Tuesday - Proverbs/Cliches

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Today our theme is going to be proverbs or cliches - taken as literally or figuratively as you'd like. Any fandom, any pairing. Please follow this format to help the code-monkeys:

Being Human, George/Mitchell, ashes to ashes dust to dust
Lost, Kate/Sayid, knowledge is power
Merlin/SPN, Uther/John, a man's home is his castle

You can leave as many prompts as you'd like as long as they're one per comment, and you can even write your own.

If nothing here takes your fancy, then head over to the Lonely Prompts index and grab some inspiration there.

Comments

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Mitchell, ashes to ashes dust to dust

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Kate/Sayid, knowledge is power

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Merlin/SPN, Uther/John, a man's home is his castle

[keitorin.livejournal.com]

Gundam Wing, Quatre x Trowa, appearances are deceiving

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

Probably not exactly what you were looking for, but I still hope you'll enjoy :-)

When you know someone else for a very long time, you learn much more about them than you ever expected. Even people who seem simple have more layers than anyone could have predicted… And neither Trowa nor Quatre were simple men.

Looking at them you saw two young men. Beautiful, strong and calm.

Quatre saw nice, calm and quiet Trowa laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks. Angry enough to throw things at walls. Happy enough to grin like an idiot for a whole day.

Trowa saw Quatre… beautiful, nice and gentle Quatre, angry enough to kick at furnitures and break them. Naughty enough to talk dirty without a hint of blush or shyness. He saw him with a grim face standing over the dead bodies, hands covered in blood.

Their appearances weren’t telling all about them. They give away some things, hide others. Mostly people noticed how well they looked together and how perfect they had to be for each other. And that was true.

[magnavox-23.livejournal.com]

SG-1, Jack/Daniel, One man's ceiling is another man's floor.

[draco-somnians.livejournal.com]

LOL! OMG that's exactly the prompt that popped into my head when I saw the theme!! *giggles*

[keitorin.livejournal.com]

From Eroica With Love, Klaus x Dorian, one man's loss is another man's gain

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Parker/Eliot/Hardison, home is where the heart is

[earthquakedream.livejournal.com]

Eliot's had a real home before. He remembers living with his parents and being a happy family. He remembers the time he spent with "that girl" and how good they were together - before he disappeared a little too much too often, and she got angry. But that way pretty much the story of his life.

His apartment in LA wasn't really the nicest place, but he got by. He had money and he could have afforded a better place, but he didn't want to. He didn't spend much time there anyways. Usually he was out working a job, in some other state or country. And when he became part of a team, a lot of his time was spent at HQ or even Hardison's place. He never really went home. He was fine with that.

But HQ is gone. Hardison no longer has that apartment. And they were supposed to split up. But somehow Eliot finds himself in really nice penthouse room at the top of a Hilton hotel in New York City, with Parker pressing him down onto the bed while Hardison watches from further up. Eliot hasn't really been able to sleep for the last month, which has sucked horribly. He was used to curling up around Parker or Hardison, in Hardison's huge bed, and...sleeping alone, while he's done that for years and years, just wasn't cutting it.

After they fuck that night, he falls asleep between them both, warm and content, and he really hates cliches, but he guesses this one, at least, is true - home is where the heart is.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Parker/Hardison/Eliot, when you can't walk you crawl/when you can't do that you find someone to carry you


What? No one said the proverb couldn't be from another show...:grins:

[elebridith]

*chokes* Oh God. I cried so much at the end of that episode!

[keitorin.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, Schuldich x Ken, better to be alone than in bad company

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage/AtS/RPS, Eliot/Lindsey/Chris, boys will be boys

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage/AtS/RPS, Eliot/Lindsey/Chris, one good turn deserves another

[havenward.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, fools rush in where angels fear to tread

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

At first Sam didn’t notice the weird stares the angels sent Dean’s way. He was too shocked and excited about the whole meeting angels thing that he didn’t even noted that his sulking mood was not all caused by the idea of Uriel wanting to smite the whole town or Cass not minding it too much.

