Friday: Free For All

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Hey guys! The weekend has all but officially begun. And you know what that means? That's right! Any fandom, any pairing or grouping, and any prompt are welcome!



But please be sure to format your prompts appropriately for the sake of your friendly neighborhood Code Monkeys! For example:

Supernatural, Sam/Dean, "I always wanted to be in a comic book"

or

AtS/Leverage, Angel/Eliot Spencer, "no human should be able to do that"



Not seeing any prompts that just reach out and grab you? Try checking out our collection of Lonely Prompts. We've got a little of everything, hopefully we've got something for you!



Speaking of Lonely Prompts, this weekend will be another Lonely Prompt Challenge. It will run from 0:00 PST Saturday to 23:59 PST Sunday. But we're going to tweak things just a little bit, so please make sure to read the challenge post tomorrow.


And with that, happy writing everybody. And have a great Friday!

Comments

[speccygeekgrrl.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Matt/Mohinder, Be Still My Heart (http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/postalservice/bestillmyheart.html) lyrics, especially
And when I left
You were fast asleep
Tangled in the sheets
And on the bus I could have sworn it was all a dream
And it didn't happen to me

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Lie to Me, Lightman/Foster, his secret

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

"You're not as good a liar as you think you are."

He freezes at the sound of her voice, but doesn't turn around. As she slowly moves further into the room, she can see the taut, forced smile on his lips. He doesn't look at her as he points out the obvious.

"I'm in the business of catching lies, not projecting them."

"Yeah. And you trained me a little too well."

He closes his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath as she moves too close, crouching in front of him. He can feel her intent gaze, too close to his face, studying too intently.

It's all just too much.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he demands in a tight, barely restrained tone of anger.

"This."

She leans in before he can stop her, swallowing the breath he's drawn to argue in a deep, intense kiss. For a moment he's still with shock, eyes wide, neither rejecting nor responding to the unexpected gesture.

She's just about to stop when he suddenly puts his arms around her, pulling her closer to him and returning the kiss.

She's right. He's not as good a liar as he thought he was.

Or maybe she's just gotten good at reading him.

Either way -- his secret's out now.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

House, House/Wilson, count on you to hurt me

House, House/Wilson, count on you to hurt me

[menolly-au.livejournal.com]

This was nothing he would have contemplated, before. Somehow since losing Amber Wilson had begun to appreciated the beauty of pleasing himself rather than others.

He dips the knife in alcohol first, because there is a difference between dangerous and reckless and this knife has been inside an electrical outlet and then in a drawer in Wilson's desk for over a year. Then he runs the point softly down House's forearm.

"Sometime this century Wilson if you are going to do it - my leg is killing me tonight."

Even lying stripped to the waist on his bed House still tries to order him around.

Wilson makes the first slash shallow but long and House's head goes back in pain and then relief as the blood slowly appears on the surface. His mind focuses on the minor pain and shies away from the nagging ache in his leg. He groans with pleasure.

"More."

Wilson is feeling his own release from tension as he trails a finger through the blood. It is not enough, not quite. The next cut is deeper but shorter and the blood flows more freely, colouring his fingers bright red. He flicks a glance to check on House but the other man has his eyes closed and his breathing is evening out. It is working, one more. Another long slash and the job is done. Wilson closes the flick knife and slips it into his pocket, ready for next time. He sighs in relief, feeling the darkness leave him for now. Dipping a cloth in the bowl of water he had ready he bathes the wounds, cleaning the blood away so only the knife marks remain. His finger traces the marks he has left, reawakening the pain for House.

"Let me see" House rolls his head languidly to the side and opens his eyes. Wilson removes his hand and bends House's arm at the elbow so he can see the marks carved onto his forearm.

The letter A.

House's face turns to stone as he contemplates his friend and sometime lover, all traces of peace leaving his eyes.

