Various comment ficlets
Various ficlets written for comment_fic.
Demons, Galvin/Luke, sex magic
Their clothes are long gone and Galvin is groaning under the sensation of Luke's mouth on his collarbone by the time he's able to think that something might have happened to them. It isn't every day that two smiters are struck with the uncontrollable desire to touch and taste and take in the middle of a hunt.
"Wait, Luke," Galvin gasps, but his objections fade away when the teenager sucks at a single spot on his neck.
Luke is usually possessed of all the ungracefulness of adolescence but he moves fluidly now into Galvin's lap. Moaning, Galvin's mouth captures Luke's and he forgets why they're doing this, what they were doing before, where they are: it all seems unimportant. On the concrete he lays Luke out before him, his pale skin a contrast with the dark night, and the pull of hidden desires awakened by a single spell draws them on. There's a demon to smite - gone now: escaped - but that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight they'll stay entangled until the magic runs its course.
Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, beach
Her feet sink into the sand and she thinks she's never felt anything quite this sweet in all universe.
(then she remembers the way Simon kisses her and it all slots into place)
His arms slip around her waist from behind and he kisses the nape of her neck through her hair, slightly clumsy in trying to reach skin. His nose is cold when he nuzzles her. "Mal says it's time to go," he murmurs.
Everything comes to an end. She's known that, always known that. You don't take to the sky without knowin' that one of these days you're gonna have to land. She leans against Simon's chest, watches the colourful sky and smiles. "The cap'n can wait just a little while longer, can't he?" she pleads.
She wants to stay here forever and ever and ever - and if that's not an option, she'll take five more minutes instead.
Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, moment of discovery
He's never considered this before. Connection; humanity; desire.
Sex.
To Sylar it had been an unnecessary distraction, something for humans lesser than himself - a mindless entertainment for cretins. He'd moved beyond that: the next stage of evolution without being encumbered by a needless reproductive drive. He wouldn't need it. He'd take over the world, snatch immortality from the gods themselves, and make the universe itself quiver at his feet. It had all seemed so simple. But now there is this.
Or, more precisely, him.
He can't stop staring at the lightly stubbled line of Mohinder's jaw, imagining what it would be like to run his tongue along it. His eyes are drawn naturally to Mohinder's ass whenever the scientist has his back to him: the sight of it, fully clothed and hidden, sends Sylar's mind to forbidden places. Mohinder's hair seems to invite him to run his fingers through it.
It's terribly distracting: it makes him sloppy in his act as Zane Taylor.
Discovering sexuality, Sylar decides later, is what must lead to the downfall of all civilisations.
Heroes/Supernatural, Adam/John, animalistic marking/claiming
Adam leaves bite marks wherever he can - sharp, ugly things that lurk as bruises on John's skin for days, black, purple, yellow as they fade. On their harshest nights, when they've been apart for far too long, his teeth break the skin. John yells at him - swears, curses, threatens - but he never pushes him off. Takes it. Just takes it.
When they're done, lying together come-drunk and sleepy, Adam's fingers will trace the marks and press softly on them just to hear John's pained intake of breath. "You're a son of a bitch, Monroe," John will growl at him between clenched teeth.
"You wouldn't have me any other way," Adam will purr back, before lowering his mouth to John's neck again to make those marks a little redder.
Hollyoaks, John Paul/Kieron, spooning
John Paul falls asleep first. Always does. Kieron lies away in their bed, pressed tight against his husband's back. He strokes John Paul's stomach with his hand and he listens to the heavy rise and fall of his sleeping breath. The moment seems frozen: their curtains block out the moonlight and the room is over-warm and dusky. He doesn't want the sun to rise.
Kieron nuzzles his lips against the back of John Paul's neck. There's still a part of him that thinks this can't have happened: it isn't supposed to be this easy, not for him. An ex-priest does not get to have this kind of happily ever after. He's certain that God can't allow it.
But here they are, together and happy, and Kieron thinks they must be blessed.
God smiles down upon him, and as Kieron lies with John Paul he closes his eyes and offers his thanks.
Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, my geek carries a gun
"Your geek?" Hardison says in disbelief as they walk away from the scene.
Eliot shoots him a distracted glance. "What?"
"I'm 'your' geek now?" Hardison's using that tone of voice, the one that always manages to sound faintly mocking. Drives Eliot mad. Always had. "Might've informed me of that."
"Didn't think I had to," Eliot huffs. They reach the car in the parking lot and he flashes a grin at Hardison as he pulls the key out of his pocket. "Or is this your way of telling me you've got a thing with something else?"
"Nah, nothing like that," Hardison says. He's scowling. Eliot kinda loves that about him.
There's a whole lot about Hardison that he kinda loves.
He jumps in the driver's seat of the car and a few moments later Hardison is beside him on the other side. "Then what's the problem?"
