Monday - Music & Lyrics

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Greetings! I'm weesta and I'll be your guest hostess for the week. It may be a little lighter and fluffier than you're used to around here this week, but it'll all be in good fun!

Today's theme is MUSIC & LYRICS.

Do you have a song you 'ship your favorite pair to? Is there a character with some musical talent just screaming to get out? Do you just want to write a scene with people singing naked kareoke? Go for it! Prompt with an artist, lyric or song title, instrument or anything musically related and see what magic our writers will make.

Please be kind to the Code Monkeys and remember the posting format: Your Fandom or Crossover, Your Pairing, "Your prompt". One prompt per comment.

Examples:

CWRPS, Steve Carlson/Jensen Ackles, "Peaceful Easy Feeling" (Eagles)

Lost, Claire/Charlie, lullaby

More than one writer can respond to a prompt. You may leave more than one prompt, and you can answer your own prompts.

Comments

[weesta.livejournal.com]

CWRPS - Steve Carlson/Christian Kane, "Peaceful Easy Feeling" (Eagles)

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Their bus has broken down. It's ridiculous, and more than enough to make Chris miss London and the train and countries small enough that they don't have to spend all their time cramped up in too close quarters just to get from one side to the other. It's the middle of nowhere, the middle of the desert, and the closest scrap of a town with an actual tow truck and enough of a garage to fix the problem can't get there til morning.

At least the sun is already setting, hot light fading fast into a cool breeze.

It does nothing to calm him. He was expecting to pull into their next stop for the night in a few more hours, and after that would be finding a bar and drinking on into the early hours. He'd had plans for his motel room bed, plans involving Steven and no sleep whatsoever til they were back on the bus and well on their way to someplace else. Restless energy and disappointment mingle under his skin and make him itch.

He paces the length of the bus, just for something to do. Trying to clear his head enough not to hit something when he goes back inside. He pauses, to look at the horizon. The last slivers of the sun passing down. And suddenly all he wants is to be home.

"It's beautiful," Steven says from beside him. Chris thinks he should be startled, him coming out of the blue like that, but he isn't. Arms slip around his waist and he feels the tension drain out of him. He leans back into his touch.

And if Steve spends the next little while whispering obscene promises about fucking him into the sand with only the stars to cover them...

Well. Maybe home can wait a while longer.

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Lost, Claire/Charlie, lullaby

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

_{Based on Lemar's Lullaby (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNOF79Qyicw)}

She finds the little sheet of lyrics tucked in the centre of the blankets Charlie had brought her. Even if she didn't recognise the handwriting itself she'd know it was him from the warm glow that spreads in the centre of her chest when she reads it.

She can't trust him. She really can't - he's a lying, unstable addict. How could she have someone like that around her? Around her baby? It's too dangerous, and on this island there is more than enough dangers to fend off without trying to combat an overcomplicated love life at the same time. It's too much to deal with. Thomas only left her recently; she'd still fighting to paste over the cracks in her heart from that unfortunate misjudgement.

But Charlie makes her smile. When he's being normal - when he's being nice - he's like the sun itself and she feels safe in his presence. He's no Sawyer. If the Others ever returned for them, she doubts if Charlie would be able to single-handedly hold them off - but she knows that he'd try. He'd do anything it took to keep her safe.

Looking down the beach, she catches his gaze for a second before he nervously looks away as he notices the sheet of paper that she's holding in her hand.

They could do this. They could be a family, the three of them. All she has to do is give Charlie a second chance.

She thinks about it, biting on her bottom lip, then gathers Aaron from his crib. He shifts and stirs against her but doesn't wake, and she'd swear up and down that he gets heavier every single day.

"So," she says when she sits down beside Charlie, looking at his guitar - that instrument that is so fundamentally him. "What's the tune?"

And he grins, and she's never seen him looking so happy: she'd kiss him right now, the gentle brush of her lips against his, if he wasn't already reaching for his guitar, caressing its strings like she sometimes wishes he'd do to her skin.

The warm feeling in her chest grows as he starts to sing and play - for her.

All that I'm praying for is my love finds her like a lullaby,
Finds her in the night, sings her to sleep.
All that I'm hoping for is my voice finds her like a lullaby,
Sings her to sleep, she'll wake with me

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam/Ruby, "Witchy Woman" (Eagles)

Witchy Woman

[ruric.livejournal.com]

After they’ve put what was left of his brother into the ground, after they’ve had that same ground blessed by a priest speaking words to a higher power that Sam no longer believes in, he goes a little mad.

He leaves Bobby, takes the Impala and follows any lead that comes his way.

Hunting down every demon he can find, he rips them from their hosts and sends them back where they belong. Back where his brother and his father are, no doubt, being tortured by the very best and the brightest that Hell can provide.

