power a human could also inhabit a car. "He wouldn't have to know, and you could take care of him better. I'm gonna talk to Bobby - if that's okay with you. Uh, I guess, maybe you could turn off the music if that's a problem. I just - you and he are all I've got, the only good things I ever knew, and -"The music soared, louder than the speakers should have allowed.He put his palms against the dash and pressed his forehead into the top of the steering wheel, too close to losing it. "I don't know if I'm gonna beat this, baby. We can't let Sam go down too."The cassette stuttered, and started again a few lines into "Have a Drink on Me."He smiled into her metal-and-plastic skin. Smiled, because what else was he going to do? |
227 | If youre as bored as I | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": "Sandy Justine, zvi",
"Fandom": "Slasher RPF",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2005-12-01T00:00:00",
"words": "123",
"Additional Tags": "RPF, Humor, Meme, commentfic, Character of Color",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
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"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | You remember that time we went skiing in the Alps? And you tripped and fell over right at the end of the slope, and it was getting dark anyway, so we rushed in the lobby of the lodge.And you were so wet and cold you started stripping right there, and the manager came and whispered in my ear, "Please to control your girlfriend, Madame," and I said, "We're not dating," but I tied my ski jacket around your waist and told the manager to send hot chocolate with chicory to our rooms, anyway?I kind of wish I had a picture of that, you with my bright pink ski jacket around your waist, and the manager turning an interesting shade of puce. |
43 | Mindless Fun | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "John Crichton, Ka D'Argo",
"Fandom": "Farscape",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2001-05-07T00:00:00",
"words": "461",
"Additional Tags": null,
"Relationship": "John/D'Argo",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Interspecies",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | one, two, threeJohn looked at D'Argo's outstretched palm and chortled as he opened and closed his index and middle fingers.one, two, threeShrugged when he looked at their matching closed fists.one, two—"Why are we doing this? It is a mindless game, involving no strategy, no bounty, and no stakes.""I don't know about you, man, but I am completely at one with the concept of mindless entertainment." John paused for a full body stretch and shake, then started counting on his fingers. "I need to do something that doesn't require any thinking—"D'Argo nodded."—doesn't require any emotional investment—"D'Argo nodded more vigorously, leaned forward with a speculative look on his face."—and doesn't require any physical exertion."D'Argo frowned and slumped backwards against the wall of his cell."What?"D'Argo shook his head and sighed."Oh no, buddy, you are not gonna pull that female bullshit on me. Tell me what the problem is or get the hell out."D'Argo's nostrils flared a little in aggravation, but he opened his mouth. "Not a problem. I wanted to suggest a new ... amusement, but you said you did not wish to exert yourself." He drew himself up a little, actively loomed over John. "And you can get the hezmana out of my quarters if you have a problem."John tried to grin, but couldn't dredge up the energy for the real thing."Was it sparring? 'Cause I don't feel like getting my ass kicked, but I might be up for something else, even if it is a little physical.""Not sparring. Sex."John blinked at D'Argo a few times. "I got the impression you were strictly heterosexual, big guy."D'Argo shrugged."Are you going to ask me to marry you and become a dirt farmer in half a cycle?"D'Argo's eyes widened, then he growled softly."Yeah, I know it's a pissy question, but I thought you and Chiana were just enjoying some friendly friction until it turned into a frelling episode of Passions. So?"D'Argo's mouth gave a funny, unhappy little twitch and his shoulders moved in a slow, titanic shrug. His voice was hoarse and low. "I don't believe so.""But you can't promise not to fall in love with me?"A miniscule movement of the head from side to side, with D'Argo's eyes fixated on a point just past John's right shoulder.John sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. "We can't, buddy. You know that."D'Argo sighed, nodded.They sat in silence for several moments. Then D'Argo sat up straight and moved directly in front of his friend.John brought his own fist up to match D'Argo's.one, two, threeNeither of them said a word about the huge brown hand on John's thigh. |
183 | To Drive the Cold Winter | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Methos, Duncan MacLeod",
"Fandom": "Highlander: The Series",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by juniperphoenix",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2007-12-01T00:00:00",
"words": "920",
"Additional Tags": "Holiday, Christmas, Winter, POV Second Person",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Second Person POV",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | Winter, and the Parisian skies are bitter and bleak; the earth, a ruthless stone. Outside is a no-man's-land to be traversed quickly on the way from hearth to hearth. You trekked here with head down, collar up, and hands stuffed in pockets, moving briskly because if you stood in one place too long, it might steal all the heat from your bones.The barge, though, is blissfully cozy, like the slow golden dream of warmth that presages death by freezing. It's toasty hot, in defiance of the damp winds raking the quay, and your concerns begin and end with the couch in front of the fire. It seems to have liquefied your entire body, and you don't think you could get up out of it if you wanted to. Fortunately, you can think of no compelling reason to do so. It's a slow, quiet afternoon, and the air is redolent with wood smoke and spices from the mulled cider Duncan made in a kettle on the stove.Even half-asleep, there's a part of your brain you can never quite shut off that's been tracking his movements all afternoon. Your lack of scintillating conversation doesn't seem to bother him, and he's just been going about his business, with an occasional grin for you in passing. He's at his desk now, writing something — Christmas cards, knowing him.Duncan loves the winter. There's a subtle glow about him when it comes time for wool sweaters, roaring fires, and recipes that require hours of simmering. He's like one of those draft horses in the beer commercials, the ones who actually look happy about enforced runs across snowy mountainsides.You don't hate winter, exactly. There's not much point in hating any season, inevitable and fleeting as they are. But winter is not your friend. Winter is an ordeal, something to prepare against and endure. In the old days you stockpiled food, light, warmth, and settled down to wait it out. You remember dances and cheery songs, wassail with pomanders and fireplaces big enough to stand in. Those were the good times, the years of plenty, when feasting and revelry filled the long cold nights and the emptiness they left inside. In the lean times, you only prayed for spring.Last year you prayed for spring. This year, it's too soon to tell.Right now that all seems far away. You can't hold on to a thought for more than a couple of seconds, and after a while, you stop trying. You've been undone by the drowsy heat from the wood stove, the nearly subliminal humming up and down your spine, and the soft rocking of the barge, which you vaguely suppose you ought to complain about but actually think is kind of nice. It's almost too hot for the sweater you're wearing, but you can't summon the will to sit up and peel off a layer. You feel heavy and warm and ludicrously safe. You sink deeper into the couch.Abruptly, you open your eyes. The light from the portholes has moved, and Duncan is right here putting wood on the fire. For a moment you wonder how he snuck up on you."More cider?""Mmmm." The sound of his voice seems to be calling for some response; you didn't actually parse the words. Moments later you're sitting up — sort of — and a stoneware mug is pressed into your hands.The cloying sweetness is like a first breath, the heat of it shocking as it hits your belly and radiates down to your toes. There's that unique sandpapery feeling that you've burned your tongue, but it doesn't last. You yawn prodigiously and feel your brain spinning back up like a hard drive, banishing that vaguely wild, bright-eyed feeling you always seem to have after a nap.Duncan settles in the nearby armchair with his own mug and a stack of whatever he's been working on. They were Christmas cards. And now he's affixing them with Christmas stamps. You shake your head and smile."That isn't one of those ghastly form letters, is it, MacLeod? 'Dear friends, it's been a great year! Tiny Tim is getting straight A's, and I've taken half a dozen heads —' "He just gives you that look, the fondly exasperated one. You smile sweetly back."La poste closes in half an hour. Think you can pry yourself off the couch before then?""What, and trudge across the frozen wasteland to spread your formidable good will toward men? Only if there's dinner involved. Café Rim?""Deal.""Well, then!" You're off the couch and on your feet in one smooth motion, so quickly that Duncan just sits there for a moment and then shakes his head at you. Which, after all, was the point.Coats, cards, and keys are gathered; the stove is turned down to a slow burn. When you open the door, an icy blast of wind slaps you in the face. The couch seems more and more attractive. But you're committed now, and anyway, there's really good pasta in the immediate future. You burrow your hands into your pockets, curl around the warmth at the center of yourself, and walk out into the grey.
This time of the year is spent in good cheer
And neighbors together do meet
To sit by the fire with friendly desire
Each other in love to greet
Old grudges forgot are put in the pot
All sorrows aside they lay
The old and the young doth carol this song
To drive the cold winter away |
19 | motel | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "John Sheppard, Rodney McKay",
"Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by orphan_account",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "705",
"Additional Tags": "PWP, commentfic, pornbattle, Rimming",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "McShep, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay",
"Series": null,
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} | They fuck in the shower, not on the bed. Rodney's face, flattened against the white tiles, is pink and white. He blinks a lot. The shower water splits and runs over his eyes and down his neck, collects into two thick streams and blatters against the plastic shower tray. Rodney presses his face against the tiles and grips the hoist bars. His skin is stretched over his knuckles; it shines.John catalogues all this. He saves it carefully. He drops his head down onto Rodney's neck for a minute but there's no taste there, only the water that trickles down to the hollows and ridges of his collarbone.Rodney stiffens at the touch, at this touch, and John jerks his head up and his hips forward. Rodney crumples a little in the knees but John holds him together, holds him up. They're both standing. Rodney is bent, braced, and John has one wiry arm wrapped around the other man's torso. The shower stall creaks; the spray blasts the tiles; the TV blares in the other room; a few doors down a couple are fighting, or fucking: it's hard to tell. In the parking lot an engine is turning over, low and grumbly, but they are silent. They move together, intent on each other. Rodney's breath comes in harsh, dragging gasps and John can barely breathe at all. He thinks he might burst.The car, revving up, backfires, and they both jump. And then they laugh. Rodney snorts and John shakes his head. "Knights of the Pegasus Galaxy," he whispers. His feet slide a little in the water puddling around them."Brave, unflappable heroes both," Rodney mumbles back.John pulls back, he kneels and presses his forehead into the back of Rodney's thighs. He rubs his face into the coarse hair and then into the softer, smoother, secret places. He reaches up with one hand and taps Rodney on the back. Please, mister. Rodney turns; his eyes are wide; they hold questions.John sits back on his heels. He takes Rodney's cock in his hand and pumps it hard, feels it grow and throb. He feels the fierce pulse and the heat, the heat. The angles are all wrong so he sits up, raises his chin to the ceiling, fits his mouth round the delicate, paper-thin skin of the head of Rodney's cock, who shudders and lets his head loll back under the steady stream of water.John's knees are grinding against the unyielding plastic floor and his neck is stretched as long as he can make it. His voicebox bobs and strains against his throat and his mouth is a taut ring. His mouth is too small, too shallow, he thinks, and he runs his tongue around Rodney's cock almost regretfully. He breathes out hard through his nose and his mouth, buzzing his teeth with the vibrations.Rodney bites down on his bottom lip and fists his hands in John's hair, fucking with desperate, selfish thrusts. John gulps; he moans; John has a swirly, dangerous feeling in his stomach. His knees are weak and the crooks of his arms prickle and send sparking sensations down to his fingers. He clasps his hands behind his back. It's a curiously proper motion for him there, on his knees with Rodney's cock sliding into his eager mouth, bruising his jaw, two grasping hands wrenching at his hair, but John clasps his hands and the long line of his spine is at ease.It's raining outside and the light is kind of purple, kind of pink, kind of upside down and light on the ground and dark overhead, ‘cause it's raining, fat and heavy. Inside, the carpet is sticky; the furniture is brown and peeling wood veneer. There's a mean little print hanging crooked on the wall over the TV, which spits and crackles between two stations like a cheap radio. The print is brown too, dirty and nicotine-yellow: an old bridled horse in a field by a fence. John thinks it's ugly. John thinks it's probably symbolic.Rodney stands at the door, his hands clasped. His head droops. John tries not to look at him. It's really hard."See you, er... back on base then."John says nothing. |