When finally Sam did notice… the staring contests, the lack of any idea of Dean’s personal spce, the showing up whenever Sam wasn’t in sight, the gaze of wonder and craving when Anna kissed Dean in the old shed… Sam decided to leave it for the quiet afternoon – if they ever were gonna to have one of those again – to mock his brother mercilessly. Seriously male angel was falling in love with him. That was just the best subject for laugh since Dean’s fear of flying.

The plans for unending jokes kind of died, when Sam noticed Dean is staring right back at the angel. Longing in his every move. Getting into Cass face and his personal space at every occasion now. Officially hating the visits of angels, but really craving them. Hoping they’ll help him go on for just a bit longer.

And that? That was touch too much. No angel too afraid to make a move was going to be that important for Dean.

Sam pinned his brother to the wall in the next motel room they got, kissing him hungrily. As if neither of them was ever freaking out about this thing between them, as if so far they weren’t only touching in the dark without meeting the eyes of the other the next day. As if the four months of grief and couple of more pretending they’ve never had this were just as unimportant in this moment as apocalypse.

Dean yelped shocked and pushed against his brother at first. It lasted just a second tough. His fingers spread wide, touching Sam’s muscular chest… Soon enough he was moaning and writhing and kissing back with all desperation and longing he had in him.

“If that’s a plot designed to lead me to the dark side I’ll let you know, I’m not that cheap,” said Dean in a breathless tone. Much more serious question hidden under the joke.

Sam huffed a small laugh, but nodded seriously.

“Don’t worry. We have cookies.”

[havenward.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/Castiel, the first step is always the hardest

[morgan-cian.livejournal.com]

Dean waited. For all of his fronts and as much as he wanted, he also had enough tact to know that this was a major step for his angel.

He sat on the bed in nothing but his boxers. Sam was with Ruby and who the hell knew where they were. So it was just him and Cas, and this thing between them.

His hand went unconsciously to the scar on his shoulder. Castiel's mark on him and the angel's blue eyes tracked the movement. Dean's stomach tightened. A few kisses, holding each other tight, did not mean they were ready for this step. He opened his mouth only to see the corner's of Castiel's mouth tighten. He kept his mouth shut.

"Patience, Dean," Castiel said quietly, "The first step is always the hardest."

Dean licked his lips, "And you have taken a lot of them, Cas, you don't have to do this."

Castiel shoulders straightened. And then he was gone, Dean blinked, "The hell?"

"Not hell," Castiel murmured against his neck. Dean shuddered, he could feel Castiel's naked body pressed against him. The angel's arms came around to hug him close, "Ready to take that step?"

Dean shut his eyes and took another deep breath. He turned and brushed a kiss against Castiel's stubbled cheek, "Only if you are."

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS winged!Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, still waters run deep

[keitorin.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, Schuldich x Ken, ask no questions and hear no lies

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, when one door closes, another door opens.

[entangled-now.livejournal.com]

Merlin stands outside the door for a long time.

Unseen in the darkness of the corridor, and unsure whether an unspoken request is a request at all. Whether there are some things you're supposed to ignore. No matter what Arthur normally protests otherwise.

But there are some things you can't ignore. So he pushes the door open, slides into Arthur's chambers, pushes it shut behind him.

It's late enough for everyone to be sleeping, but the smell of wax is still there, the glow of bare candlelight flickering through the shadows on the far wall.

Arthur just looks at him, half balanced up on one arm, as if Merlin has literally pulled him from sleep. He doesn't say a word, though there's uncertainty, in the loose set of his mouth, the way he blinks, and looks caught between rising, and waiting for Merlin to speak.

Arthur has always hated waiting.

