Works-in-progress meme
Not tagged by anyone, but it's a cool meme, and since I'm not getting anywhere on anything, it's a cheap way to feel productive.
Excerpts from various WsIP that I've actually started, in order from oldest to newest:
A BtVS/Angel Spike/William story for simple__man's prompt at slashfest. Spike gets thrown a century into the past and almost immediately abducts William (who doesn't notice their resemblance right away) while he tries to figure out what to do.
Spike had an idea. "Never mind, gents, ladies, I've found what I came for," he said as he grabbed William by the arm and dragged him down the steps into the street.
"William!" cried Amelia.
"'S all right, love," Spike called over his shoulder. "We're relatives."
He'd pulled them down the street and around a corner before William stopped spluttering long enough to form a coherent sentence. "Unhand me, you ruffian," he demanded, trying to shake free.
Spike held on effortlessly. "What street is this?"
"Why should I tell you? You're abducting me."
Bypassing his stubborn companion, he tried to remember who'd lived in this neighborhood whose parties he may have attended with that horrific crowd. "Was that the Whitmores' house?"
William's struggles lessened a bit. "Do you know them?"
"Friend of a friend of my mother's."
"Oh. Mine as well."
Ali/everyone PWP fic (Ali = red-thonged House-stalker), originally intended for karaokegal's come-as-you-aren't Halloween party. In this section, Wilson's fantasizing about finding Ali after House turns her down. (Ali's odd characterization is deliberate; it's through Wilson that we're seeing her.)
While she was still recovering, he'd grind his hips into her again and tell her he wanted to make love to her. Her breathing would hitch and she'd wriggle out of his embrace to face him before she'd whisper that she's not-that she hasn't- But he'd soothe her, telling her to trust him, promising to make her feel what House wouldn't share with her. And after a brief hesitation, biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip, she'd nod.
He'd lay her out naked beneath him on the couch (long enough to fit them both comfortably in this fantasy) and kneel over her. He'd lean over her, taking her hand and guiding it down to his straining dick. She wouldn't know quite what to do with him, so he'd keep his hand on hers, showing her how he liked to be stroked.
When he was ready, he'd let go and move his hand between her closed legs. She'd moan and arch into him, then bring her arms around his back when he nudged her knees apart with one of his own. She'd stop there; he would need to kiss her again, stroke the nape of her neck, to get her to spread wide enough for him to settle in.
He would show her how to lift her hips and wrap her slim legs around him. Once she was in position he'd press inside her with short, firm strokes, pushing through the slight resistance of her hymen-her eyes would widen, and with a sound that was half gasp, half whimper, she'd try to curl into herself, but his hands and hips would hold her down, so all she could do was tighten her thighs around his waist-until he was all the way in.
(He pushes his boxers down and grips himself bare, breathing heavily.)
He'd fuck her slow and hard, murmuring nonsense to her until her tension melted away and she was moaning his name.
Then he'd make her tell him what she wanted to do to House.
Remus Lupin sestina. The first sestina started, and it's still not finished. The last few stanzas are stubborn as... something really stubborn. This is the first stanza.
The Wolfsbane makes him tame.
Each month his stomach tries to reject
the potion with the vehemence of Sirius protesting detention
and each month he is tempted to skip his dose, but the guilt
always makes him swallow the lumpy, sour
contents of the goblet. Then he locks himself in his room, waiting.
An attempt at Anamatics' book challenge-write ten drabbles based on sentences from every ten pages of a book. This was one of three I tried when I wasn't getting anything else done. Based on sentences from Father of Frankenstein by Christopher Bram, this is/was going to be an elderly Wilson talking to his grand-nephew (I imagine he never did have children, and so wouldn't have grandchildren) about his life, including his eventual relationship with House.
20. Soon he is standing there in his bowler hat and one-piece suit of short-sleeved underclothes.
"So there I am, with my clothes in a heap next to me, trying to get into this beautiful green silk dress I found in the box, and my brother comes running up into the attic and sees me."
He rubs the back of his neck, remembering how Tom pushed and taunted him, calling him "fag" and "fairy" and other names Jimmy didn't understand. Remembering how he yanked off the dress and ran crying to his mother. Remembering the lecture his father gave him at dinner when Tom announced what had happened.
"He knew what I was before I did."
Ficlet in which Wilson nearly drowns; a Wilson-almost-dies prompt from nightdog_barks. I don't think this one will ever see the light of day, being one of those stories you lose interest in after you've written the scene you wanted to. Here, House and Julie have just heaved Wilson onto the deck after a boat accident sent him overboard into freezing water.
Wilson was shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering, eyes closed, skin wax-pale against dripping dark hair and livid lips.
"Oh, God. James? James?"
Wilson was breathing, if quickly and raggedly, but there was no way to take his precise temperature and no way to get warm fluids into him until the Coast Guard showed up. Shit. House pushed the hair out of Wilson's face and pressed two fingers to his throat. "Wilson, can you hear me?"
