Ficlets: Brotherhood II, Sky High, My Bodyguard
I have been working on requests, I swear! To prove it I will post the three I've written so far. The rest will have to wait until after my crazy weekend, but I'm sure there will be plenty of time when I get back to work to do the rest.
I. Requested by writingpathways. This is a scene I've had floating around in my head for a long time, waiting for the right story to fit it into. When nekosmuse and I started writing that unfinished AU, I realized this scene was from that. But then we never finished it, so I'm finally writing it now. Harlan/Marcus, something unexpected.
He's hiding out in his bedroom when a phone rings somewhere in the house. The sound is muffled by his closed door so that he barely registers it, and anyway he knows it's not for him. He doesn't really live here, after all; he just shows up and exists a few weeks out of the year. Summer break is the worst, when he's stuck in his parents' house for weeks at a stretch. At least during Christmas break there's an end in sight, and he only has to endure a public appearance at his parents' church on Christmas Eve before he can go back to brooding and marking off the days until he goes back to school.
Right now his mother's downstairs playing hostess to a bunch of women from the church, stuffy old society types who probably don't even know he exists. And he's just fine with keeping it that way, because the last thing he needs is for the one person in the group who actually likes kids to bully his mother into letting him join them for lunch. Granted, it happened a lot more when he was younger and still fell into the 'cute' range, but people do funny things around the holidays.
He's contemplating all some of those funny things when his bedroom door opens, and he rolls his eyes at the lack of privacy and looks up to find one of the maids peering in at him. "Phone for you, Mister."
Marcus bites back the urge to tell her for the hundredth time not to call him 'mister'; he's not his father, and if he ever becomes his father he's planning to throw himself off the nearest bridge. But she probably won't even last until his next trip home before she does something to offend his mother and gets herself fired, so he doesn't bother. Instead he says 'thanks' and takes the extension she holds out for him, shutting the door behind her.
And it can only be Matt or maybe John, because nobody else...well, there is nobody else. Unless you count the weirdness with Harlan, but Marcus has spent his entire vacation so far convincing himself that Harlan's probably already forgotten all about them. Not that there is a them. There's just...temporary insanity. Or boredom. Or both. Whatever it is, Harlan's going to forget all about it by the time Marcus gets back to school.
"Hello?" he says into the phone, dropping back onto his bed to lean against the pillows.
"Hey, Ratner."
The sound of Harlan's voice sends a shiver down Marcus' spine, and he's glad he's already lying down.
"H-hi," he says, voice cracking a little and heat floods his cheeks. Then Harlan laughs, and Marcus' temperature rises even higher. "Why are you calling?"
"Just wondering how you're doing, Ratner. If you don't want to talk to me I can hang up."
"No," Marcus says a little too quickly, blushing all over again and he's really glad Harlan can't see him. "It's just...I mean, how'd you get my number?"
"Information," Harlan says in that voice that tells Marcus he's being an idiot. And maybe he is, but the truth is he just wouldn't dream of charging a call to 411 on his parents' line. His father would kill him, and that would be a welcome relief after the lecture he'd get first.
"Oh." And he knows he sounds stupid, but he's spent the past week convincing himself that Harlan was never going to look at him again, let alone talk to him, so he wasn't prepared for an actual phone call. "So how's your vacation?"
"Boring," Harlan answers, and yeah, he's still laughing at Marcus. "We're going skiing after Christmas if my father can get off work."
"That's cool," Marcus says, not that he'd know. His parents aren't exactly big on family togetherness, at least if they're not trying to impress someone. He has a feeling he should say something else, something profound like 'I'm glad you called' or maybe just 'I miss you'. Except there's no way he'd ever be able to say anything like that to Harlan and still show up at school in January. "I mean, I've never been skiing, but it sounds cool."
"You need to get out more, Marcus," Harlan says, voice dropping a little and Marcus closes his eyes against the rush of want. He doesn't let himself think about going skiing with Harlan, about being out in public like an actual couple instead of hiding out in Harlan's room where no one can see them. Because they're not a couple, and if Harlan has anything to say about it, no one's ever going to know about them.
"So listen, when are you coming back to school?" Harlan asks, and Marcus hates himself just a little more for the way his whole body reacts to the sound of Harlan's voice.
