Flashfic and more steampunk!
Here are the five drabblets I wrote yesterday for donations! (eta: Please help out if you can! If you can't afford to donate, sign up for the auction!) I might do another warm-up round before the auction starts, but if so I will probably post it initially on Dreamwidth to do some equal-opportunity bribing. *g*
Adam/Kris high school AU for anoel:
Kris hadn't actually met the new guy before the spring formal -- Lambert and his mom had moved into town barely a week before, and Lambert had only made it to two days of class. Kris had already heard plenty about him, though, from the theater kids who also did band: Adam had walked into the last day of auditions for the musical, when Mrs. Reynolds was just doing the final callbacks, and he'd walked out with the lead, pissing off pretty much everybody else in the cast, who'd all gotten bumped down the roster.
"Jesus, look at him, he couldn't be more of a fag if he tried," Vic said, low and mean.
"Don't be an asshole," Kris said.
"Yeah, go ahead, tell me that guy's straight," Vic said.
Kris rolled his eyes, then he looked over his shoulder, and okay, maybe Vic had a point in there along with being an asshole: was Lambert wearing makeup? Yeah, and more of it than most of the girls: huge sweeps of dark blue glitter over his lids and out past the corners of his eyes, and a pale shine like lipgloss on his mouth. He was in a silver suit, trousers creased sharp as knives and a real tie instead of a clip-on, dented softly right in the middle. He was talking to a couple of girls: they were staring up at him with dazed eyes; Jen was biting her lip and smearing her lipstick on her teeth.
"Maybe you should go ask him to dance if you're going to keep staring," Vic said.
"Whatever," Kris said, "Sorry the guy can sing better than you, man."
"Who?" Chuck said, coming up, and Vic said, "Krissy wants to dance with the cute new bo-y-y," dragging it out sing-song.
"Fuck off, seriously," Kris said, sighing.
"Ha, I so dare you," Chuck said.
"What is with you?" Kris said. "He's brand-new, quit being on his case."
"No, come on, I'm so serious," Chuck said. "Everybody will freak, man. Check out Mrs. Euler being all prissy about him, I want to see her face."
"You can go ask him anytime you want," Kris said.
"I'm not pretty, he's not gonna dance with me," Chuck said, so Kris shoved him in the shoulder, hard.
Except when Chuck got his teeth into something he wouldn't freaking let go, and the bad part was Kris already owed him a dare from last weekend, so five minutes later he was crossing the dance floor, and Adam was turning to look at him.
"Uh," Kris said. "So, hey," and Adam said, "Hi, I'm Adam," and held out a hand -- like for a handshake, like at church or something, and Kris shook it, and said his name, and then stood there like an idiot and finally sucked it up and blurted, "Uh -- do you -- want to dance?"
And felt like an asshole, immediately, because Adam's eyebrow went way up, and he said, "Wow, what kind of bet did you lose?"
"I couldn't drink more than five shots of whiskey?" Kris said, trying to make it apologetic.
"So first you spend a night puking, then you have to pay for it by turning social pariah?" Adam said. "Your friends might kind of suck."
"Tell me about it," Kris said, mostly under his breath.
"So do you want this one, or do you want to wait for the next one?" Adam said.
"Uh," Kris said. "What?"
Adam shrugged. "You're cute, this party's boring. I'm up for it."
" -- I'm cute?" Kris said, faintly.
Adam looked down at him with his glittery eyes and grinned. "You're extremely cute. Let's dance."
Adam/Kris 10 years from now for geeklite:
The show was amazing, like it always was seeing Adam do something new and half-crazy: Kris had never checked out a lot of Broadway before, but he was pretty sure this wasn't the usual, from the heavy-metal sound to the psychedelic outfits, and the audience looked kind of dazed. Happy, though; and they'd screamed the house down for Adam, so Kris figured that was a good sign.
It wasn't hard to get backstage, and the security guard on Adam's dressing room was Mike, who nodded to Kris and stepped aside to let him in. Adam was in front of the mirror taking out his contact lenses, the top of his catsuit peeled down to his waist and the feathers piled around his hips and thighs, peacock colors.
