secret santa drabbles
I posted 'Secret Santa Drabbles' in my Yahoo!Group - Banbury's dreamcase:
Secret Santa Drabbles
And here - with my hearty thanks to Ainm and Jane Davitt for betaing and helpful suggestions:
Clue-ookies
Pre-slash
Word count: 417
Beta: ainm
Jim was drifting from the depth of his sleep towards rich exotic scent that was filling air of the loft. He smiled, smelling lush fir odour entwined with that scent and remembered with pleasure their yesterday’s hunt for the perfect Christmas tree that now proudly stood in the corner of the room. The music heard from below - something mozartian with a lot of string instruments - sounded pinescented like frosty patterns on the glass. He looked up to high crisp blue midwinter skies. That was it - the day of Christmas Eve. The perfect Sunday.
Jim stretched. It was one of that rare lazy Sunday mornings when even the idea of working out could be snowed by very childlike mood of idleness. He once more closed his eyes and let himself Hear. Under the waves of music, he heard Blair’s quiet hum, somewhat strange slaps on the table, then there were steps on the street, car horns, laughter and above all that soft, almost fur sound of falling snowflakes.
Jim sighed and turned to his side. Something crumbled under his chick. He looked down - on the pillow lay a half-crumbed cookie, a perfectly baked ginger cookie in the shape of smile. Jim smiled in return and glanced downwards to find Blair hovering over the table.
He got up, put on his robe and moved towards the stairs only to find another cookie under his foot on the first step. This one was bigger and lips of the smile were slightly parted as if waiting for kiss. Jim shook his head, picked it up and resumed movement downstairs.
The next cookie laid on the last step. It was as large as a palm and represented roughly modeled human figures - one small and the other one bigger with arms around each other. Jim grinned, picked that one also up and looked around.
One more cookie was situated precisely between the stairs and the kitchen island. It was as big as the previous but these figurines stayed embracing and almost kissing. Jim briefly glanced towards Blair and almost immediately spotted the last cookie hanging on the pillar. Actually, there were two cookies - two silhouettes with almost portrait likeness - hung as close as if were really kissing.
Jim took his time surveyed all cookies one more time and turned to Blair. Younger man stood very still, twisted one more smile shaped cookie in his hands. Jim looked him over seriously and suddenly smiled, wide and fearless.
“Merry Christmas, smart cookie”.
On the back of the North Wind
Word count: 392
Beta: ainm
He laid on his back in the hammock in the middle of nowhere. Soft breeze brushed his bare chest. He stared at the sky wondering whether these stars are the same as at home, he was not very good at astronomy. Something small and wet dropped on his cheek - he touched it. Leaflet.
He longed to feel snow. Never ever thought that he will miss it and yet here he was - in the middle… He stopped this line of thought; there was no good in yearning for something unbelievable.
He closed his eyes and tried to disconnect with this world. Firstly, he ceased to hear the wind, fluttered leaves, the river far away. Then he stopped to pay attention to people’s breathing, movements in their sleep. Then he felt the other wind on his skin, cold, wet, oceanic fresh - wind from afar, from Home. The wind brought with it muffled sounds - dings, music spikes, distant voices. It seemed to him that he even could hear crunch of snow under somebody’s feet.
Several voices rose up in the song then subsided and then, only then he heard this voice - young, clear, rich… starlit - like that somebody inhaled all stars from above and they were twinkling in every word.
The Voice read a poem. He didn’t know it and caught only last stanza:
*The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.*
Suddenly he felt it - snowflakes on his lashes, as unbelievable as a hope and yet as real as The Voice. That Voice promised to find him he just knew it. And he, in response, promised to go ahead, to keep going.
He slept and saw in his sleep North Star wrapped itself warm in North Wind, The Voice rocked to sleep in the hammock of Milky Way and promises were shining like beacon ahead.
Through the Lens - Darkly
J/B slash
Word count 489
Warnings (I don’t know - spying?)
Beta: Jane Davitt
He hates when people fuck each other behind the closed curtains. It’s so unfair - how can he fulfill his task if nothing is in sight. But these two… Oh, - how sweet of them to have that big bed in plain view. Nice.
