TUESDAY: Hangovers
Jun. 28th, 2011 04:32 amHi again! It's
As always, please follow the rules:
• No more than one prompt per post, three prompts per fandom, and no more than five total. If one of your prompts is filled, you may post another.
• No spoilers in the prompts for new shows/seasons until at least one week after airing.
• If your fill contains spoilers, please label it clearly with the fandom/show and leave enough space for people to pass by.
• Feel free to fill a prompt even if it is already filled, the more fic the merrier!
Be kind to our codemonkeys and format your prompt properly:
- Harry Potter, MWPP, The first firewhiskey hangover
- Torchwood, Team, They've all come in hungover at some point but everyone at once?
- Doctor Who, Any Doctor (9-11)/any companion, "You know what would be really funny? To have the first hangover ever somewhere."
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Date: 2011-06-28 10:42 am (UTC)His lips twitch slightly as he pours a cup of coffee for himself. He makes sure that the stove is turned off, adds sugar to his cup and then turns toward the bedroom.
"You do sound like one of those zombies from that movie you made me watch," he says, amusement and fondness tinging his voice as he leans against the doorframe.
"I hate you," comes the muffled reply, followed by another groan. "What time is it?"
"Still early." Mac pushes himself off the door and takes a few steps into the room. "I made breakfast, if you're up to it."
The word breakfast makes the mound of blankets and sheets and pillows heaped in the middle of his bed finally move.
"Breakfast?" Don asks, his voice a mix of hopefulness and the nausea he's most likely feeling, as his head appears, hair sticking up wildly. "Coffee?"
"And pancakes." Mac watches in amusement as Don struggles to sit up. "If you want them."
Don pushes his fingers through his hair and reaches with the same move for the closest article of clothing that belongs to him.
"What are you talking about, of course I want them," he mumbles and pulls his underwear up his legs. "Give me five minutes."
Mac grins and takes a sip of his coffee, and when Don stumbles by, on his way to the bathroom, he catches him with a steady hand on his hip and presses a short good-morning-kiss to the corner of his mouth. Don is still sleep-warm, his eyes slightly unfocused, but Mac knows it won't stay like that for long.
Not if pancakes and coffee are involved. He knows how much Don likes pancakes, especially after a few drinks too many; and he knows that Don knew perfectly well what he's been doing. The stubborn refusal to get up before the pancakes were done, it's all part of Don's morning-after-drinking ritual, and Mac likes to indulge him sometimes, when there is time and no new cases chasing them out of bed.
"Morning," he murmurs into Don's stubbled cheek.
"Morning," Don murmurs back and wraps his arms around Mac, and today they're lucky enough that they are not getting interrupted by a ringing cell phone and a new case and can sit down for a quiet breakfast that does more to soothe the details about the case than drinking ever could.
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Date: 2011-06-28 09:11 am (UTC)Filled
Date: 2011-06-28 10:54 am (UTC)Damon tugs the curtains open, flooding the room with light. Alaric groans and pulls the covers over his head.
“Too early,” he mumbles. Damon rolls his eyes and hops back onto the bed, leaning into the lump beneath the comforter.
“It’s noon, darling.”
“Pretty sure I’ll need another millennium to recover from last night.”
“Well I’m game for waiting, but I don’t think you’ll fare too well. I’d much rather enjoy your hot body right now.”
Alaric pushes the covers up just enough to see Damon grinning down at him. He sighs and curls into him, head settling in his lap. “What were we even drinking?” He asks.
“Single malt Scotch. 96 proof and 30 years old.”
“And what were you doing when that was made?”
“Something illicit, surely.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Please, do.”
Alaric's laugh is a soft rumble against Damon’s thigh. He smiles to himself and combs his fingers through his hair.
“Hey,” he nudges the warm shoulder once the laughter dies down. Alaric gets the hint and pushes himself up. He lies down against his pillow again and Damon takes his hand, pressing two white pills into his palm.
“Aspirin?” He asks. Damon nods and reaches toward the nightstand to retrieve a glass of water. He hands that over as well and Alaric looks back and forth between the pills in his palm and the glass in his hand. He eyes both warily and Damon smirks, clearly amused.
“What? Don’t trust me?”
“Says the man who once staked me and watched me die.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Alaric finds himself smiling and shakes his head. He throws caution to the wind and tosses the pills into his mouth and then chases them with a few gulps of water.
“Let me rephrase that,” he says as he hands the glass back. Damon turns to set it on the nightstand again and lifts his brow.
“I’m all ears,” he says as he turns back. Alaric sits up and presses a quick kiss against his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
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Date: 2011-06-28 04:18 pm (UTC)He'd remembered a bit of the night before, but not everything. The evening had started with an impromptu party in the Mess at the full repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell went into effect. After the trials of daily life in the Pegasus Galaxy, any excuse to celebrate life was good enough for the crew of Atlantis.
David stretches his lean frame, feeling the heaviness of his arms. It's matched by a heavy feeling in his stomach, brought on (he assumes) by the drink. But as he blinks his eyes into focus and pleads for the his room to be darker, he reaches down to scratch his stomach - and instead of finding bare skin, finds someone's head using his midsection as a pillow.
Suddenly the memories of the night before came flooding back, still slightly fractured. Being dragged out onto the dance floor by multiple military personnel - male and female. Shots of some sort of "hillbilly hooch" (as McKay called it) that Zelenka had distilled. And a stolen kiss. He can't quite picture the face, but he remembers leaning down at some point and...
"Morning," the head says, and when it turns, David is glad to see that it's Lorne. He'd secretly been watching the Major for months, and since they're both in bed, he assumes that the drink had helped him gather his courage.
The bashful smile Evan shoots David is endearing, his eyes twinkling gleefully. "Thanks for letting me crash here last night." As Evan leans up to stretch, David notices that they're both dressed (as much as tee shirts and boxers are dressed), and there's no evidence as to any "extracurricular activity", so he's relieved in a way; he'd hate to have no memory of his first time with Lorne. At his curious look, Evan adds, "I told you I would be a perfect gentleman," followed by a wink. "But I did warn you that I was a bit of a cuddler."
David smiles back. "That's okay," he says, then pulls him back down, resting Evan's head on his chest. Dropping a kiss on the Major's head, he thinks to himself, 'I could get used to this.'
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