204 | First | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Ben Affleck, Matt Damon",
"Fandom": "Afflection",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by cupidsbow",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-17T00:00:00",
"words": "394",
"Additional Tags": "cupidsbow, Angst, Backstory, Haiku",
"Relationship": "Ben Affleck/Matt Damon",
"Character": null,
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"Series": null,
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} | -4-The first time Ben said"I love you," was a night theyhadn't won Oscars.~After watching theshow together on TV,Matt turned, beautiful~in the flickeringsemi-dark, and said, "We couldwrite another script."~Then the words had birthedon Ben's tongue, slipped, fallen offso effortlessy~--almost like acting--til Matt had rubbed at tears withthe heel of his palm,~and Ben's heart was soconstant, constant, constant, thathe knew it was true. -3-So impossiblethat Ben's lube-slick fingers weremaking Matt shudder,~moan, beg, cry out toGod; so utterly beyondhot and into heart~attack country, butthere was no stopping, becauseBen had to know, had~to be inside Matt'sskin, had to get closer. Andwhen Matt began to~chant, "now, now, now," ittook everything Ben had toswap fingers for cock~and feel himself sinkdeep into endless, rushingred and black climax. -2-The kitchen was whereit happened; Matt pushed him backagainst a cupboard,~said, "enough of thiswomanising shit," and fuckedtheir friendship away,~claiming Ben like itwas obvious. RivetingBen with hard, thrusting~forever kisses.And Ben ignited; achingfor more, more, until~Matt dropped to his knees,yanked Ben's pants down, sucked Ben's cockdeep into his throat~and proved beyond alldoubt that womanising wasa thing of the past. -1-After a long dayof no progress on the scriptof "Good Will Hunting,"~they had fought oversomething inane, like free willversus destiny,~and Matt had stormed off,leaving Ben to stew overeverything for hours.~In the small of thenight he'd stopped raging; begunto feel stupid and~then, as hours ticked by,worried: deep, gutting fear thatMatt wouldn't be back.~Ben had fathomed then,that Matt was much more thandestiny. Matt was~a great work partner,the best friend he'd ever had,constant; and Ben knew,~as Matt's key clicked home,that all those things weren't enough;that he wanted what~he could never have;that he wanted to tumbleMatt into bed and~keep him there; knew he'dstay silent if it killed himnow that Matt was back--~apologising,smiling his I'm-a-fool smile,and hugging Ben tight--~because Ben knew, heartdeep, that of all the things heheld dear, Matt came first. |
215 | beauty sleep | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": null,
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences",
"author": "by Hope",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2004-01-14T00:00:00",
"words": "1,128",
"Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe, Lotrips - Freeform, Fairy Tales, AU",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Elijah Wood",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": "Lord of the Rings RPF, lotrips",
"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | 1. on the eve of his twenty-third birthday, elijah pulls open the door of his sixth floor apartment and takes delivery of a parcel, invoice number ninezerotwoonesix. it's heavy, and he has to lift his knee up a bit to haul it in and knock the door closed with his hip. the air is heavy with music already but he gives a cry of delight when the thick brown paper is torn back and the polished cellophane sound of the cd player is cut off suddenly to be replaced by the familiar newsprint crackle of needle on vinyl.elijah frowns a little as the opening chords string out, sucking concentratedly on his finger where the needle pierced the skin as he slid the record beneath it. he flops onto the couch, smiling up at the ceiling as the sound envelopes him.2. at eleven fourteen a.m. on the twenty-ninth of january, the door shakes with the pounding of hannah's fist. after six minutes the sound of a key snicking into the lock echoes through the thick wood and into the apartment. there are nine messages on his answering machine, one from his mother: I suppose you're celebrating with hannah or dominic, and too busy to answer your cell... well happy birthday, sweetie. call me when you recover! one from dom, with billy laughing in the background: where are you, mate, we stopped by on our way but there was no answer so we figured you'd already be here. did hannah kidnap you and foil our plans of inebriation? three birthday wishes from various friends and associates, and four from Hannah herself. I'm on my way, birthday boy. You'd better be ready because I'm not fucking around that den of filth for hours waiting for you to pretty yourself up. And I'm outside now, open the fucking door! C'mon pickuppickuppickup... and well I'm at the bar now and can't see you anywhere. Did you stand me up, you fuck? Just because you're old now doesn't mean you can get away with this kind of shit. And Where the fuck are you? I called your cell, and mom, and dom... If you've gone off to have a night out without me, you will regret it.The apartment is clotted thick with the harsh vintage crackling of needle on thoroughly scratched vinyl, the grooves rough and serrated with overuse. elijah is asleep on the couch.3. there are twenty-eight trees lining the driveway of the private hospital; elijah is in room fifty four. they keep it quiet - he's decided to drop his career, he doesn't like the fame, would like to be out of the private eye entirely. there's a small amount of controversy in the press over his contract with new line, but it dies down quickly enough. the doctors want him in the coma ward but elijah isn't comatose and debbie will have none of it anyway. they count elijah's blood and conclude that he hasn't overdosed, they count his heartbeats and brainwaves and deduce that he's deeply, healthily asleep. they don't know what's wrong. they don't know if anything's wrong. billy and dom visit every week until billy has to go to back to scotland and dom has to go to auditions. there are only two chairs to curl up uncomfortably on in the small room and debbie is always awkwardly draped within one. hannah crosses her arms sullenly just inside the door.4. the windows are always open to let in the salty-sandy-smoky warm LA air, and at dusk on the thirtieth of november they bring in the acrid waft of debbie's forty-fifth cigarette of the day as dom crawls onto the bed, his knees pressing deep into the mattress, distressing the tightly-tucked sheets. wake up, he whispers, pressing against elijah's unresponsive body. elijah's eyelids flutter with the movement of his dreams and his mouth is slack against the despairing press of dom's.5. on the fourteenth of may two thousand and five debbie takes elijah home. his money isn't about to run out soon, but it sure goes a lot slower without private hospital fees to eat it up. hannah used to come into the ward and bring music with her but now she's in new york and doesn't have so much time to visit anymore. she's growing up.nurses went through the routine of exercising his limbs daily though it was revealed after several months to be without purpose; elijah's muscles showed no sign of atrophy. elijah's hair is still struggling a few months out of mohawk and his face is clean shaven from the morning of the twenty-seventh of january, two thousand and four, skin still smooth, slack with sleep.6. in february two thousand and nine debbie realises that elijah is a saint. there is no other explanation. the house sustains serious fire damage when she falls asleep after fasting for six days in two thousand eleven, letting the candles that overwhelm elijah's bedroom burn too low, wax softening and collapsing the fragile columns holding the flames aloft; they catch onto the masses of dried and rotting flowers around the room.hannah hires the lawyers and signs the papers, sets up a gradual distribution of funds to ensure elijah is cared for in an elite nursing home. his room number is eightninefive, and he shares it with two other motionless bodies, their skin loose as if they are shrinking within it. he looks as if he's going to wake at any moment.7. hannah's grandchildren don't talk about the family secret, they know not to ask. all their mother will tell them is that her mother walked down the aisle on her own, and in marrying cast away all associations with her past life. they suspect a lover, an illicit child, a mysterious death in the family. she's old now and they want to ask her before it's too late but she seems more fragile than ever.8. in twenty one sixteen the funds keeping the private nursing home afloat dry out. no one can remember when the young man in room eightninefive was admitted, but everyone is sure that he never had visitors. the bank seizes the country property and all twelve staff are dismissed.9. the four levels of rose beds falling away from the old building burst into raw life at their sudden lack of tending. over a period of forty years they cover the outside walls, thorns scratching over the paint cracks like a record needle over the unevenly grooves of a ruined vinyl. another twenty years and the brittle glass of the windows will crack and shatter as the thickening branches twist away the rotting lintels. the building will be clothed in flowers, inside becoming out, dream-like. |
11 | Are You Happy Now | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": "Rodney McKay, John Sheppard",
"Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by Kass",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "1,408",
"Additional Tags": "First Time, Sanctuary, Chaya - Freeform, Episode Related",
"Relationship": "John Sheppard/Rodney McKay",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
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} | Rodney found John on a balcony, staring moodily at the ocean. Dramatic, but under the circumstanceshe supposed he couldn't really throw stones."Look. I think my concern was entirely reasonable, especially inasmuch as it turned out she wasn't what she said she was, there was definitely some deception there, but --"John didn't move and his face didn't change, but Rodney felt the tension building. Hastily heamended that train of thought; it hadn't been how he meant to open anyway. "The point is, I'm sorry I scotched your intergalactic romance."John turned toward him a little, at that. "Intergalactic romance?" He made the words sound ridiculous."You were obviously into each other." This time he had the good sense not to make the explicit comparison to Captain Kirk. Though John probably wasn't as offended by that as Rodney had secretly meant for him to be."Yeah, but it wasn't about her being from another galaxy, I just --" John's shoulders slumped a little. "Liked her.""I know." Rodney made an abortive move toward John's shoulderblade, as if to pat him on the back, but chickened out. For a moment they both stared out at the changing sea."If you liked her too, you should have said something."Rodney laughed, a little more bitterly than he meant to. "Which would have made a difference how?"John shrugged a little. "I didn't want to rub your nose in it."And then Rodney's good sense short-circuited and he kept talking. "And is that really what you think this is about? Me being into her?""Excuse me for not knowing your type, McKay, it's not like --""I don't have a type. And you're incredibly dense sometimes." Abruptly Rodney turned away. "Good night, Major."He walked back inside at what he hoped was a normal pace, but his heart was pounding. He'd almostlet slip the real reason this whole episode had gotten him so wrought-up. Good thing Sheppard really was pretty dense, at least where this was concerned.Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. It was time for bed.Rodney was standing in the middle of the room in a pair of sweatpants, trying to decide which of his treasured books to reread, when the door slid open and Sheppard stalked in."Hey! Ever heard of knocking, and by the way, that door isn't supposed to just let you in --"John walked right up to him, way too close. Rodney took a breath and resolutely didn't move."First of all, I'm not dense," John said, very calmly and quietly. He smelled like toothpaste, which shouldn't have been a turn-on but it was. "And you weren't jealous because I was getting it on with an Ancient; you were jealous because she was getting it on with me.""I didn't say anything about getting it on," Rodney began, then stopped. There was something inJohn's eyes he couldn't name -- it wasn't anger, exactly; there might have been some amusement there, or some hope, or maybe Rodney was just deluding himself. Didn't matter; he wasn't going to be defensive about this again. "Yes. Okay? You figured me out."The admission took all of the energy out of him and he felt his posture sag. "And I'm sorry about that, too. Happy now?"He turned toward his bed, already cataloguing the likely repercussions of that little admission. Sheppard was pissed, but he was a good guy -- Rodney wouldn't have fallen for him if he weren't -- so it seemed unlikely that he would give Rodney a hard time about this. He'd probably never mention it again.Possibly he might say something to Elizabeth, though -- would she want Rodney reassigned? She couldn't do that; he was integral to the team! Oh, God, it would be fine as long as nobody told Ford. He'd endured too much teasing from guys like Ford --"You idiot," John said, fondly, and turned Rodney around, and kissed him.It didn't feel like a pity kiss. Rodney knew what those were like, and they didn't generally involve plastering your whole body up against the other guy and cupping the back of his head with your hand. Sheppard's thumbstroking the back of his neck turned some kind of switch, like every part of his body had suddenly become an erogenous zone, and Rodney broke away breathing hard."Personally I think you're nuts," John said, conversationally, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his shirt over his head -- a move which, if it had been calculated to overwhelm Rodney with the longing to run his hands over John's ribs and see how sensitive his nipples might be, was absolutely succeeding. "Because she's a whole lot hotter than I am, if you ask me.""Nobody's asking you," Rodney said, absently, already calculating the best way to get John out of his pants."Right," John said. Affable as always.And then they stopped talking, because