He doesn’t sleep, because every time he closes his eyes he sees Dean, back flattened against the table, voice hoarse with fear and pain, blood spattered redly against the pallor of his skin from the ragged wounds ripped into his body. He barely eats because he can’t bring himself to choke down food without wanting to gag.

He hangs up on Bobby these days more than he actually talks to him and when he catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror he doesn’t recognise his reflection.

With every passing day he can feel the taint in his blood getting stronger, the impurity that Azazel fed into him is eating him alive from the inside out.

Until one night there’s a knock at the door of the cheap motel he’s holed up in.

When he yanks it open she’s there – two inches shorter than when he’d last seen her, blonde hair replaced by a tumble of raven black and her ruby lips curving into a smile as she places a hand on his chest.

“Hello, Sam.”

Doesn’t matter what the outside of her looks like, he knows who, or rather what is inside the minute he looks into her eyes.

His arms are sliding around her, fingers locked into the leather of her jacket as he pulls her into the room, half dragging her off her feet so he can bury his nose in her hair and breathe.

The warmth of her body pressed against him, her fingers slipping under his shirt to touch skin, and her muffled laughter pressed into his chest tell him the one thing he’s needed to know for months.

He’s not alone.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, guitar

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

This is definitely my favorite way to watch Steve.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I fuckin love watching him in bed, love watchin him when he’s all spread out beneath me; all hard and flushed and pantin and desperate and needy and beggin me.

But this… this is a different kind of intimate. Barefoot and bare-chested, curled over on the couch, fingers pulling magic from the strings of his guitar. Eyes closed and lips smiling and he’s singing along softly.

And every time, every single time I see him like this, I fall in love with him all over again.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, writing a song

[yanzadracan.livejournal.com]

Two figures sat on thick cushions they had thrown on the boards of the spacious deck that was partially shaded from the Oklahoma sun by ancient Spanish oaks.

Music moved through the air with no one but the wildlife to notice. The spring breeze danced playfully through blonde waves and brown curls. A laugh full of warmth and orneriness floated across the grass at the antics of his companion.

Callused fingertips traced a whiskered cheek before returning to caress steel and rosewood.

“Did you write down that lick from before?” He took a sip of water before trying to read the sheet music upside down.

“Which one?...This one?” Plaintive notes drifted between them.

“Yeah…” Dark lashes fanned over closed eyes as the words wove through his mind’s eye, while the notes teased his ears. Words were hastily scribbled below the notes and chords.

More notes were added as the melody and rhythm fleshed out. Blue eyes opened and gazed unblinking at the hands moving agilely over the strings.

A deeply tanned hand came to rest over a pale hand stopping the strings’ vibrations. “Is this your favorite guitar?”

The blonde head snapped up and saw the heat in eyes with pupils blown wide with hunger. He carefully laid the guitar on the table. The instant the guitar was safe he was tackled onto the cushions.

They tumbled like pups across the deck, all arms, legs, hands, teeth and lips. Clothes were shed, fingers probed, bodies joined, a melody of love and lust wafted over the prairie.

Bodies relaxed entwined as sweat cooled and breathing eased. A blonde head tucked up under a stubble covered chin.

“This was a good idea.” He mumbled into the broad chest under his cheek.

The afternoon sun dipped below the tree line rousing the couple. The wind listened as they wrote the next verse of their song.

[sammynce.livejournal.com]

Spn Demon!Dean/Sam ''I go back to black"

[red-handed.livejournal.com]

Sam can't say no to Dean. Never has been able to. Not before and not now even though Dean is a twisted shell of his former self. Wrecked and hollow, vicious, merciless with his touches, venomous and bitter with his words.

Evil Sam's head offers, and Sam hates that he thinks that about his brother, no matter how true it might be.

Dean smirks like he can read Sam's thoughts (he probably can as far as Sam knows), his eyes like liquid obsidian, so deep and dark even the moon isn't reflected in them, and runs his hand down Sam's cheek. It's close to a caress, the closest any of Dean's touches get to being gentle anymore, and Sam wants to imagine it's the old Dean, his brother before Hell broke him and spit him back out.

But it's Dean's eyes that ground him in the reality of the here and now. So black and hollow and just... empty and there is no mistaking this Dean for the one before.

Sam leans into the touch anyway. He's missed this, missed Dean so much, and he can't bring himself to do anything but revel in the feel of his brother's body pushed up against his.

"Missed you too, Sammy," Sam hears, though he's pretty sure Dean didn't say a word.

He closes his eyes, ignores the wrongness of it all, presses his mouth to Dean's and loses himself in the feel of Dean's tongue sliding against his own.