Merlin takes two steps, throat still too dry and too tight, stands next to the bed, until Arthur's hand slides out to catch his wrist, warm fingers, curling and then pulling. Just a little, just enough to give Merlin the courage to slide up, where the sheets have slipped down in a tangle, to set his knees on the bright white surface of the bed.

And Merlin knows he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be knelt on Arthur's warm sheets, knees brushing the long outstretched length of Arthur's leg. The room isn't cold but Merlin is shivering anyway, in a way that, as hard as he tries, he can't stop.

He breathes out, one long shaky noise that has, in some way, given Arthur permission to move, to catch Merlin's shirt, his neck, pulling him forward under a soft noise of his own.

Then both of Arthur's hands are on his face, holding it still while he kisses him. Thumbs moving on his skin, while he tips it back far enough, that he can push at his mouth, at the curve of his lower lip. Like Arthur can't decide where, and how, to kiss him next, leaving him always a breath away from kissing him back, really kissing him back.

He's left to swallow through a dry throat, feeling Arthur's fingertips moving in his hair, quick mindless little touches that he doesn't want to stop. He thinks he'd lean into them if Arthur wasn't holding him so tightly. Push into them because he wants it, and Arthur has to know that because he's not hiding it, not doing anything to hide it.

But Arthur's still holding him at that careful distance, like he might break somehow if he pushes too hard, that he might run if Arthur dares too much, if he wants to much.

Maybe that's one of the things Arthur can't demand, that he won't demand.

So Merlin puts his hands on the thin white cloth of Arthur's nightshirt and pulls it up, catching each fold of fabric between his fingers while his knuckles brush the long, bare lines of Arthur's thighs, and hips, and waist. He can't stop the noise that shivers out across Arthur's mouth.

Then Arthur is leaning away and raising his arms, and Merlin is lifting it all the way over his head, and letting it fall behind him, hands unable to leave, once they're high enough to reach into the fine weight of Arthur's hair. his fingers slide in and hold while they can, while Arthur will let him.

Merlin thinks he will push Arthur until he says stop.

And there's some dark little thrill inside him, at the thought that Arthur will say nothing at all.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, JDM/author's choice, in for a penny/in for a pound

After the Premiere: RPS, JDM/Matthew Goode, in for a penny/in for a pound

[just-imriel.livejournal.com]

Um - I didn’t actually quote the cliché – I hope that’s ok.


After the Premier

Jeff had barely had time to remove his bow tie and cufflinks when he heard the knock at the door. He opened it to reveal Matthew, looking beautifully, impossibly young in spite of, or even because of, his formal attire.

"May I come in?"

Wordlessly, face impassive, Jeff stepped aside for the younger man, then closed the door and moved past him into the room. "I was just going to pour myself a drink."

"Let me?" The words were out before Matthew realized it, and he flushed a little but continued. "Please?"

A knowing smile. "All right." Matthew moved toward the minibar as Jeff sprawled in the room's single armchair, long legs stretched out, chin in hand, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"I don't want it to be over."

"It doesn't have to be. Your choice."

"But..."

"...it's the only choice *you* get to make. Yes."

"I don't know if I can."

"I *do*."

When Matthew approached and held his drink out to him, Jeff made no move to accept it. He wanted something more and, after a long moment, he got it. Matthew lowered himself gracefully to his knees, offering the drink up in both hands, keeping his eyes down. Jeff took it, sipped, and set it down with a sigh.

"Look at me."

Blue eyes, stormy with the struggle inside, met his.

"You wanted this to be just like every other time you've screwed around on set, didn't you? No strings, no attachments, no regrets. Right?"

"Yes."

"And I played along. I gave you what you wanted. I *understood*. We wrapped, we walked away. Did I ever lie to you?"

The shake of the head wasn't good enough.

"Answer me!"

"No. You never lied to me. You said it would be over at the end of the shoot unless... unless..."

"Unless you admitted the truth. Which is?"

"That I... belong to you."