"Bastard"

Wilson only smiles.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

House, House/Wilson/Amber (sub!House), with abandon

[menolly-au.livejournal.com]

House didn't come often. It was only on his darkest days. When he'd lost a patient, his leg was screaming at him in pain, and the dark cloud that hovered over him had descended to suffocating depths. He would turn up on their doorstep, ring the bell and wait patiently for the door to be answered to him. Sometimes they would keep him waiting for a long time, his head bowed he wouldn't move from the spot on the door mat. Finally they would open it and he would shuffle in. Head down he would stand before them. Wilson would strip him of his clothes while Amber brought out the restraints and toys.

Once naked they would make him kneel for them. Amber would fasten the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Wilson would attach the nipple clamps, dangling heavy weights from each until House would bite back a cry of pain. A cock ring with a leash attached would be fastened around him and Amber would lead him by it to the couch in the centre of the room. He would be bent over it, ass exposed to them both as Amber would nudge his legs apart. Amber would push a dildo into him while Wilson played with the clamps, pulling on them until tears came to House's eyes. Then Wilson would show him the range of crops and paddles and allow him to choose which would be first. They would take turns, giving each other a spell when their arms became tired of swinging the heavy implements. House would count each blow aloud and they would praise him as he surpassed his previous high score. Finally the dam would break and he would dissolve into heavy sobs, his body slumping to the ground. Wilson would pull him into position on some pillows, remove the dildo and plunge into him while Amber would release the cock ring and clamps and pump him until he came over her hand.

When Wilson was finished with him he would pull out and run his hand through House's sweaty hair, soothing him and petting him as House collapsed into an exhausted sleep. They would remove the restraints, rearrange him comfortably on the floor and throw a blanket over him. Together they would retire to their bedroom. An hour or so later they would hear him rise, slip his clothes back on and leave, as silently as he came. His need for them was gone. For now.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, 'What did you mean - you admire Chuck's work?'

[andrea-deer.livejournal.com]

"What did you mean - you admire Chuck's work?" asks Dean, because he has nothing better to ask and maybe he is a bit curious, but mostly he doesn't want the angel to leave yet.

He sits by the table; more playing with his knifes that actually taking care of them. There's just so much cleaning and sharpening you can do to the knife, honestly. Still, he liked taking them out, running the fabric over them, watching them shine. He thought if it's a total girl thing if he likes shiny things like that. He smirked and regretted it's Castiel and not Sam in the room with him. Sam would huff and shake his head on him if he'd share this doubt, but he'd get it. Castiel would just tilt his head as if confusion really looked better that way. Dean sighed and looked at the angel propped against one of the walls, now staring into the space as if thinking how to answer the question. Or as if spacing out, but Dean hoped he was thinking about answering...

"It was weird to read them. Chuck has a specific talent," Dean snorted, but Castiel ignored him. "Most prophets just write what they see. He tries to write about the feelings and motives too, like in a book, not in a gospel. And he manages to write that correctly, most of the times, I think."

He glanced at Dean as if asking for his confirmation. Dean shrugged and mumbled something uncommunicatively. Cass, nodded taking it for an affirmation it was.

"He can only see you. He can't hear your thoughts or feel your feelings. He sees you and he gets to know you. He watches you... and he understands you," finishes Castiel, sounding somehow wistful. "That's a great talent. I didn't think it was possible."

Dean concentrates his gaze on... something that's not an angel, and wonders why Castiel never does his disappearing act when it's actually useful. Like for example, when Dean is wondering if he's blushing and feeling really stupid in case he does. He huffs a small laughter and already regrets what was going to go out of his mouth, even if he's not yet sure what it's going to be. He just hates awkward, emotional silence and is willing to make a bigger idiot out of himself just to break it.

"Heh, and here I was thinking you just liked my full frontal description."

There’s a smile in the angel's voice.

"It didn't hurt."

Dean whips his head so quickly, he thinks he might've strained something. But the angel is already gone. Asshole.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS/Dollhouse, Doll!Chris/Handler!Steve, stay with me

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Experimenting a little. Not sure if I like the characterization of his Doll state from his perspective. And probably not what you intended with that prompt...