they were kissing again. Somehow they made it to the bed without looking where they were going, and Rodney wound up on top of John, biting gently at the side of his neck where there wasn't a scar.John's nipples were as sensitive as Rodney had hoped; the tiniest bite made him squirm, and little licks made him gasp.And when Rodney tugged his pants halfway down his thighs and breathed over John's erection, lettinghis mouth linger just above the soft white cotton of his briefs, John groaned. "Jesus, McKay," and his voice was rough in a way Rodney had never heard before, "look, next time you can do all the exploring you want, but right now could you just --"Rodney smiled broadly, though he knew John couldn't see. "Sure, fine," he said, as nonchalantly as he could, and as John pushed his tangle of clothing down his legs he slid his mouth down."Ohh," John said, fervently, sounding surprised, and thrust up a little. Rodney added hands to the picture -- he had a theory John would like the dual stimulation as much as he did.John choked back a groan, and Rodney swallowed salt. Which seemed like confirmation of his theory, and then some.Rodney sat back on his heels, admiring the picture of John blissed-out in his bed. His goofy grin was -- well, gratifying, really."Smug's a good look on you," John said, lazily, and beckoned. "C'mere.""Having a little trouble moving, there, Major?"The goad did exactly what it was meant to; next thing Rodney knew he'd been positioned on his side with John spooned up behind him, left arm around him, holding him close. "Not exactly," John murmured into the shorthair at the back of his neck. The brush of his lips woke every nerve ending Rodney hadn't realized he had. He shuddered, suddenly more turned-on than he could explain."Huh. You like that," John said. The words were unnecessary; clearly he'd figured out that the vibrations of his voice and the touch of his lips were driving Rodney crazy."Perceptive," Rodney managed. His whole body felt sensitized."And how about this?" There was amusement in his tone, and Rodney would have snapped at him, exceptthat "this" meant John's right hand closing firmly over Rodney's cock through his sweatpants, and Rodney moaned, hisbody wanting to fly apart in too many directions at once."I'll take that as a 'yes,' then." John's hand withdrew, and Rodney had opened his mouth to complain when that hand slid beneath the waistband and took the same grip on bare skin. John bit the back of his neck, thumb stroking over the head of his cock, and Rodney gasped for breath. John tightened both grips, the arm holding him steady and the fingers encircling his cock, and Rodney let go."McKay," John said, reaching around him in the mess hall for another muffin."Major."As John stepped back, Rodney caught the faintest scent of his own aftershave. He smiled a private smile at his tray."Jesus, how much coffee is that?""It's a perfectly respectable mug," Rodney said, haughtily."You're going to jitter all the way through the briefing!""Believe me, Major, you don't want me to be without sufficient caffeine. Not a pretty sight."This time it was John who quirked a private smile, too fast for anyone else to see. "Okay, then," he said. "C'mon, we're going to be late.""Fine, let's go," Rodney said, and they grinned, and turned toward the briefing room, and walked away. |
33 | Distraction | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang",
"Fandom": "Grey's Anatomy",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-03-21T00:00:00",
"words": "117",
"Additional Tags": "commentfic, pornbattle, Character of Color",
"Relationship": "Meredith/Cristina",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
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"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | "I can't do surgery with you anymore," Meredith said.Cristina lifted her head from Meredith's tits, rolled back on her side. "What? Why?""Your hands…." Meredith picked up the right one, sucked Cristina's middle finger into her mouth. It still tasted faintly of latex. "All gloved up and wet.""With internal organs and blood, you freak!" Cristina pulled her hand back, but she was smiling, a sort of dizzied hilarity. "You seriously can't watch me do surgery because it turns you on?"Meredith's mouth twitched. "It doesn't turn me on exactly. It's just distracting. I'm thinking about sex when I should be thinking about sutures.""I think I love you," said Cristina. "But I don't know why." |
49 | Smilin and Shinin and | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Gen",
"Characters": "Derek Shepherd, Mark Sloan",
"Fandom": "Grey's Anatomy",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2007-12-23T00:00:00",
"words": "1,381",
"Additional Tags": "Friendship, Humor",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
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"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | Derek heard laughter over his head. That meant Meredith and Yang had just watched Rose throw coffee on him. He was sure that getting dumped could be more publicly humiliating, but he didn't know how.Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around."So, I have tickets to a Sonics game tonight," said Mark."Really?" said Derek. He took in a deep breath and let it out. "And you didn't have plans for the second ticket already?""It might be more accurate to say that I have the cash to scalp a couple of Sonics tickets. In the interest of distracting you from the existence of women." Mark slung an arm around Derek's shoulder and pulled him away from the coffee cart."For someone who considers himself my best friend, even more, for someone whom I frequently consider my best friend, I find it peculiar that you cannot be convinced that I do not enjoy the sight of professional sporting events, most particularly the sport of basketball." Derek pulled at his scrubs, trying to keep the worst of the coffee wetness off of his torso. He wondered just how badly people would think of him if he removed his shirt right now instead of waiting to get to a shower room.Mark did that half-chuckle thing he did when he was laughing at himself. "Because Addy liked professional sports, especially basketball. So, I would ask you both, and you would go and have a good time once you were there, but I think you were watching the crowd and enjoying overpriced hotdogs and beer."Derek nodded, because what Mark had said was true. "So, since Addison is not here and reminders of Addison's former centrality to my life are not what I need to take my mind off women…?""We could go to a gay bar and be hit on by attractive young things and turn them down," said Mark.Derek stopped and pulled away, not so much in gay panic as to look at Mark and make sure it was the same guy who had been his best friend for twenty years. "Mark, I am not gay. And I don't think you are bisexual. Or gay. Although, if you have homosexual feelings to talk about, that would probably distract me from women."Mark nodded. "That's the point. You won't be tempted to sleep with anyone just to feel better for a moment, because they're all men. But wildly attractive people hitting on you makes you—makes me feel better—even if I would never sleep with them." Then Mark frowned. "I don't know if it'll work if there's two of us, though. They might think we're together.""If we went to a regular bar, no one would be confused on that point." Derek couldn't quite believe he was actually having this conversation, but since he was not going to go to a gay bar, and probably not to a regular bar, he didn't think it did any harm."Yeah, but there's the chance that an incredibly beautiful woman might convince you to reconsider the existence of women. And then I would have completely failed to make you forget them." Mark looked at Derek's chest. "Isn't that gross? Shouldn't we keep heading to the locker room?"Derek raised an eyebrow and said, "Yeah, well you're trying to take me to gay bars all of a sudden. I don't know if I'm comfortable with—.""Shut up, Derek." Mark rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay, I'm not bi, and I'm not hitting on you. All of which you know.""Yes, it's true, I do know that. But I also know that I don't want to go to the game and I don't want to go to the bar.""You do want to change that shirt," said Mark and he started walking towards the locker room again.Derek followed. "That's true."Mark didn't look back, but he did hesitate just long for Derek to catch up. "So, here's the thing." He rubbed one hand behind his ear. "I don't really remember how to do this.""Do this?" said Derek."Well, the last chick who dumped you before Addy was Catherine. That was, like, fifteen years ago, and I don't remember what we did, which makes me think we got really wasted to get you over her. But when you dumped Addison and then she dumped you, I couldn't help you out for obvious reasons.""Obviously," said Derek.Mark rolled his eyes. "Obviously. And when you and Meredith broke up, the two of you just kept doing each other right up until you hooked up with Rose, so I didn't think you needed manly comforting.""Not so much, no," Derek agreed."So, I'm not entirely sure how to help you out, now that you've been dumped and we're friends and you're not having sex." He looked at Derek with narrowed eyes. "And this is not some weird elaborate way of suggesting I give you a blowjob, if you have any doubts about the gay thing still."Derek bit his lip and didn't laugh. "None whatsoever." He pushed open the door of the locker room. "Um, I actually don't need a showerbuddy. I mean, if you actually want to shower and change that's one thing, but…," he shrugged.Mark shook his head. "No, it would probably be pretty weird now. I'm just going to change out of scrubs, and then," he shrugged. "Hell, maybe I'll go ask Yang.""Cristina Yang?""Well, Meredith did all right with her after Burke, and she seemed to keep Meredith going after you and Rose…," Mark made the world's most ambiguous head bob."Mark, there's a couple of things you've failed to consider." Derek crossed his arms and gave his best friend a stern look."Yeah?""One: Meredith got Cristina over Burke by going on Cristina's honeymoon and sleeping with her. As far as I know, it was platonic, but still. We're not doing that. Two: Cristina got Meredith over me by mockery and subtle insubordination. I was lucky that Bailey was on my side this time, or my life would have been hell. Three: Meredith and Cristina are women, and part of that incestuous group of residents the whole hospital watches like a soap opera, and I'd rather not have my manhood called into question by going to them for advice.""That's not a couple," said Mark, laughing."What?""That's not a couple," Mark repeated. "You just listed three things, which is not two, which is what a couple is." He pushed Derek into the locker room and followed him in. "Go get in the shower.""What?" Derek stopped and turned around, gave him a blank stare."Go get in the shower. I need time to think of something, since you've shot down all of my suggestions and I can't get advice from Yang." Then he cocked his head a little bit sideways and said, "You're still living in a crappy trailer right?""It's a very nice trailer, thank you very much.""If it's a trailer, it is, by definition, cramped and exposed to the elements. Thus, crappy." Mark held up one silencing finger as Derek's mouth opened. "Not the point!" He waited until Derek's mouth closed before continuing on. "The point is, you could use a couple of days in a nice hotel, with room to stretch out and free HBO and a restaurant that serves something you didn't have to catch and clean yourself."Derek smiled. "You're not going to pay for that, are you?"Mark snorted. "God, no. You make ungodly sums of money and you live in a trailer. You can afford six hundred dollars to get over a broken heart. But I will be buying the booze. And dinner."Derek shook his head, grin wider than ever. "We got totally wasted to get me over Cathy.""I knew it!" said Mark. "I knew that kind of memory loss meant mood-altering substances.""Yeah, well, this time, go for quality over quantity, Mark. I don't want a hangover, but I do want to pretend I know how to appreciate fine aged whiskey." And he was back to biting his lip not to laugh.Mark grinned back, showing pretty much all his teeth. "Can do." |
34 | New Deal | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "John Crichton, Ka D'Argo",
"Fandom": "Farscape",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by WitchQueen (zvi)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2000-03-30T00:00:00",
"words": "223",
"Additional Tags": "Humor, post-episode, dialogue only",
"Relationship": "John/D'Argo",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Interspecies",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | "Babe, we've gotta rethink this 'open relationship' thing.""Is something wrong, John?""I know I said I wouldn't get upset if you were intimate with females—""And I forgave you for your behavior with Nilaam.""To be fair, I only objected to her risking your life, not to your frelling her. I got out of the room pretty damn quick once I was sure she hadn't killed you. And you were just as good about what happened with Gilina. But have you noticed how the two of them ended up? We're not good for women, babe.""Nilaam is not a fair example. She was on the brink of death before we met her.""And she pulled Moya into old age with her. If you hadn't insisted she give back the energy she took, she might not have done what she had to do before it was too late. This last minute cavalry charge thing we do has gotta stop, and I think the whole problem is romance.""Romance?""Romance. Babe, I want you to promise me, no more girls.""And you too will give up sexual relations with females?""Of course! What's good for the goose is good for the ... slightly smaller but still incredibly studly goose.""Even Aeryn?""Well. Er. Um." Nervous chuckle."That's okay." Dry chuckle. "I'm not giving up Zhaan." |
177 | All Stripped Down | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "Joe Dick, Billy Tallent",
"Fandom": "Hard Core Logo (1996)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by ignaz",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2006-07-05T00:00:00",
"words": "1,013",
"Additional Tags": "Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Blow Jobs, Marking",
"Relationship": "Billy Tallent/Joe Dick",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
