Tiistai - Language

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Language is what we work with everyday. Be it dirty, proper, foreign or body language, it is our only way of communication, so let us celebrate these words and sentences that give us the chance to read and write. Maybe someone can even write their hot little piece of smut in another language. This is the day to do that.

The proper form of prompts should be followed as always. This means one prompt per comment, as many answers as you are able to write, to any prompt you like.

Examples:
-Chuck, Casey/Chuck, lost in translation
-Watchmen, Comedian/Rorschach, joke

There are always Lonely Prompts too.

Comments

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

SPN/Firefly, Sam/River, riddles

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

She was getting better, Simon said so. He found the correct medicines and they'd worked for years to correct the damage done to her by the alliance. She now no longer spoke in riddles or thought that people should be sliced across the chest with a knife for wearing Blue Sun t-shirts. And she'd stopped doing that things where she rubbed soup in people's hair.

But here-- back on Earth-That-Was, this boy was still giving her that look. The one that said she sounded crazy and he had no idea what she was talking about. She hated that look. It reminded her of her time spent trapped in her own head.

She spoke slowly, hoping he got it this time. "I'm from the future. This is not my world. I need to go home."

He starred at her some more; he'd said his name was Sam and that he could help when she met him, but he was only making her feel all the more lost and crazy all over again.

[smilesoftnsweet.livejournal.com]

Supernatural/Angel, Sam/Lindsey, latin

[havenward.livejournal.com]

It's been a year since the war ended. A year since he'd gotten Lilith's head on a platter, and Alaister's beside it. A year since Dean died again, died a hero amongst angels, and was given his final rest. A year since Lucifer's plans were foiled, even if the gates to hell stood open for a while.

He's still got demon blood in him. He's still got powers. There's still evil in the world, and he still fights it.

Somewhere along the way he picked up a ghost. The echo of boots on the floorboards beside him, pressure in the seat of the Impala where there's no one. He thinks, worries, at first that it's Dean. But then the radio sets itself to country rock, and that theory goes out the window.

It watches his back, even if the first time Sam hears its voice it nearly gets him killed. "Dumb ass," it says, a low amused growl that makes him think of his father and brother both.

Sam tips a shot of whiskey into the dirt on its behalf one late afternoon. "Waste of good liquor," it says.

"Why are you here?" Sam asks instead of arguing.

There's a long pause, and he wonders if maybe the ghost has wandered off to wherever it goes when it isn't with him. "Made a promise to a couple good men."

It takes Sam nearly a month to find what he needs, mixed in amongst his other research, his other jobs. Takes another month to get all the materials just so he can avoid having to use his powers for this. (Some things are still considered black magic, and he can just picture the look on Dean's face if he had.) And finding its name ends up being harder than Sam would care for, but considering the circumstances, he can't say he's surprised.

"The hell'r you doin'?" it asks when he sets up the circle.

Sam doesn't answer, focuses instead on the ritual, latin curling inside his mouth and falling of his tongue like a waterfall. The tricky part is breaking the binding on the soul (they could both end up in oblivion) and he flinches but continues when its screams echo and shake the walls.

At last it's done, the house dark now, power blown and candles all snuffed out. But there in the moonlight is a man, half curled on himself and naked. Bright blue eyes peer up at Sam when he pushes lanky hair out of his face.

"What...?" he tries to say, throat closed and dry.

Sam helps him to sit up, to drink some water. "It's alright," he says, half smiling. "Just returning the favor."

[eleanorb.livejournal.com]

BtVS, Giles/Oz, 'That doesn't mean what you think it does'

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

“'The Ripper',” Oz read the inscription on the old photograph. It was a picture of Giles back in days when he was still dropping out of Oxford, hotwiring cars and getting into heavy, dark magick. “That's pretty badass.”

Giles grimaced, thinking of how he'd actually won that nickname. A bout of gas had produced a rather large noise during one of his and Ethan's breaking and entering schemes. One fart later and museum night guard caught on to their escapades. Ethan never let him live that one down.

Under his breath he muttered, “That doesn't mean what you think it does.”

[eleanorb.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar/Mohinder, actions speak louder than words

Heroes, Sylar/Mohinder, actions speak louder than words

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

"I hate you," Mohinder hisses, right before their lips meet and their hands search. He lets Sylar pull the shirt from his shoulders and allows himself to be pressed back against the uncomfortable motel bed. His legs part to accommodate Sylar between them and his head falls back, leaving his elegant neck to be kissed and bit and marked.