Whiskey flows through the Tai Chi forms with the rest of his group, finding his center even as he lets his mind wander. Sometimes he wonders if he's broken. He... remembers things sometimes, or thinks he does. Things not here, that are outside this place (outside at all). People that he doesn't see around him from day to day.

He's happy, but he isn't happy. It's confusing, but then it slides away from him, slippery like oil and he can't get it back.

The group breaks apart, some heading to the showers while others go to a class. Across the open room Whiskey catches sight of the blond man. He sees him around some times, but in that slippery part of his head, he thinks maybe he sees the blond man more often than that. That makes him happy, gives him more grounding than even the Tai Chi can.

He crosses the room to him, smiling until he sees the bruising on his face. "You're hurt," he says, anger creeping into his voice and making it lower.

"It's nothing," the man says, smiling at him. "Doc Ferris has already looked at it."

The anger smooths away, and Whiskey smiles again. "I'm going to go for a swim. Will you come with me?"

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Spy!Steve/Linguist!Chris, wounded

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Steve grunts, hand trailing along the wall of the alley as he walks to keep from slipping in the rain. He's left a good dozen bodies in his wake so far, and there's at least another dozen that have a good idea where he is right now. He doesn't know how this happened, how his cover was broken, but he's well and truly fucked. Doesn't help that the comms went down, that even if they're back up again his ear piece was crushed by a thug some hundred yards behind him.

Winchester isn't going to be able to find him, not tonight. And Steve isn't going to make it to the safe house, let alone their secondary rendezvous point. He's bleeding too much, head spinning from what is probably a concussion. His only chance is maybe, maybe reaching his asset.

If he's really fucking lucky, Chris has been working late again. He pauses at the end of the alley, peeks around the corner at the entrance to the office building and waits. If Chris was working late, he'd be headed out in the next five minutes. As if on cue, the door creaks open, and Steve leans back to wait. He can hear Chris talking to someone, a coworker, but they part ways and Chris' footsteps come toward him.

"Christian," Steve hisses when he's close enough, and leans back into the light. "Christian, wait..."

Chris stops and turns. "Spencer, what are you... are you hurt?" Chris rushes toward him, worry clear on his face as he helps Steve away from the wall.

"Don't call me that," he says, wincing at the pain that rushes through him.

"What?" Chris is pulling him along toward his car. "Spencer, we've got to get you to the hospital..."

"No, no hospitals. They'll look there. And stop calling me Spencer." Steve sighs as they stop by the car. Getting in is going to be a bitch, and for some reason he feels a rush of guilt that the seat will probably be soaked in blood. "It isn't my name."

Chris stares at him, confused and maybe a little hurt with a healthy dose of fear. Or suspicion. Steven deserves it, really, had expected it. But that doesn't stop the new twist of guilt in his gut. "The fuck," he spits the words. Steve's pretty sure that if he weren't so badly hurt already, Chris would be beating the shit out of him.

"Please Christian... I haven't got anyone else right now..."

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Spy!Steve/Handler!Jeff, job gone wrong

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Jeff leans forward and stares at his screens before turning and peering through his binoculars again. He can't see Steve, and it's making him nervous, but they're still on radio silence and he can't risk breaking their cover just because he's got an itch. Except that it isn't an itch, it's his gut.

"Something's wrong," he mutters to himself. He's already mobilizing, ready to move to the van ASAP as soon as he's heard from his boy. "Where the hell are you?"

The comm crackles to life with the sound of gunfire and heavy breathing. "Winchester, I need an extraction. Now."

He's got the gear and is already halfway down the stairs. "Copy, Blondie. What's your position?" He starts throws the gear in the back of the truck, and his gut twists the longer it takes Steve to answer. He starts the engine and heads in the general direction Steve was meant to be coming from. "Blondie, what is your position?"

For a long moment, all he hears is static. Then, "Fuck!"

Jeff's blood runs cold -- the comm's are dead.