He traded everything for this; Dean is back by his side and the World burns with the flames of Hell for it.

Strangely, Sam finds himself at peace with what he's done.

He doesn't regret it, not for a moment and that's what unsettles him the most. But it makes him glad that he's got this Dean instead of the old one.

The old Dean wouldn't have been able to live with Sam's choice to sell out the human race for him.

Again, Sam hears the word 'evil' echo through his head and this time he thinks maybe it's not directed at Dean at all.


* * *

Oh man I love Demon!Dean and I wanted to write so much more, but I really shouldn't be over here playing when I've got a Big Bang to write. *runs off and looks busy*

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

_{taking a track from each CD sitting next to me, so these might be a bit random!}

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, We R One - Same Difference

Fill

[nagi-schwarz.livejournal.com]

It's a hard position to sell, but Arthur has never shied away from hard things. He looks Bayard in the eye, lifts his chin, and says,

"We are one, Merlin and I. Together we are the throne of Camelot. Either you treat with both of us, or neither of us."

Merlin shifts; he desperately wants to say something to dispell the tension in the room, but he is no longer a lowly manservant, who is the king's consort and the Royal Sorceror of Camelot.

Bayard is in a difficult position. He treated with Uther for years, and together they shared a hatred of magic. For Arthur to take such a radically different position is rather unprecedented, but Arthur prefers to break boundaries that are in his way rather than bow to them, especially if those boundaries hold him and Merlin - and Camelot - back.

But Bayard has heard the tales of how when Arthur's forces clashed against Mordred's lightning rained down from the sky, seemingly on Arthur's behalf. Bayard glances at Merlin only briefly before looking away - never lowering his gaze, never showing fear, but showing enough.

Then Bayard smiles. "Welcome to Mercia, King Arthur and Lord Merlin."

And the tension in the throne room eases.

For now.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Mitchell, Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Charlie/Desmond, Warwick Avenue - Duffy

Lost, Charlie/Desmond, Warwick Avenue - Duffy

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

It's more awkward than it should be - than meeting with Charlie has ever been.

Two cups sit steaming on the table between them. Outside of the chain coffee shop, the train station bustles with loud noise. Busy, everyone's so busy here. No one stops to notice the goodbyes being said; no one realises that something real is ending.

"Are you sure you have to go?" Desmond asks.

He wants Charlie to say no. Wants to watch him grin and shake his head and say that this is all a big, stupid mistake.

But Charlie smiles that sad smile of his and nods. "Penny's back, mate," he says like that's all the explanation that is needed.

Desmond looks down at his coffee cup and thinks that perhaps this means there is nothing left to say.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, Issues - The Saturdays

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Elle/Monica, Closer - Ne-Yo

[weesta.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, "Broken Wings" (Mr. Mister)

[wendyr.livejournal.com]

This is more of an "inspired by" "Broken Wings" than actually adhering to the song...and I mainly focused on the "your half of the flesh and blood that makes me whole" line. Hope you enjoy :)



“I’m leaving,” Castiel speaks as if he is explaining quantum physics to a particularly slow five year old, “because I have no reason to stay.” He has been among the humans, and especially alongside Dean, long enough to know that the flash of emotion in Dean’s eyes is agony. He watches curiously as Dean struggles to mask it.
Dean simply stares at him mutely, because he is convinced that if he speaks, the he won’t be able to hold the floodgates, and Dean Winchester does not cry over ridiculous things like angels going back where they belong.
“Dean?” Castiel waits for a moment, but no response is forthcoming. “Is something wrong?” He prods gently
“I can’t believe you’re just going to go.” Dean’s voice is barely audible, but to Castiel, each word is like an explosion.
“I thought you would be glad to be rid of me.”
“You were wrong.”
“Dean…you don’t need me. You and your brother were fighting evil long before I came to you. You’ll do the same after I’m gone.”
“Yeah… only… Sammy really isn’t himself lately, and I don’t know how to fix that. I have nobody to turn to, Cas. You’re it.” Dean finally makes eye contact. “Why does everybody leave me?”
“Dean…”
“I mean… I know I’m really not that great a reason to stay, but I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you.”
“Do what without me?”
“Live.” Dean sighs heavily and sinks down onto the nearest chair, defeated. “Some part of me broke after everything Sammy and I went through. I feel… when you’re not here, I feel like part of me is missing… and you’re that part. And now that the war is over, you’re abandoning me, just like everybody else.”
“Wait. Stop.” Castiel sits beside Dean, reaching one hand out to him. “I had only planned to leave because I thought you would want me to go after everything was done. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I am, after all, supposed to look after you.”
Dean takes Castiel’s offered hand. “I want you to stay.”
Smiling now feels almost as natural to Castiel as flexing his wings, and when he smiles at Dean this time, he finds that he truly means it for the first time in… well, maybe ever.