Sylar's hands open him reverently, worshipping each inch of him. It is slow and it is soft and it is caring. Before he enters him he whispers, "I want you dead," into Mohinder's ear.

Afterwards, lying together, Mohinder says, "Go," but the clinging grip of his hand around Sylar's wrist begs, Stay.

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, talk to me

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

"Steve..." Chris reached for him, but he pulled away. "Please, talk to me."

Steve's arms were crossed, his face turned away.

Chris let his hand fall to the sheets on the hospital bed, fingers moving weakly against the fabric.

At least he was alive, Chris was thankful for that. When he'd gotten the call...but he was going to be fine. A broken leg, broken nose, cuts and bruises and a whole lot of aches and pains. The only thing keeping in the hospital was the concussion from the way he hit the steering wheel.

Chris wanted to kiss the raw, red bump on his forehead, wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine...but the last time they spoke, they fought...and they normally made up eventually, it had been weeks and Steve hadn't called and Chris...he'd been busy...and...

"Steve...please. Just talk to me. I was so worried...I flew in the minute I heard...I miss you. Just...please, talk to me."

"I'm still angry with you." Steve said finally, still not looking at him.

Chris couldn't help the slow smile that grew over his face. "That's because I'm a jealous bastard who can't ever just let you relax."

Steve turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. "I heard everything you said, I promise." Chris reached for his hand again, and this time he didn't pull it away. "And I'm going to be better...but I'll still be jealous...because you're the best thing in my life, and if I lost you...I don't know what I'd do."

[camshaft22.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1 Daniel/Cam 'Language Barriers'

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Chuck, Casey/Chuck, lost in translation

lol, i just did not forget to post these.

Fic:Chuck, Casey/Chuck, lost in translation; PG-13

[aravistarkheena.livejournal.com]

Prompt:Chuck, Casey/Chuck, lost in translation
rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gratuitous comic book references and violence.



“Get to the point Bartowski,” Casey growled and tried hard not to tell Chuck to stop fidgeting like an idiot. Unnecessary bodily injury would not get him promoted. Self restraint would.

“It’s just that I think you could maybe be the Richard Dragon to my Question, you know?” Chuck said and gave Casey an expectant look.

Casey felt his eyebrow go up in confusion.

“Your what?” he asked.

“The Lady Shiva to my Tim Drake. The Knock Out to my Superboy. The Wild Cat to my Black Canary,” Chuck went on as if what he was saying were perfectly obvious.

“English Bartowski!” Casey barked and Chuck started.

“I want you to teach me how to fight,” Chuck explained all in a rush, looking at Casey worriedly.

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” he asked and punched Chuck in the stomach.

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

Watchmen, Comedian/Rorschach, joke

Wallow

[guiltyreasons.livejournal.com]

"It's all a joke you know," The Comedian said as he came up behind Roschach,"And I think you and me is the only ones in on it."

"Guess so. Difference is I don't laugh so loud," Roschach said wanting the drunken madman to get out from behind him. He felt uncomfortable with someone so crazy so close by.

"You don't laugh at all. You mourn the joke for the pathetic excuse of what it was, for what it doesn't know it is," Edward said with a laugh staring out the same window as Rorschach and seeing something completely different than he did.

"Don't need to laugh. Ain't that kind of funny," he said moving away from the window and past Edward. He wanted to get out of the room, away form the madman with perfect aim.

"You should lighten up Rorsc. Grab a hooker. Grab some crack. Do something to liven up your life. Those convictions of yours are going to kill you one day."

"Rather die that way than buy into the lies of the bright neon lights and soft, diseases bodies. This city is full of fifth. Your worst than most, because you wallow in it like a big," Rorschach said and left the room determined to never work with that psycho again.

"Could have been a poet kid," Edward said to no one, "Made a lot of money. Moved out of this hell. Guess we both wallow in it. Least I don't think I'm above it all."

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Jin/Sawyer, a language of their own

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, magic words

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

There are two magic phrases that Arthur has no grasp on, and they are ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Except when used sarcastically, such as ‘it’d be nice if you were to please grace us with your presence, I’d be thankful.’ or thank you for that brilliant show of intelligence’. Otherwise one would assume that for Arthur did not have any concept of what the words meant at all.

They were up there with other magic words that actually brought forth magic. Or so Merlin had thought. He never thought he’d see (or hear, really) the day when Arthur said them for real.