"No problem, man," Hardison protests. "I'm just still getting used to this whole 'us' thing, I guess."
And Eliot would always have figured himself for the guy that'd have issues with this, with them, but it's Hardison that's jumpy, Hardison that keeps waiting for the day this will all fall apart.
"Better get used to it in a hurry," Eliot says as he starts the car, ready to drive back to their offices and tell Nate their part of the con is complete. "'cause I'm not going anywhere in a hurry."
Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, whispers
She surges from her dreams into the arms of her maid. Gwen smells of flowers and it's enough to chase away the dark shadows of the future that lurk in Morgana's mind. "It's okay," Gwen whispers, so Morgana believes her. "I'm here: it's okay."
Gwen's fingers, hard-working yet elegant, stroke Morgana's hair and she allows Morgana to move closer to her, hiding her face against the light brown skin of her neck. Gwen's hair is loose and Morgana can feel the curls brushing against her forehead. "I can't take it any more," she whispers, a broken confession to the one woman she can trust.
Gwen holds onto her, her arms around Morgana's shoulders. It isn't right for them to touch like this - she is a lady; Gwen is a servant - but Morgana has always been the first one to rip up the rulebook. Gwen is a thousand times more worthy than any of the noblewomen in the castle. "We'll talk to Gaius tomorrow," Gwen assures her. "Once he knows that these medicines aren't working, he can help. I know he can."
He has been trying to help for years but it doesn't work; nothing works. The darkness still creeps in and will always creep in, trying to smother her. Morgana rests her head on Gwen's shoulder and closes her eyes so that she won't sob, holding onto the one woman who remains a glint of sunshine in the night.
Merlin/Harry Potter, Merlin/Anyone, "Merlin's balls!" "…what?"
Neville's eyes go wide after he's said it, and wider still when the most powerful wizard in all of history looks at him as if he's the Whomping Willow on a bad day.
"…What?" Merlin says. His young-but-ancient eyes are either amused or horrified: Neville can't tell.
Considering that he's still standing on the spot and hasn't yet been struck by lightning, it's probably the former.
"Pardon?" Neville squeaks, in the misplaced hope that Merlin might drop the subject.
"What have my balls got to do with anything?"
"Um…" Good question. Exceptionally good question. "I dunno, actually. It's just - ah - something you say."
Merlin shakes his head and gets back to teaching Neville how to brew a potion: his teaching methods are much better than Snape could ever dream of, and the next time Neville mentions his balls it certainly is not just an expletive.
Demons, Galvin/Luke, sex magic
Their clothes are long gone and Galvin is groaning under the sensation of Luke's mouth on his collarbone by the time he's able to think that something might have happened to them. It isn't every day that two smiters are struck with the uncontrollable desire to touch and taste and take in the middle of a hunt.
"Wait, Luke," Galvin gasps, but his objections fade away when the teenager sucks at a single spot on his neck.
Luke is usually possessed of all the ungracefulness of adolescence but he moves fluidly now into Galvin's lap. Moaning, Galvin's mouth captures Luke's and he forgets why they're doing this, what they were doing before, where they are: it all seems unimportant. On the concrete he lays Luke out before him, his pale skin a contrast with the dark night, and the pull of hidden desires awakened by a single spell draws them on. There's a demon to smite - gone now: escaped - but that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight they'll stay entangled until the magic runs its course.
Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, beach
Her feet sink into the sand and she thinks she's never felt anything quite this sweet in all universe.
(then she remembers the way Simon kisses her and it all slots into place)
His arms slip around her waist from behind and he kisses the nape of her neck through her hair, slightly clumsy in trying to reach skin. His nose is cold when he nuzzles her. "Mal says it's time to go," he murmurs.
Everything comes to an end. She's known that, always known that. You don't take to the sky without knowin' that one of these days you're gonna have to land. She leans against Simon's chest, watches the colourful sky and smiles. "The cap'n can wait just a little while longer, can't he?" she pleads.
She wants to stay here forever and ever and ever - and if that's not an option, she'll take five more minutes instead.
Heroes, Mohinder/Sylar, moment of discovery
He's never considered this before. Connection; humanity; desire.
Sex.
To Sylar it had been an unnecessary distraction, something for humans lesser than himself - a mindless entertainment for cretins. He'd moved beyond that: the next stage of evolution without being encumbered by a needless reproductive drive. He wouldn't need it. He'd take over the world, snatch immortality from the gods themselves, and make the universe itself quiver at his feet. It had all seemed so simple. But now there is this.
Or, more precisely, him.
He can't stop staring at the lightly stubbled line of Mohinder's jaw, imagining what it would be like to run his tongue along it. His eyes are drawn naturally to Mohinder's ass whenever the scientist has his back to him: the sight of it, fully clothed and hidden, sends Sylar's mind to forbidden places. Mohinder's hair seems to invite him to run his fingers through it.