[elebridith]

Angel the Series, Lindsey/Spike, "Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash"

[havenward.livejournal.com]

But I know I had it comin', I know I can't be free,
But those people keep a-movin', And that's what tortures me.

Lindsey waits til Angel and his little science geek are gone to slouch down in his seat. His pride and his skin are about the only things he's got left, and yeah, they can see him if they bother to look at the security screen. But he hasn't got a whole hell of a lot left in him to care.

All his bridges are burned, now. If he's lucky, maybe Angel will use him to take down his former employers. It's twisted, and unfair. A corrupt champion, walking free. Wasting the chance to live by trading the only things that matter.

Lindsey looks down at his hands. Turns out they weren't so different as he always wanted to believe.

"Never figured you for one to mope."

Lindsey flinches and doesn't look up, hands curling closed. He'd been happy, a little, pretending to be Doyle. And not pretending, when Spike's hands had been on him.

Now he'd prefer the fake life in the holding dimension, having his heart ripped out every night. (It's funny. He hadn't thought he had any heart left.)

He hears the soft step of boots, and something inside him gives out. He hunches over defensively, eyes squeezed shut. Feels like he can't breathe, can't be, the silence is so deafening.

Lindsey doesn't hear the door slide open. Doesn't hear the soft swish of leather. Doesn't even know Spike hasn't left til cool hands are cupping his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks as he tips his face up and kisses him. It's nothing like before, soft now. Forgiving.

"I'll get you out of here," Spike says, low enough that Lindsey isn't even sure he really heard it. He doesn't have time to ask, not now, because Spike is kissing him again. Running his hands through his hair as he pushes him down onto the bunk.

Well, if they freed me from this prison, If that railroad train was mine,
I bet I'd move out over a little, Farther down the line

[havenward.livejournal.com]

RPS, captain!JDM/piratewench!Eliza Dushku, "House Rules" by Kane (yeah, I'm thinking of Rule #7 in particular...)

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

You are a naughty girl, Nabler!

[rivermud.livejournal.com]

Supernatural/Buffy, Dean/Dawn, "B Movie Scream Queen" (Murderdolls)

[trillianastra.livejournal.com]

Okay... first, I hadn't heard of Murderdolls before. I have now, though, and I like them. So thanks for that. Second... this *kind of* fits, but not *completely*. Third, it's given me a plotbunny for a full-length Dean/Dawn fic.
----------

He’d met her on a stereotypically dark and stormy night. He’d been running through a cemetery after a demon, she’d been running through the same cemetery trying to get away from the same demon. The first time he saw her, he saw a girl with long straight hair, and big blue eyes (with way too much eyeliner) looking out from a pale, frightened face. He’d thought she was just another girl, just one more damsel in distress to rescue.

When she started casting a binding spell to trap the demon, he changed his mind about the “distress” part pretty quickly.

With the demon banished and sent back to hell, he offered to give her a lift somewhere. As they were walking to his car she asked him his name.
“Dean. Dean Winchester. And you?”
“Dawn Summers.”
“What were you doing out there?”
She considered that for a moment. “Well… I started out looking for vampires. Then that demon caught my scent and it was mostly all about the running away really really fast.”
He looked sceptical. “You. Were looking for vampires.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re…”
“I’m what?”
He tried to think of a way to finish that sentence without it sounding really bad. “Er.. you’re not exactly prepared for it.”
“Huh. You don’t even know me. And I am prepared. I just wasn’t expecting the freaking demon to show up.”
“What, you mean that spell thing? Where’d you learn that, anyway?”
“A friend taught me. And there’s this coven in England, I studied with them for a while too. They taught me a lot.”
“So you’re a witch?”
She laughed. “Not exactly. I have magical ability, so in a way I am… but that ability doesn’t come from quite the same place as it does with other witches.”
“You’re going to have to explain that to me one day.”
“One day, maybe I will.”

She did tell him, eventually. When she did, she’d been travelling around with Dean and his brother for about a month, helping them out with jobs. It was late at night, and they were in a cheap bar in the current small town they were in, and she told him what she was over beers by the pool table.

Dawn was surprised when he actually took it quite well. But then, she knew about the kind of things that the Winchesters saw every day (because she saw them herself), and next to that, being the Key didn’t look so bad. She quite liked it, actually. She loved seeing her sister and her friends, but when she was around them, the fact of what she was always hung in the air, unspoken, between them. In Dean and Sam, she’d found a couple of friends who liked her for who she was, and who weren’t bothered by what she was.