*

It’d been a bad day all around. Some new enchantment over Camelot, one which Merlin had found to get the brunt of. He’d called it to him, rather than have the whole lot of Camelot die as the magic in his veins would fight it. Fire to fire, like to like. This was a rather stupid idea, considering that it meant that no one with magic was left to fight it, save Gaius, and he was a bit old to go traipsing around on white horses trying to save the world yet again.

(It wasn’t until later that he’d find out the rest, though it always was a bit fragmentary. There was some complicated chain of magic from Morgause to Morgana which somehow made Arthur the oblivious hero in the story via some found herb for a potion or other. After that everything got fuzzy.)

So it was that Merlin’s fever broke, and his magic won over the malignant magic. His eyes fluttered to find Arthur knelt beside the bed, his head leaned against the blanket near his knees.

Merlin could have sworn he’d heard a voice – Arthur’s voice – saying Please live, Merlin. and then, ...thank you for being alive, for everything really. He could have sworn he even heard something like an apology for all the mistreatments. However, Arthur didn’t say such things, meaning the fever had distorted his hearing, or it’d been a hallucination through and through.

Arthur lifted his head and rubbed his eyes before finally focusing – and finding – that Merlin was there, awake and well.

“You’re alive,” Arthur said. “About time you woke up. We were all waiting for you.”

“...What did you say?” Merlin said, his voice still shaky.

“That you’re alive?”

“No, no, before that. I could have sworn you said something else...”
“I’m not going to repeat it. If you didn’t hear then too bad.”

“But that’s no fair! I was sick, you know. I should at least know what you were saying to me,” Merlin said.

“..I said ‘thank you for finally bothering to come back to the living, sleeping beauty.’”

“But sleeping beauty was woken by a kiss from a prince,” Merlin said slowly.

His lips did seem a bit raw and tingly.

“It’s just an expression!” Arthur said. He was supremely irritated now, and Merlin knew better than to push his luck. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Could you get Gaius please? I’m dying for a drink.”

“I’ll call someone. Gaius is asleep with everyone else.”

“What time is it?” Merlin said. For the first time he noticed the dark circles beneath Arthur’s eyes.

“Sometime at night. I don’t know, there’s no clock around here.”

Arthur stumbled out and Merlin pushed himself up. There was a few personal things, as if Arthur had set up camp there keeping watch by his bedside. But Arthur didn’t do things like that, so Merlin shook it off. He’d probably just come in short while ago and couldn’t be without every luxury known to man.

Merlin tried to push away the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that when he had heard the words please live and thank you for being alive he had been lucid.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Mitchell, travelling

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Mohinder/Matt, native tongue

didn't really turn out how i wanted it to...

[yoruichiyoshi12.livejournal.com]

"Mohinder! Your mother's on the phone!" Matt called as he held the phone against his chest, muffling his yelling.

Mohinder poked his head out of the bathroom and glared at his roommate. "Do you have to yell like that?" He asked, rolling his eyes and reaching out a hand for the cordless phone.

Hiding a smirk, Matt shrugged and went back to his previous position on the couch. Making himself comfortable, he turned the tv volume down and turned his head ever so slightly until he could easily hear Mohinder speaking while still appearing to be focused on the tv.

No, he wasn't eavesdropping, well, not really. He was just listening to the sound of his roommate's voice. Sure, he could ask Mohinder about his day and hear the man rattle off about this month's issue of his favorite scientific journal, but it wasn't quite what Matt wanted. He wanted the sounds of Mohinder's native language, a language he only spoke when speaking to his mother oh the phone, or perhaps passing an older Tamil woman on the street.

Matt closed his eyes and smiled softly as he listened. Mohinder was in the kitchen now, using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear as he putted around, no doubt making some sort of tea. All the while, he rattled off to his mother, his tone only changing when he mentioned Matt or Molly by name. Matt frowned in concentration, trying to see if he could pick out any of the words Mohinder had been trying to teach him, but quickly gave up. Molly was making a much better progress at learning Tamil than he was.

It didn't matter really. Matt figured that his ignorance was bliss, and simply enjoyed listening to the Indian man's warm voice speak in his native tongue. And if he sometimes imagined Mohinder whispering naughty things in that seductive foreign tongue, well... it wasn't really Matt's fault.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, flirting

Whatever Gets Us There [Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, flirting]

[veristic.livejournal.com]

"What is that?" Eliot peered over Hardison's shoulder, no easy feat when Alec was hunched over his laptop as if to hide the screen.

Hardison swiveled slightly, his arms going up across the screen to form an x. He glared at Eliot; this was not something he wanted to discuss, especially with Eliot Fucking Spencer, who would never have to –

"Please tell me you did not Wiki-search flirting, Hardison. You do realize the people who edit Wikipedia probably know nothing on the subject, beyond role playing games."

