Filled Prompts
deannawol:
Kradam - The dirty secret
It's not love. There is love, they do love, Adam knows that the same way he knows how to stretch up to the highest, glittering cresendo. It is and needs no explanation and it has nothing to do with this.
Maybe one day, Adam thinks, it will. But that's the future, all fogged up and indistinct.
Now is Kris with wide eyes and pupils blown. Now is a bare back closet with a bare light bulb and dusty fragments of sets long past. Now is hot wet dragging heat and the rough stroke of tongue on tongue. There's fumbling, chill and bit of half-unfastened zippers. Now is the breathless mingling gasps, the scrape of uneven concrete on his back and his knees.
Now is Krs' lips pink and swollen, parting and the tight heat of his mouth. Now is cracked voice and helples whimpers and Kris' hair tangled around his fingers. Now is stars in his eyes and glitter across the blush of Kris' cheekbone.
Now is enough.
M&M - pitfalls and lessons learned
"Captain!" One of the greenies was shouting and Becka flicked an irritable glance at Silver who was busily arguing with Supply. Fucking tin-cans. She relaxed her part of the spell, letting the rest of the mages take up the slack.
"What?"
"Complication, sir!" The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen, one of the ex-Army burnouts if she remembered his file right.
"Yes?" Becka was never ever taking a training event again.
"Dragon, sir!"
"...what?"
"There's a dragon in the objective building, sir," the kid vibrated like he was trying not to salute.
"Oh," Becka pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hey, rock-head!"
"That's jarhead to you, hippy," Silver looked up. "What?"
"Did you remember to bring the Dragon-piercing RPGs?"
"After last time?" Silver patted the black armoured boxe under his chair. "Never leave Seattle without it."
"Jones here says we've got a situation." Becka waved at him. "Just like last time."
"Live and learn, I guess," Silver said placidly, unhooking the catches and plugging into the launcher. "Alright, Jones, where's this dragon?"
SPN/J2 - the monster in the closet
Dean isn't, Sam thinks as he primes the chainsaw, technically claustrophobic. When you grow up with a gun in one hand, the knowledge that there are monsters under the bed and spend your life looking for monsters in all the closets (and more often than not finding the fucking things), being afraid of tight enclosed spaces where you can't even bring a gun to bear stops being an irrational fear.
linnet_melody
Kradam ~ "I swear, it's not about the vest!"
He has to drive five hundred miles to get to Adam. The only car that Hertz has with blacked out windows is a truck the size of a tank. Kris fills the passenger seat with cans of Cokes and Snickers bars and drives through the night. He plays the radio too loud, changing the channel every time a news show comes on, He can't think.
Thinking is dangerous.
He's flagging badly by the time he finds Adam; the hotel receptionist tells him Adam's room number and looks up. Her eyes glaze and her jaw goes slack. He leaves her and hopes, in the fuzzy dwindling space in his head that's still him, that she'll get better. He does know that he can't help but he's alone in the elevator so he can struggle against it, push it back and he's almost normal by the time he taps on Adam's door.
Kris thinks, in that split second before the door opens, of what he's going to say. How he's going to explain this. Then Adam's there and Kris falls into his warmth and his glittering magnetism. Adam's laughing, he thinks, with his face rubbing into the silk vest Adam's wearing over a silver shirt. "-ike the shirt, Allen?"
"Not about the shirt," he manages because yes, Adam and Adam here and it's not Glory but it's close, so close and he's so tired of fighting, so close to surrender. He's losing more; more words, more thoughts, more humanity. "I swear, it's not about the shirt."
Adam goes to let go and Kris isn't anywhere near together enough to take responsibility for his own weight, his own balance. Adam's arms tighten around him and he's talking again but Kris can't understand him.
Then Tommy's there, Adam calling to him and Kris surfaces, pulls his scattered pieces back together enough to realise that Adam's talking about him. "-ink he's taken something. Tommy, call a fucking ambulance. Then- fuck, just get an ambulance here!"
Tommy, golden Tommy, shining Tommy is staring at Kris and his shoulders lift, the phantom weight of mantling wings and Kris feels the thrill of recognition and Tommy shudders, hands rising towards him. "Oh, oh god. You-you're a Power. Holy fucking cow."
Kris rolls his head against Adam's chest to stare hazily at him. He didn't know about Tommy. Tommy who is still here when Katy is gone and Cale and his hometown and everyone Kris used to make Kris Allen and anchor himself. Almost everyone, he corrects himself as Adam's arms tighten. It's good, so good but not enough, not strong enough, not directed enough. He's slipping, can feel the last of the desperation draining away, the final fragile threads of his human soul starting to unravel-
-And Tommy is kissing him, hands bruisingly tight and tongue pushing into Kris' mouth and Kris is surfacing again, gasping and desperate and not strong enough to endure. Not more, no longer and he's drowning. Tommy's voice is there and Kris strains for it, struggles to understand it.
"-on't have time, Adam!" Hoarse and feral and Tommy's still got his hands on Kris' skin, harsh warmth against the settling chill. The runes are winking out under Tommy's restless roving lips. "It has to be you. You have to claim him or he'll be lost."
Not lost, Kris wants to say. Lost is a mistake that can be corrected, recovered from.
Kris is going to be Found.