Dean liked having her around, as well. Partly because having a practicing magic-user on the team was pretty useful, partly because there was something about her that made people open up more, so getting information was easier when Dawn asked the questions, and partly because it was good to have someone other than Sam around for company.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

CWRPS, Jared/Jensen, "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz

[weesta.livejournal.com]

It wasn’t unusual at all for Jared to be up and out of bed well before Jensen, particularly on a day with a late call. It wasn’t even unusual for Jared to putter around in the kitchen after taking care of the dogs, making coffee and creating some kind of concoction for breakfast. But it was unusual for him to sing.

Their circle of friends was very musical, and though Jensen felt comfortable singing solo or as part of the crowd, Jared was more at ease letting others handle the vocals while he played the guitar. Jensen stopped at the entrance to kitchen and leaned against the door frame. Jared was working near the sink, engrossed in what he was doing and singing to himself.

”Listen to the music of the moment people,
dance and sing
We’re all just one big family
And it’s our God-forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved loved…”

Jensen had to smile at how Jared threw back his head sang, putting his whole heart into it. Something got Jared’s attention, maybe it was the weight of Jensen’s stare; he turned and smiled at Jensen in welcome. But there was something more. Jensen was surprised when Jared continued singing.

So I won’t hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait, I’m sure

As Jared made his way across the kitchen, Jensen was entranced by the power of the words he was singing because the lyrics were reflected in his eyes and on his face. They were not words Jared had written, but by singing them to Jensen, in the privacy of their kitchen, he made them their own. A promise between the two of them.

There’s no need to complicate, our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours.

Jared reached out to Jensen, sneaking his fingers below the hem of his t-shirt and skirting along his waist. And Jared, being Jared, had to tease with the next verse. Jensen could feel Jared grin against his neck even as he kept singing.

D-d-do do you, but do you, d-d-do
But do you want to come on
Scooch on over closer dear
And I will nibble your ear

Jared followed the lyric rather literally, and that was the point where Jensen’s paralysis was broken. Jensen pulled his head away leaving Jared chuckling softly into his neck. Jared’s strong arms had wrapped around him leaving him no space to get away; but Jensen wasn’t thinking of making an escape.

Instead Jensen gently captured Jared’s head against his shoulder with a hand against his neck and sang, “I’m yours.” right back to him.

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Parker/Hardison, "White and Nerdy" by Weird Al

[alldunn.livejournal.com]

"What are you watching," Parker asked as she popped up over the edge of the couch. Alec was to used to her randomly appearing to startle, much.

"Fanboys. The ultimate homage to George Lucas' Star Wars." He flinched only a little at Parkers excited squeal as she launched herself over the back to settle next to him. He tried really hard to not squirm as her thigh pressed against his.

"That's the one with the cute bears, right? And the beams of light that cut people. I like that story." She had a look of excitement that was on par with trying out a new rig. Not quite up there with explosions and money, but up there.

"You do know you are seriously deficient, right? They are Ewoks and LightSabers and it is not just a story, it is commentary on life."

That, that look right there, that was one he usually saw on Eliots face when Parker did something weird, even for her. "Okay, so what's going on now?"

"Now they are being quizzed in obscure knowledge to prove their worthiness for the quest."

"Ah, so they're geeks, like you."

"But I'm a better geek." Alec really did not sound defensive. Not at all.

"I know." Parker patted his leg consolingly. "Now be quiet, I'm trying to watch." She shifted, settling in, bumping him until she was comfortable and he was totally distracted. Good thing he ripped it and could watch it again later when he was not so ... confused.

[rivermud.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/Parker, "House of the Rising Sun" (the Animals)

[scoob2222.livejournal.com]

He knows from her face that the man who just walked in is someone very bad. He’s seen her angry before, scared before, seen her fucking stab someone with a fork before, but he’s never seen the utter terror in her eyes before.

“Parker?” he questions, instinctively wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer, “Who is that?”

“Foster…foster father,” she gasps out, face turning white, “Eliot, don’t let him see me.”

Now, he really knows its bad because she’s the queen of disappearing and she’s asking him…beat your way out of anyplace, to get her somewhere safe. The fucker is coming closer and something has to be done. So, he takes a page out of her book, press her against a nearby wall and kiss the hell out of her.

She is surprised at first, but then her arms are around him and she’s kissing him back. He hears Hardison in his ear, asking what’s going on, but he ignores him. Maybe he makes a few moans and groans just to egg him on, but hell, he’s only human.

She pulls away and he knows its safe. They finish their job and get out of there before she gets noticed. He keeps his arm around her all the way out.

Just in case.

The moment they are out of the building she’s back to being cool as can be Parker. She jumps off two more buildings before the job is over, never looking any worse for the wear.