"Don't be an asshole, Spencer. The age of the geek includes the role-player. I wasn't even looking for this, it popped up in a search I was doing Parker. Girl needs socialization skills. She never had a Nana, you should feel bad for even alluding to it, even to me."

Eliot rolled his eyes at Hardison's attempt to change the subject. "True, but she's not gonna get 'em from reading the Wiki entry on flirting. But since you're back to calling me Spencer, maybe I can give our girl a lesson." He really didn't mean to be a dick, it just seemed easier than letting Alec win this one and he still had time to fix any damage before they closed up the office.

Hardison leaned back into the leather chair, hands resting behind his head now, smile curled wickedly across his face. Eliot was a badass in bed and out but the man couldn't bluff for shit. "Really, you're going to teach Parker to flirt? Tell me more about this plan."

Eliot's grin dimmed slightly; this was not the response he was hoping for. Was it too much to ask for a typical reaction that might lead to hot sex with a jealous Alec? Obviously.

"Well, first, I'd start with the little things, how to catch a man's eye and pull him in and then move up to the verbal, um..." Eliot's eyes trailed down over Hardison's chest to his narrow hips to his long legs sprawled out in front of him. "To the verbal sparring that comes with all great flirting."

Hardison nodded. "Yeah, you would know. Parker'd be lucky to have a teacher like you, and I'm sure she'd be grateful, I mean, she's everything a guy would want right?" He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck now absent-mindedly as if thinking about Parker, maybe Parker in black Spandex. "Our girl is ripe for a man, I'd say. She works too hard, and, well, I could always, you know if you're not really interested in helping a girl out –"

Eliot growled. Growled. Alec tried not to laugh as his boyfriend attempted to loom over him. Maybe the banter had gone too far so he reached for Eliot and pulled him over his legs and into his lap. Eliot sputtered a muffled protest but allowed himself to be manhandled and groaned when Alec began shrugging off their jackets and tee-shirts.

"We don't really ever make with the flirting, do we?" Eliot groaned as Alec bit at his collarbone, sucking a bruise into his teeth's indentations.

"No, we do, it's just that our flirting usually begins with pulling at each other and there was that time when you ripped my shirt - that's flirting, right?" Hardison asked in between rough kisses and grappling for leverage as Eliot writhed above him.

"You do need Wikipedia, Jesus Christ, that's foreplay not flirting."

"Whatever gets us there."

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/Castiel, pick-up lines

Answer Your Prayers (SPN, Dean/Castiel, pick-up lines)

[hunters-retreat.livejournal.com]

“Are you lost? Because heaven is a long way from here.”

Stare.

“Are you O.K.? Because heaven is a long fall from here.”

Stare.

“Baby, somebody better call God, cuz he's missing an angel!”

Frown.

“Did it hurt? When you fell out of heaven?”

Furrowed brows.

” What time do you have to be back in heaven?”

“Would you touch me so I can tell my friends I've been touched by an angel?”

“Can I look at your label, because I bet it says made in heaven.”

Looks at his jacket for a moment in concern.

“Do you believe in the hereafter? Well, then I guess you know what I'm here after.”

Smirk.

“Nothing? None of them doing anything for you?”

“Dean, I don’t think I understand the idea.”

“You know, you say something so that someone knows you’re interested.” He explained to the angel.

Castiel crossed over to Dean. “You had me at hello.” He said, hand coming up to cup Dean’s cheek.

He shook his head at the types of movies Sam was showing Castiel to broaden his understanding of human culture but then it all kicked in.

He looked at Castiel who smiled softly at him. Dean leaned forward until their lips were almost touching before opening his mouth one last time before he feel into the angel’s kiss. “It’s a good thing you’re religious Castiel, but I am here to answer your prayers.”

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/Castiel, speaking archaic languages

[moonlettuce.livejournal.com]

Neither of them bother turning on the light as they stumble through the motel room door, the flickering neon of the sign outside the window illuminating the world in shades of blue.

"Cas, Cas, Cas--"

Castiel's name is a mantra as Dean reaches for him, sealing their lips together as Dean pushes Castiel's coat off his shoulders to pool at their feet. Dean tastes like ashes and smoke, like blood and sweat. He tastes like a chance given to Castiel by a demon he is beginning to understand more and more, kinship given to them by the simple fact of them both loving a Winchester.