Jeff's sigh this time was one of satisfaction. He sat up, leaned forward, drawing Matthew toward him to place a kiss on his forehead and whisper in his ear.

"You've known it since the beginning. Since the first time I put you on your knees and fucked your mouth; The first time I made you bend over this chair and finger yourself open while you begged for my cock; the first time you called me 'Sir'."

Jeff pulled back a little. Matthew's eyes were closed now, his lips slightly parted. His shallow, panting breaths changing to a gasp as Jeff took his hand and placed it over his growing erection.

"Beautiful boy. My boy. You've always known it, haven't you?"

Matthew was sobbing as he nodded. "Yes, yes, always. But I've been so afraid."

"Not anymore, though. Say it." Lips brushed Matthew's cheek, his brow, and he turned his head blindly looking for more, wanting it all.

"Say it, boy."

"Not... not afraid anymore." As he said it, he was almost astonished to find it was true. He looked into brown eyes warmer than they had ever been before, and couldn't help but smile as he was drawn into a claiming kiss...

"Yours."

[keitorin.livejournal.com]

Gundam Wing, Heero x author's choice, old soldiers never die, they simply fade away

1x2, a little odd. Hope you like it.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

He lives at the end of the street and comes out ever morning at exactly 7.30 for his morning jog, though he looks like he should have given that up years ago. His hair is white and his skin is wrinkled but his eyes are a clear, brilliant blue.

The older boys say he’s a monster, the bogey man who’ll eat you up if you get to close. The younger kids hide behind their parents’ legs, to the adults’ embarrassment.

Mickey, down the street, once rang his doorbell then ran away. The look on the man’s face was almost eager, when he came out, and when he saw no one there, he crumpled in on himself that little bit further.

Then one day, the worst thing ever happens. They’re playing on the street and Jon’s decided to take his new football out even though his mother said that he should wait, but he never listens.

Then Ras (short for something even he can’t pronounce) kicks the ball too high and up it goes over the wall. That wouldn’t de so bad except it’s his wall.

Ras runs away as soon as he sees what he did, so there’s no sending him to go get it. It turns into a game of baggsy and Tom’s just that little bit too slow.

The others huddle in a group across the street as he makes his way to the green door.

He knocks; once, twice, on the door, pulling his hand back as quickly as he can when he’s done. Then he waits. There are muffled footsteps and a shadowy figure comes into view. He almost bolts right then, except the other boys are watching, and there’s no way he’s going to be chicken. He’s already the smallest, if he doesn’t do this then they’ll never let him play with them.

The door swings open and it takes the man a moment to work out that his visitor is a lot shorter than he expects.

“Hello,” the man says, as though he hasn’t said hello in a long time.

“Hellomisterpleasecanwehaveourballbackplease?” he whispers. Despite the volume, the man seems to hear him clearly, which is odd, because Tom’s grandma, who’s at least as old as the bogey man, can never hear anything he says even when he yells really loudly.

“We?” he asks, curiously, before looking up and seeing the others. The giggling stops immediately. “Oh, I see…” he steps aside. “Come through.”

This is it, Tom’s sure he’ll be eaten. But if he isn’t, if he makes it out, then he’ll have been inside the bogey man’s house. That should have the other kids in awe for days.

He hurries in. The man, Mr Yuy, he says after Tom stammers ‘Mister’ a few times, leads him through to the back garden and as soon as he’s there Tom runs over to claim his prize and clutches it tightly before him like a shield.

“Would you like…” Mr Yuy says, and he doesn’t sound very evil to Tom, but his mother’s always telling him that evil people never look evil. Mr Yuy just sounds tired, very tired, like when his Dad comes back from a long day and puts his feet up while his mother clucks her tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to children.”

Tom’s about to say that that doesn’t make much sense if Mr Yuy eats them, when a picture on the wall distracts him – a man with long hair, longer than Tom’s sister Janey’s hair, which is long enough to sit on if she tilts her head back.