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} | Billy was under the shower spray for approximately twenty seconds before Joe came barreling in after him, tripping over the curtain, still wearing his fucking jeans, mouth bloody from where Billy had punched him not one minute earlier."Get –-" was as far as Billy got before Joe smashed him up against the wall and then smashed his bleeding lips onto Billy's mouth. Billy closed his eyes. But there was something wrong, something missing –- something like pain, because between the back of Billy's skull and the shower tiles, there was Joe's hand, holding –- actually cradling -- his head, keeping it from hitting the wall. And there was something deeply, deeply fucked up about that, because Joe's mouth was red, bright red, and it had to hurt like a bitch, and Billy had done that. Not even two minutes ago. His own knuckles were scraped and raw from the contact.His aching hand slid up Joe's bare back and fisted in his hair, holding him there while the metallic taste of Joe's blood mixed with the sweet flavor of the shower water streaming down their faces. Joe sucked on Billy's lip, sucked Billy's tongue into his mouth. Billy gave Joe's hair a none-too-gentle yank and pulled their mouths apart, opening his eyes to glare."You're such a cunt," he warned, looking into Joe's face, but Joe was completely unreadable: eyes closed, mouth smeared with pink, breathing heavily.Then Joe pulled Billy's mouth back to his and pushed his soaking denim-clad hips against Billy's groin, effectively pinning him to the wall. Hands slid down his arms, his sides, slipping along wet skin, squeezing here and there, scratching dully. And then those hands, Joe's hands, were on his cock, on his balls, stroking and pulling, the way he knew he loved it, making him hard and keeping him there.Joe's mouth left his and painted a wet trail to his neck, where he sucked, pulling hard enough to hurt -- just a little -- but probably not hard enough to leave a mark. Which was also fucked up, and wrong, because Joe had never once passed on an opportunity to leave his mark on Billy –- in any way.Then all at once, he stopped –- pulled away from Billy's throat and tipped his head backwards, soaking himself in the hot spray from the shower. His hand stayed on Billy's cock. A moment later he was in motion again, and Billy caught a hazy, split-second glimpse of Joe's closed face, clean mouth, water dripping off the tip of his nose, before Joe pressed his forehead -- gently -– against Billy's.And that –- that was the most fucked up thing of all. Because Joe was -– he was being hesitant. He was being -– fuck, tender. And Billy, recipient of it all, was bewildered out of his mind. This was not what they did. This was not them. They were -- pushing and shoving and hard, furious hand jobs on hotel room floors. Kisses that weren’t kisses but assaults. Billy on his knees, Joe fucking his mouth, fingers pulling at his hair."What," Billy said, his head still pressed to Joe's, and then he stopped, not sure what he was asking. But Joe didn't let him finish: he took a deep breath, and then dropped to his knees without another word.It was familiar, and it wasn't. Joe's hand, Joe's lips on him, his hands on Joe's head -– he knew those things. But the wet caress of the shower while they did it –- that was new. And the slowness. The patience. The -– fuck. Joe's tongue painted long stripes down Billy's cock, licking away the water from the shower, getting to the skin underneath. He pressed his lips to the crown, circled it with his tongue, and then took Billy in, slowly, until Billy felt the head of his cock hit the back of Joe's throat.God. The water of the shower was hot but Joe's mouth was hotter. His lips made a tight seal, and he moved -- then they moved together, carefully, painfully slow, with that perfectly synchronized rhythm they’d always had. Joe's hands rested on Billy’s hips, but loosely, not holding him –- just touching. So Billy, feeling lost and crazed and maybe a little like risking something, put his hands in Joe's hair again and leaned back, sliding his cock almost out of Joe's mouth before pushing forward again. And Joe -– on his knees -– just let him. Let Billy fuck his mouth, slowly, thrusting into that welcoming mouth again and again. Billy closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards, connecting with the cool tile where Joe's hand was no longer there to protect it.His orgasm blindsided him, rushing over him with little warning. He pulled at Joe's head, warned him, but Joe didn't move, except maybe to squeeze Billy's hips a little harder. "Stop," Billy said, and then he was coming, helplessly, rocking forward into Joe's mouth and shaking at the knees. And fuck, Joe still didn’t move, he was swallowing -– and then he was choking, coughing, and spitting it back out, while shaking his head bitterly and clutching Billy's shivering thigh.Billy grinned wildly and slid down the wall to the tub, his skin pulling painfully at the tiles. But the smile slid away into something like shock as he saw, for the first time, that Joe had opened his wet jeans and was roughly jerking himself off, still clinging to Billy."Fuck, fuck, sorry – I'm sorry –-" Joe gasped, and then he was holding onto Billy's leg and coming in thick spurts onto the floor of the tub, gasping for breath in the steam.I'm sorry, he said. And it wasn't about not being able to swallow. It wasn't even about the fight: Joe getting his mouth bloodied, Billy almost gaining a black eye. It was about last night, when Joe had finally fucked him, which he was mostly okay with, and then spent the next twenty-four hours not even looking at him, which he really wasn't.I'm sorry, he said, and Billy looked at his bowed, wet head and said, "I know." |
38 | Partygirl | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "F/F",
"Characters": "Callie Torres, Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang",
"Fandom": "Grey's Anatomy",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2007-07-15T00:00:00",
"words": "719",
"Additional Tags": "PWP, drunk!sex, pornbattle, Safer Sex, Fingerfucking, Character of Color",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "Meredith/Cristina, Cristina/Callie",
"Series": null,
"Collections": "Porn Battle IV (Fourth Verse, Same as the First)",
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | Cristina takes Meredith upstairs, one hand at her back for safety. Callie follows with coffee.They put Meredith in bed with the coffee. "Don't spill," says Cristina, looking deep in Meredith's eyes. It helps if you hypnotize her. "Stay awake."Meredith, happy, slutty, drunk, nods and grins and leans. Their kiss is not long, but it's deep and her mouth shines when Cristina pulls away."Come with me," Cristina says to Callie. In the bathroom, she pulls towels from the guest shelf and then Meredith's vanilla-scented bodyscrub from the shower to show Callie for approval.Callie nods.Cristina bites her lip, says, "Together or apart?""What?""Was that too subtle? I'm hitting on you. I'm drunk, so—."Callie shakes her head. "I'm tired. You're drunk. And George—.""Just washing. Scout's honor." Cristina takes off her clothes, gets in the shower.Callie gets in behind her, naked, gold, glowing. She lathers up, starts with Callie's shoulders, strokes brisk, firm, and long, the slipslide of skin and soap and water tingling her fingers. She steps closer, to reach Callie's back. She looks at Callie's face, her closed eyes, the place where their breasts touch. She strokes down to Callie's ass, pulls Callie's hips in close to her own.Callie's eyes fly open. "Cris—."Cristina kisses her, mouth open so Callie can take it further, soft, lips sticky from the wine. Callie's into it, one hand on Cristina's back, one on her shoulder. She pushes a knee between Cristina's legs and Cristina moans, shifts left to fix the angle. Cristina bends almost painfully to suckle at Callie's breast.Cristina almost falls when Callie pulls away to the back wall.Callie looks down, face in her hands. "I love him. I married him." Her mouth is tight when she looks at Cristina, eyes unhappy. "Please."Cristina turns around, rinses her hands. "She didn't spill much on me." She gets out, swipes at herself with a towel, and returns to Meredith's room.Meredith looks up with sleepy, sexy eyes. Her bottom lip's between her teeth and her hands reach for Cristina. "Lost Callie?""She's really monogamous." Cristina crawls on top of Meredith and the comforter."Hmm? Oh!" Meredith nods seriously. "That's sad for us. Good for George." She kisses Cristina. "You didn't make her cry, or call her stupid names, did you?"Cristina pulls back to look at her. "Do you know who I am?""Cristina. My bitchy not-girlfriend.""Whatever. Gloves?"Meredith reaches under the bed, pulls out a box with gloves and lube.Cristina puts on gloves, snapping them because Meredith likes it.Meredith grins wide but crooked. She flips the lube open and drizzles it on Cristina's bright purple fingers. Then she moves it back above her own breasts, but Cristina grabs it away from her before she squeezes out any."That's not what it's for, Meredith.""But it's slick." Meredith pouts a little, but she's shrugging out of her clothes and pulling back the comforter, so Cristina is not impressed."So is this." She puts her fingers between Meredith's legs. Her clit is small and soft, so Cristina strokes it directly, soft little upsweeps until Meredith is mewling and whining and clutching at Cristina's arm. Then she gets the fingers of her left hand inside Meredith's cunt, stretching and pushing in, going for the g-spot when she pulls out. She's breathing in the scent of the two of them, wet and girly and rich. It's at times like this, times when she just wants to put her head down and swallow, that she most regrets not being monogamous.Meredith's hands are moving now, down Cristina's back to Cristina's ass. Cristina loves that, loves to have her ass squeezed and stroked and fucked. Meredith's fingers are naked though, so they sadly won't get inside Cristina. But Meredith does drag short, stubby surgeon nails across her ass cheek, and Cristina's mouth opens and a moan rolls out without her command.She rolls them both over, so she's got one of Meredith's legs between hers, so they're kissing, so they're louder and messier and wetter and sweeter and harder and faster and—.Release.Meredith pulls Cristina's gloves off, drops them by the side of the bed. She sets the alarm. "We can shower tomorrow, if no one hits snooze.""Good," says Cristina, and sleeps. |
13 | An Ordinary Grown-Up | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "Other",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Chronicles of Narnia",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by Élizabeth (watersword)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "733",
"Additional Tags": "the susan problem, narnia bookverse",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": "Susan Pevensie",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | She's not like Lucy, you know...Queen Susan is more like an ordinary grown-up lady.
~Corin, A Horse and His Boy
It's only years later that Susan admits she misses her brothers and her parents, and, God help her, even her sister. Maybe she misses Lucy most of all, actually. Lucy was always so alive, and isn't that ironic, because she's dead now, and Susan's alive, and she's not sure why, she doesn't deserve to live any more than Lucy deserved to die, and yet, and yet...This is how things are now.She reminds herself of that. This is what the world is like now. Yes. This is the way her life works now. Yes. Everyone in her family is dead now. Yes. Even that boring old man whose house they stayed at during the war is dead now. Now. Now. Now. It is Now, not Then, and Susan was the only one in her family who would ever acknowledge that.No one in her family ever wanted to leave Then, especially Lucy, and yet somehow, Lucy was always...always something—Susan breaks off the thought there and calls someone to suggest that they crash a party.At the party, she keeps seeing echoes of Peter or Edmund or Lucy, even echoes of that horrid cousin of theirs, what was his name, Eustace, that's it. He's dead, too, now. She stands up too suddenly, and the edges of her vision cloud with black, and clear, and Lucy is across the room, rummaging in the refrigerator, looking out the window, dancing with a stoned boy Susan slept with once. How dare she, Susan thinks, how dare he want Lucy over me, she's only a child playing children's games. She pours more bourbon into her glass and sips it and sees Peter is changing stations on the radio, drinking rum and Coke, charming everyone the way he always does. Did. Did, did, did! Susan turns quickly away from her brother and sister, only to see that Edmund is laughing with one of Susan's friends, his hand on her shoulder, listening to her, being fair and kind and bloody just, oh, isn't that wonderful, Edmund's such a fairminded boy, it's such a treat to meet a young man like him, you must be very proud of your brother.She hates her family and loves them all the more fiercely for hating them.She leaves the party and goes back to her flat. She takes a pill and sleeps and dreams and doesn't remember the dream in the morning.This is what she dreams:
Susan is standing on the top of a large, flat-topped hill next to a stone table with a crack in it. The sky is the same color as a dead television set and the grass under her feet is the color Lucy's eyes were in the coffin, still and dull silver. The world is silent and grey and Susan is alone.
She doesn't move. She doesn't try, so she doesn't know if she can. She just—doesn't.
The sky sinks closer and closer and closer and the hill and the grass on the hill rise to meet it. Susan is in the middle, and she's going to be crushed, but, oddly, she doesn't mind or care or fear. Everything begins to spin, grey hill and grey grass and grey soil and grey table and grey sky spinning and color begins to bleed into everything, bright streaks of vivid life.
But, no, everything's slowing and stopping, except that around Susan, there's still a streak of circular movement. Moving bodies, and they slow, too, dancing ring-around-the-rosy around Susan, and she doesn't want them to stop or slow down enough so she can recognize them.
But what Susan wants doesn't matter here, because they do slow, and they do stop, and the sky is full of color and the air is warm and Lucy is smiling at her and Peter drops their hands and hold his out to her and Edmund moves a little to his left to make room for her in the circle that's a triangle with space to become a square and they're all happy.
Susan's confused.
