writing writing writing dead.
So, I just got wondering how on earth I'm so tired at a vaguely normal-person hour of the night when I usually stay up well past sensible times. …Then I looked at the calculator app with my word count for the day in it and this exhaustion made sense.
10,940. Most of it's actually been concentrated on one project, too (as opposed to scattered around over, like, five or six things, which is my usual MO), and it's been fairly emotionally involved writing, which makes the sheer pace of the writing that much more exhausting, and… well, yep. That explains a lot.
And I'm just going to do my Sunday snippet meme post early, since I actually kind of want to do one, this week. It's from what I spent today working on. It's high school-aged AU Misha/Matt Bomer in the middle of a game of Spin The Bottle. And I'm sort of, kinda fond of it, y'know. (You can also really play, "spot the other RPF personages who have been borrowed and used in this, despite having nothing to do with either Supernatural or White Collar" with this snippet, but then again, that's true of most of my RPF.)
Jennifer and Kristen kiss, to Rob and Tom's cat-calling and applause. Matt nudges the bottle off of him so Portia can kiss Paget instead of getting forced to kiss a boy. Rob ends up all but choking Natalie, because both of them know that tongues are involved in kissing, somehow, but neither of them know what to do with them. And when it's Misha's turn, the empty plastic water bottle twirls around the group at lightning speed before it eventually slows down, starts wobbling, comes to a stop-and points at Matt.
Not even at the vague area between him and Paget, or the vague area between him and Liz, or sort of, kind of in his general direction, but otherwise still up for debate. The bottle's neck points right at Matt, and nowhere else.
Misha shudders, chest heaving as his gasp splutters down his windpipe, tries to catch and trip itself up on the inside of his throat. He looks from the bottle up to Matt, then back down to the bottle, then back up at Matt-and just in time for Matt to chuckle and say, Well, come on, Pretty Boy-it looks like it's all you and me, right? And Misha jerks outside of himself for a moment-he watches himself clamber up onto his knees. He watches himself take a series of deep breaths and lean across the circle, edging closer and closer to Matt's half-smirk, half-smile, the playful glint in his eyes.
For all it takes a moment to really sink in, Misha crashes back into his own body when their lips collide. He's kissing Matt. He's kissing Matt. He is kissing Matt-and it's not just Misha pecking his lips into Matt's or moving his mouth against Matt's and hoping for the best. Matt's moving his lips against Misha's too, then dragging his tongue along Misha's teeth-and between the barely palatable dinner and how dry Misha's mouth got on his after-dinner run, he can't imagine that he tastes any kind of good-but Matt keeps kissing him. Coaxing him deeper into the kiss. Cupping Misha's chin and brushing his thumb down Misha's cheek. Sucking on Misha's lower lip like the air in Misha's lungs is made of gold.
When they separate, it takes Misha a while to get his breath back, much less to really grasp what happened. He and Matt don't move out of the circle, so the game can't go on, and after a long moment of blinking at him, Misha tells Matt, "…I. I've never kissed anybody before?"
And all Matt does is smile, ghost his thumb down Misha's cheek again. "Well… I hope your first kiss didn't suck?" he says. "Glad I didn't know it was your first beforehand, though. My performance anxiety would've screwed up everything."
As he settles back into his place between Natalie and Seth, Misha sighs, wishes he had the balls to tell Matt that he doesn't believe that for a second. There's no way that Matt could kiss someone badly. No way at all.
10,940. Most of it's actually been concentrated on one project, too (as opposed to scattered around over, like, five or six things, which is my usual MO), and it's been fairly emotionally involved writing, which makes the sheer pace of the writing that much more exhausting, and… well, yep. That explains a lot.
And I'm just going to do my Sunday snippet meme post early, since I actually kind of want to do one, this week. It's from what I spent today working on. It's high school-aged AU Misha/Matt Bomer in the middle of a game of Spin The Bottle. And I'm sort of, kinda fond of it, y'know. (You can also really play, "spot the other RPF personages who have been borrowed and used in this, despite having nothing to do with either Supernatural or White Collar" with this snippet, but then again, that's true of most of my RPF.)
Jennifer and Kristen kiss, to Rob and Tom's cat-calling and applause. Matt nudges the bottle off of him so Portia can kiss Paget instead of getting forced to kiss a boy. Rob ends up all but choking Natalie, because both of them know that tongues are involved in kissing, somehow, but neither of them know what to do with them. And when it's Misha's turn, the empty plastic water bottle twirls around the group at lightning speed before it eventually slows down, starts wobbling, comes to a stop-and points at Matt.
Not even at the vague area between him and Paget, or the vague area between him and Liz, or sort of, kind of in his general direction, but otherwise still up for debate. The bottle's neck points right at Matt, and nowhere else.
Misha shudders, chest heaving as his gasp splutters down his windpipe, tries to catch and trip itself up on the inside of his throat. He looks from the bottle up to Matt, then back down to the bottle, then back up at Matt-and just in time for Matt to chuckle and say, Well, come on, Pretty Boy-it looks like it's all you and me, right? And Misha jerks outside of himself for a moment-he watches himself clamber up onto his knees. He watches himself take a series of deep breaths and lean across the circle, edging closer and closer to Matt's half-smirk, half-smile, the playful glint in his eyes.
For all it takes a moment to really sink in, Misha crashes back into his own body when their lips collide. He's kissing Matt. He's kissing Matt. He is kissing Matt-and it's not just Misha pecking his lips into Matt's or moving his mouth against Matt's and hoping for the best. Matt's moving his lips against Misha's too, then dragging his tongue along Misha's teeth-and between the barely palatable dinner and how dry Misha's mouth got on his after-dinner run, he can't imagine that he tastes any kind of good-but Matt keeps kissing him. Coaxing him deeper into the kiss. Cupping Misha's chin and brushing his thumb down Misha's cheek. Sucking on Misha's lower lip like the air in Misha's lungs is made of gold.
When they separate, it takes Misha a while to get his breath back, much less to really grasp what happened. He and Matt don't move out of the circle, so the game can't go on, and after a long moment of blinking at him, Misha tells Matt, "…I. I've never kissed anybody before?"
And all Matt does is smile, ghost his thumb down Misha's cheek again. "Well… I hope your first kiss didn't suck?" he says. "Glad I didn't know it was your first beforehand, though. My performance anxiety would've screwed up everything."
As he settles back into his place between Natalie and Seth, Misha sighs, wishes he had the balls to tell Matt that he doesn't believe that for a second. There's no way that Matt could kiss someone badly. No way at all.