Originally posted here with
comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Kradam - The dirty secret
It's not love. There is love, they do love, Adam knows that the same way he knows how to stretch up to the highest, glittering cresendo. It is and needs no explanation and it has nothing to do with this.
Maybe one day, Adam thinks, it will. But that's the future, all fogged up and indistinct.
Now is Kris with wide eyes and pupils blown. Now is a bare back closet with a bare light bulb and dusty fragments of sets long past. Now is hot wet dragging heat and the rough stroke of tongue on tongue. There's fumbling, chill and bit of half-unfastened zippers. Now is the breathless mingling gasps, the scrape of uneven concrete on his back and his knees.
Now is Krs' lips pink and swollen, parting and the tight heat of his mouth. Now is cracked voice and helples whimpers and Kris' hair tangled around his fingers. Now is stars in his eyes and glitter across the blush of Kris' cheekbone.
Now is enough.
M&M - pitfalls and lessons learned
"Captain!" One of the greenies was shouting and Becka flicked an irritable glance at Silver who was busily arguing with Supply. Fucking tin-cans. She relaxed her part of the spell, letting the rest of the mages take up the slack.
"What?"
"Complication, sir!" The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen, one of the ex-Army burnouts if she remembered his file right.
"Yes?" Becka was never ever taking a training event again.
"Dragon, sir!"
"...what?"
"There's a dragon in the objective building, sir," the kid vibrated like he was trying not to salute.
"Oh," Becka pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hey, rock-head!"
"That's jarhead to you, hippy," Silver looked up. "What?"
"Did you remember to bring the Dragon-piercing RPGs?"
"After last time?" Silver patted the black armoured boxe under his chair. "Never leave Seattle without it."
"Jones here says we've got a situation." Becka waved at him. "Just like last time."
"Live and learn, I guess," Silver said placidly, unhooking the catches and plugging into the launcher. "Alright, Jones, where's this dragon?"
SPN/J2 - the monster in the closet
Dean isn't, Sam thinks as he primes the chainsaw, technically claustrophobic. When you grow up with a gun in one hand, the knowledge that there are monsters under the bed and spend your life looking for monsters in all the closets (and more often than not finding the fucking things), being afraid of tight enclosed spaces where you can't even bring a gun to bear stops being an irrational fear.
linnet_melody
Kradam ~ "I swear, it's not about the vest!"
He has to drive five hundred miles to get to Adam. The only car that Hertz has with blacked out windows is a truck the size of a tank. Kris fills the passenger seat with cans of Cokes and Snickers bars and drives through the night. He plays the radio too loud, changing the channel every time a news show comes on, He can't think.
Thinking is dangerous.
He's flagging badly by the time he finds Adam; the hotel receptionist tells him Adam's room number and looks up. Her eyes glaze and her jaw goes slack. He leaves her and hopes, in the fuzzy dwindling space in his head that's still him, that she'll get better. He does know that he can't help but he's alone in the elevator so he can struggle against it, push it back and he's almost normal by the time he taps on Adam's door.
Kris thinks, in that split second before the door opens, of what he's going to say. How he's going to explain this. Then Adam's there and Kris falls into his warmth and his glittering magnetism. Adam's laughing, he thinks, with his face rubbing into the silk vest Adam's wearing over a silver shirt. "-ike the shirt, Allen?"
"Not about the shirt," he manages because yes, Adam and Adam here and it's not Glory but it's close, so close and he's so tired of fighting, so close to surrender. He's losing more; more words, more thoughts, more humanity. "I swear, it's not about the shirt."
Adam goes to let go and Kris isn't anywhere near together enough to take responsibility for his own weight, his own balance. Adam's arms tighten around him and he's talking again but Kris can't understand him.
Then Tommy's there, Adam calling to him and Kris surfaces, pulls his scattered pieces back together enough to realise that Adam's talking about him. "-ink he's taken something. Tommy, call a fucking ambulance. Then- fuck, just get an ambulance here!"
Tommy, golden Tommy, shining Tommy is staring at Kris and his shoulders lift, the phantom weight of mantling wings and Kris feels the thrill of recognition and Tommy shudders, hands rising towards him. "Oh, oh god. You-you're a Power. Holy fucking cow."
Kris rolls his head against Adam's chest to stare hazily at him. He didn't know about Tommy. Tommy who is still here when Katy is gone and Cale and his hometown and everyone Kris used to make Kris Allen and anchor himself. Almost everyone, he corrects himself as Adam's arms tighten. It's good, so good but not enough, not strong enough, not directed enough. He's slipping, can feel the last of the desperation draining away, the final fragile threads of his human soul starting to unravel-
-And Tommy is kissing him, hands bruisingly tight and tongue pushing into Kris' mouth and Kris is surfacing again, gasping and desperate and not strong enough to endure. Not more, no longer and he's drowning. Tommy's voice is there and Kris strains for it, struggles to understand it.
"-on't have time, Adam!" Hoarse and feral and Tommy's still got his hands on Kris' skin, harsh warmth against the settling chill. The runes are winking out under Tommy's restless roving lips. "It has to be you. You have to claim him or he'll be lost."
Not lost, Kris wants to say. Lost is a mistake that can be corrected, recovered from.
Kris is going to be Found.
Originally posted here with
comments. Please comment there using OpenID.