They're happy to see her. This isn't how the world works, and on that thought, the dream fades and the last thing she sees in it is Lucy, Lucy's eyes, Lucy's eyes smiling at her. |
169 | The First Day | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "due South",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "General Audiences",
"author": "by ignaz",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2006-06-15T00:00:00",
"words": "730",
"Additional Tags": "Flash Fic, Ficlet",
"Relationship": "Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski",
"Character": "Ray Kowalski",
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
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} | Okay, so maybe Ray's always been a little bit bent. Wasn't like it fucking mattered -- he'd gotten over it, he'd had a girl -- more than one girl, even, if you counted the times when they were "taking a break" before they got engaged, and the two or three (or two) dates he'd had since the divorce. Stella: she had always been there for him, even when she was making him sleep on the couch, even when she was throwing him out on his ass, because as long as he had Stella in his life, he was safe. She was like a great big safety net, rock solid proof that Ray Kowalski was, in no uncertain terms, straight. There was no need for awkward questions with The Stella in his life. Married. Monogamous. With her, Ray was resolutely Stellasexual, and that was all that mattered.Except that all of a sudden he had no girl, no wife, and was looking down the ugly barrel of forty -- and hello, midlife crisis, right on time. So when the transfer to the 2-7 came across his desk, he was all but chomping at the bit to get at 'er. New precinct, new people, same name, and apparently there was a lifetime supply of genuine Italian pasta in it, too.They told him he had to be this guy, Vecchio. Gave him the files and he read through 'em, and yeah, Vecchio seemed like a generally stand-up guy, someone whose name he wouldn't mind wearing for a few months. They briefed him on the family, the wardrobe, the ex, the car (oh, god, yes -- the car!). There's something about a partner from Canada that he doesn't really listen to, and then he's ready, he wants it -- sign it, dot it, put it in a box marked done -- and he starts at the 2-7 the next week.Which is fine, which is great -- Welsh is good, the other cops are good, even Frannie's pretty good -- and mostly he gets left alone to deal with some of Vecchio's backlogged paperwork, which sucks, but he could maybe use the downtime. He's just starting to pick up some cases, nothing too weird, when the bullpen door opens, and in the middle of the crowd and the chaos there's something big -- and very, very red.Canadian, they'd said. Mountie, they'd said. He didn't have much to go on for Mounties -- his cultural reference point was Dudley Do-Right, so he basically latched onto "red uniform," "horse," and "goofy looking." What they did not say -- what they most definitely, absolutely, positively did not say -- was that when Benton Fraser walked into his line of vision for the first time, he would look like Mr. January in some "Hotties of the Frozen Tundra" calendar. No warning whatsoever. So after the split-second double-(triple-)take, in which he finally got what people meant when they talked about hearts skipping a beat, he was out of the chair, in action, moving moving moving, giving the big red centerfold a quick and friendly half-hug-half-shoulder-pat -- see, we're old buddies, you and me -- and then latching onto the very first woman he saw walking by.He was babbling, barely stringing coherent sentences together, because while his mouth went into overdrive, his brain was stalled at big, red, gorgeous -- oh yeah, and straight, straight, straight. Ray hoped that whatever crap he was spewing was getting lost in what he'd already come to understand as the usual chaos of the station. He wasn't sure Fraser was buying it, though, 'cause he was looking at Ray sort of funny -- but while they didn't mention gorgeous, he was fairly sure he remembered them putting a lot of emphasis on weird, so he just shook it off. And the next thing he knew, there were fires and bullets and a wolf making intimate with his ear, so really, he didn't have much time to worry about it.Later he went home and thought about it, and wondered if there was maybe someone in the brass who knew what he was up to and decided to pull a fast one on him -- but nah, no way. Wasn't like he had "I'm questioning my seriously shaky sexuality" tattooed on his forehead. There probably weren't too many guys in the Chicago PD lookin' to transfer when Vecchio had to cut out. Besides -- his name was Ray. |
48 | By Invitation Only | {
"Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings",
"Category": "Multi",
"Characters": "Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Toshiko Sato",
"Fandom": "Torchwood",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Not Rated",
"author": "by zvi",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-01-06T00:00:00",
"words": "1,916",
"Additional Tags": "OT3, I Saw Three Ships, Threesome, Character of Color",
"Relationship": "Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones/Toshiko Sato",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
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"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | "Is it a suicide watch?" asked Ianto.Tosh looked up from Ianto's fingers, deftly measuring coffee into filters, to his face. "Is what…?""You've stayed just about three feet from me since Jack." Unlike the rest of them, Ianto didn't fidget when the conversational pause used to indicate Jack's absence came up, preferring the full stop to the ellipsis."Oh. Oh no. I'll, um, back to my workstation, then. Sorry." Tosh scanned the area around her briefly, but she hadn't actually brought any paperwork or computers or artifacts into the breakroom, so there was nothing to pick up and carry off."Don't," said Ianto. He fastened a small door and pushed a series of buttons, causing the machine to make a sort of whirring noise. "So, what is it?"Tosh hovered, pushed up on her toes in preparation for a turn, but not yet in motion. "I, um, I thought you might be lonely. With him gone." She stood down, looked somewhere past Ianto's shoulder. "I'm lonely, sometimes.""All right then." Ianto leaned forward and pushed another button on the machine, and it vented steam. "So long as it's not a suicide watch." He didn't smile at her, but his nod was rather more casual than a butler's.She smiled at him, just a little, but walked out of the kitchen anyway. She hadn't done any work for over a week.Gwen had left and Owen had left and Ianto was putting on his overcoat when he said, "What's wrong with Gwen, then?"Tosh looked up from the equations she'd been pondering, stuck in a sort of mathematical meditation in which the symbols replaced all the words; she had to breathe for a moment in order to speak English. "There's something wrong with her? I thought she was doing okay."Ianto shook his head. "You said you were lonely. Owen is," Ianto's lips twitched and he shook his head, "but I wondered why you didn't spend more time with Gwen.""She's all wrapped up in Rhys. I haven't any interest in him. Or football. Or television. So.""So." He nodded. "Care for a pint?"She looked around the Hub and shrugged, an expression on her face which might have been a pout in its previous life."We have callforwarding. The alarms are set to page you. Your laptop can remotely access the workstations." He held out a hand to her.She didn't take it, but she stood and said, "Let me get my coat."In the car, the pub was abandoned for Ianto's flat after a moment's discussion. ("It's only that I'm wanting an Irish Coffee, you see, but pub coffee's crap," Ianto apologized.)Tosh had expected Ianto's place to be neat and well-organized, but its barrenness was disappointing. She drifted back into his kitchen. "Nothing to be learned from snooping in your things, is there?"His mouth twitched and his answer was flat. "No." He handed her a drink and walked past her into the next room. He sat on one end of the couch and pointed at the other end.She sat and sipped and sighed. "I thought you were just being finicky, but the coffee makes all the difference in the world." She felt herself relaxing, the heat and the whiskey melting her from the neck downwards. She moaned a little as her stomach unclenched for the first time since they'd picked up Jack's body from that field. She opened her eyes when she heard a chuckle."Better than sex, isn't it?"Tosh took a sip and held it in her mouth, swallowed slowly. "The last time I had sex was with a telepath determined to seduce me for untoward purposes. It's not better than that." She took a deep breath over the cup. "But it definitely beats out the last fuck I had before that." She took another sip and considered. "Jack's not…?"Ianto blushed and took a sip of his own coffee. "He's bloody brilliant, but he's male, isn't he? I'm straight.""Then why…?"Ianto shrugged. "After, after those butchers in the country." He sipped. "It was late, I was distraught, Jack was himself." He shrugged. "Life-affirming sex is a cliché for a reason."She smiled. "That's more than enough, really."Ianto smiled. "I thought so at the time."She put down her cup and stood. "No, I meant…." Tosh blushed, but she held out her hand.Ianto took it and pulled her down on his lap. "I'm not done with my coffee yet." But he put down his cup and put one hand to the back of her neck. He kissed her, mouth warm and firm and big on hers, and he swiped at the inside of her cheeks but he lingered on her lips and tongue.Jack returned the next day, but the corpses served to make that less emotionally turbulent than anticipated. The answer to, "Did ya miss me?" turned out to be, "Yeah, we can use another gun when we—duck!."Jack checked off in his head: Owen had gone to hospital for that bump on the head; Gwen had been picked up by Rhys since she couldn't drive with that arm; he'd just said goodbye to Tosh. That left just one of his little darlings wandering the Hub."Sir?" Ianto came through the door, with a lovely steaming cup of coffee and two biscotti. "Will that be all?"Jack took the tray and put it on his desk. "You're not staying?"Ianto looked a little pleased, but mostly stubborn. "I have plans. You didn't exactly call ahead."Jack smiled. "Got plans for tomorrow night, too?" When Ianto twitched a little guiltily, Jack took Ianto's wrist in his right hand and pulled Ianto closer. "If I'm being dumped, I deserve a kiss goodbye."Ianto pulled his hand back, looked in Jack's eyes. "I don't know. It's new. We haven't talked about, well, anything.""Okay." Jack leaned forward and kissed Ianto thoroughly, but he kept his hands out of it, only let his teeth scrape Ianto's lips gently, gently. "I missed you. I want to pick up where we left off. What do you want?""I don't know," said Ianto, and he leaned into Jack's body, grabbed Jack's suspenders in the back. "I didn't think I liked you that much, but then you."Jack's arms came up right away, but it took a moment for him to ask, "But then I what?""You saved the world." Ianto blushed.Jack smiled, wicked pride mixing with disbelief. "Self-sacrifice gets you all hot and bothered?""No. But I felt bad about your murder, not just the world. And when you were dead, I missed you, and when you were gone, I—." He straightened up and pulled away. "I'll be late."Jack watched him turn around and leave. "Good night, Mr. Jones.""Good night, sir."Jack was surprised to discover that Ianto's coffee was quite as good as he had remembered. Most things had been embroidered by his imagination while he was held by the Master, and he'd had a sadly disappointing hedonistic vacation before he came back to work. But the coffee was perfect.Ianto had to knock twice at Tosh's door. When she opened it, she was wearing her glasses and an ugly t-shirt. In her hands were a computer manual and a bottle of iced green tea. They blinked at each other for several moments without speaking, then Tosh backed up while holding the door open.Ianto walked in far enough to let Tosh close the door behind him. "Did I misunderstand this morning?" He didn't look at her as he asked, preferring instead to make a close study of her far wall."You said you were coming by tonight, yeah, providing that nothing came up at work." Tosh put her book and her drink down in the kitchen and turned back to face Ianto. "Jack didn't qualify?""Fucking him's not part of my job, no."She flushed, her hands coming up to her face. "That's not what I meant. I just," she shrugged, "who would pick me over Captain Tall, Dark, and Handsome?" She turned back into her kitchen, picked the kettle up from the stove. "I've got real tea, if you're interested. Good quality Assam."He walked into her kitchen and put his hand over hers, stopping her from turning on the sink. "I've been known to imbibe drinks that were neither hot nor caffeinated." He turned her around. "I've given sexual favors for a pint at the right moment." He bent to kiss her, touched her face first. "I've no idea what I might want from Jack. I know I want to get to know you better, Toshiko Sato."Jack was surprised when Ianto came into his office. Owen and Gwen were gone, but he hadn't seen Tosh leave. Discretion had been important to Ianto last year—last week?—when they parted. He raised an eyebrow.Ianto shook his head, gently, a little sadly.Jack stood and opened his arms and Ianto came to him, and they had the big movie romance kiss with appropriate amounts of swooning on Ianto's part. And then Jack stood him up straight, brushed the lapels of Ianto's coat, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Ianto touched his cheek with his hand, face pulled tight like he'd been smacked. But he nodded once, then walked out of Jack's office.Jack was surprised when Ianto came back into his office. For one thing, Ianto was still facing the door he'd been heading out of, and for another, Tosh was pushing him in. "I can't do it," she said. "I can't take another man away from him."Ianto stopped dead at this, and pulled off sideways so he could look at both of them. "What?""She means from when we went through the Rift," said Jack. "There was a guy, it was wartime, there was a connection." Jack shook his head. "Tosh, if you and Ianto have a chance at making something work, I want you to—." He stopped because she came to him and pulled his head down and kissed him. Jack didn't know what she was thinking, but her mouth tasted of coffee and hazelnuts, so he kissed her back. He did it properly, because he didn't think he'd get the opportunity again. She'd always been standoffish and constrained. Jack found this ridiculously attractive, as he didn't understand how one could live that way.Tosh was breathless when she pulled back. She said, "I'm not wedded to monogamy as a lifestyle, Ianto, are you?"Ianto said tentatively, "I've never thought about it. I don't know what I want.""I think monogamy's completely ridiculous," said Jack."I guessed," said Tosh."I have met you, Jack," said Ianto.The next morning, Ianto moved quite stiffly as he walked up to Owen's surgery. "If you have any large equipment requests, can you get them to me by the end of the week?""Why?" asked Owen. "I thought large equipment got ordered in March.""It does normally, but Jack needs a new bed and I want something with which to camouflage the purchase order."Owen gave him a cranky snort. "I don't want to know how you broke the bed, yet, as your doctor, I feel compelled to ask."Ianto smiled mysteriously and said, "Tosh is a lot more athletic than you give her credit for.""Tosh! Is this a mandatory company orgy or something?""More of an invitation only coffee break, really." |