"Hey, I saw you!" Adam said, popping out the second lens, and he turned around and held out his arms, and Kris stepped in and wrapped around him, breathing the smell of sweat and greasepaint and hairspray, so unfamiliar, and felt dizzied by how much it felt like coming home.
Sam/Dean for phonciblephone:
"Dude!" Dean hissed.
"Shut up!" Sam hissed back.
"Seriously, dude, what the hell!" Dean hissed.
"Do you want it to hear us or what?" Sam shifted his weight.
"Don't move, jesus," Dean said. "Man, this is so wrong."
"It wasn't my idea to hide in the tiniest broom closet on earth," Sam said. "It's not like I can control it."
"Like hell you can't!" Dean said. Then, "Goddammit, Sam!"
"I can't help it!" Sam said. "It'll go away quicker if you quit rubbing, Dean."
"I'm not rubbing! You're poking!" Dean said and shoved Sam as much as he could inside a broom closet, which was about half an inch. "Get that thing away from me."
Sam shoved the same half-inch back. "What's the matter, am I making you feel inadequate?"
"Oh, you did not go there," Dean said.
"Yeah, I think I did," Sam said. "Not popping them as often these days?"
"Fuck you," Dean said, and reached down and opened his pants and pulled out his dick. "Look like I'm having any problems?"
Sam looked. "No."
"Okay, then," Dean said.
They didn't say anything for a moment.
"Are you putting that away anytime soon?" Sam said.
"I'm thinking about it," Dean said.
Arthur/Merlin hijinx for merihn:
Merlin staggered back into the campground and dumped the armor, the cloak, the boots, the shirt, the basilisk head, the damned pumpkin, the bundle of rowan branches, and the bag of acorns on the ground, all of them covered with the pale purple-iridescence of the basilisk ichor.
Arthur strolled after him, barefoot and freshly scrubbed clean, in only his leather trousers, eating an apple he'd picked off a tree along the way. "Mind the tent, Merlin."
"I don't -- see why we had -- to bring all this back," Merlin said, collapsing by the dead fire.
"It's a trophy," Arthur said airily. "I'm thinking of having it stuffed and mounted over the fireplace."
"The rest of it," Merlin said. "It's already dead, we're not going to need any of -- " He waved a hand at the ichor-dripping pile.
"Let me think," Arthur said. "Oh, yes. That was for -- entertainment."
Merlin glared at him.
"Perhaps next time you'll come up with a brilliant scheme that doesn't end with me covered in purple glop," Arthur said. "I'm sure you'll enjoy scrubbing in a glacier stream nearly as much as I did."
"It's not like I wasn't dirty too!" Merlin said.
"Not nearly dirty enough," Arthur said. He finished stripping out of his trousers and tossed them onto Merlin's head. A fat blob of ichor slid cold and stickily down Merlin's neck and into his shirt.
"Right, that's it," Merlin said dangerously, shoving the pants off, and jumped Arthur into the campground dirt, intent on smearing as much of the mess on him as possible.
Which didn't quite end the way he had planned, but by then, neither of them were objecting.
Arthur wants Merlin, to Merlin's chagrin, for yeats:
"Right, that's -- no! Just -- " Merlin said, shoving Arthur off, panicky. "You're going to kill me for this in the morning."
"Merlin," Arthur whined, trying to -- was he trying to lick Merlin's neck? He was, the absolute --
"No!" Merlin said, trying to squirm away again. He hated Lupercalia so very very very much. Even when Arthur was only drunk instead of drunk and horribly handsy. "I said -- ulp," Merlin added, as Arthur caught him by the belt, hauled him back into his lap, and pushed a hand into his trousers. "Oh," Merlin said feebly. Sword calluses felt -- really quite interesting.
Then he remembered that axe blades coming down on your neck would probably feel even more interesting, in an extremely unpleasant sort of way, and tried to wriggle free again. Carefully.
Arthur didn't cooperate by letting go. "Don't be an ass, Merlin," Arthur said. "It's not like I'll respect you less in the morning."
"You don't respect me at all!" Merlin said, gasping as Arthur stroked him.
"Exactly," Arthur said, and Merlin had to agree there was a certain compelling quality to that logic.
Also, another couple of steampunk challenge entries, yayyyy! Click for full-size!
