DRABBLE ROUSING
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble of ANY pairing/character of their choosing (of ANY fandom) from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.
I am excited for this! firthgal wrote me Lassiter/Juliet (in character, realistic, and no Shawn = A++) and baggers wrote me, well, it's ( Read more... )
I am excited for this! firthgal wrote me Lassiter/Juliet (in character, realistic, and no Shawn = A++) and baggers wrote me, well, it's ( Read more... )
She thinks about the little noise she just swallowed at the sound of those gloves and then she thinks about the gloves, whether they are lined with anything, how they’ve become worn over the years, and the soft spots from the steering wheel sliding across the bend of Gene’s fingers, the pad of his thumb. She wants to tell Gene that video is still propping up her coffee table and realizes that she is insane.
He slams his fist down on her desk. She needs a drink.
--
Gene, floppy-haired and stiff shouldered, is half-ogling her from across the table. She stares at the tread of his face and understands why Sam jumped off that building. The slight tug that Gene puts in her chest, usually gone before she has a word for it, urging her to give up one life for another. Of course, she is pissed.
She points at him. “I am going to find out your secret, Gene Hunt.”
“Why are you always pointing your bloody finger at me?” he responds, but there is nothing behind it. Even his rebukes are gentle at this time of night. He takes her finger between his and shifts it over to the left. Off her look, he says, “You’ve been pointing at the wall, Bols.”
“I am going to find your secret,” she repeats. Her eyes are big and crazy. He is used to this. “I am going to find
all the secrets everywhere.”
“What say we keep our secrets and you sleep it off.” She pouts and holds her chin in her hand. “Quietly.”
“Actually,” she begins, and gracelessly moving to stand, accidentally nudges his boot. Perhaps not accidentally. “I want to watch a movie.”
He looks like he wants to dig something out of her. He is strange looking, but sometimes eerily gorgeous, like he shouldn’t even exist. She has lost count of the things she wants from him.
“Bring the gloves,” she says, over her shoulder.
He stands, gloves and cigarette in hand, and Alex wonders, not for the first time, who is leading who.
--
Er, as with baggers below!, I think AtA just throws me. This is weird and projection!
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