7 | Dedication | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": null,
"Fandom": "Gravitation (Anime)",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Mature",
"author": "by Ice is Blue (ice_is_blue)",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "5,836",
"Additional Tags": "lustful thoughts, souffle, Romance, Drama, Humor, Complete",
"Relationship": "Yuki/Shuichi",
"Character": null,
"Relationships": null,
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | It was a typical evening in the writer's apartment... which was to say that Shuichi was nattering on about something or other and Yuki was trying to get some work done and faxed before he had to suffer another frantic phone call from his editor."Yuuukiiiiii," Shuichi whined. "Haven't you been listening? It's important. This is exactly what I'm talking about."Yuki took stock of the situation.Shuichi: pouting lips, eyes dewing with emotional moisture, the harem outfit direct from the singer's latest video shoot... the harem outfit with near-transparent pants... Yuki's eyes narrowed... the harem outfit with near-transparent pants and a cropped vest that brushed against the boy's nipples often enough to make them stand out.Right. That was enough with the cataloguing of the boyfriend. Moving to the other competitor for Yuki's attention...Work: writing thirty more pages and then revising a scene that made him want to scratch his eyes out.Yuki saved his files and shut the laptop.At least he'd enjoy fixing this problem. Especially if he was reading the hunger behind Shuichi's tears."Happy now?" Yuki asked. Shuichi was staring at the shut laptop as if he'd never seen it before... which might've been true. Yuki couldn't remember actually closing it in the boy's presence. "Well?" he prodded. "I'm listening. Speak.""Oh..." The singer turned away, showing embarrassment. "It doesn't seem so important now. I'm sorry. Never mind."Yuki sighed and bit back the first two responses that had flickered through his mind. He caught the boy around the middle before he could flee. "Too late to take it back now," he said, not unkindly. "What's running through that head of yours?"Shuichi squirmed. "I should've known better than to bring it up. It's better that you weren't paying attention. It doesn't matter.""It does matter," Yuki said flatly. His patience, never that sturdy to begin with, was wearing thin. He wanted Shuichi bent over his desk, the waistband of those damn see-through pants pulled back to the teen's thighs and exposing something very precious. He wanted this to have happened two minutes ago.It was time for a change of tactics. He used his most seductive voice, applied strategically close to his lover's ear. "I should have been listening. What were you saying? Tell me."Shuichi shuddered, the words having the desired effect. "I wanted to hear you say you loved me," Shuichi mumbled. "You never say it. And I just..." He shook himself. "No," he said firmly. The haze veiling the teen's eyes ripped away and he stared up at Yuki with determination. "It doesn't matter. I know you love me. I don't need to hear it."Yuki considered Shuichi to be the most honest person he knew, but he wondered if the boy was lying to himself just then or if he was just really that clueless."Idiot," he said gruffly while brushing the hair back from his lover's face. "I love you.""What? Just like that?""What more do you want me to say?""I. . . um, well." The boy looked away unhappily.Yuki frowned and set his plans for a break-time stress-relief session (i.e. sex) aside. He'd be damned if he showed the teen that he was concerned, but Shuichi's attitude worried him. Maybe his lover was falling ill? Shuichi shifted, the material glimmering against his hip. Desire bit at Yuki and he smirked. Gauze could certainly be drafty. Perhaps his lover simply needed to be warmed. Yuki tugged on the thin pants, pulling Shuichi closer, then let his hands drift lower to knead the boy's firm ass. Shuichi pressed closer and went oozingly limp upon his shoulder as Yuki's hands played up the singer's spine and down the backs of his thighs, turning something purely sexual into something comforting, warming, loving."I love you, my own little idiot," he said softly, letting his fingertips make light strokes and meandering circles upon his lover's skin.Yuki felt, more than heard, Shuichi sniff. "I love you too, Yuki.""Now..." From his seat, he tilted the standing boy's chin downwards so that their eyes could meet. "What's brought this all about? Did something happen at the video shoot? You were in a much better mood last night."A much better mood, as Yuki recalled... Despite the fact that Shuichi had to be pretty for the cameras today, the teen had proven last night (and not for the first time) just how flexible he was. Repeatedly and with creativity."No, the shoot went fine," the singer murmured, refusing to meet Yuki's eyes. The fluttering glance shifted to Yuki's closed laptop. "I should let you get back to work." Shuichi's sudden smile unleashed a soft glow in the boy's face that made Yuki tingle when soft lips brushed his own hard ones. "I — I'll wait up for you." It was said with a blush and a fleeting hopeful look."Later would be fine, but..." Yuki drew his lover nearer when it appeared the door was a more interesting subject to study than Yuki himself. "I want you now."The lithe body squirmed in his grasp and slipped away, the glow gone. The singer paused at the door. "I'll wait up for you," he repeated, this time looking unhappy.The writer had half-way risen from his seat at the boy's departure, but in the end he forced himself to sit back down. Shuichi, if left alone, would either get over his mood or become upset enough to actually explain the problem. Forcing the issue now wasn't an option. The way Yuki's libido was raging, he wouldn't be able to patiently coax the reason for Shuichi's hesitance from the boy as the situation called for. There was a way, he acknowledged. But it would most likely involve Yuki pushing, deliberately goading, raised voices, and make-up sex. And while make-up sex with Shuichi was unbelievably shattering, that wasn't what he wanted right now. He offered up a silent, mocking prayer. When no warm body materialized in his office to receive a nice, hard fuck, he grudgingly returned to his task.Yuki reopened his workspace and managed to type for a solid hour. He then had to spend a further half hour to remove all references to a harem outfit that had popped up out of nowhere.He ground his teeth. Twenty-five more pages to go. *** When Yuki emerged, a harrowing six hours later, his mood was none too happy and his stomach was protesting the self-abuse with alarmingly loud squelches. It hadn't been this bad when he'd been writing in a long while. The writer frowned.Usually Shuichi was good about keeping track of how long he'd been working and would bring him a tray of food at appropriate intervals. It was always something delivered or store-bought, of course. Yuki had set strict rules about Shuichi in the kitchen after the boy had unsuccessfully explained, once the writer had made good use of his fire extinguisher, why there had been flaming cheese stuck to the ceiling.The non-disruptive reminders to eat were probably the only benefit of having the brat underfoot while he worked. Yuki had found that if he let himself go writing for too long, as was his wont, he'd accomplish a good deal of writing, but afterward, he was useless. Today it didn't matter so much. There was just the one project and then he could safely crash and slowly regain his physical and mental strength.If he chose to acknowledge the feeling, Yuki would be upset that Shuichi had brought him nothing this night. But he chose to not do so and it was with just a general grumpiness that he stomped his way towards the fridge.To what used to be his kitchen."Shuichi, what the HELL have you done to my kitchen!?!"The oven closed with a soft thump and the singer squeaked in surprise. He spun about to face Yuki, his face a model of innocence. The harem outfit, Yuki was disappointed to see, had been exchanged for casual wear. "I was just trying to make something special for you to eat." He glanced about nervously, then continued, the smile making the words all the more aggravating, "Nothing's on fire.""And I thank the gods for their small favors each day I live with you," Yuki replied. Eggs, slick and sticky, and their pulverized shells littered the cramped floor and counters. Yuki's eyes narrowed. He hadn't even had that many eggs in the house this morning to match the present mess. Shuichi had shopped, taking into account his tendency for disaster, apparently. This had been a premeditated attack on Yuki's kitchen.He sniffed and smelled nothing. "Just what were you trying to make that needed so many eggs?""Souffle," the answer came as the boy fiddled with an over-used whisk. "I kept messing up and having to start over."How the hell had the boy found out that he liked souffle?Part of him wanted to go over and shake some sense into the brat, but he was not going to be caught cleaning egg gook off of his bare feet. Just imagining the texture made his toes curl in disgust. He settled for a gruff admonishment. "You can't cook simple dishes, idiot. What possessed you to make a difficult thing like a souffle? Even I haven't tried. And what made you think that I would actually want one in the first place?"The teen's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Yuki. I'll heat up some of the leftovers and bring it to your office. I'll clean it up, I swear."The boy looked suitably miserable, maybe even more so than was necessary. Yuki was tired and hungry. He didn't have the energy to be mad."Wait," he found himself saying. "This wasn't a break. I'm finished.""Oh. I'll bring it to you on the couch, then." The singer started toward the fridge."Have you got another one baking now?" Yuki asked, halting the boy."Er," Shuichi glanced at the oven. "Yeah.""When will it be done?""Um..." Cheeks flushed pink. "Do you know what time it was when you came in here?"Yuki lifted a derisive brow. He'd been quite generous by implying that he'd try Shuichi's concoction, but clearly, this one would fail along with the rest. He spun on his heel. "I'll order us something.""I've been timing the rest, honest!" came the teen's wail from behind him.In his office, Yuki hit a speed-dial combination and ordered a small meal for two, then sank wearily into his chair. He sat there for a few minutes, then braced himself for renewed battle.Shuichi was setting the souffle on top of the stove just as Yuki arrived.Yuki sighed and cursed his timing. "Well?""Nope. This one's no good either."The writer had a partial view of the souffle pan... the souffle pan? Shuichi must have bought that too. Yuki searched his memory and couldn't recall ever mentioning the dish. What had possessed his lover? He shook his head and focused on the matter at hand. He could see a part of the pan and the souffle hadn't fallen completely. The center was definitely concaved, but the rim looked firm."Bring it here." Shuichi turned, wide-eyed. "A fork too.""But it's no good," he protested softly.Yuki glared. "Just do it."The teen meekly brought over the dish and held it out to Yuki with hot pads, the requested utensil jutting out from the crook of his thumb.The writer took the fork by the wrong end and determined with a quick poke that the center was, indeed, still quite undone. Holding the implement properly, he broke a piece from the edge. It was firm, fluffy, tasted vaguely of lemon, and melted in his mouth. He offered the next piece to Shuichi and smiled when the singer's eyes lit with surprise."It doesn't look pretty, but the taste's not so bad," Yuki told him. "How many others did you waste?""This was the best one."Yuki grunted in response as his mouth was currently full with more souffle. He tried to give Shuichi another bite, but the singer turned his mouth away."There's not enough for me.""Idiot. I ordered food for both of us.""Oh." The teen nibbled at the piece, innocent of how sexy his behavior was.Yuki was glad the boy was the one holding the hot pan when a pink tongue darted out to catch stray crumbs.Yuki took turns feeding them both the salvageable parts of the souffle, cursing Shuichi's completely subconscious seductive nature the entire while. When the singer moaned on the last bite, Yuki dropped the fork into the pan with a clang."Put that in the sink and toss me a damp rag. I'll clean what I can reach from here. You," he fixed the teen with a glare, "will clean the rest. With bleach solution. If I get so much as a mild bellyache in the next few days, you'll be sleeping on the couch for a week."He would have threatened longer, especially where the unpleasantness of food-borne illness was concerned, but they both knew it could never last longer than that. Even accepting the fact that sleeping on the couch did not mean they weren't having sex, Yuki had grown used to the presence of the other in his bed. And for some reason... it did not bother him that the boy knew his change in preference.So they cleaned.Yuki did what he could without actually entering the kitchen, using his longer frame to reach a wider area than was really necessary. The food arrived and Yuki ate his share at the entrance to the kitchen, shaking his head at Shuichi's insistence on finishing the job before eating. He wasn't going to set foot on the messy floor to drag the boy out to eat, so he let the younger man do as he pleased.Perhaps it was the mental exhaustion, or the way his belly was pleasantly full, or the way Shuichi was humming softly as he cleaned, or the way the singer's ass jiggled as he scrubbed, or perhaps it was simply that Yuki was tired and was comforted in some way by Shuichi's presence. Whatever the cause, the writer's eyes slowly drooped shut and he fell asleep. *** A crash jolted him awake. Countless months of sleeping with Shuichi had taught his body to become immediately and fully aware in moments like this. The threat to Yuki's person this time was