Fall in Love 2010: Spike/Xander, Dr. Fraser/Sgt. Siler, Neal Caffrey/Daniel Jackson
These are the last prompts I have for Fall in Love 2010. Thanks to those who played with me!
For zubiemom, who asked for Spike/Xander, hurt/comfort:
Spike helped Xander to sit on the couch, guiding him down to the cushions and swinging his feet up so that he was lying comfortably. He tucked a blanket around him and looked critically at the pillows and the angle of Xander’s view of the TV.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Fine,” Xander said. “Great. Now can you stop hovering? I’m fine. You heard the doctor.”
“You had a steel beam dropped on your head,” Spike said. “Remember?”
“One, it was a piece of rebar, not a beam, and two, I was wearing my hardhat, and I don’t even have a concussion. Just a headache and a couple of stitches on my arm where it grazed me. I could be back at work.”
“I was listening to the doctor, and it was eight stitches and a week off of work, pet,” Spike told him. “Need your hearing checked, too?”
“No.” Xander sank back against the cushions, his face pinched and paler than usual. He shut his eyes.
“Let me get you one of those happy pills,” Spike said more gently. He shouldn’t be angry at Xander; he should be angry at those bleeding idiots who dropped the rebar.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
Sighing, Xander opened one eye and said, “ Just one.”
Spike found the bottle and struggled to open the childproof cap for a moment before crushing it neatly in his fist. Not like there were kiddies in the apartment, anyway. He fished out a pain pill and brought it and a glass of water back to Xander.
“There,” he said as Xander dutifully swallowed it down and settled back. “What else do you need, love?”
“I just need to relax.”
“Want me to suck you off, then?”
Xander’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“You know.” Spike gestured toward Xander’s blanket-covered crotch. “I’ll do all the work. Then you’ll be nice and relaxed.”
“What? No!”
“Why not?” Spike asked, honestly perplexed. Who turned down a blowjob?
“Because!” Xander winced at the volume of his own voice and continued much more quietly. “Because my head is throbbing like someone’s jackhammering, and I just want to lie here quietly.”
Spike considered blowjobs past. “Yeah, you aren’t quiet.”
Xander snorted. “Like you should talk. Anyway, what is this, crazy vampire medicine? Feed a cold, starve a fever, shag a head wound?”
“Something like that.” Spike stood there helplessly. All he knew was Xander was hurt, and he couldn’t do a bloody thing. He wasn’t made for this, not being able to rip something’s head off when someone he loved was hurt. He was meant to beat people to a pulp. What did he know about pills and workman’s comp and fragile human bodies when he wasn’t the one breaking them?
After a minute Xander looked up at him. “Come here,” he said, inching toward the back of the couch until there was a silver of cushion space available.
Spike did as he was told and quickly found himself wrapped up in Xander’s arms.
“There,” Xander said muzzily. “Now I can rest.”
If only Spike could relax so easily.
*
For campylobacter, who asked for a cracky SG-1 pairing, bashful:
Sergeant Siler edged quietly into the infirmary. He grimaced at the pair of nurses on duty and gestured at his right hand, which was wrapped securely with a towel and an ice pack.
“We’ll get her,” one of the nurses said. Siler was impressed by how she almost kept the giggle out of her voice as she led him to a bed and called for Dr. Fraser.
“What brings you here today, sergeant?” Dr. Fraser asked when she came around the edge of the curtain. She was smiling. She was always smiling when she saw him, even when a team had come in hot and their eyes met over wounded soldiers on stretchers. Even then, she had a little smile for him.
“Broken finger,” he told her. “We were moving the BLUs, and one of them tipped over.”
She shook her head and unwrapped the towel and ice pack from his throbbing hand. She examined him briefly but with the gentle touch of an angel. “We’ll need to get an x-ray, but it looks like a simple fracture.”
Siler nodded. “It didn’t seem too bad when I heard the snap.”
“Let me write up the orders. I’ll be right back.” When she got to the curtain, Dr. Fraser - Janet! - turned back to him. “You know, sergeant, you don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to see me. You could just ask me to lunch.”
Siler ducked his head bashfully, but his heart pounded in his chest. Lunch! Why hadn’t he thought of that?
*
For bethynyc, who gave me a bunch of pretty boys from different fandoms and asked for a crossover (I chose Neal Caffrey from White Collar and Daniel Jackson from SG-1), predatory:
Neal was in love.
It was a first edition deluxe subscriber’s copy volume of David Roberts drawings from his travels in Egypt and the Near East, a hundred twenty hand-colored lithographic plates mounted on card and trimmed to size with a gilt-bordered cover in nearly perfect shape for being from the 1840s. The paper was silk across one’s fingers. The colors were as vivid as the day they were inked. The dark green leather binding was as soft as a woman’s breast and nearly as intoxicating.