Castiel can still see it, if he closes his eyes. Demon coming at Dean, too close and too fast and too far away from Castiel, until Ruby had come from nowhere, blade moving and eyes meeting Castiel's for a brief moment before she turned back to the fight.

But Dean is still here, whole and alive, and Castiel will defend Ruby to the entire Host because of that, if he must.

"Cas--"

Dean's voice brings him back to the present, fingers in his hair as Dean tries to tug him closer, the frown when Castiel pulls out of his grip quickly morphing into a grin as he slides gracefully to his knees.

"Hell, yes--"

Castiel leans forward as he pushes Dean's shirt up, tongue darting out to run along the shallow groove where a demon's knife had come too close.

Fingers card back through his hair as Dean tries to get him to move.

"C'mon, Cas, you're killin' me here--"

And Castiel knows what Dean wants, hard and hot and straining against his jeans. Knows what Dean wants and ignores it as he continues to map Dean's body with his tongue, as his hands pull at Dean's clothes, torn and bloody and beyond saving.

He murmurs words against Dean's skin as he undresses him, fingers pressing into Dean's hip as Castiel's lips write language against flesh. Words not spoken in millennia, unheard outside of Heaven, sink into Dean's skin, branded into his soul by Castiel's touch. And when the final words have flowed across Dean's skin, a benediction written in fire, Castiel looks up at Dean, beaten and bloody and glorious, and finally, finally, takes him inside.

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

RPS, Jared/Jensen, riddles

Joker To Your Bruce Wayne [RPS, J2, riddles]

[veristic.livejournal.com]

"If you don't stop with the goat and slinky, I am gonna throw you down the goddamn well."

"You do realize that riddles work as ice breakers, maybe if you tried one every once in a while we could stop describing you as shy whenever we're asked what you're like."

"Fuck you, Jared, I am not shy. I am gonna kill Misha when we see him again, I told him to say reserved. Fucking cons, I think I may hate them more than your lame riddles."

"You love my riddles, I plied you with all my best jokes, got me what I wanted in the end.

"Did you just snort at me?"

"It wasn't your jokes, Jare, corny as they are, it wasn't the eyes either, god knows everyone seems to think they are the second coming."

"Shut you, you love the eyes!"

"Hmm, maybe, still wasn't the riddles or the eyes."

"Jen, you're so superficial."

"Would you rather me lie? Oh Jared, of course, it was your sparkling sense of humor that reeled me in."

"Don't mock. Well, at least, use that if Megan or some fan asks you about it."

"Really? I prefer telling the world that it was all about how your ass looks in a pair of wet jeans. Or, after I've peeled them off of you, either works."

"Jensen!"

"Stop with the feigned outrage, you know I wouldn't. I don't even mind the damned goat and slinky, though really, let's just leave it at the slinky this round, there's a lot more to be said for not thinking about goats when I'm on my knees."

"Yeah, um, sure – fuck, Jen! Riddle me this, the trailer door is locked, right?"

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

X-Files, Mulder/Krycek, speaking Russian

"Show Me", NC-17

[darkhavens.livejournal.com]

Written because I recognise the icon as one made by my BFFLJ, literati, and because the language thing really works for me. I saw it and my mind went kablooey.

The fic is too big to fit into a comment, so here's the first little snippet to lure you in:

Show Me

The gritty brickwork of the wall is cold and damp under Mulder’s palms, rough against his cheek, but he doesn’t struggle in his captor’s grip, doesn’t push back against the unmistakeable sensation of a gun barrel pressed hard between his shoulder blades.

He waits in silence as his shoulder-holstered SIG, the small Chiefs Special at his ankle and the knife he thought would probably go unnoticed are all located – embarrassingly quickly - and removed by one remorseless, impersonal hand.

"Davno ne vidilis'."¹

Even though he can’t understand the words – as the arrogant bastard knows damn well - the sound of that voice sends a ripple of need, of relief, through Mulder’s frame. He grinds his cheek against the wall to keep his first, instinctive response locked tight behind gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Not dead! Not dead!

"Krycek. It’s been a while. What brings you back to my neck of the woods?"

The gun is still drilling a hole just to the left of his spine, but Mulder hardly notices the discomfort, too busy tracking the hand that stole his weapons away so coldly, so efficiently. It’s back now, tracing the curve of his hip, two fingers sliding between the buttons of his shirt to scratch the sensitive skin just below his navel. He shivers.

"Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?"

The gun barrel leaves a stripe of bruised skin as it’s dragged upwards, following the line of his spine up and along his neck until it settles, ice cold and deadly, just beneath his left ear.