[sjrspike.livejournal.com]

The Fast and the Furious 1, Brian/Dom, clean slate

Clean slate, TFATF, Brian/Dom

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

"Let's start over," Dom says, and Brian's instantly suspicious.

But Dom looks honest - not even a tell-tale twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth - and Brian moves in closer, but he does it warily.

"Clean slate?" he asks cautiouslly, and Dom nods.

"Wiped clean."

"Well, then," Brian huffs a sigh and bites at his bottom lip before continuing. "So..."

And Dom rolls his eyes, uncrossing his arms and reaching for Brian, pulling him in before Brian can think or protest.

And, okay, if Brian had've known all those years ago that there would be kissing...well, he would never have gone for Dom's sister, would he?

[sjrspike.livejournal.com]

The Fast and the Furious 1, Brian/Dom, not everything should be over in 10 seconds

Not everything should be over in 10 seconds

[yoruichiyoshi12.livejournal.com]

[[I haven’t seen this movie in forever, so I hope it doesn’t suck too badly]]

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to beat the shit out of you,” Dom loomed over Brian, arms crossed and muscles bulging from the white t-shirt that stretched thinly across his solid frame.

Brian immediately dropped his spoon into the empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s Karmel Sutra. He swallowed the remaining chocolate, caramel, and vanilla, licked his lips, and racked his chilled brain for a reasonable reply. “Umm…”

“I wrote my name on it!” Dom snatched the container and pointed at the thick black capital letters that spelled out his name, directly over the brand label. He flung the pint back at Brian, not caring when it fell to the floor, the metal spoon clanking against the wood flooring. “You’re down to six seconds!”

Brian stood from the couch and wildly looked for an escape route or something to defend himself with, but there were only a few pillows, and Dom would easily catch him if he tried to get away.

“Four…three…two…”

Flinging himself forward, Brian wrapped his arms around Dom’s neck, and smashed their lips together. His tongue slipped into the other’s mouth, spiraling and dipping within, flicking along the roof of Dom’s mouth, anything he could think of until he felt Dom relax.

Dom pressed his forehead against Brian’s when the kiss came to an end. Their eyes only an inch apart, Dom stared him down before giving a soft grunt. “I’m not convinced yet. You’re still on one second.”

Brian smirked. He placed a light kiss on Dom’s lips before sliding down to his knees and began to unzip Dom’s jeans.

[sjrspike.livejournal.com]

The Fast and the Furious 1, Brian/Dom, all kinds of family

[heeroluva.livejournal.com]

Well I attempted this, but it grew too long to go in a comment. I couldn't figure out what to cut so I just posted it in my journal.

http://heeroluva.livejournal.com/103379.html

[cjmarlowe.livejournal.com]

Rebel Without a Cause, Jim/Plato, visions of the future

not fic, sorry

[darkhavens.livejournal.com]

Oh, I want someone to write this! It's been too long since I watched the movie for me to give it a go. :/

(I did write a small Dean/Mineo RPS quite recently though, set during the filming of this very movie. *g*)

[cjmarlowe.livejournal.com]

Eureka, Carter/Stark, it was an honest mistake

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Carter tried desperately to catch the hyperactive genetically engineered glowing green gerbil as it scampered around the office. Finally he grabbed hold of it as he leaned over the desk and he squeezed his upper body into the foot of space between the desk and the wall.

But he dropped it when Jack felt a strong hand grip his ass tightly, at which point Jack and the tiny animal made much the same shrieking noise.

As Jack struggled to stand he realized Nathan was responsible. "What the hell, Stark!?"

"Sorry, Jack, it was an honest mistake." Nathan said casually.

"What does that mean?" Carter yelled.

"At that angle, I thought you were Fargo."

[cjmarlowe.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Pamela Barnes, afterlife

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

It doesn't take long for the world to be 'washed clean' as the angels put it. Lucifer rises; fighting ensues and soon enough a large chunk of the human race wakes up in the afterlife. Dean should have known this would happen, but he didn't.. he couldn't. He didn't know his little brother would be responsible for unleashing the greatest evil the world has ever known. He also didn't know Sammy would eventually choose the dark side in the end, because it was just easier that way.