"Uh...on the 2nd. My parents booked me the earliest flight back they could find."
He doesn't expect any sympathy from Harlan, and he doesn't get it. But what he does get is even better, because Harlan's voice drops even lower and if Marcus closes his eyes he can almost imagine Harlan leaning in to whisper good in his ear. "Call me when you get back."
He rattles off a number and Marcus scrambles for something to write it down with, heart beating fast at the idea of calling Harlan when he gets back to school. Before he sees Matt or even John, before he so much as unpacks his toothbrush. He imagines Harlan driving back to school to see him before anyone else is back on campus, when they don't have to worry about anyone seeing them together. And yeah, it's still a secret, but it's their secret, so Marcus thinks he can live with it.
~
II. Requested by a few people, but olukemi came up with the prompt. Will/Warren, hand-to-hand combat.
Warren's never been a real big fan of Save the Citizen. It's not that he has any problem with rescuing people, though it seems kind of stupid to rescue a mannequin from imminent disaster. He's never thought all that much of the rest of Coach Boomer's curriculum either, mostly because it usually means having to interact with other students. Not that any of his fellow students ever went out of their way to land him as a partner in gym class; at least not until Will showed up.
These days Warren's always first picked for whatever Boomer throws at them, and it's always Will doing the picking. The fact that Boomer always lets Will pick first doesn't hurt, but Warren has a feeling that even if Will picked last, nobody else would dream of stealing his favorite partner.
Warren doesn't really mind. They are best friends, after all, and even though Will's a do-gooder and he can be kind of annoying, Warren's developed sort of a soft spot for him. Not so soft that he won't check Will hard enough to knock the wind out of him when Will rushes him during combat training, though.
He steps back to let Will catch his breath, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear. When Will finally straightens up Warren quirks a smile at him, eyes narrowing just a little when Will grins back. "You had enough yet?"
"You wish," Will answers, leaving the ground as Warren rushes him again.
"Cheater," Warren grumbles as he spins on his heel to find Will standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest and grinning. It's tempting just to set him on fire and be done with it; that's what he'd do with anybody else in class, and he's pretty sure that's why no one else wants to pair up with him. But there are parts of Will he doesn't really want to fry, like his mouth, for instance. The smug smile he could live without, but he's got pretty nice lips.
"Using your powers isn't cheating," Will says, but he doesn't take off again when Warren moves in closer.
"And yet I haven't torched you."
"Yeah," Will says, ducking the blow Warren aims at him. "Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it," Warren answers, dodging Will's grasp and then faking to his left. It's pretty rare that he gets the drop on Will; he's got two superpowers, after all, and it's not like they're lousy ones. So he's sort of surprised his plan actually works, and when he finds himself with one arm wrapped around Will and a warm, solid back pressed against his chest. He's not even sure Will didn't let him win this one, but he's not complaining either way. "Not invincible after all."
"Guess not," Will answers, sounding way too cheerful about the fact that Warren won, and now he's pretty sure Will gave him this one. Then Will presses back against him and he stops caring again, arm tightening reflexively around Will's chest. "So what are you going to do about it?"
And even in a gym full of students and Coach Boomer, Warren's tempted to show Will exactly what he's thinking. But he's never been a big fan of public displays, and anyway, if he lands them both in detention that means he has to wait even longer to get Will alone. So he eases his grip, letting his fingers warm just enough to make his point as he slides them across Will's chest. "Later."
"Promise?"
"Definitely," Warren says, and when Will grins at him this time Warren can't help smiling back.
~
III. For bloody_american, Ricky/Clifford, college roommates.
The clock tells him it's 4:45, and Clifford's pulse picks up pace as he glances toward the closed door of his dorm room. He's sprawled on his bed with a textbook propped open on his chest and his feet hanging over the edge of his mattress, and he's pretty sure he doesn't look like he's waiting for anything. But he is all the same, glancing at the door in increasing intervals until he finally gives up pretending to read about the French Revolution altogether.
When the door finally does open his heart skips a beat, and he looks up to find Ricky letting himself into their room. He drops his backpack on his own bed exactly the same way he does every day, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it on his desk chair. It's the same routine every afternoon, and if Ricky knew how much Clifford looked forward to it he'd probably move out before Clifford could say 'stalker'.