He, on the other hand, is constantly plagued by that look in her eye. He doesn’t want to attack her with it, doesn’t want to force her to talk to him, but he has to know that she is going to be okay.

He rushes back to the office, but she is gone. He heads to her apartment, but there’s no sign of her there either. He tries calling her, but gets no answer. Finally, he head home, knowing that there’s nothing else he can do for the moment.

He knows someone is in his apartment the moment he opens the door. There’s a breeze from a window he didn’t leave open, and the book he left on the front table is six inches to the left of where it was.

He walks in slowly, prepared for anything, but is stopped in his tracks at the sight of Parker sitting on his coach. Her legs are underneath her body and she’s wearing his favorite and most comfortable sweatshirt.

“He gambled,” she said, her voice cracking the silence of the room, “and he was bad at it. When he lost he got angry and drunk. It was my last foster home. When I was fifteen he decided I might be good for something other than bringing his beer and taking his punches.”

Eliot’s fists clenched. He lowered himself to the coffee table so he could be on her level, “What did you do?”

“Kicked him so hard he saw stars and the stabbed him with a pen. I ran away, and never came back.”

Eliot stood, pacing back and forth as he tried to control his anger, “You should have let me kill him.”

She smiled, just a little, “You don’t do that unless you have to.”

“I could have at least ripped his balls off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He sat back down, leaned forward and placed his hands on her legs, “Are you okay?”

She shrugged, “I never though I’d have to see him again. Didn’t want to be alone.”

He leaned closer, his face inches from hers, “Darlin, you’re never going to be alone again. We’re all here for you.”

“Even you?” she asked.

“Yes, even,” he paused, caught in her penetrating gaze. Her eyes were always so unguarded, showing off her feelings, “Even me. Especially me.”

She leaned towards him and he wants to lean forward, to take her in his arms, to reassure, to…love even, but he let’s her lead.

He follows her down to the couch, presses against her when she pulls him, follows the lines of her body as she arches up into his.

He knows she wants him to make her forget, to make her feel better, and he does his best. He pushes away her clothes, runs his callused, rough hands over her body, makes her moan, whimper, come.

When she curls up against him and falls asleep he knows he’s made her feel better.

He’s just not sure what she’s made him feel.

[rivermud.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Bela, "Strange Brew" (Cream)

[charlies_dragon]

Strange brew - kills what's inside of you [full lyrics here]

"You're empty Bela, there's nothing inside of you anymore. Not the driving greed you had when Dean and I first met you or the flirtatious woman who stole the Hand of Glory with Dean. Nothing. What happened?" Sam asked, honestly curious and needing to hear her answers, hoping that somehow he'd be able to save her from what was going on.

"Huh, I guess it's true what they say then," she replied, sipping at her red wine, looking as if she hasn't a care in the world. Her eyes tell a whole other story, but only if you can get close enough to see into their depths.

"It's true what who says?" Sam fired back, brow creased as he tries to work out what she means.

"That you can't be the life of the party if you have no soul," and with that Bela finished her wine, got up and went to the door of the bar, turned back as if trying to tell Sam something with just her eyes, and then leaves.

What could have been only minutes later or might have been years, Sam slowly got up and opened the door of the bar, and promptly fell out of bed.

How can she be haunting my dreams when her soul's in Hell and we burned her bones? Sam wonders as he gets up off the floor and goes to get ready to face yet another day alone.

[rivermud.livejournal.com]

Highlander, Duncan/Methos, sing

Nobody Shall Sleep

[ruric.livejournal.com]

Sheets and comforter pulled right the way up, tucked over the top of his head and he’d like to stay in this warm cocoon he’s managed to create for at least another few hours.

He knows he’s in the trance like state between deep sleep and wakefulness – at the point where like a swimmer skimming just under the surface of the waves - you have to decide to come up for air or dive deeper into the blue.

Methos really would like to plunge back down into dreams of sandy deserts, shady oases, richly tiled courtyards and smiling women dressed in diaphanous robes. He wants to touch the memories of his wives and friends now long gone, because this is the only place he really remembers them, here in his dreams.

But there’s something wrong, a noise on the periphery of his awareness which just won’t let him slip back down into the arms of sleep.

“Damn it all.”

Dragged reluctantly awake he sits up, wraps the comforter around him, a barrier against air cool enough to make his skin goose. He stomps out of the bedroom cursing fluently in Akkadian under his breath because the harsh gutturals of the language so perfectly match his mood.

As he approaches the kitchen the air warms slightly and the noise that dragged him from sleep increases in volume.

The swell of music rises and falls, and instead of following his first instinct and storming into the kitchen he stops, one hip leaning against the door frame surveying the scene in front of him and he can feel the start of a smile pulling at his lips.