He knows someone who saw it before it happened though. He's standing with her now in heaven, watching the world below and looking down into the deepest pits where Sam is living now. “You could have warned me. You saw what was inside of him, and you could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry, Dean.” Pamela answers him. Apologies don't seem to be her thing but she manages this one, because maybe she's just as upset about the whole thing as him. “I told him. I thought that would be enough. I thought he would understand or maybe I was wrong. I thought maybe he would be able to fight it.”

“You can't fight what's inside of you.” He responds, grabbing her hand to let her know she's not alone. They both failed and now they have the rest of eternity to think about what they could have done to stop the end from coming so soon.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, hallucination

[merihn.livejournal.com]

He knew it wasn't real, on the edge of his consciousness he could feel the fever burning through his body, but right here, it felt real.

Arthur's mouth trailed down his neck, his teeth scraping the skin and making him arch up, a groan torn from his throat. Arthur's body was heavy over his, the weight comfortable and driving him crazy at the same time. Arthur pressed his thigh between Merlin's legs, and Merlin rubbed up against him, like a cat on heat, needy, wanting.

Arthur moved down his body, slow, mouth hot and wet on his skin. Merlin twisted his fingers in the sheets and arched again, trying to urge him downwards faster.

Arthur grinned up at him, bending his head to nuzzle at Merlin's belly, nipping the skin gently and soothing with his tongue. He pressed his nose into the curly hair at the base of Merlin's cock, breathed against the stiff flesh, teasing.

Merlin bit his lip to keep quiet, fingers turning white in the sheets.

"It's ok, Merlin, you'll be better soon." Merlin heard the voice as if from far away and wondered at it. Cool pressure on his forehead, trickles of wet into the hair at his temples and he moaned again, twisted on the bed.

♥

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Leverage/AtS, Eliot/Lindsey, lessons

[elebridith]

*narrows eyes*
*adds to prompt list*

Tony, NCIS, Gibbs/Tony, paperwork

[hunters-retreat.livejournal.com]

I can't believe you made me write NCIS :P It's my first.. be gentle... and set early since I haven't finished season one yet :P


“Gah! I hate paperwork!”

“Problem DiNozzo?”

“I… no Boss. No. I’m fine.” Tony said, flashing his fake smile with lips too thin and eyes tight.

They’re all frustrated and for some reason this case bothered Tony when no other seemed to get under his skin. He’d gone the entire time, in Palm Springs during Spring Break no less, without making a single comment about bikinis and babes and beaches and just what he could do with the combination.

Something was definitely bothering him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I…. I just hate paperwork. And paper cuts.”

Jethro looked around the office but he already knew it was empty. It was too late for anyone other than his dedicated staff and he’d sent Kate on her merry way earlier because he needed her to look into something early in the morning. She was probably home packing so she didn’t miss her flight.

He walked over to Tony’s desk and held his hand out. “Let me see it.”

Tony looked up suspiciously, like he was expecting him to show up with some lemon juice and salt and make Tony sorry he’d mentioned it. And while it was an amusing thought, he really had something else in mind. Something he’d been thinking about for a while and just hadn’t figured out how to get it out of his system.

Tony held his finger out and Jethro leaned over, taking the other man’s hand in his. “Can’t have you suffering through such a difficult injury.” He said, bringing the cut to his lips and kissing it gently.

He didn’t think Tony’s eyes could get any bigger and he realized when he’d done it that he was truly screwed. He’d hoped a taste of Tony’s skin would be enough to curb his curiosity, to keep his thoughts from straying to dangerous places. He was wrong. Just the slightest taste of Tony and he wanted more.

He let go of his hand and stepped back, pretty sure his own eyes were too big at that moment. “Good night Tony.” He said, deciding the best course of action was a strategic retreat.

“You just called me Tony.”