And okay, maybe it's a little weird to be so obsessed with his best friend. In his weaker moments Clifford knows exactly how pathetic it is, but he's been in love with Ricky since before he knew what that meant, so he's had time to get used to it. And it's not like Ricky's ever going to figure it out; sometimes he's so clueless that Clifford's pretty sure he wouldn't get it even if Clifford hired a skywriter. Not that he hasn't considered it a time or two, just grabbing Ricky by the front of that stupid jacket and showing him exactly how he feels. Only he's pretty sure that would mean the end of...this. The end of his heart skipping a beat at the sound of Ricky's weary sigh, the end of watching fingers curve around his neck as he rubs away the day's tension.
Clifford really wants to reach out and do that for him. He wants to do a lot of things Ricky would never let him do, but instead he just waits for Ricky to look at him before he grins. "How was work?"
"Busy," Ricky answers, hand leaving his neck and Clifford's gaze follows his fingers just a second longer than it probably should. Another thing Ricky deliberately doesn't notice, which tells Clifford that it's just as important to him to make sure nothing happens to cost him his only real friend. "You eat yet?"
"Nope," Clifford answers, checking the urge to roll his eyes because he hasn't not waited for Ricky once since they started college. "Waited for you."
"Thanks," Ricky says, same as he does every day, like Clifford's doing him some big favor. Like he doesn't spend the whole day thinking about the next time he gets to see Ricky again. Like he doesn't lie awake nights and wonder what would happen if he just said how he feels -- finally said it out loud -- and let the chips fall where they may. Except if he did, Ricky would probably just pretend to be asleep, and then everything would be all wrong.
So Clifford just grins again and shuts his textbook, dropping it on the bed and slipping his sneakers back on.
"What are friends for?" he says, smiling when Ricky lets out a tired laugh and slings an arm around his shoulders to propel him toward the door. It's not what Clifford wants -- not by a long shot -- but it's more than Ricky gives anybody else, so he'll take it.
~
PS: A very happy birthday to ci5rod! I'm probably too late to make the actual day, but I hope it was wonderful.
I. Requested by writingpathways. This is a scene I've had floating around in my head for a long time, waiting for the right story to fit it into. When nekosmuse and I started writing that unfinished AU, I realized this scene was from that. But then we never finished it, so I'm finally writing it now. Harlan/Marcus, something unexpected.
He's hiding out in his bedroom when a phone rings somewhere in the house. The sound is muffled by his closed door so that he barely registers it, and anyway he knows it's not for him. He doesn't really live here, after all; he just shows up and exists a few weeks out of the year. Summer break is the worst, when he's stuck in his parents' house for weeks at a stretch. At least during Christmas break there's an end in sight, and he only has to endure a public appearance at his parents' church on Christmas Eve before he can go back to brooding and marking off the days until he goes back to school.
Right now his mother's downstairs playing hostess to a bunch of women from the church, stuffy old society types who probably don't even know he exists. And he's just fine with keeping it that way, because the last thing he needs is for the one person in the group who actually likes kids to bully his mother into letting him join them for lunch. Granted, it happened a lot more when he was younger and still fell into the 'cute' range, but people do funny things around the holidays.
He's contemplating all some of those funny things when his bedroom door opens, and he rolls his eyes at the lack of privacy and looks up to find one of the maids peering in at him. "Phone for you, Mister."
Marcus bites back the urge to tell her for the hundredth time not to call him 'mister'; he's not his father, and if he ever becomes his father he's planning to throw himself off the nearest bridge. But she probably won't even last until his next trip home before she does something to offend his mother and gets herself fired, so he doesn't bother. Instead he says 'thanks' and takes the extension she holds out for him, shutting the door behind her.
And it can only be Matt or maybe John, because nobody else...well, there is nobody else. Unless you count the weirdness with Harlan, but Marcus has spent his entire vacation so far convincing himself that Harlan's probably already forgotten all about them. Not that there is a them. There's just...temporary insanity. Or boredom. Or both. Whatever it is, Harlan's going to forget all about it by the time Marcus gets back to school.