"Oh, God," Julie said again, her hands all over him. "He's so cold."
"Don't rub," he snapped. Pulse slow but steady. "We need to get these clothes off. You have blankets and towels in the cabin?"
Julie gave a shaky affirmation.
"Get all of them," he ordered her lost-looking friend without looking away from Wilson's face. "Wilson, you with us?"
Wilson's eyes squinted open slightly only to squeeze shut again-probably burning with salt. He groaned through chattering teeth, then coughed, then retched. House barely managed to take hold of Wilson's left shoulder and roll him onto his side before he vomited what looked like a mixture of seawater, bile and hot dog onto the deck. He gasped between spasms.
"Breathe, Jimmy," House said, and tried to follow his own advice, pushing back the panic. Better for Wilson to bring up the brine, but he was losing warmth and fluids, and his blood pressure might've been dropping.
Wilson finished throwing up and collapsed, still shaking, into House's grip. After easing him onto his back, House yanked the zipper down on Wilson's saturated jacket and nodded to Julie. "Shoes, socks and pants. Gently but quickly. Try not to move him."
House/SGA crossover with super-fun alien abduction.
Footsteps approached. Standing and facing the open wall, Sheppard gestured for Wilson to get behind him; Wilson saw his fingers twitch at his side as if he were preparing to draw a gun.
Four Proteans stopped in front of the cell. The force field deactivated, and two of them crossed the threshold while the other pair guarded the entrance. "One of you will come with us," the leader said.
"What do you want?" Sheppard asked.
"One of you will come with us."
"Right," Sheppard muttered. "I don't suppose 'No thank you' is an option?"
"Enough," said the Protean. "Bring him." A gesture, and as it turned to walk out, the other alien in the cell whipped a tentacle-limb around Sheppard's bicep and tugged him forward.
"All right, all right, I'm going," Sheppard said, trying unsuccessfully to shake it off. "No reason to get grabby." He accompanied the aliens out of the cell, and the force field reengaged behind them.
"Sheppard-" Wilson started forward, then stopped when he remembered there was nothing he could do.
"Do what they tell you to," Sheppard called over his shoulder. Then he was out of sight.
But there was no one left to tell Wilson to do anything. Alone, he sat back down on his bench.
You're invited to vote on which one I should continue next, except I have to write the crossover of DOOM this month, along with a House/Wilson not listed here, so it's more like vote for which I should continue when those get done.
Excerpts from various WsIP that I've actually started, in order from oldest to newest:
A BtVS/Angel Spike/William story for simple__man's prompt at slashfest. Spike gets thrown a century into the past and almost immediately abducts William (who doesn't notice their resemblance right away) while he tries to figure out what to do.
Spike had an idea. "Never mind, gents, ladies, I've found what I came for," he said as he grabbed William by the arm and dragged him down the steps into the street.
"William!" cried Amelia.
"'S all right, love," Spike called over his shoulder. "We're relatives."
He'd pulled them down the street and around a corner before William stopped spluttering long enough to form a coherent sentence. "Unhand me, you ruffian," he demanded, trying to shake free.
Spike held on effortlessly. "What street is this?"
"Why should I tell you? You're abducting me."
Bypassing his stubborn companion, he tried to remember who'd lived in this neighborhood whose parties he may have attended with that horrific crowd. "Was that the Whitmores' house?"
William's struggles lessened a bit. "Do you know them?"
"Friend of a friend of my mother's."
"Oh. Mine as well."
Ali/everyone PWP fic (Ali = red-thonged House-stalker), originally intended for karaokegal's come-as-you-aren't Halloween party. In this section, Wilson's fantasizing about finding Ali after House turns her down. (Ali's odd characterization is deliberate; it's through Wilson that we're seeing her.)
While she was still recovering, he'd grind his hips into her again and tell her he wanted to make love to her. Her breathing would hitch and she'd wriggle out of his embrace to face him before she'd whisper that she's not-that she hasn't- But he'd soothe her, telling her to trust him, promising to make her feel what House wouldn't share with her. And after a brief hesitation, biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip, she'd nod.
He'd lay her out naked beneath him on the couch (long enough to fit them both comfortably in this fantasy) and kneel over her. He'd lean over her, taking her hand and guiding it down to his straining dick. She wouldn't know quite what to do with him, so he'd keep his hand on hers, showing her how he liked to be stroked.
When he was ready, he'd let go and move his hand between her closed legs. She'd moan and arch into him, then bring her arms around his back when he nudged her knees apart with one of his own. She'd stop there; he would need to kiss her again, stroke the nape of her neck, to get her to spread wide enough for him to settle in.