Which consider what else he’d just done seemed kind of funny to point out, but he supposed after two years of working together, hearing his name for the first time might have meant something more to Tony than the peck on his finger.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

RPS, priest!JDM/daddy!Jeff/evil!John, need

Leaving for the special hell in 3..2..1...

[darling-lisa.livejournal.com]

Falls somewhere between this (http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/30250.html?thread=5378346#t5378346) and this. (http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/30250.html?thread=5464874#t5464874)

At first he resisted, if for no other reason than the dark gleam in John's eyes as he suggested it. It was still disconcerting, seeing his expressions mirrored back at him twice over, and he quickly learned to mistrust the dark one, even as he learned that Jeff couldn't hide his true feelings if you watched his eyes. Temptation and salvation stood before him wearing his own face, and he wondered again if he wasn't dreaming this whole thing.

But then he feels the hard weight of the flogger in his hands, and Jeff is naked and leaning against the wall in front of him, entreating him to help with this act of contrition. And as he regards the smooth expanse of unmarked skin before him, he knows that he has no choice. The sincerity, the need that the man before him shows allow him but one course of action. His calling demands it. And so with a whisphered prayer in Latin and the knowledge he is answering the call of a higher power, he pulls back his shoulder and swings his arm forward, the tails of the flogger spreading across Jeff's back like ink running down a page.

Instantly, red welt begin blooming on the fair skin, and he hears the strangled gasp of the other man as the pain takes hold. Not giving himself time to pause and think, he pulls his arm back and delivers another blow. Again he hears Jeff gasp, but then he begins to pray, to beg for forgiveness for his actions, his thoughts and his words, and Father Morgan knows that he can save this poor soul in front of him. He sets up a rhythm then, spacing the lashings carefully so as to deliver the most benefit, timing them so that there is just enough time between strikes for the freshest pain to surge into being before the next it delivered. His breathing becomes labored as he continues, feeling the charge in the air as they move closer and closer to that perfect moment of contrition, trusting that he will sense it and know when to stop.

His voice grows in strength as he feels the quickening in the air and he can hear himself booming in the small room, exhorting the younger man to give in to the need he is feeling, to open himself up to the Almighty's presence, to submit and be forgiven.

It is a shock when John grabs his hand mid strike and holds his arm prisoner. He staggers slightly as his body loses its momentum, and he suddenly fears for his soul as the other man steps close, body mere centimeters away but not touching Father Morgan's as he comes up behind him. And then come the whispers. Telling him to look at the body on display before him, to note the tremors running down the long lean back, the telltale tightening of those lush buttocks, the way he stands balanced on the balls of his feet, anticipating the next blow. He wants to ignore the sultry words spoken so softly into his ear, but he feels God's grace slipping from him as he fails to.

He can't resist when the arm holding his prisoner snaps the flogger forward again, but this time the strike is more leisurely, less bite more caress, and he is all to aware of the change in Jeff's response this time. He watches in horror as Jeff's hips rock forward and his head arches back as they strike him again. John's whispers continue, telling Father Morgan to turn the other man around, to take his fully erect cock in his hands, his mouth and end Jeff's suffering. He speaks of dark needs and desires, points out that Jeff is but a reflection of Father Morgan, as he himself is. Wonders what he might find if he slide his hand under the priestly robes.

The words and lashes continue apace until Jeff arches his whole body and moans his release. The tang of semen fills the air and John finally lets Father Morgan drop the flogger from his hands. He pulls away from the two men, unable to breath, dropping to his knees in the farthest corner of the room, welcoming the bruising pain in his knees. He doesn't know what is happening to him, but his body is on fire and his soul is weak, he can only rock silently as he prays. God forgive him, but he needs too.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

SPN/Leverage, John Winchester/Eliot Spencer, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He Did, SPN/LEV, John/Eliot, you kiss your mother with that mouth

[hunters-retreat.livejournal.com]

“Gonna lick you until you scream, gonna make you come with nothing more than my lips and tongue, have you begging and pleading and offering me anything if I’ll just fuck you already…”

And it was all true. Everything those filthy words promised, he delivered. It wasn’t until he was lying in bed, sated and so damn lethargic he didn’t think he could move if the mafia showed up to take up the hit that was out on him.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” He asked as John stretched out beside him.