Captain of the Guard!Kris by _justwords! ♥ ♥
And the awesome EPIC BATTLE by crowie LOLOL:
I have posted the first eleven all together over at ontd_ai, but you need to be a comm member to read (although membership is open again, I think)!
Adam/Kris high school AU for anoel:
Kris hadn't actually met the new guy before the spring formal -- Lambert and his mom had moved into town barely a week before, and Lambert had only made it to two days of class. Kris had already heard plenty about him, though, from the theater kids who also did band: Adam had walked into the last day of auditions for the musical, when Mrs. Reynolds was just doing the final callbacks, and he'd walked out with the lead, pissing off pretty much everybody else in the cast, who'd all gotten bumped down the roster.
"Jesus, look at him, he couldn't be more of a fag if he tried," Vic said, low and mean.
"Don't be an asshole," Kris said.
"Yeah, go ahead, tell me that guy's straight," Vic said.
Kris rolled his eyes, then he looked over his shoulder, and okay, maybe Vic had a point in there along with being an asshole: was Lambert wearing makeup? Yeah, and more of it than most of the girls: huge sweeps of dark blue glitter over his lids and out past the corners of his eyes, and a pale shine like lipgloss on his mouth. He was in a silver suit, trousers creased sharp as knives and a real tie instead of a clip-on, dented softly right in the middle. He was talking to a couple of girls: they were staring up at him with dazed eyes; Jen was biting her lip and smearing her lipstick on her teeth.
"Maybe you should go ask him to dance if you're going to keep staring," Vic said.
"Whatever," Kris said, "Sorry the guy can sing better than you, man."
"Who?" Chuck said, coming up, and Vic said, "Krissy wants to dance with the cute new bo-y-y," dragging it out sing-song.
"Fuck off, seriously," Kris said, sighing.
"Ha, I so dare you," Chuck said.
"What is with you?" Kris said. "He's brand-new, quit being on his case."
"No, come on, I'm so serious," Chuck said. "Everybody will freak, man. Check out Mrs. Euler being all prissy about him, I want to see her face."
"You can go ask him anytime you want," Kris said.
"I'm not pretty, he's not gonna dance with me," Chuck said, so Kris shoved him in the shoulder, hard.
Except when Chuck got his teeth into something he wouldn't freaking let go, and the bad part was Kris already owed him a dare from last weekend, so five minutes later he was crossing the dance floor, and Adam was turning to look at him.
"Uh," Kris said. "So, hey," and Adam said, "Hi, I'm Adam," and held out a hand -- like for a handshake, like at church or something, and Kris shook it, and said his name, and then stood there like an idiot and finally sucked it up and blurted, "Uh -- do you -- want to dance?"
And felt like an asshole, immediately, because Adam's eyebrow went way up, and he said, "Wow, what kind of bet did you lose?"
"I couldn't drink more than five shots of whiskey?" Kris said, trying to make it apologetic.
"So first you spend a night puking, then you have to pay for it by turning social pariah?" Adam said. "Your friends might kind of suck."
"Tell me about it," Kris said, mostly under his breath.
"So do you want this one, or do you want to wait for the next one?" Adam said.
"Uh," Kris said. "What?"
Adam shrugged. "You're cute, this party's boring. I'm up for it."
" -- I'm cute?" Kris said, faintly.
Adam looked down at him with his glittery eyes and grinned. "You're extremely cute. Let's dance."
Adam/Kris 10 years from now for geeklite:
The show was amazing, like it always was seeing Adam do something new and half-crazy: Kris had never checked out a lot of Broadway before, but he was pretty sure this wasn't the usual, from the heavy-metal sound to the psychedelic outfits, and the audience looked kind of dazed. Happy, though; and they'd screamed the house down for Adam, so Kris figured that was a good sign.
It wasn't hard to get backstage, and the security guard on Adam's dressing room was Mike, who nodded to Kris and stepped aside to let him in. Adam was in front of the mirror taking out his contact lenses, the top of his catsuit peeled down to his waist and the feathers piled around his hips and thighs, peacock colors.
"Hey, I saw you!" Adam said, popping out the second lens, and he turned around and held out his arms, and Kris stepped in and wrapped around him, breathing the smell of sweat and greasepaint and hairspray, so unfamiliar, and felt dizzied by how much it felt like coming home.
