(no subject)
So I have all these story-bits that I want to write before I forget them. Some of them might grow, some others probably won't, but I hate letting good ideas go to waste.
Rent, Joanne, Mark (sort of not really Joanne/Mark? TRUST ME). Set sometime after Take Me or Leave Me but Before I'll Cover You (Reprise.)
He's drunk and she's high. Or he's high and she's drunk: it's hard to know at the moment, and he finds that hilarious so he's probably the one high with Collins' pot.
"You know," he starts, and Joanne does this sort of sound that's barely paying attention to him. "Everything would be much easier if you weren't a lesbian."
"Excuse me?" And she slurrs the 'S' a little, which shouldn't be amusing but he finds himself almost giggling.
Trying to look straight at her - ahaha, straight, yeah, sure - is too troublesome, so he doesn't even try, just turning his head towards where he thinks she is.
"Wouldn't it take care of our troubles?"
Joanne considers, then. "Sorry. I like pussy too much."
Rent, Angel/Collins. Sort of R-ish.
"So are you a girl? A boy?" After each question, a kiss. Collins nuzzles against Angel's neck, scrapping his teeth against Angel's collarbone, hearing the way Angel sighs.
But when he moves his head to look, Angel is smiling, a mischievous glint to dark eyes that Collins already loves.
"Don't be silly," Angel shrugs one shoulder, and then wraps long arms around his neck, pressing that smile against his lips. "Angels have no gender, right?"
Sakura Gari, Souma/Masataka. PG13/R. SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6.
This time, it's Souma taking care of him. Masataka wakes up in ever so soft sheets, nose filled with Souma's scent as he lays on his stomach. Panic runs cold through him as he realizes that he's half naked, his back burning up from the bruises and cuts, and he's sore everywhere.
"Careful," Souma warns, and fear and hate make his throat close and Masataka feels tears sting his eyes and he starts to grit his teeth, to say no, and no again, please no again, never again -- but Souma's long, elegant fingers just touch his back. He expects the pain, but not the soothing sensation of balm applied to his bruises, and this time when Masataka hisses it's because the ointment on them is cold.
"It'll help," Souma tells him, and his touch is so soft. Masataka tries to remember if he has ever been touched so carefully, as if he was precious, and he draws a blank. Ever so slowly, bit by bit, breath in and breath out, he relaxes, closing his eyes again.
Rent, Joanne, Mark (sort of not really Joanne/Mark? TRUST ME). Set sometime after Take Me or Leave Me but Before I'll Cover You (Reprise.)
He's drunk and she's high. Or he's high and she's drunk: it's hard to know at the moment, and he finds that hilarious so he's probably the one high with Collins' pot.
"You know," he starts, and Joanne does this sort of sound that's barely paying attention to him. "Everything would be much easier if you weren't a lesbian."
"Excuse me?" And she slurrs the 'S' a little, which shouldn't be amusing but he finds himself almost giggling.
Trying to look straight at her - ahaha, straight, yeah, sure - is too troublesome, so he doesn't even try, just turning his head towards where he thinks she is.
"Wouldn't it take care of our troubles?"
Joanne considers, then. "Sorry. I like pussy too much."
Rent, Angel/Collins. Sort of R-ish.
"So are you a girl? A boy?" After each question, a kiss. Collins nuzzles against Angel's neck, scrapping his teeth against Angel's collarbone, hearing the way Angel sighs.
But when he moves his head to look, Angel is smiling, a mischievous glint to dark eyes that Collins already loves.
"Don't be silly," Angel shrugs one shoulder, and then wraps long arms around his neck, pressing that smile against his lips. "Angels have no gender, right?"
Sakura Gari, Souma/Masataka. PG13/R. SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6.
This time, it's Souma taking care of him. Masataka wakes up in ever so soft sheets, nose filled with Souma's scent as he lays on his stomach. Panic runs cold through him as he realizes that he's half naked, his back burning up from the bruises and cuts, and he's sore everywhere.
"Careful," Souma warns, and fear and hate make his throat close and Masataka feels tears sting his eyes and he starts to grit his teeth, to say no, and no again, please no again, never again -- but Souma's long, elegant fingers just touch his back. He expects the pain, but not the soothing sensation of balm applied to his bruises, and this time when Masataka hisses it's because the ointment on them is cold.
"It'll help," Souma tells him, and his touch is so soft. Masataka tries to remember if he has ever been touched so carefully, as if he was precious, and he draws a blank. Ever so slowly, bit by bit, breath in and breath out, he relaxes, closing his eyes again.