“Why does he have long hair?” he asks, holding the ball tighter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Mr Yuy stops, dead still, in the middle of the hallway and Tom’s certain as certain can be that he’s going to be gobbled up.

“He never really told me…” Mr Yuy says though, sighing heavily. “And I never thought to ask.”

“Who is he?” Tom asks, feeling brave all of a sudden.

“A… friend of mine, from long ago.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

They are at the door, but Tom can’t help thinking about the man in the picture with the long hair and the huge smile. He has never seen Mr Yuy smile like that.

“I’m sorry,” he says holding out his hand like his Dad had shown him. Mr Yuy opens the door before taking his hand, so that they shake solemnly in front of all the kids outside – a larger group than before.

Then Tom hares off down the garden path, the ball still firmly in his hands and he feels strange, like when he overhears his parents talking about things he doesn’t understand.

The sun is still high in the sky, they have their football back and Tom is the hero of the hour, so he ignores it.

[smilesoftnsweet.livejournal.com]

RPS, Jared Padalecki/Christian Kane, better late than never

[morgan-cian.livejournal.com]

"Fuck." Jared's hips nearly levitated off the bed. He groaned at the sensations of Chris' choked laughter around his cock.

"Like that?"

Jared nodded, bucking his hips impatiently and nearly came when Chris went down on him again.

He was in bed with Chris. Chris fucking Kane, he rolled pliantly with a token complaint when Chris started stretching him. Chris was gentle on initial penetration but Jared was having none of it. He rocked back against Chris hard.

"That's the way you want it, boy?" Chris growled.

"Fuck yes," Jared whimpered as Chris pounded into him. He came helplessly against the sheets. And when Chris came, he pulled out, patted Jared on the ass and walked naked from the room.

It wasn't flowers and roses with Chris, Jared knew that. But Chris came back and handed him a beer before taking the chair by the bed. He strummed restlessly on the string before beginning to sing lowly. Jared smiled and leaned back against the headboard.

He never thought he had a chance with Chris outside of drunken fucking, but he had him and he was worth the wait. His mom always said better late than never and Jared was on the moon now that Chris was in his life and in his bed.

[smilesoftnsweet.livejournal.com]

RPS, Jared Padalecki/Steve Carlson, actions speak louder than words

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Nate/Eliot, for what it's worth

[darling-lisa.livejournal.com]

Eliot uses one arm to hold himself off the wall, his naked back flexing under the wide swath of gauze bisecting the strong lines of his skin as he thrust forcefully into the willing body trapped between him and the wall. His other arm was wrapped around said body, his fingers curled tightly around the owner's erect cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. His head is bent forward, hair hiding his face as it is pressed against the other man's back.

"Fuck, yeah, come on El, feel so good," Nathan's voice is quiet but intense as Eliot's thrusts pick up speed. "Thought I lost you, need you so bad. Need to feel you in me. Need to feel you fucking *tomorrow.* Fuck me Eliot, please, god, please."

Eliot's hips begin slamming into Nathan, brutal and rapid as a jackhammer. His hand sped up as well, and it was only a matter of seconds before Nathan was arching his back and clawing at the wall as his orgasm hit him.
"Eliot! Oh god, yes, yes, fucking hell. Don't ever leave me again, need you baby, love you. Fuck yes."

It was the sound of him declaring his love for another man that did it, caused her to break out of the trance she had been in and drop her purse and gasp. Both men whipped around, and she noted the way that Eliot made sure that Nathan's body was behind his just in case. The look of pity on his face was too much however, and she turned and fled.

A few minutes later, Nathan finds her in the lobby.

"Maggie..." he is silent for a moment after handing her her purse and she wonders if he will say anything else. He sighs and drags his hand through his hair. "I... We... For what its worth, I never meant for you to get hurt again. You have to know that."

"Did you mean it?" His eyes are confused as he looks at her and she wants to take it back. "What you said to him, that you... love him. Did you mean it?"