He changes to a telephoto lens and begins to fish for new film in the bag pocket.
Yes-s-s. Just move your legs farther apart, a bit more… Yes-s-s. What a nice view - that sturdy ass and tender flesh of balls beneath… These new lenses are really something; he can even see the wrinkles on the man’s heels.
Oh, that’s wonderful. His cameras click quietly. Entwined legs, parted lips under the curtain of long auburn hair, pierced nipple - long, elegant fingers gently tug at the silvery ring…
He unthinkingly strokes the Pentax. It was his first serious camera; it’s like a lucky penny to make sure his job will be fulfilled successfully. Others he owns are digital. He makes enough on these compromising photos to be able to keep up on all the technical novelties.
He smirks as he watches the quilt covered entangled limbs. Hey, guys, you’ll have a pretty surprise on your pretty asses tomorrow.
He waits for the pictures to appear on the monitor screen so that he can choose the best. He always makes it a condition of his employment that he can use the most picturesque and anonymous shots for his own purposes - in his public life he is quite the well-known erotic photographer.
Click… click… click…
That’s not bad, that one with a strained cock sticking up through a waterfall of curls. And this one - fingers caressing balls. He marks some more and goes to make coffee. Sometimes - actually most of the time - this work is just boring - cocks, balls, tongues don’t vary that much. He’s ready to call it a night when he finds himself looking into aware eyes.
He gets a creepy feeling. These eyes in the picture are too alive and cognizant for him to just brush the feeling aside. Then he finds himself staring into two sets of eyes. He couldn’t even say just that these people suspect something. He knows without doubt that they knew and were even able to see him no matter how strange it may sound.
He begins to look through the pictures again. There are some similar shots. He goes through his files and reads the information on the subjects. Cops. Fuck. That sucks. It’s a pity he didn’t pay more attention. “Became careless, my… fuck”.
He scans the pictures again. Not that he regrets his agreement, just… it’s a pity to watch their tenderness, their care for each other, even on the photos, and know… Once again he finds himself staring at the picture - entwined fingers, two hands clutching at the railings under the wreath of holly. What the hell; it’s Christmas time…
He presses delete.
Secret Santa Drabbles
And here - with my hearty thanks to Ainm and Jane Davitt for betaing and helpful suggestions:
Clue-ookies
Pre-slash
Word count: 417
Beta: ainm
Jim was drifting from the depth of his sleep towards rich exotic scent that was filling air of the loft. He smiled, smelling lush fir odour entwined with that scent and remembered with pleasure their yesterday’s hunt for the perfect Christmas tree that now proudly stood in the corner of the room. The music heard from below - something mozartian with a lot of string instruments - sounded pinescented like frosty patterns on the glass. He looked up to high crisp blue midwinter skies. That was it - the day of Christmas Eve. The perfect Sunday.
Jim stretched. It was one of that rare lazy Sunday mornings when even the idea of working out could be snowed by very childlike mood of idleness. He once more closed his eyes and let himself Hear. Under the waves of music, he heard Blair’s quiet hum, somewhat strange slaps on the table, then there were steps on the street, car horns, laughter and above all that soft, almost fur sound of falling snowflakes.
Jim sighed and turned to his side. Something crumbled under his chick. He looked down - on the pillow lay a half-crumbed cookie, a perfectly baked ginger cookie in the shape of smile. Jim smiled in return and glanced downwards to find Blair hovering over the table.
He got up, put on his robe and moved towards the stairs only to find another cookie under his foot on the first step. This one was bigger and lips of the smile were slightly parted as if waiting for kiss. Jim shook his head, picked it up and resumed movement downstairs.
The next cookie laid on the last step. It was as large as a palm and represented roughly modeled human figures - one small and the other one bigger with arms around each other. Jim grinned, picked that one also up and looked around.
One more cookie was situated precisely between the stairs and the kitchen island. It was as big as the previous but these figurines stayed embracing and almost kissing. Jim briefly glanced towards Blair and almost immediately spotted the last cookie hanging on the pillar. Actually, there were two cookies - two silhouettes with almost portrait likeness - hung as close as if were really kissing.