John looked at him, a smile in his eyes but no where else. “Shut up Eliot.” He said, leaning forward and biting at Eliot’s shoulder. “You love every word I say.”

And he couldn’t argue because really? He did.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Primeval, Abby/Connor, cheeky.

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

Abby and Connor were cheeky, like two little kids in love, all pulling ponytails and shy glances and Nick found watching them hilarious. Ever since the beginning when Connor was head over heals in love with Abby and she wouldn't give him the time of day, to tied up in being in love with the image of Stephen, Nick had watched them.
But then Connor had found someone else and Nick watched as Abby turned, missing the undivided attention, the unconditional love, and finally realised what she had been turning away.
It had been so easy to see, her jealousy, her hostility towards Caroline, that eventually even Connor noticed and it was like watching the sun burst forth.
They'd never touched, as far as Nick knew but he could see they'd already claimed each other. Light touches and secret smiles, protective hands and long looks. God help anyone who tried to get between them, it was only a matter of time.
But Nick hoped they stayed like that a little longer, all cheeky and nervous, because it was fun as all hell to watch.

[devon99.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, Mmm, you taste like butter

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Dean licks the crumbs from his lips, savouring the taste of butter on toast, simple and plain, but so perfect. He's learned to savour the simple things.

Sam slides back into the seat across from him, rubs a hand over his face and takes a long drink from his coffee cup. Dean eyes the toast on Sam's plate, and Sam looks up and catches him.

"You gonna eat that?"

Sam makes the go ahead gesture and drains his cup, indicating to a waitress that he wanted more. Dean eats the toast upside down, so the butter melts onto his tongue.

Sam leans over and pulls the rest of the piece of toast from Dean's hand and presses his mouth to Dean's. He slides his tongue into Dean's mouth and explores the space, pulling a moan from Dean. After a minute he pulls back and grins.

"You taste like butter," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again. Dean surrenders to the kiss, letting Sam lick the taste from his mouth.

♥

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

Primeval, Nick/Connor, Light

[merihn.livejournal.com]

The light from the anomaly almost overwhelms the darkness. But he turns and there it is, stretching on forever away from him, black and huge, hiding things from him. He doesn't want to know what's out there, what's waiting for him.

He stays close to the magnetic pull of the anomaly, but not too close, because he doesn't want to be on the other side either.

Here the darkness could swallow him up, but through there, the memories could.

♥

[noxnoctisanima.livejournal.com]

Primeval, Connor/Abby, Kiss

[merihn.livejournal.com]

She keeps slipping away, looking at him from under her eyelashes, a coy smile on her lips. They move around each other like a dance, but before they can get too close she's gone again.

Connor used to be too scared to say anything, to put himself and his feelings on the line, because he thought that she was too good for him, that there was no chance that she could be interested.

He steels himself, waits until she's off guard, playing with Rex, then sits down beside her. She turns her head slightly and smiles, still intent on Rex and he takes a deep breath, reaching out to grab her shoulder, pulling her around as his other hand slides up to cup her cheek. She looks startled, eyes wide and he leans in fast, before he can change his mind, and kisses her.

She gasps against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across her lip, dipping inside. He lets go after a moment, savouring the feel of her mouth.

"The thing is, I really like you, and I know you like me and I think we should stop playing 'round with this and admit it because I really do like you Abby and I just want you to give me a chance-"

Abby leans in and kisses him this time, stopping his words, and he kisses her back, pulls her closer and runs his fingers through her spiky hair. She smiles against his mouth and pushes him onto his back, following to straddle his hips.

He wishes he'd done this earlier, but as she bites at his lip, he realises it doesn't matter.