"With all my heart."

She sees Eliot across the lobby, tension and worry in every line of his body and she thinks back to the shell of a man that had left her after the death of their son. The man standing before her isn't the man she fell in love with anymore, and as she pulls him into a hug she says goodbye to that man forever.

"Then thats all that matters."

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Being Human, Mitchell/George, no good deed goes unpunished

Being Human, Mitchell/George, no good deed goes unpunished

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

"You shouldn't have got involved," George snips tensely as he presses the damp, cold cloth against Mitchell's damaged knuckles. Mitchell winces but he doesn't pull away; his hand stays in George's care. "You could have been hurt. More hurt. Or you could have been found out. What would we have done then, Mitchell?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Mitchell tries to catch George's eyes, but the werewolf is determinedly looking down at his damaged hand instead of at him. "George, c'mon. The girl was in trouble."

"You went looking for trouble. You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't. And she wasn't. It all worked out well." His ribs hurt from taking a beating, but he isn't in a hurry to let George know about that. No reason to give him anything else to fret over. "Isn't this good? Using what we are for good?"

"'What we are'?"

"Your name is George and you are a werewolf," Mitchell says sternly. He won't let George retreat back into his stubborn denial. They'd been making progress, real progress.

"And if I was doing that that? If I decided I was going to turn into a hairy superhero and get myself beaten up on a regular basis, you'd be okay with that?"

He wouldn't. Not at all. If George came home with broken bones and battered knuckles, Mitchell would want to lock him in the house until he came to his senses. As a werewolf, George is so powerful; but as a human he is all too mortal. Mitchell takes his hand from George and places it on his cheek instead. He draws him in and kisses him. George doesn't respond much at first, too angry with him, too scared, but it isn't long until Mitchell manages to sneak past those defences and he feels George opening up to him like normal.

George pulls back sharply, raising a finger between them to stop anything more. "No more crime-fighting?" he checks sternly.

And Mitchell could do so much. Perhaps he could even start to atone for what he's done in the past, for the lives that he gleefully took and all that blood that he's drunk.

He nods, and George comes closer again. They kiss softly, lips lingering, and Mitchell's eyes stay closed. George is normality; good deeds and grand gestures aren't required, and his atonement has nothing television-worthy about it. The best thing he can do for the world is hide from it, but the guilt will gnaw on forever.

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Primeval, Nick/Stephen, wear your heart on your sleeve

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Sam, it's sometimes better to be lucky than good

[eleanorb.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Luke/Sylar, better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick

All Fun And Games (Heroes, Sylar/Luke)

[speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com]

"Didn't your mother teach you any common sense?" Sylar asks derisively when Luke gets in the car, plastic fork sticking out of his mouth. Snapping on his seatbelt and opening up the to-go box with a slice of chocolate pie in it, Luke looks over at Sylar, honestly confused.

"What?"

"Running with a fork in your mouth? If you trip, that'll go right into the back of your throat." Luke blinks, taken aback by the serial killer's warning.

"You never ran with scissors either, did you," he says, and Sylar scowls.

"Only idiots do that."

"Do black cats freak you out? How about walking under ladders?"

"I'm cautious, not superstitious." Frowning into the rear-view mirror, Sylar hits cruising speed and focuses a glare on Luke. "At least you have the sense to wear a seatbelt."

"What are you so worried about? You're invincible, and since when do you care what happens to me?" Luke sticks a bite of pie in his mouth with the sort of disdain only a teenager can manage, and he doesn't see Sylar's gaze soften slightly.

"As long as I'm dragging you along with me, I care," Sylar says gruffly. Luke smiles slightly and licks the chocolate off his lips.

"I bet you believed your mom when she told you you'd get hairy palms if you--"

"I can stop caring if I kick you out of the moving vehicle."

"Okay, okay! Jeez." When Luke ducks his head, though, his smile is wider than Sylar's ever seen it.