What it was doing in Colorado he would never know. Besides waiting for him.
Neal was utterly, helplessly in love… and similarly heartbroken, because the set was not in his hands but the hands of the man standing at the antiquarian bookshop’s counter, who was gazing at them with only a bit less adoration than Neal felt.
“Thank you,” the man said in a low, awed voice as the bookseller wrapped the volume - and its companions! Oh, it was a complete set! - carefully in acid-free paper and tucked them in a bag.
Neal watched his prizes disappear, and he turned his eye critically to their new owner. He could take what he wanted from him just as easily. The man was young, with floppy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses in a shape that had never been in fashion. He had the air of a student, eager and casually dressed, but no student could have afforded such a luxury as these books. When he turned, Neal could see from the lines around his eyes that the man wasn’t as young as his battered leather satchel and well-worn jeans had made him appear. He was fit, too, with faint scars on his arms and a confidence in his step, like he hid beneath the scholarly surface a man who was rough and rugged.
As the man passed, Neal smiled at him, and he was pleasantly surprised by the assessing gaze in return before the distracted but promising smile. A frisson of anticipation ran up Neal’s spine. The chase would be as good as the reward, he thought happily. Well, almost as good.
Daniel, as Neal learned the man’s name was when he lifted the credit card receipt at the store, lived nearby and was easy to find. Neal stalked him for the better part of a weekend, casually having coffee in Daniel’s line of sight at a nearby diner and accidentally bumping into him at the newsstand in Daniel’s neighborhood . Finally Daniel made the first move and introduced himself when they found themselves in line together at the local convenience store, and it didn’t take long for Neal to seduce him with wine and archaeological talk and garner an invitation back to his apartment.
Neal was delighted to find that Daniel was enthusiastic about more than just old books. He was gorgeous in bed once he got over his first flutter of nerves, and Neal had no trouble at all fogging Daniel’s clearly brilliant mind with pleasure. In fact, he enjoyed it so much he did it again. And again.
The next morning Neal had a smile on his face and a spring in his step as he left the apartment. He was sore and sated and a perhaps a little wistful. They could have had so much to talk about.
But Neal was in love, and his fingers were even more eager to touch the leather of the Roberts folios in his bag than they were to map Daniel’s warm skin. If he’d left the five-thousand-year-old white cross-lined ware bowl on Daniel’s shelf instead of taking it to finance his next heist, well… even Neal had his weak moments.
For zubiemom, who asked for Spike/Xander, hurt/comfort:
Spike helped Xander to sit on the couch, guiding him down to the cushions and swinging his feet up so that he was lying comfortably. He tucked a blanket around him and looked critically at the pillows and the angle of Xander’s view of the TV.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Fine,” Xander said. “Great. Now can you stop hovering? I’m fine. You heard the doctor.”
“You had a steel beam dropped on your head,” Spike said. “Remember?”
“One, it was a piece of rebar, not a beam, and two, I was wearing my hardhat, and I don’t even have a concussion. Just a headache and a couple of stitches on my arm where it grazed me. I could be back at work.”
“I was listening to the doctor, and it was eight stitches and a week off of work, pet,” Spike told him. “Need your hearing checked, too?”
“No.” Xander sank back against the cushions, his face pinched and paler than usual. He shut his eyes.
“Let me get you one of those happy pills,” Spike said more gently. He shouldn’t be angry at Xander; he should be angry at those bleeding idiots who dropped the rebar.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
Sighing, Xander opened one eye and said, “ Just one.”
Spike found the bottle and struggled to open the childproof cap for a moment before crushing it neatly in his fist. Not like there were kiddies in the apartment, anyway. He fished out a pain pill and brought it and a glass of water back to Xander.
“There,” he said as Xander dutifully swallowed it down and settled back. “What else do you need, love?”
“I just need to relax.”
“Want me to suck you off, then?”
Xander’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“You know.” Spike gestured toward Xander’s blanket-covered crotch. “I’ll do all the work. Then you’ll be nice and relaxed.”
“What? No!”
“Why not?” Spike asked, honestly perplexed. Who turned down a blowjob?
“Because!” Xander winced at the volume of his own voice and continued much more quietly. “Because my head is throbbing like someone’s jackhammering, and I just want to lie here quietly.”
Spike considered blowjobs past. “Yeah, you aren’t quiet.”
Xander snorted. “Like you should talk. Anyway, what is this, crazy vampire medicine? Feed a cold, starve a fever, shag a head wound?”
“Something like that.” Spike stood there helplessly. All he knew was Xander was hurt, and he couldn’t do a bloody thing. He wasn’t made for this, not being able to rip something’s head off when someone he loved was hurt. He was meant to beat people to a pulp. What did he know about pills and workman’s comp and fragile human bodies when he wasn’t the one breaking them?