negligible. Shuichi was nowhere near him. The teen was squatting on the floor, crying softly, as he picked up pieces of the shattered souffle dish. The rest of the kitchen was cleaner, the eggshells gone, but the surfaces still shone with drying egg white — it was far from his immaculate standard.The singer turned a little to glance at him, probably to check that Yuki hadn't awakened, and his face fell at the truth. "I'm sorry."Yuki wasn't sure what Shuichi was apologizing for anymore: the mess, the broken dish, waking Yuki up. He glanced at the clock. It was late and all the possible reasons were stupid. The food that had been in front of him was gone.He pinned the youth with his stare. "Did you eat?" The boy had better answer him in the affirmative.Shuichi shook his head. "It's in the fridge if you're still hungry.""No. Why didn't you eat?"The teen glanced to the side. "I had a big lunch at the shoot."Yuki knew better than to believe that. "Taking care of everything else won't help if you fall over, idiot.""I know," came Shuichi's soft answer after a pause."I'm not sure that you do," Yuki replied sharply. "That's enough. Put that down. It's time for bed."And cue the waterworks. "No! I can't! If I leave it until morning, the egg will dry and it'll be impossible to get it off!""I'm telling you to let it be," Yuki said, struggling to keep from yelling at the over-tired boy."I won't! It's my mess. I promised. I'll clean it up.""Idiot. If letting things rest for ten hours will damage it as much as you believe, I'll just buy a new damn kitchen. I never much liked the floor and countertops here anyway."Shuichi gasped in surprise, although the writer wasn't sure what he'd said that had warranted such a response. "I... I... Yuki... I..."Yuki rolled his eyes. Enough with the babbling. "You are going to go to bed. Now."Though soft, his tone brooked no argument and the singer nodded meekly.Yuki would have preferred it if Shuichi had at least a small meal before bed, but judging by the way the boy's eyes were fighting to stay open, Yuki knew it was a wasted desire.The teen scuffed his way to the door, arms open for a hug. The younger man had to be almost entirely asleep to even think that Yuki would hug him when the boy was covered from head to toe in egg residue."Hold it. You're not coming anywhere near me or my bed like that. You're filthy."Shuichi's eyes started to swim."In fact, I don't even want you walking to the bathroom to clean up. Your feet are as dirty as the rest of you."Shuichi sniffed, blinked, opened his mouth for a few false starts before he finally hung his head in defeat. "Okay. I'll try cleaning up in the sink, then." He turned on the water, started washing his hands, then turned his head to look up at Yuki plaintively. "I tried to fix it, Yuki. I tried. I tried, Yuki.""Idiot. Shhhhh." Yuki soothed, before the boy's ragged emotions turned into a complete meltdown. "Come here." Shuichi shut off the faucet and stumbled to obey. The writer made a quick decision then. He'd never cared much for his current outfit anyway. Once he was close enough, Yuki cupped a hand to the singer's cheek to catch his attention. He pulled the teen in for a hug, wet hands, egg residue, and all."That's enough tears," he told the boy. "I doubt even you could produce enough for a shower.""Then how...?""Idiot. There are forms of transportation other than your own two delicately shaped legs." The singer's weight was light in his arms. Perhaps they both had to make sure the other was eating regularly.Shuichi appeared to be in shock as Yuki set him back on his feet in the bathroom."You've got egg in your hair," Yuki growled, noticing it in the brighter lighting. He snorted when the boy remained silent. "You probably would fall and hit your precious, empty head if I let you shower by yourself, wouldn't you," he said. "Fine."It was an easy matter for Yuki to strip himself, tossing the wad of discarded clothing into the bin to be washed later. Shuichi was as pliant and silent as a doll while Yuki removed the teen's clothes. He guided the younger man into the shower and there the boy stayed passive, letting Yuki touch him and clean him as he wished.The writer wanted to erase the haunted, sad look on the boy's face, but he didn't want to start anything here in the shower. Not while they were both so tired. Someone — probably Yuki, knowing Shuichi's irritating good fortune — would get his skull cracked open.Yuki finished cleaning them both to his satisfaction. Shuichi was still distressingly acquiescent in his arms. There was more here going on than the kitchen and the souffle and Shuichi's odd refusal to speak earlier in the day."Come on."He led his lover from the shower, dried them both, and gently propelled the boy to their bed. *** Yuki's ministrations had produced some positive effects, at least. Curled up in Yuki's arms, the teen's eyes were open and mostly clear, his expression one of deep contemplation."Talk," Yuki commanded. It should have been said softly, with infinite tenderness, but Yuki had spouted enough of that for the day.If the singer took note of his gruffness, the teen gave no sign. He tucked his head beneath Yuki's chin and spoke into his chest. "At the shoot today, Hiro and Ayaka-chan broke up.""Oh?" Yuki couldn't say he was surprised. It had been only a matter of time before Ayaka decided she wanted someone else. Hiroshi had been her rebound-boyfriend, after all."Hiro broke up with Ayaka-chan," Shuichi said softly, pained as if he were the one the guitarist had broken up with.Well, that was more interesting. Although, if Shuichi had said something in defense of Ayaka that had damaged his friendship with Hiroshi... "Are you and he still friends?""Of course." Shuichi blinked at him and Yuki made a silent sigh of relief, happy that he had feared wrong.The writer let the side of his thumb stroke along the teen's upper arm. "How did you find out about all this? Did Hiroshi talk to you?""Later, yeah, but Fujisaki, K, and I heard the fight, saw how the whole thing happened.""Tell me."Shuichi shifted so that they could see each other's eyes. "Seriously? You're interested?"Yuki squirmed at being caught. He was mildly curious. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was urging the other to talk for the boy's own benefit... and maybe Yuki's too, if it got him into Shuichi's tight ass. Aloud, he said, "I am a romance writer. Juicy public blowouts make good fodder for the masses.""Yuukiii, you shouldn't—" At Yuki's smirk, the singer wisely accepted the point and continued. "Hiro was asking Ayaka-chan what she wanted him to cook for her next. Then you got brought into the conversation." Yuki's brow raised at this. "And then Hiro just... flipped. He said that he didn't want them to be together if he was always going to be Ayaka-chan's second choice. She was so upset, crying, saying it wasn't true. And then she got mad, said he had to tell her the real reason. And he said he'd met somebody else. They yelled some more, she slapped him and left." The boy sniffed. "I don't think she's coming back."Inside, Yuki smiled. That had sounded exactly like Ayaka. Hiroshi's behavior was more shocking, but as a man, Yuki understood. Shuichi clearly didn't, though."He always seemed just so devoted to her," the singer said. "And now... he doesn't want her anymore."Which meant that in Shuichi's world, Yuki could do the same. Had done the same. Could, if the writer was honest with himself, very likely do the same again. But he said none of this to Shuichi. If the boy understood why he was so upset, fine. If he didn't, it was probably kinder this way.The teen pressed closer, mumbling, "We've been together longer than them.""That we have," Yuki agreed. Shuichi's bare skin was warm against his own. The writer caressed what he could reach. "Don't worry. I love you, my own little idiot."Shuichi trembled. "I love you too, Yuki."The writer pressed a kiss onto clean hair. "So, I understand why you needed extra reassurances from me today. You want to explain what you thought you were doing trying to cook me a souffle?" He didn't have to see Shuichi's face to know the boy was blushing."That is, erm, ... Earlier, when Hiro asked Ayaka-chan what she wanted, she told him cookies. He told her to pick something more difficult, since he was putting his love into the effort. Then she said a souffle, because that was your favorite and she'd never tried one.""How the hell did she know that?" Yuki spat out before he could stop himself."Huh?"The writer smirked and blessed his lover's lack of precise attention. "Why did she think she knew that?" he repeated slower."Hiro asked her that, too. She said she'd asked your brother.""Tatsuha," Yuki growled and vowed revenge."It— it's not your favorite, Yuki? You don't like it after all?"Yuki looked at the moron. "I ate it, didn't I?"For some reason, Shuichi cracked a little smile, but it dropped shortly thereafter. "I asked him," the singer said. "I asked Hiro if he'd planned on breaking up with her today and he said that he hadn't. It had just happened. I guess he was just planning on dating them both for a while, which I think... would have been more awful, you know? You— You're not going to try to hurt Hiro, are you?"Yuki wasn't sure the question was being asked out of concern for the guitarist's well-being, or if it was a backward attempt to see if he harbored feelings for his ex-fiance. In Shuichi's heart, it was probably the nobler of the two. Either way... "No, because I understand his decision exactly.""What?" the teen asked, looking utterly betrayed."Shuichi, your friend is loyal, but he's also no older than you are and the member of a very famous band."The cuddling kitten in Yuki's lap turned to spit and fury. "Age and fame have absolutely nothing to do with a person deciding to break up with someone for no reason!"Delusional, was the only word for it. "He did have a reason, Shuichi. He met someone else. You might not like it or accept it, but that was his reason. He might have handled it better, but it's his right to decide if he wants to spend time romantically with another person. People meet each other all the time. It's very rare that a person's first love, or even their second or third, sticks around. You didn't expect them to get married and stay together forever, did you?"Shuichi's distressed face told him the answer."You did." Yuki said it as a fact, without accusation or condemnation. "Is that what you want? Do you want forever from me?" The singer was tense in Yuki's arms and did not reply. "Ask yourself this: Do you need it? Would you really want it?"Damn. Shuichi was crying again now, his hands clenched into fists even as his body burrowed deeper into Yuki's embrace. "We've been together longer than Hiro and Ayaka-chan," the boy said, the words a miserable whisper ghosting across Yuki's shoulder. "And you're my first. So, it's only... a matter of time... before we..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to."Maybe," Yuki told him honestly. 'Probably' would have been too much of a lie and reminding the teen that he wasn't Yuki's first would dredge up a completely separate problem.The singer didn't catch the subtle difference and was uncomforted. Yuki ground his teeth. He had to fix this. There was no way he was going to let Shuichi's friend's breakup ruin their relationship. The idea was preposterous.There was a way.He'd actually thought of it before and had decided against it then, but if it would calm his upset lover now, Yuki could deal with the consequences. He petted the teen's hair and pressed a soft kiss to his lips."Wait here. There's some work I need to finish up."Shuichi looked up at him, then let his head roll to the side. "Sure. Fine," he said, sounding as if the situation were neither."I won't be gone long."He wasn't. *** Shuichi looked up at Yuki's entrance less than ten minutes later."Here." The writer held out a piece of paper. "I just faxed this to my editor. It's the dedication to the book I'm working on." For my lover, Shuichi —I can't put f o r e v e r in a locket and give it to you to wear,but I can give you t o d a y and all the days after that we share. Shuichi read it then tossed the paper back in his face. Yuki had to admit that he was miffed by this response. Grand gestures of love were not things to be rebuffed lightly."Don't you like it?"The boy's gaze was bitter and accusatory. "I don't want you to write me words that make women swoon. Save that crap for your fans."Shuichi was criticizing Yuki's writing? Yuki let the hypocrisy slide, happy that the boy had quit blubbering and was finally showing a bit of backbone. Picking this particular subject to get stubborn on was not, however, what the writer preferred. "This dedication isn't for my fans. It's for you.""Yeah, and what about the other ones you've written?"Yuki glared at him. "Have you even looked at one of my books?""I skimmed through one once," Shuichi replied in a defensive tone. "I know you come to my concerts sometimes, but it's not the same thing." His brow wrinkled in thought before his expression swiftly turned to one of deep remorse. "Ohhh... Oh, I'm sorry, Yuki," he said, his voice a ghostly rattle too exhausted to be a sob. "I should have read at least one. I'm sorry. I... It's just it never seemed important to you and I—"Yuki stemmed the flow of heart-felt but stupid words with a rough kiss. "Dammit, that's not what I meant," he said, pulling away. "Stay here," he ordered.He returned moments later with a stack of barely-touched books from his office. He dropped them on the bed next to Shuichi without any regard for their condition. He only kept the disgusting things around for reference, but he was glad now that he did have at least this many.Yuki grabbed one at random, opened it to where the dedication should have been, and shoved the evidence in front of Shuichi's nose."Look here," he commanded. With an annoyed glare, Shuichi obeyed, leaning back so that his eyes could actually focus on the page thrust rudely in front of him. "There aren't any dedications. Just a note of thanks to my editor and the other publishing house staff. And that is more a tradition of the industry than me actually being grateful to those money-grubbing bastards. If I actually got rich from a few books, I wouldn't be writing so damn many of them."The boy's mouth opened in surprise, but he said nothing. Yuki waited for his lover's eyes to track down the columns of print from one side to the other, then he picked up another book, flipped it open, and held it at a more comfortable distance for Shuichi to see. He'd gone through half the pile in this manner before Shuichi's hand stilled his.The teen opened a book for himself, flipped through the front pages back and forth. "They're all empty like this, aren't they?"Empty wasn't the right word for it in Yuki's opinion, but he didn't protest Shuichi's choice of phrase. He felt an ache surface that hadn't pained him in far too long. "My