"Shhhh."

The top button of his pants is flicked open and the zipper is dragged down, torturously slowly, tooth by tooth, until there’s room enough for the hand to slide inside. And grip. And pull and twist and...

Read the rest here (http://darkhavens.livejournal.com/211761.html)

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/artist choice, smart-ass is talking back!

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/OMC, Smart-Ass is talking back!

Appoloin
Angel of Destruction
This angel is considered a heavenly and fallen angel. His name means "destroyer". He said to be the angel who watches over the opening of hell's pit, waiting for Satan, so he may seize, bind and throw him into the bottomless pit. He was overthrown by Uriel and Raphael in combat. This (http://hotchocolatefinder.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/norman430.jpg) is what he looks like...

"I told you," Dean growled as he limped away. "Find someone else Cas!"

"It's not Cas you're addressing, boy," a deep Jamacian voice growled. "And when speaking to m'brother you'd best show some humility. He saved your ass after all."

Dean whirled around and stumbled back a bit, surprised by the sight of the black man before him. Tall, as tall as Sammy, the man's braids and azure blue eyes combined with his smug smile had the ability to take one's breath away...

The black man arched his brow as Castiel stepped in between he and Dean. "Appolion, he's upset, please, forgive him-"

"Appolion? The Destroyer?" Dean smirked and walked over to the angels. "Well now, you can destroy me any day."

Castiel blinked at Dean. "I think perhaps you need to go back into the hospital Dean. You seem to have a head injury..."

"You have your right to your opinions Cas, I just don't want to hear them."

Dean found out rather quickly that Appoloin took manners very seriously, and apparently that meant no sassing back to Castiel.

"Well lookie here Castiel, this smart-ass be talkin' back to ya in the most disrespectful way." The man loomed over Dean and for once the older Winchester was actually afraid of an angel.

"Perhaps he be needin' to learn a lesson?"

Dean just gulped and wondered where the hell Sammy was.

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Jensen, Texas' accent

[morgan-cian.livejournal.com]

"Aw, hell."

Chris smirked. You could take a boy out of Texas but you couldn't take the Texas out of the boy.

"Problems?"

"Fuckin', I'ma gonna kill that motherfucker."

Chris snorted. Jensen's normally Hollywood modulated voice came out syrupy, slurring words together. Drawing out vowel, sitting on consanants, or biting them off all together. N's? M's? T's? Forget about it. Really, just how far could you drawl out 'mother fucker?'

Not that he could talk, he went rounds and rounds with articulation coaches. It's just that Jen, the consumate profession, the shy reserve, the serious face.

Only Jared could pull the hometown out of Jensen's vocal chords.

"Do I even want to know?" Chris huffed when he got an armful of Jensen. His friend burrowed into his neck.

"Can ya'll make the jackass jus' stop?" Jensen sat back with wide pleading green eyes. His full bottom lip pouting.

"Ya'll? Meaning me and Steve?" Jensen just nodded mournfully.

Chris nipped his lips, pulling a shy grin out of Jensen. That's why the world fell in love with the kid, thirty be damned. He was just too adorable for words.

He soothed Jensen's ruffled feathers and between him and Steve, fucked the boy into oblivion. When the dawn was beginning to break, his phone chirped.

'Is it safe?'

Chris snorted. Who else but Jared would post pics of Jensen asleep and drooling on his facebook. The internet had lit up like a Christmas tree.

'Hell no, boy, lay low like a yeller bellied dawg.'

Chris shrugged. Jensen wasn't the only one with an accent.

[cala-jane.livejournal.com]

KANE RPS, Chris/Steve, lyrics

KANE RPS, Chris/Steve, lyrics

[yanzadracan.livejournal.com]

This is absolutely crazy. What was he doing sitting in a hotel in London? He could be in South America working on his tan, watching Chris work. A year ago they’d made the same round of Europe. This time everything was off. He had no balance. It was like missing a limb.

The shows were going great. The band was doing great. It was Steve that was a half a step behind. Hours of rehearsal had developed cohesion with the band, but it was work. He missed the instinctive interaction you get when you’re in someone’s hip pocket 24/7.


and these memories of you have got me
blinded by love
the thought of a life without you has got me
muted by fear
the pain you left when you went away
and I don’t know
it’s kinda crazy these days


He knew how to do this. Moving between front man and band member had never thrown him off this much. He was drinking too much. His throat reminded him he was smoking too much. He felt like his skin was two sizes too small.