"Hello?" he says into the phone, dropping back onto his bed to lean against the pillows.
"Hey, Ratner."
The sound of Harlan's voice sends a shiver down Marcus' spine, and he's glad he's already lying down.
"H-hi," he says, voice cracking a little and heat floods his cheeks. Then Harlan laughs, and Marcus' temperature rises even higher. "Why are you calling?"
"Just wondering how you're doing, Ratner. If you don't want to talk to me I can hang up."
"No," Marcus says a little too quickly, blushing all over again and he's really glad Harlan can't see him. "It's just...I mean, how'd you get my number?"
"Information," Harlan says in that voice that tells Marcus he's being an idiot. And maybe he is, but the truth is he just wouldn't dream of charging a call to 411 on his parents' line. His father would kill him, and that would be a welcome relief after the lecture he'd get first.
"Oh." And he knows he sounds stupid, but he's spent the past week convincing himself that Harlan was never going to look at him again, let alone talk to him, so he wasn't prepared for an actual phone call. "So how's your vacation?"
"Boring," Harlan answers, and yeah, he's still laughing at Marcus. "We're going skiing after Christmas if my father can get off work."
"That's cool," Marcus says, not that he'd know. His parents aren't exactly big on family togetherness, at least if they're not trying to impress someone. He has a feeling he should say something else, something profound like 'I'm glad you called' or maybe just 'I miss you'. Except there's no way he'd ever be able to say anything like that to Harlan and still show up at school in January. "I mean, I've never been skiing, but it sounds cool."
"You need to get out more, Marcus," Harlan says, voice dropping a little and Marcus closes his eyes against the rush of want. He doesn't let himself think about going skiing with Harlan, about being out in public like an actual couple instead of hiding out in Harlan's room where no one can see them. Because they're not a couple, and if Harlan has anything to say about it, no one's ever going to know about them.
"So listen, when are you coming back to school?" Harlan asks, and Marcus hates himself just a little more for the way his whole body reacts to the sound of Harlan's voice.
"Uh...on the 2nd. My parents booked me the earliest flight back they could find."
He doesn't expect any sympathy from Harlan, and he doesn't get it. But what he does get is even better, because Harlan's voice drops even lower and if Marcus closes his eyes he can almost imagine Harlan leaning in to whisper good in his ear. "Call me when you get back."
He rattles off a number and Marcus scrambles for something to write it down with, heart beating fast at the idea of calling Harlan when he gets back to school. Before he sees Matt or even John, before he so much as unpacks his toothbrush. He imagines Harlan driving back to school to see him before anyone else is back on campus, when they don't have to worry about anyone seeing them together. And yeah, it's still a secret, but it's their secret, so Marcus thinks he can live with it.
~
II. Requested by a few people, but olukemi came up with the prompt. Will/Warren, hand-to-hand combat.
Warren's never been a real big fan of Save the Citizen. It's not that he has any problem with rescuing people, though it seems kind of stupid to rescue a mannequin from imminent disaster. He's never thought all that much of the rest of Coach Boomer's curriculum either, mostly because it usually means having to interact with other students. Not that any of his fellow students ever went out of their way to land him as a partner in gym class; at least not until Will showed up.
These days Warren's always first picked for whatever Boomer throws at them, and it's always Will doing the picking. The fact that Boomer always lets Will pick first doesn't hurt, but Warren has a feeling that even if Will picked last, nobody else would dream of stealing his favorite partner.
Warren doesn't really mind. They are best friends, after all, and even though Will's a do-gooder and he can be kind of annoying, Warren's developed sort of a soft spot for him. Not so soft that he won't check Will hard enough to knock the wind out of him when Will rushes him during combat training, though.
He steps back to let Will catch his breath, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear. When Will finally straightens up Warren quirks a smile at him, eyes narrowing just a little when Will grins back. "You had enough yet?"
"You wish," Will answers, leaving the ground as Warren rushes him again.
"Cheater," Warren grumbles as he spins on his heel to find Will standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest and grinning. It's tempting just to set him on fire and be done with it; that's what he'd do with anybody else in class, and he's pretty sure that's why no one else wants to pair up with him. But there are parts of Will he doesn't really want to fry, like his mouth, for instance. The smug smile he could live without, but he's got pretty nice lips.