He would show her how to lift her hips and wrap her slim legs around him. Once she was in position he'd press inside her with short, firm strokes, pushing through the slight resistance of her hymen-her eyes would widen, and with a sound that was half gasp, half whimper, she'd try to curl into herself, but his hands and hips would hold her down, so all she could do was tighten her thighs around his waist-until he was all the way in.
(He pushes his boxers down and grips himself bare, breathing heavily.)
He'd fuck her slow and hard, murmuring nonsense to her until her tension melted away and she was moaning his name.
Then he'd make her tell him what she wanted to do to House.
Remus Lupin sestina. The first sestina started, and it's still not finished. The last few stanzas are stubborn as... something really stubborn. This is the first stanza.
The Wolfsbane makes him tame.
Each month his stomach tries to reject
the potion with the vehemence of Sirius protesting detention
and each month he is tempted to skip his dose, but the guilt
always makes him swallow the lumpy, sour
contents of the goblet. Then he locks himself in his room, waiting.
An attempt at Anamatics' book challenge-write ten drabbles based on sentences from every ten pages of a book. This was one of three I tried when I wasn't getting anything else done. Based on sentences from Father of Frankenstein by Christopher Bram, this is/was going to be an elderly Wilson talking to his grand-nephew (I imagine he never did have children, and so wouldn't have grandchildren) about his life, including his eventual relationship with House.
20. Soon he is standing there in his bowler hat and one-piece suit of short-sleeved underclothes.
"So there I am, with my clothes in a heap next to me, trying to get into this beautiful green silk dress I found in the box, and my brother comes running up into the attic and sees me."
He rubs the back of his neck, remembering how Tom pushed and taunted him, calling him "fag" and "fairy" and other names Jimmy didn't understand. Remembering how he yanked off the dress and ran crying to his mother. Remembering the lecture his father gave him at dinner when Tom announced what had happened.
"He knew what I was before I did."
Ficlet in which Wilson nearly drowns; a Wilson-almost-dies prompt from nightdog_barks. I don't think this one will ever see the light of day, being one of those stories you lose interest in after you've written the scene you wanted to. Here, House and Julie have just heaved Wilson onto the deck after a boat accident sent him overboard into freezing water.
Wilson was shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering, eyes closed, skin wax-pale against dripping dark hair and livid lips.
"Oh, God. James? James?"
Wilson was breathing, if quickly and raggedly, but there was no way to take his precise temperature and no way to get warm fluids into him until the Coast Guard showed up. Shit. House pushed the hair out of Wilson's face and pressed two fingers to his throat. "Wilson, can you hear me?"
"Oh, God," Julie said again, her hands all over him. "He's so cold."
"Don't rub," he snapped. Pulse slow but steady. "We need to get these clothes off. You have blankets and towels in the cabin?"
Julie gave a shaky affirmation.
"Get all of them," he ordered her lost-looking friend without looking away from Wilson's face. "Wilson, you with us?"
Wilson's eyes squinted open slightly only to squeeze shut again-probably burning with salt. He groaned through chattering teeth, then coughed, then retched. House barely managed to take hold of Wilson's left shoulder and roll him onto his side before he vomited what looked like a mixture of seawater, bile and hot dog onto the deck. He gasped between spasms.
"Breathe, Jimmy," House said, and tried to follow his own advice, pushing back the panic. Better for Wilson to bring up the brine, but he was losing warmth and fluids, and his blood pressure might've been dropping.
Wilson finished throwing up and collapsed, still shaking, into House's grip. After easing him onto his back, House yanked the zipper down on Wilson's saturated jacket and nodded to Julie. "Shoes, socks and pants. Gently but quickly. Try not to move him."
House/SGA crossover with super-fun alien abduction.
Footsteps approached. Standing and facing the open wall, Sheppard gestured for Wilson to get behind him; Wilson saw his fingers twitch at his side as if he were preparing to draw a gun.
Four Proteans stopped in front of the cell. The force field deactivated, and two of them crossed the threshold while the other pair guarded the entrance. "One of you will come with us," the leader said.
"What do you want?" Sheppard asked.
"One of you will come with us."
"Right," Sheppard muttered. "I don't suppose 'No thank you' is an option?"
"Enough," said the Protean. "Bring him." A gesture, and as it turned to walk out, the other alien in the cell whipped a tentacle-limb around Sheppard's bicep and tugged him forward.
"All right, all right, I'm going," Sheppard said, trying unsuccessfully to shake it off. "No reason to get grabby." He accompanied the aliens out of the cell, and the force field reengaged behind them.
"Sheppard-" Wilson started forward, then stopped when he remembered there was nothing he could do.
"Do what they tell you to," Sheppard called over his shoulder. Then he was out of sight.
But there was no one left to tell Wilson to do anything. Alone, he sat back down on his bench.
You're invited to vote on which one I should continue next, except I have to write the crossover of DOOM this month, along with a House/Wilson not listed here, so it's more like vote for which I should continue when those get done.