Pans simmering on the stove, a testament to the early morning activity, Duncan is standing with his back to the door, arms spread wide, head back, giving his lungs a workout.

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
Tu pure, o, Principessa,
nella tua fredda stanza,
guardi le stelle
che tremano d'amore
e di speranza.

Methos loathes, detests and abhors opera even more so one about a cold hearted princess luring silly love struck princes to their death. It might be irrational but there you go he’s never claimed to be perfect – although come to think of it he might possibly have laid a claim on perfection...once or maybe twice.

The one thing he’s learned in all his years is the art of perfect timing and so he waits for a pause in the music.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He’s rewarded by the speed with which Duncan spins around, the blush staining his cheeks and the feigned wide eyed look of innocence.

“I thought you were asleep.”

Methos wraps the comforter more tightly around himself and shuffles over to the CD player hitting eject.

“I was, but only the dead could sleep through that.”

His fingers are twitching towards the CD, seized by an irrational idea to break the damn thing, when Duncan’s fingers close around his wrist.

“Put it down.”

“But you woke me up and now I’m cold and...”

He knows he sounds a little petulant but he’s never really being a morning person, especially not a morning person when they’re up at the cabin and it’s cold and....

“Yes. And now you’re awake I’m sure we can think of a way to warm you up.”

He knows Duncan's laughing at him but that doesn’t really matter because there’s a promise in Duncan’s eyes and the heat of the body leaning into him.

[schmooie730.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Sarah, "Lips Like Morphine" (Kill Hannah)

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

She wasn't searching for anyone to protect her-- she could do that on her own. She didn't care that Sam was dangerous, or that he left a wake of pain in his path. He warned her that she might end up like Jessica, but she refused to see any logic in his feeling of being cursed.

Or maybe it was that she just didn't care about the danger. She'd spent too many months tucked away in her cocoon after her mother died. Sarah wasn't about to run and hide anymore. She whispered in his ear as he pulled her to the bed, “I wanna feel that lightning strike me and burn me down.”

Her lips were morphine, healing his wounds. She was ready to live again-- and maybe, just maybe, so was he.

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

rps, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, Angel by Leona Lewis

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

I want it, you want it, It's what the people want to see.

"They're think we're fucking," Christian grunts, his head thrown back as Steve pounds into him.

"Hate to point it out to you Chris," Steve replies, fingers digging into Christian's hips. "But this, right now, what we're doing... we're fucking." Christian chokes out a laugh. "Glad we agree... fuck... Steve... harder..."

Steve obliges and tomorrow there'll be finger-shaped bruises covering Christian's skin but now it doesn't matter, its what they both need. They fall silent other than grunts and groans, gasps of each others name and the slap and slide of skin on skin until they collapse down.

"Who's they?" Steve asks, moments later. Christian lifts his head from the pillow, blinking in confusion at Steve.

"They?," he echoes

"Yes, they. You said 'They're think we're fucking'"

"Oh, that they." Christian drops back to the pillow and rolls over to face Steve. "I went on the internet. Our fans, they all think we're fucking."

"Which, we are." Steve points out, leaning over and slapping Christian around the the back of the head.

"No, what we're doing is recovering," Christian shoots back. "If you wanna be fucking, you need to go find yourself another willing body cos me, I'm all fucked out."

Steve laughs and runs a hand down Christian's chest, fingers curling around his spent cock. "There's not a body out there more willing than this one, Kane," he smirks as Christian bucks into his touch with a strangled moan. He uncurls his fingers from around Christian's cock to leave a gentle slap. "Who let you on the internet unsupervised anyway? But yes, they think we're fucking. Which, we are," he agreed. "They think we're a lot more than fucking too."

Christian blinks back at Steve. "More than fu... what like they're think we're... "

"Yeah"

Christian snorts with laughter. "Us?" He continues to laugh, Steve joining in, before he grins at Steve. "Let's give them what they want," he suggests, eyes sparkling with mischief.

It's Steve's turn to blink in confusion. "Give them... You did not just ask me out."

"The fuck? No, I did not! But... no, hear me out Steve. They think we're fucking, which we are. And they're not adverse to it. Fuck, they like the idea. Now, I like fucking you and I like you fucking me and I'm pretty sure you feel the same way about the whole thing so..."

Steve nods and picks up where Chris left off. "It's what they want to see so lets give them what they want."

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

Leverage/Author's Choice, Eliot/Author's choice, rattlesnake smile (more specifically "Do I look like something you can put in a fucking cage")

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Leverage/Angel, Eliot/Angel, rattlesnake smile

"I don't know who you think I am." Eliot had his hands up, his eyes on the gun, stepping backward carefully, despite the cage behind him. Cage, like would hold a wild animal. Or...a person.