"Using your powers isn't cheating," Will says, but he doesn't take off again when Warren moves in closer.
"And yet I haven't torched you."
"Yeah," Will says, ducking the blow Warren aims at him. "Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it," Warren answers, dodging Will's grasp and then faking to his left. It's pretty rare that he gets the drop on Will; he's got two superpowers, after all, and it's not like they're lousy ones. So he's sort of surprised his plan actually works, and when he finds himself with one arm wrapped around Will and a warm, solid back pressed against his chest. He's not even sure Will didn't let him win this one, but he's not complaining either way. "Not invincible after all."
"Guess not," Will answers, sounding way too cheerful about the fact that Warren won, and now he's pretty sure Will gave him this one. Then Will presses back against him and he stops caring again, arm tightening reflexively around Will's chest. "So what are you going to do about it?"
And even in a gym full of students and Coach Boomer, Warren's tempted to show Will exactly what he's thinking. But he's never been a big fan of public displays, and anyway, if he lands them both in detention that means he has to wait even longer to get Will alone. So he eases his grip, letting his fingers warm just enough to make his point as he slides them across Will's chest. "Later."
"Promise?"
"Definitely," Warren says, and when Will grins at him this time Warren can't help smiling back.
~
III. For bloody_american, Ricky/Clifford, college roommates.
The clock tells him it's 4:45, and Clifford's pulse picks up pace as he glances toward the closed door of his dorm room. He's sprawled on his bed with a textbook propped open on his chest and his feet hanging over the edge of his mattress, and he's pretty sure he doesn't look like he's waiting for anything. But he is all the same, glancing at the door in increasing intervals until he finally gives up pretending to read about the French Revolution altogether.
When the door finally does open his heart skips a beat, and he looks up to find Ricky letting himself into their room. He drops his backpack on his own bed exactly the same way he does every day, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it on his desk chair. It's the same routine every afternoon, and if Ricky knew how much Clifford looked forward to it he'd probably move out before Clifford could say 'stalker'.
And okay, maybe it's a little weird to be so obsessed with his best friend. In his weaker moments Clifford knows exactly how pathetic it is, but he's been in love with Ricky since before he knew what that meant, so he's had time to get used to it. And it's not like Ricky's ever going to figure it out; sometimes he's so clueless that Clifford's pretty sure he wouldn't get it even if Clifford hired a skywriter. Not that he hasn't considered it a time or two, just grabbing Ricky by the front of that stupid jacket and showing him exactly how he feels. Only he's pretty sure that would mean the end of...this. The end of his heart skipping a beat at the sound of Ricky's weary sigh, the end of watching fingers curve around his neck as he rubs away the day's tension.
Clifford really wants to reach out and do that for him. He wants to do a lot of things Ricky would never let him do, but instead he just waits for Ricky to look at him before he grins. "How was work?"
"Busy," Ricky answers, hand leaving his neck and Clifford's gaze follows his fingers just a second longer than it probably should. Another thing Ricky deliberately doesn't notice, which tells Clifford that it's just as important to him to make sure nothing happens to cost him his only real friend. "You eat yet?"
"Nope," Clifford answers, checking the urge to roll his eyes because he hasn't not waited for Ricky once since they started college. "Waited for you."
"Thanks," Ricky says, same as he does every day, like Clifford's doing him some big favor. Like he doesn't spend the whole day thinking about the next time he gets to see Ricky again. Like he doesn't lie awake nights and wonder what would happen if he just said how he feels -- finally said it out loud -- and let the chips fall where they may. Except if he did, Ricky would probably just pretend to be asleep, and then everything would be all wrong.
So Clifford just grins again and shuts his textbook, dropping it on the bed and slipping his sneakers back on.
"What are friends for?" he says, smiling when Ricky lets out a tired laugh and slings an arm around his shoulders to propel him toward the door. It's not what Clifford wants -- not by a long shot -- but it's more than Ricky gives anybody else, so he'll take it.
~
PS: A very happy birthday to ci5rod! I'm probably too late to make the actual day, but I hope it was wonderful.