[csichick-2.livejournal.com]

AtS, Angel/Lindsey, "Why?"

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

When Angel releases the cord that's wrapped around Lindsay's throat, allowing the young man to drop to the cold cement floor of the parking garage, Lindsay feels an overwhelming sense of relief at having cheated death once again.

That relief is short-lived.

Angel grabs him again, dragging him up off the floor and slamming his back painfully against the side of the car. One large hand closes over his mouth while the other grasps his wrists and pins them over his head. Lindsay's eyes go wide as he sees Angel shift to his vampire face and go for his throat.

He struggles, but it's useless. Angel's much stronger than him -- and that's before he's even begun to suck the life out of him.

He's barely conscious, yet aware of every faint, fluttering beat of his swiftly failing heart, as Angel removes his hand from his mouth, slicing a shallow cut along his own wrist. Despite his weakness and panic, it's completely clear to Lindsay what Angel intends as he brings his bleeding wrist to his mouth.

Lindsay turns his head away in revulsion, eyes wide with fear -- because he knows he really hasn't got a choice in this.

"Y-you're... one of the good guys," he whispers. "W-why?"

Angel gives him a grim smile as he presses his wrist to Lindsay's mouth, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as the young man instinctively swallows.

"Because you're not -- but I can't ever be sure with you as a human. There's only so far I can go." He pauses, his tone becoming bitterly ironic as he concludes, "Don't worry, Lindsay. You're not switching sides. I'm just making an honest man of you."

[csichick-2.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Nate/Eliot, tired of watching you do this to yourself

Tired of watching you..., Leverage, Nate/Eliot

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

The office door creaks open, and Nate smiles grimly but keeps watching his reflection in the glass window. It’s dark out; well, it would be at gone three in the morning, and god only knows why he’s awake, up and at the office. Their shiny new offices, yes, but it’s not like furnishings matter at this time of the morning if none of them include a bed.

There’s footsteps, shuffling and hesitant, and Nate forces himself to hold still, to not turn around even though it’s all he can do to keep his eyes forward.

It’s silent, and the sliver of light from the hallway disappeared when the door shut. He knows he’s not alone in the office though. This has been building for too damn long, even if he wasn’t used to the routine by now. He’s supposed to take a deep breath, hold and release it, and then turn, moving as silently as he can over to his desk, turning on the lamp there as he scoops up the first-aid box with its assortment of bandages and salves and thread…

Sure enough, he turns, and he switches on the light and then just. Stops. Eliot’s sprawled in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, and he looks just as bad as every other time they’ve done this – dating right back to Sterling and Quinn and Nate feels a flash of anger run through him that’s so hot it almost feels like it’s burning him from the inside out.

But the anger is followed by a cold, empty despair, and Nate moves around the corner of the desk and takes a seat, opening the first-aid kit and keeping his eyes empty of all emotion as he surveys the damage.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says quietly, but he gets no response from Eliot – not even a flinch when Nate presses a little too hard out of spite on a bruise that’s already darkening to an ugly purple. “Can’t keep staying up in this office, wondering if you’re coming back or if maybe…if maybe someone’s just a little too good for you.”

Blue eyes, dazed with pain and probably concussion and whatever Eliot’s found to dull the pain with, fix on Nate’s own and then hold his gaze, and Eliot lets out a sigh and shifts, hissing in pain.

“I’m just. Tired,” Nate continues, but he’s not sure how much of this is getting through. “I’m sick and tired of watching you do this to yourself. What are you even trying to prove, anyway?”

He shakes his head, although even Nate doesn’t know whether it’s in denial or defeat, and he keeps patching Eliot up, because that’s what he does now.

“Nate?” Eliot asks after Nate’s stood to put the kit away. His voice is hoarse, more so than usual, and Nate turns back to him, watching with seeming dispassion as Eliot struggles to his feet. The younger man holds out a hand – asking for help or offering thanks or…

And Nate moves back to his side, taking that hand and leaning in to gently press a kiss to bruised lips.