Jim took his time surveyed all cookies one more time and turned to Blair. Younger man stood very still, twisted one more smile shaped cookie in his hands. Jim looked him over seriously and suddenly smiled, wide and fearless.
“Merry Christmas, smart cookie”.
On the back of the North Wind
Word count: 392
Beta: ainm
He laid on his back in the hammock in the middle of nowhere. Soft breeze brushed his bare chest. He stared at the sky wondering whether these stars are the same as at home, he was not very good at astronomy. Something small and wet dropped on his cheek - he touched it. Leaflet.
He longed to feel snow. Never ever thought that he will miss it and yet here he was - in the middle… He stopped this line of thought; there was no good in yearning for something unbelievable.
He closed his eyes and tried to disconnect with this world. Firstly, he ceased to hear the wind, fluttered leaves, the river far away. Then he stopped to pay attention to people’s breathing, movements in their sleep. Then he felt the other wind on his skin, cold, wet, oceanic fresh - wind from afar, from Home. The wind brought with it muffled sounds - dings, music spikes, distant voices. It seemed to him that he even could hear crunch of snow under somebody’s feet.
Several voices rose up in the song then subsided and then, only then he heard this voice - young, clear, rich… starlit - like that somebody inhaled all stars from above and they were twinkling in every word.
The Voice read a poem. He didn’t know it and caught only last stanza:
*The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.*
Suddenly he felt it - snowflakes on his lashes, as unbelievable as a hope and yet as real as The Voice. That Voice promised to find him he just knew it. And he, in response, promised to go ahead, to keep going.
He slept and saw in his sleep North Star wrapped itself warm in North Wind, The Voice rocked to sleep in the hammock of Milky Way and promises were shining like beacon ahead.
Through the Lens - Darkly
J/B slash
Word count 489
Warnings (I don’t know - spying?)
Beta: Jane Davitt
He hates when people fuck each other behind the closed curtains. It’s so unfair - how can he fulfill his task if nothing is in sight. But these two… Oh, - how sweet of them to have that big bed in plain view. Nice.
He changes to a telephoto lens and begins to fish for new film in the bag pocket.
Yes-s-s. Just move your legs farther apart, a bit more… Yes-s-s. What a nice view - that sturdy ass and tender flesh of balls beneath… These new lenses are really something; he can even see the wrinkles on the man’s heels.
Oh, that’s wonderful. His cameras click quietly. Entwined legs, parted lips under the curtain of long auburn hair, pierced nipple - long, elegant fingers gently tug at the silvery ring…
He unthinkingly strokes the Pentax. It was his first serious camera; it’s like a lucky penny to make sure his job will be fulfilled successfully. Others he owns are digital. He makes enough on these compromising photos to be able to keep up on all the technical novelties.
He smirks as he watches the quilt covered entangled limbs. Hey, guys, you’ll have a pretty surprise on your pretty asses tomorrow.
He waits for the pictures to appear on the monitor screen so that he can choose the best. He always makes it a condition of his employment that he can use the most picturesque and anonymous shots for his own purposes - in his public life he is quite the well-known erotic photographer.
Click… click… click…
That’s not bad, that one with a strained cock sticking up through a waterfall of curls. And this one - fingers caressing balls. He marks some more and goes to make coffee. Sometimes - actually most of the time - this work is just boring - cocks, balls, tongues don’t vary that much. He’s ready to call it a night when he finds himself looking into aware eyes.
He gets a creepy feeling. These eyes in the picture are too alive and cognizant for him to just brush the feeling aside. Then he finds himself staring into two sets of eyes. He couldn’t even say just that these people suspect something. He knows without doubt that they knew and were even able to see him no matter how strange it may sound.
He begins to look through the pictures again. There are some similar shots. He goes through his files and reads the information on the subjects. Cops. Fuck. That sucks. It’s a pity he didn’t pay more attention. “Became careless, my… fuck”.
He scans the pictures again. Not that he regrets his agreement, just… it’s a pity to watch their tenderness, their care for each other, even on the photos, and know… Once again he finds himself staring at the picture - entwined fingers, two hands clutching at the railings under the wreath of holly. What the hell; it’s Christmas time…
He presses delete.