After a minute Xander looked up at him. “Come here,” he said, inching toward the back of the couch until there was a silver of cushion space available.
Spike did as he was told and quickly found himself wrapped up in Xander’s arms.
“There,” Xander said muzzily. “Now I can rest.”
If only Spike could relax so easily.
*
For campylobacter, who asked for a cracky SG-1 pairing, bashful:
Sergeant Siler edged quietly into the infirmary. He grimaced at the pair of nurses on duty and gestured at his right hand, which was wrapped securely with a towel and an ice pack.
“We’ll get her,” one of the nurses said. Siler was impressed by how she almost kept the giggle out of her voice as she led him to a bed and called for Dr. Fraser.
“What brings you here today, sergeant?” Dr. Fraser asked when she came around the edge of the curtain. She was smiling. She was always smiling when she saw him, even when a team had come in hot and their eyes met over wounded soldiers on stretchers. Even then, she had a little smile for him.
“Broken finger,” he told her. “We were moving the BLUs, and one of them tipped over.”
She shook her head and unwrapped the towel and ice pack from his throbbing hand. She examined him briefly but with the gentle touch of an angel. “We’ll need to get an x-ray, but it looks like a simple fracture.”
Siler nodded. “It didn’t seem too bad when I heard the snap.”
“Let me write up the orders. I’ll be right back.” When she got to the curtain, Dr. Fraser - Janet! - turned back to him. “You know, sergeant, you don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to see me. You could just ask me to lunch.”
Siler ducked his head bashfully, but his heart pounded in his chest. Lunch! Why hadn’t he thought of that?
*
For bethynyc, who gave me a bunch of pretty boys from different fandoms and asked for a crossover (I chose Neal Caffrey from White Collar and Daniel Jackson from SG-1), predatory:
Neal was in love.
It was a first edition deluxe subscriber’s copy volume of David Roberts drawings from his travels in Egypt and the Near East, a hundred twenty hand-colored lithographic plates mounted on card and trimmed to size with a gilt-bordered cover in nearly perfect shape for being from the 1840s. The paper was silk across one’s fingers. The colors were as vivid as the day they were inked. The dark green leather binding was as soft as a woman’s breast and nearly as intoxicating.
What it was doing in Colorado he would never know. Besides waiting for him.
Neal was utterly, helplessly in love… and similarly heartbroken, because the set was not in his hands but the hands of the man standing at the antiquarian bookshop’s counter, who was gazing at them with only a bit less adoration than Neal felt.
“Thank you,” the man said in a low, awed voice as the bookseller wrapped the volume - and its companions! Oh, it was a complete set! - carefully in acid-free paper and tucked them in a bag.
Neal watched his prizes disappear, and he turned his eye critically to their new owner. He could take what he wanted from him just as easily. The man was young, with floppy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses in a shape that had never been in fashion. He had the air of a student, eager and casually dressed, but no student could have afforded such a luxury as these books. When he turned, Neal could see from the lines around his eyes that the man wasn’t as young as his battered leather satchel and well-worn jeans had made him appear. He was fit, too, with faint scars on his arms and a confidence in his step, like he hid beneath the scholarly surface a man who was rough and rugged.
As the man passed, Neal smiled at him, and he was pleasantly surprised by the assessing gaze in return before the distracted but promising smile. A frisson of anticipation ran up Neal’s spine. The chase would be as good as the reward, he thought happily. Well, almost as good.
Daniel, as Neal learned the man’s name was when he lifted the credit card receipt at the store, lived nearby and was easy to find. Neal stalked him for the better part of a weekend, casually having coffee in Daniel’s line of sight at a nearby diner and accidentally bumping into him at the newsstand in Daniel’s neighborhood . Finally Daniel made the first move and introduced himself when they found themselves in line together at the local convenience store, and it didn’t take long for Neal to seduce him with wine and archaeological talk and garner an invitation back to his apartment.
Neal was delighted to find that Daniel was enthusiastic about more than just old books. He was gorgeous in bed once he got over his first flutter of nerves, and Neal had no trouble at all fogging Daniel’s clearly brilliant mind with pleasure. In fact, he enjoyed it so much he did it again. And again.
The next morning Neal had a smile on his face and a spring in his step as he left the apartment. He was sore and sated and a perhaps a little wistful. They could have had so much to talk about.
But Neal was in love, and his fingers were even more eager to touch the leather of the Roberts folios in his bag than they were to map Daniel’s warm skin. If he’d left the five-thousand-year-old white cross-lined ware bowl on Daniel’s shelf instead of taking it to finance his next heist, well… even Neal had his weak moments.