"Right. You're going to tell me that you aren't Lindsey and I should just believe you."

"My name is Eliot Spencer, I was sent to retrieve--"

The gun pushes closer and Eliot takes another step back. "I hate LA." He sighs and digs in his feet as he nears the open door of the cage. "Listen--"

"I heard you. But you know? You look like Lindsey, you talk like Lindsey...I'm thinking that makes you Lindsey and the last time I saw Lindsey, he tried to kill me."

"I'm not surprised if this is how you greeted him." Eliot glanced quickly around them. He could take the gun, the guy and be up the stairs and out of the supposedly abandoned hotel, but that would mean going back to his client empty handed. "I don't want to kill you, I just came for a book."

The guy pushed just a little more, and Eliot had had enough. He jumped up, catching the cage and swinging out, kicking the gun clear and landing behind the guy, shoving him into the cage and slamming it shut. He grinned at the shocked expression. "Do I look like something you can put in a fucking cage?" he asked, leaning in to gloat just a little. "I told you. I'm just here for the book." he clicked the lock and headed for the stairs.

Damn fucking corporate lawyers and their misinformation. Last time he took a job from a woman wearing clothing that cost more than she was paying him for the job.

[shannonrita.livejournal.com]

rps, Kitty!Chris/Steve, Cat Scratch Fever by Ted Nugent I had to, just for the play on words...*DIES*

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

hehehe totally not what you were expecting me to write. But, inspired by havenward and her Pippin and Neko:

Steve narrowed his eyes, looking from Christian to the corner of the couch and back to Christian again; his expression growing darker by the second. “I like that couch,” he said slowly.

Christian looked up, confusion furrowing his brow. “So I do,” he agreed, stretching out on it to prove his point. “It’s comfy. But… uhh…” He shook his head. “I don’t…”

“You have claws.”

“Yeah.” Christian nodded and relaxed his hands, protracting his claws. “I have claws,” he agreed, inspecting them, then frowning and lifting his hand to his mouth, about to start biting when Steve smacked his hand.

“Don’t bite your nai… claw… nai… don’t do that!”

“Not biting,” Christian countered. “Cleaning ‘em.”

Steve sighed. “You know I don’t like it. Don’t do it in front of me. Please?”

“Ok,” Christian tugged Steve down onto the couch, retracting his claws again. He leaned over and kissed him. “No cleaning my claws in front of you. But what does that got to do with your couch?”

“I will de-claw you,” Steve said slowly, raising an eyebrow at the low, loud growling that came from Christian at the words. “Don’t think I won’t,” he warned. “The second there’s a single scratch mark on my couch… I will de-claw you,” he threatened. “Or, at the very least, pink Soft Claws like my mom’s cat has.”

Christian didn’t reply, simply backed away from Steve on the couch, continuing to growl; his back arched, his tail fluffed, his ears flat and his eyes narrowed. “Like to see you try!” He hissed when Steve reached out to him, swiping at his hand with his claws.

Steve grimaced and sucked his finger into his mouth. “Chris… I don’t particularly want to have to de-claw you or give you those Soft Claws, but I will if I have to. So, don’t scratch the couch and we won’t have a problem. Deal?”

“Deal.” Christian agreed, relaxing slightly but still growling as he sat back down, sulky look on his face. “I ain’t ever scratched the furniture,” he scowled. “Never. Know better than that. And don’t you go thinkin’ about buyin’ me one of them scratchin’ posts, neither,” he insisted, once again protracting his claws and cleaning them with his teeth; Steve sighing and hitting him round the head with a cushion

[fireflypenance.livejournal.com]

Spn/Firefly - Dean/Inara, "If you could only see" (Tonic)

[alwaysenduphere.livejournal.com]

They spend an hour comparing storms sheltered; a day counting who'd been to more places, and almost a week in their own little world. Dean would show her scars, souvenirs from creatures she wasn't sure she believed existed, even with Dean Winchester in the flesh insisting they were real and she should watch out for them. In return, she showed him trinkets from several worlds, Sihnon, Ariel, Bellerophon, a scar received during Companion training, but most of her souvenirs were internal. Dean understood this, more than anyone she's sure she's ever met.

He understood when he wrapped his arms around her in her luxurious bed, more fabric than he'd ever seen in his life. He understood as he kissed her, as she arched up to meet his body with hers.

She knows he's not hers, knows he'll never stay, just as she can't stay, but she can't help but whisper "I love you" three days into the week in between moaning his name and rolling her eyes into her head. She's not surprised when he leaves a day later, taking the miniature silver umbrella from Persephone with him as a token.


Seems the road less traveled
Shows happiness unraveled
And you got to take a little dirt
To keep what you love
Thats what you gotta do

i hope this works. :)