Every night the songs were getting more autobiographical. He hated his cell phone. Talking to Chris just couldn’t compare with having him wrapped around you every night.


it’s kinda hazy these days
a hundred proof and smoke clouds fill my head
along with all the things I said when I was
blinded by love


His music was impossibly tangled. Always it came when he called, but now it was all just a Gordian knot. Both his loves were just out of reach, and he was at a loss of how to fix things. Two weeks. Two weeks and he could go home. Chris said they were putting the finishing touches on the movie. He hoped they could get together in LA, they needed the time. He needed the time.

It was the band’s first night in London. God he was sick of rain. His whole world felt wet and gray. The fans had been great, and he was well oiled by the time he oozed into the cab after the show. When he entered his room something felt different. He didn’t remember leaving on the bathroom light. The crack in the door let Steve see someone in his bed. He knew some of his fans could be a little over the top, but he didn’t think they would bribe their way into his room. He opened the door to get more light in the room.

Shaggy russet colored hair was spread across the pillow. Steve held his breath as the body in the bed rolled toward the light.

His breath escaped in whoosh. Christian. In record time he stripped and grabbed a quick shower to rid himself of the bar smell. He slid under cool sheets and ran fingers lightly over the tanned, much loved face. Heavy muscled arms wrapped around his ribs, and lips nuzzled into his neck. A sleepy purr that might have been his name was murmured before he settled again.

All the knots unraveled. He could hear the music that had flowed in the back of his mind all his life, and he could breathe.

So now it’s spring
And I’m bringing all I got
Might not be much
But one blinded by love

somehow all the rain
is telling me that the pain is going to subside
that all these clouds of gray
will wash my blues away
and take me for a ride

it’s kinda crazy these days

[cala-jane.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/Parker, magic word

[flariariia.livejournal.com]

They're angry at each other again. They both excel at it, sulking and brooding, Parker pouting with her if-looks-could-kill stare and Eliot growling at stuff and 'accidently' getting people into hospital.

Hardison tiptoes around corners and plots against Eliot, because if he had Parker, he would never hurt her. Sophie puts on her sickly sweet face and bustles around doing her best to help them make up, which doesn't lead anywhere, because both Eliot and Parker know better than to trust her. Nate is just exasperated and furious. He threatens them with leaving them behind on missions to no avail.

Until he does leave them behind, grumbling about how there was no way they could pull it off without them two. They did all the hard work after all, the others had no physical skills, Hardison was a nerd, Sophie was a pretty smile that could not be relied upon and Nate thought he knew everything. Parker could not help snorting, when Eliot had told this to the chair he tried to squeeze the life out of.

Eliot gave her a sideways glance, which began to melt into a sly smile. Parker's skin around the eyes wrinkled adorably when she smiled. The small chuckles burst into full on laughter, Parker's tinker-bell giggles wound into Eliot's dry, deep sourced chuckles.

"Sorry," Eliot said very, very quietly after the laughter finally waned into silence. Parker shifted around a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, it was my fault too," Parker eventually admitted, though she could not bring herself to apologize, it was too difficult. Eliot closed in on the table she was sitting on, the awkwardness building up until he had to break it.

"I hear make-up sex is really good."

As if he'd never had any, Parker giggled. "What's the magic word?" She wrapped her legs around his waist and moving her hips in professionally illegal ways. Eliot dropped his head into her neck and growled.

"Please."

[asenathwaite99.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Nate/Eliot, speaking in code

Team Bonding - Leverage Style

[maab-connor.livejournal.com]

--I had way too much fun writing this--

All through the meeting Eliot was staring at Nate in a way that could only be described as scorching. Nate fumbled every time he looked over and saw it. If the bright LCD hadn’t been reflecting on his face, the others might have seen that he was blushing a bit. When he was done briefing on the new client and the new job, he sat down and said, “Questions?”

“How long?” Eliot asked.

“Long enough to take our interest,” Nate answered.

Eliot pretended to take notes while the others asked more questions.

“Doesn’t sound too hard,” Eliot said.

“I think you’d be surprised. Jobs like this tend to get really hard and take a long time,” Nate countered.

“Then we should get started. Soon.”

Nate finished his coffee. “Why don’t you and I go out and scout surveillance opportunities-“

“I love hole hunting.”

Nate nearly choked. “Hardison, do some bank account spelunking, I want to find out where he’s stashing his dirty cash. Sophie, I need you to work with Parker, find a character for her to get in under the radar, work the background. I want you to go in splashy; I know you’re going to hate it, but this guy likes call girls, the ones with the high prices. Full backgrounds for everyone. Eliot, you ready?”