Sam/Dean for phonciblephone:
"Dude!" Dean hissed.
"Shut up!" Sam hissed back.
"Seriously, dude, what the hell!" Dean hissed.
"Do you want it to hear us or what?" Sam shifted his weight.
"Don't move, jesus," Dean said. "Man, this is so wrong."
"It wasn't my idea to hide in the tiniest broom closet on earth," Sam said. "It's not like I can control it."
"Like hell you can't!" Dean said. Then, "Goddammit, Sam!"
"I can't help it!" Sam said. "It'll go away quicker if you quit rubbing, Dean."
"I'm not rubbing! You're poking!" Dean said and shoved Sam as much as he could inside a broom closet, which was about half an inch. "Get that thing away from me."
Sam shoved the same half-inch back. "What's the matter, am I making you feel inadequate?"
"Oh, you did not go there," Dean said.
"Yeah, I think I did," Sam said. "Not popping them as often these days?"
"Fuck you," Dean said, and reached down and opened his pants and pulled out his dick. "Look like I'm having any problems?"
Sam looked. "No."
"Okay, then," Dean said.
They didn't say anything for a moment.
"Are you putting that away anytime soon?" Sam said.
"I'm thinking about it," Dean said.
Arthur/Merlin hijinx for merihn:
Merlin staggered back into the campground and dumped the armor, the cloak, the boots, the shirt, the basilisk head, the damned pumpkin, the bundle of rowan branches, and the bag of acorns on the ground, all of them covered with the pale purple-iridescence of the basilisk ichor.
Arthur strolled after him, barefoot and freshly scrubbed clean, in only his leather trousers, eating an apple he'd picked off a tree along the way. "Mind the tent, Merlin."
"I don't -- see why we had -- to bring all this back," Merlin said, collapsing by the dead fire.
"It's a trophy," Arthur said airily. "I'm thinking of having it stuffed and mounted over the fireplace."
"The rest of it," Merlin said. "It's already dead, we're not going to need any of -- " He waved a hand at the ichor-dripping pile.
"Let me think," Arthur said. "Oh, yes. That was for -- entertainment."
Merlin glared at him.
"Perhaps next time you'll come up with a brilliant scheme that doesn't end with me covered in purple glop," Arthur said. "I'm sure you'll enjoy scrubbing in a glacier stream nearly as much as I did."
"It's not like I wasn't dirty too!" Merlin said.
"Not nearly dirty enough," Arthur said. He finished stripping out of his trousers and tossed them onto Merlin's head. A fat blob of ichor slid cold and stickily down Merlin's neck and into his shirt.
"Right, that's it," Merlin said dangerously, shoving the pants off, and jumped Arthur into the campground dirt, intent on smearing as much of the mess on him as possible.
Which didn't quite end the way he had planned, but by then, neither of them were objecting.
Arthur wants Merlin, to Merlin's chagrin, for yeats:
"Right, that's -- no! Just -- " Merlin said, shoving Arthur off, panicky. "You're going to kill me for this in the morning."
"Merlin," Arthur whined, trying to -- was he trying to lick Merlin's neck? He was, the absolute --
"No!" Merlin said, trying to squirm away again. He hated Lupercalia so very very very much. Even when Arthur was only drunk instead of drunk and horribly handsy. "I said -- ulp," Merlin added, as Arthur caught him by the belt, hauled him back into his lap, and pushed a hand into his trousers. "Oh," Merlin said feebly. Sword calluses felt -- really quite interesting.
Then he remembered that axe blades coming down on your neck would probably feel even more interesting, in an extremely unpleasant sort of way, and tried to wriggle free again. Carefully.
Arthur didn't cooperate by letting go. "Don't be an ass, Merlin," Arthur said. "It's not like I'll respect you less in the morning."
"You don't respect me at all!" Merlin said, gasping as Arthur stroked him.
"Exactly," Arthur said, and Merlin had to agree there was a certain compelling quality to that logic.
Also, another couple of steampunk challenge entries, yayyyy! Click for full-size!
Captain of the Guard!Kris by _justwords! ♥ ♥
And the awesome EPIC BATTLE by crowie LOLOL:
I have posted the first eleven all together over at ontd_ai, but you need to be a comm member to read (although membership is open again, I think)!