It's terribly distracting: it makes him sloppy in his act as Zane Taylor.
Discovering sexuality, Sylar decides later, is what must lead to the downfall of all civilisations.
Heroes/Supernatural, Adam/John, animalistic marking/claiming
Adam leaves bite marks wherever he can - sharp, ugly things that lurk as bruises on John's skin for days, black, purple, yellow as they fade. On their harshest nights, when they've been apart for far too long, his teeth break the skin. John yells at him - swears, curses, threatens - but he never pushes him off. Takes it. Just takes it.
When they're done, lying together come-drunk and sleepy, Adam's fingers will trace the marks and press softly on them just to hear John's pained intake of breath. "You're a son of a bitch, Monroe," John will growl at him between clenched teeth.
"You wouldn't have me any other way," Adam will purr back, before lowering his mouth to John's neck again to make those marks a little redder.
Hollyoaks, John Paul/Kieron, spooning
John Paul falls asleep first. Always does. Kieron lies away in their bed, pressed tight against his husband's back. He strokes John Paul's stomach with his hand and he listens to the heavy rise and fall of his sleeping breath. The moment seems frozen: their curtains block out the moonlight and the room is over-warm and dusky. He doesn't want the sun to rise.
Kieron nuzzles his lips against the back of John Paul's neck. There's still a part of him that thinks this can't have happened: it isn't supposed to be this easy, not for him. An ex-priest does not get to have this kind of happily ever after. He's certain that God can't allow it.
But here they are, together and happy, and Kieron thinks they must be blessed.
God smiles down upon him, and as Kieron lies with John Paul he closes his eyes and offers his thanks.
Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, my geek carries a gun
"Your geek?" Hardison says in disbelief as they walk away from the scene.
Eliot shoots him a distracted glance. "What?"
"I'm 'your' geek now?" Hardison's using that tone of voice, the one that always manages to sound faintly mocking. Drives Eliot mad. Always had. "Might've informed me of that."
"Didn't think I had to," Eliot huffs. They reach the car in the parking lot and he flashes a grin at Hardison as he pulls the key out of his pocket. "Or is this your way of telling me you've got a thing with something else?"
"Nah, nothing like that," Hardison says. He's scowling. Eliot kinda loves that about him.
There's a whole lot about Hardison that he kinda loves.
He jumps in the driver's seat of the car and a few moments later Hardison is beside him on the other side. "Then what's the problem?"
"No problem, man," Hardison protests. "I'm just still getting used to this whole 'us' thing, I guess."
And Eliot would always have figured himself for the guy that'd have issues with this, with them, but it's Hardison that's jumpy, Hardison that keeps waiting for the day this will all fall apart.
"Better get used to it in a hurry," Eliot says as he starts the car, ready to drive back to their offices and tell Nate their part of the con is complete. "'cause I'm not going anywhere in a hurry."
Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, whispers
She surges from her dreams into the arms of her maid. Gwen smells of flowers and it's enough to chase away the dark shadows of the future that lurk in Morgana's mind. "It's okay," Gwen whispers, so Morgana believes her. "I'm here: it's okay."
Gwen's fingers, hard-working yet elegant, stroke Morgana's hair and she allows Morgana to move closer to her, hiding her face against the light brown skin of her neck. Gwen's hair is loose and Morgana can feel the curls brushing against her forehead. "I can't take it any more," she whispers, a broken confession to the one woman she can trust.
Gwen holds onto her, her arms around Morgana's shoulders. It isn't right for them to touch like this - she is a lady; Gwen is a servant - but Morgana has always been the first one to rip up the rulebook. Gwen is a thousand times more worthy than any of the noblewomen in the castle. "We'll talk to Gaius tomorrow," Gwen assures her. "Once he knows that these medicines aren't working, he can help. I know he can."
He has been trying to help for years but it doesn't work; nothing works. The darkness still creeps in and will always creep in, trying to smother her. Morgana rests her head on Gwen's shoulder and closes her eyes so that she won't sob, holding onto the one woman who remains a glint of sunshine in the night.
Merlin/Harry Potter, Merlin/Anyone, "Merlin's balls!" "…what?"
Neville's eyes go wide after he's said it, and wider still when the most powerful wizard in all of history looks at him as if he's the Whomping Willow on a bad day.
"…What?" Merlin says. His young-but-ancient eyes are either amused or horrified: Neville can't tell.
Considering that he's still standing on the spot and hasn't yet been struck by lightning, it's probably the former.
"Pardon?" Neville squeaks, in the misplaced hope that Merlin might drop the subject.
"What have my balls got to do with anything?"
"Um…" Good question. Exceptionally good question. "I dunno, actually. It's just - ah - something you say."
Merlin shakes his head and gets back to teaching Neville how to brew a potion: his teaching methods are much better than Snape could ever dream of, and the next time Neville mentions his balls it certainly is not just an expletive.