first book was dedicated to Yuki Kitazawa. The rest are blank."With this explanation, Shuichi, his compassionate lover who was so dense to other things, immediately understood. Yuki could see the burden of pain that was his alone to carry being shared and taken up by Shuichi, the weight bringing tears to the teen's eyes.Yuki had to say it now, or he never would. He was never having this conversation with Shuichi again. "Listen, idiot, to remember in times when you wonder what you could possibly mean to me: Dedicating a book to you now is just the natural thing to do." Shuichi didn't look impressed and looked ready to protest the point, but Yuki didn't give either of them the chance to interrupt his admission. "I... I was the one who killed Yuki and you were the one who brought him back to life."The tears that had been building silently leaked free.Yuki let the boy cry, busying himself with collecting the books and returning them to their spot. He needed a moment too. In the privacy of his office, he took it. It wasn't anything more than a slammed fist, a marring death-grip on the leather of his chair that he would regret later, and it certainly didn't include an angry swipe at his cheeks. Most importantly, it had taken him no longer to have his moment and put the books away than it had to pull them out.He returned to Shuichi's side, pulling the now softly sobbing boy into a tight embrace and holding the paper with the dedication typed on it for the singer to see again."I'm not promising you forever, Shuichi. I won't. But I will promise you this much: You've made a mark on my life — one I'll share in print with the world if it will help you believe me and remember. As for our future, I promise you that if it ever comes to it, I won't lie to you like Hiroshi did to Ayaka, or... as I've done to you before. I'll tell you why, as best as I can explain it. You deserve that much from me, at the very least."Yuki could see the boy trying to be happy and failing miserably. It made him want to grind his teeth."So," Shuichi ventured, "I'm good enough for right now, but you'd still make me leave?""Enough!" Yuki barked, giving the boy in his lap a little shake. "You are not going to whimper your way into making me recite the multiple reasons of why you might decide to leave me!"Shuichi stared up at him for a few seconds. Blinked, as if the thought were completely foreign. And then the writer couldn't breathe due to the arms constricting his chest. "Oh, Yuki!"At those familiar words, in that familiar tone, Yuki heaved a sigh of relief, or tried to, anyway, seeing as how Shuichi hadn't released him yet. Yuki ignored the minor discomfort. He hadn't screwed this up and his lover was back to what passed for normal. It was all the permission his brain needed to switch over to satisfying his own needs.He bit down hard enough to leave a mark on the column of the teen's neck, then husked into his ear, "Why don't you put those pants from the shoot back on and I'll show you just how much I love you.""Ohhhhh, Yuukiiiiii!" *** Yuki was glad he'd been patient with his lover earlier. Make-up sex was in no way comparable to the wild bout they'd just had. Holding a slumbering Shuichi in the afterglow that reigned after a respectable three rounds, Yuki mused that the teen was good for his creativity and that perhaps he shouldn't fight the inspiration so much.He sensed that his next book would have something to do with a lustful, flexible harem boy.And if Shuichi was willing to help him with the research, so much the better.Eiri Yuki was, after all, a writer very dedicated to his craft. |
18 | Rapids | {
"Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply",
"Category": "M/M",
"Characters": "John Sheppard, Rodney McKay",
"Fandom": "Stargate Atlantis",
"Language": "English",
"Rating": "Explicit",
"author": "by orphan_account",
"chapters": "1/1",
"completed": "",
"published": "2008-09-13T00:00:00",
"words": "1,583",
"Additional Tags": "PWP, Flash Fic",
"Relationship": null,
"Character": null,
"Relationships": "McShep, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay",
"Series": null,
"Collections": null,
"Fandoms": null,
"Archive Warnings": null,
"Categories": null
} | So the mission is done and John passes through the chain. He checks his kit at the armory and the doc checks his kit at the infirmary and then he traipses through to Heightmeyer and they sit for a while with matching glazes and fill in forms together. And then he ambles through the mess and talks to a man here and a woman there — throws out a few quick loose smiles and a joke or two. His t-shirt's kind of raggedy around the bottom seam there and his pants are slipping off his hips and he notices one staring and he slides on off to bed.So John's like a river that winds through a valley and he meanders through the city like water pulling to the sea. And he's tired and you can see it in that slump in his shoulders but his head is tilted sideways and he's smiling through the ache. He's winding down the day.And now it's more paperwork and filing. He kicks his heels. He taps away and chews on an old pen. He hums. He throws back his head and lets his arms swing. He tips his chair and drags his fingers across the plasticized floor. It's so late, you know? If this were Earth you'd see a Vietnamese woman wheeling a cart through the Venetian blinds behind and the lights would be going out in pairs down a long hall. But Vietnam and Vienna are both galaxies away and the lights never go out in Atlantis. Unless John says so.The lights go out. You knew they would.The only sound is fingers dragging against a smooth surface. And now a chair creaking. It's too quiet somehow. Maybe John is holding his breath. Yes. He gasps once. It's a harsh, sudden sound. It strikes coarsely through the hush. It's almost obscene.Rodney, walking past, stumbles over his feet. He stands very still in the deserted hall. Frozen, I guess you could say. He turns his head. He knows whose door it is. Yeah. He knows. Rodney shakes his head. His long narrow mouth curls up into a wry approximation of a smile. But, you know, he doesn't move from outside that door. Maybe he's waiting for something.Inside his room, John lets out a long, low moan and Rodney raises his eyes to the indifferent ceiling."Aw, c'mon," he says under his breath, aggrieved. Within, John gasps and Rodney's somehow right in front of his door now. There's a millimeter between his forehead and the grained, artificial material that coats all the surfaces. Rodney lets his head rest against the door for a moment, just a moment. He rolls his eyes and then his body round, round, away. Away. His back is hard up against the wall. He slides down to the floor. His pants are pulled tight across the base of his balls. He grinds his hips for a moment and then stops and sighs and bangs his head hard against the stupid deserted hall wall.And the door opens like a shot. It's still dark behind the figure leaning against the jamb. John's rubbing his eyes."What're you doing, Rodney?" he says."Nothing! Nothing! God!" Rodney snaps, and John grins blearily and slips down the door-frame until they're level. Rodney is staring resolutely at the blank wall and John is half shadowed and looking at Rodney curiously. John wedges his feet about, hey, a foot, up off the floor, how 'bout that? He's all lazy limbs, John is.John runs a hand through his hair, makes an ?o? with his lips, and blows out a long breath. "It's pretty late," he offers."Is it?" Rodney makes a great show of surprise, and then a slightly muted replay as he catches sight of his watch. "Oh," he says. "It's fucking late, isn't it?"Abruptly, John stands. "Want some coffee?" he says.Rodney always wants coffee. It's one of life's constants, like the speed of light or mortal peril. Or pi, I guess. If in doubt, there's always pi. John knows this and he offers a sure hand to Rodney. He grips his forearm and hauls him up. They stand, close together. Too close, but neither of them make a move.John's like the sea on a calm, clear day and his blank glassy surface stretches off into forever, as far as you can see. But he's flushing round his collar and his bottom lip is bleeding, where he bites it when he's nervous and he's strangely nervous now. He's kind of eager, kind of cautious, kind of bouncing on his feet. He's breathing harder. He's almost panting. He breaks away and strides into his room.The lights come on; the water runs. John fills the coffee jug and stands at his desk. His face is blank. He stares at the jug in his hand like he's never seen it before. Behind him, Rodney swallows.John's hard. Just like that. He can't figure it. John's kind of dumb sometimes. Rodney swallows again and takes a breath, begins to speak and John crumples for a second, spins, pulls Rodney towards him, grips his face in both hands, mashes his mouth against Rodney's. He's so fast and strong he's almost savage. He's hungry. He bites Rodney's lip. He grunts into his ear. His tongue darts out and licks a wet stripe up Rodney's neck.Rodney moans and grinds against him. John is pushing rigid, clawed fingers down the length of Rodney's broad back. "So, we're..." Rodney gasps. "We're doing this now? I thought we...well, I don't know what I thought. We've never really exactly discussed... I thought we weren't going to do this because..." John's hands cup Rodney's ass. "Oh, fuck. I want to."Rodney babbles, and scrabbles at straps and buttons; his fingers are clumsy with lust. He pushes John's pants to the floor. They're grinding together. Rolling. Crushing. They stagger back until John is pressed against the desk. He thrusts one thigh up between Rodney's. Rodney's eyes are wild and his lips are reddened and his jaw is clenching, flexing, working. John pulls him in for a deep, desperate kiss. "Fuck me," he mutters urgently. "Fuck me right now over this desk.""Yes, " Rodney agrees, nodding, sighing into John's mouth. "Yes. Absolutely. Couldn't agree more. Spectacular insight. It's the best plan ever." He pulls back, presses two fingers experimentally against John's lips and chokes a little as John sucks them in, rolls his tongue around them, bobs his head in and out, in and out, keeping his eyes fixed on Rodney who, surer, suddenly, looks around the room. Right there on the desk, next to the coffee jug and the laptop and the messy spread of papers, is an open tube and a box of tissues. "I knew it, " Rodney murmurs, delighted.Yeah, yeah. Rodney knows everything. Another constant.John's arms are flailing behind him and crap is flying everywhere off the table. Rodney boosts him up and sinks to his knees, burying his face in John's groin, tasting, licking. Rodney takes John's cock in his mouth, greedily, eagerly, sucking him down. Like he can't get enough. Like he'd do it forever if he could. Like it's the best thing ever. Like he's won a million dollars. Like..."Jesus, Rodney." John is jerking helplessly into Rodney's mouth. Sweat is beading on his forearms. His arms are braced. He throws his head back. He's coming apart. He's shuddering and jerking and Rodney is groaning round his cock and these are the fucking rapids and they both know it. Jesus.And now John is gabbling, gibbering words all run into each other, crazed mutations of more faster quickly please fuck yes and he's lying back on the desk and Rodney is folding him up like some kind of doll and Rodney is licking and sucking his way down past his balls to his ass and John is straining up into the exquisite fucking mouth of the man exquisitely fucking mouthing the rim of his asshole like he was born to do it.Rodney steps away and offers his hand to John. He pulls him to his feet and they stand there for a moment, oddly abashed, looking at each other, panting and grinning at their brilliant, exceptional, incandescent selves. John winks and Rodney rolls his eyes. "oh my God," he says, and flips him round, bends him over the desk. Rodney pours lube over his fingers and spreads more over his cock. He's hard, insanely hard, still as hard as he was in the hallway, and he strokes himself lightly, feather touches, delicate, so so delicate, as he pushes two fingers into John, who stifles a celebratory yelp."Oh, now, that is just too much," Rodney mumbles and pushes in, in, all the way in, buries himself in John, lays his head against his narrow back, making hot circles against his t-shirt with his mouth, clasping him tightly, holding him down. "I'm fucking you, Sheppard, " he says, with surprise.John says, "yeah." And then he says it again, and again, and again, as Rodney moves faster and faster, fucks him, pounds him, breaks him open. And he thrusts back against Rodney, brazenly, bawdily, joyfully. His head jolts around madly. John says, "yeah.""Yeah," Rodney agrees eloquently. And he fucks John fervently, devotedly, fucks him over his desk in the middle of the night in a distant fucking galaxy and you know what? It's fucking incredible. |
End of preview. Expand
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Dataset Card for Archive of Our Own (AO3)
Dataset Summary
This dataset contains approximately 12.6 million publicly available works from Archive of Our Own (AO3), a fan-created, fan-run, non-profit archive for transformative fanworks. The dataset was created by processing works with IDs from 1 to 63,200,000 that are publicly accessible. Each entry contains the full text of the work along with comprehensive metadata including title, author, fandom, relationships, characters, tags, warnings, and other classification information.
Languages
The dataset is multilingual, with works in many different languages, though English is predominant.
Dataset Structure
Data Files
The dataset is stored in compressed JSONL files (jsonl.zst format), with each archive containing 100,000 sequential IDs. For example, ao3_40500001-40600000.jsonl.zst contains works with IDs in that range.
Data Fields
This dataset includes the following fields:
id: Unique identifier for the work (string)title: Title of the work (string)metadata: Dictionary containing:Archive Warning: Content warnings for the workCategory: Relationship categories (e.g., F/M, M/M, F/F)Characters: List of characters appearing in the workFandom: Fandom(s) the work belongs toLanguage: Language of the workRating: Content rating (e.g., General Audiences, Teen And Up, Mature, Explicit)Relationship: Specific relationship pairings featuredSeries: Series the work belongs to, if applicableauthor: Username of the creatorchapters: Chapter structure information (e.g., "1/1" for a completed one-shot)completed: Whether the work is completedpublished: Publication datewords: Word count
text: Main content of the work (string)
Data Splits
All examples are in a single split.
Additional Information
License
This dataset is released under CC0 (Creative Commons Zero v1.0 Universal). To learn more about CC0, visit: https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/
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