“Always.”

They ducked out of the office quickly. While Sophie and Hardison stared after them.

“Wankers!” Sophie said after the door was closed behind them. “Leave us here while they go out to shag.”

“They just did,” Hardison said, more than a bit peeved.

“They are not subtle,” Parker agreed.

“Bad enough we have to listen to The Most Obvious Sex Code Ever on the coms every job, but now they’re leaving the details to us? Ah, hell no.”

Parker started giggling.

“You know something,” Sophie said, turning to face the other woman.

“I know Nate left his com in,” she said through her giggles.

Sophie and Hardison both grabbed for their coms and put them in.

“We have got to find a way to work dirty little whore into the conversation,” Alec laughed.

“Lucky thing I’m going to be playing a call girl then,” Sophie agreed, smiling. “Mind you, I’d love it if we could work in that it really is a long, hard job.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Eliot who just made that girl noise. He’s losin the tough guy points just for that right there.”

“Mind you, if I ever realized Nate could go on like that I would have made a stronger play for him.”

“I would have fought you for him,” Parker agreed.

“Eliot is enjoying this way too much, he would’ve beat both y’all down.”

[beautybecks.livejournal.com]

SGA, John/Rodney, mute

sga, john/rodney, mute

[wellowned.livejournal.com]

it's halfway through their mission on M-what-the-fuck-ever when john can't help but notice the lack of sound anywhere. he's used to the sound of footsteps on twigs and grass, the clicking of technology, and the running commentary from rodney. it's the last bit that has him so unnerved, flinching and checking over his shoulder every second to see where everyone is.

it's like someone's turned the sound off on the planet, and it keeps john on edge. the sound is deafening, like the deep end of the pool, pressure on his eardrums until he can't take it anymore.

he gets everyone's attention, directs them back toward the gate with almost frantic hand motions. he keeps reaching to touch rodney, reassure himself of his presence even as he scans the perimeter for an attack of some kind.

they dial home, walk through the gate and john can't help the sigh of relief he gives when he hears the noise of his everyday life. when he hears atlantis hum in welcome. when rodney's tirade breaks into his consciousness.

"... strongest energy readings we've had the entire time in Pegasus and Major Scared-of-the-Silence over there runs us back off the planet..."

john lets it wash over him like water, white noise that makes everything safe again.

[beautybecks.livejournal.com]

SGA, John/Rodney, body language

John Sheppard, a Study

[fairyglass.livejournal.com]

Watching John Sheppard is like watching poetry being written right before your eyes, a study in the economy of movement that Rodney can never get enough of.

It starts off a little rough, the form yet to be full, but eventually it's running like water through your fingers, something fluid and almost musical.

For example, Rodney has identified no fewer than three different ways Sheppard folds his arms. There are variations on the theme, but for the most part, they stem from the three primaries.

Each starts the same, a right over left movement, but the first is his practiced nonchalance. The look he has perfected for mission debriefs, where their lives were once again put on the line but it's 'no big deal' because they all made it back, so why sweat the small stuff?

It's all for show, and Rodney knows it, but lets John believe he's pulling the illusion off anyway.

The second is the concentrated draw of his arms against his chest, the careful tucking of his fingers up under his shoulders. It's usually joined with a dip of his chin and an intense focus of his hazel-green eyes and Rodney knows this means he has John's absolute attention.

He may spit out things like "Flux Capacitor" while Rodney describes Ancient technologies, but he also knows John won't forget when Rodney explains exactly how to use it.

Not that that won't stop Rodney from reminding him several times over. Because that's part of the game, too.

The third, and rarest, is a Sheppard at rest. When they're watching hockey together or its a team building movie night. When the crooks of his elbows are loose and the stance of his shoulders is casual. And he can smile his real smile, the one that starts some where in his gut and reaches all the way into his eyes.

That's the one Rodney probably loves the most. It's the one that reminds him above all the others just how human John Sheppard really is, how infinitely delicate and fragile the human experience can be and how easily it could be lost.

And how despite his fuss and bluster, how privileged Rodney is to share in it all.

"But that's only after I cataloged your eyebrow arches," he murmured, ghosting a finger over John's brow.

"You cataloged how I arch my eyebrows?"

Rodney smirked with a smug satisfaction. "There are at least seven."

[beautybecks.livejournal.com]

Life On Mars (UK), Sam/Gene, 70's slang

[fairyglass.livejournal.com]

Somebody needs to write this so that I can read it. STAT!