Happy birthday Wench & Lucdarling!
Happy Birthday my lovelies! I'm late for one of you (sorry ladywinchester!!) but I'm actually early for the other! (Woo, luc_darling!) It's been great getting to know you, and I hope that this year can only treat you better and lead you to greater places. ♥
Without further ado~
For ladywinchester:
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, don' look at me, t'ain't what I 'ad in mind:
They're back to back to back, and normally that'd mean winning, but then, normally doesn't include facing a goddamn pack of werewolves; which, seriously guys, what the fuck, werewolves are supposed to be solo sons of bitches (literally).
"Y'owe me fifty bucks, Winchester," Eliot growls, "told you he'd get us into trouble again."
Remy clicks his tongue at them and shakes his head, saying, "Trust me, mon ami, I 'ad much better t'ings in mind."
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, the stories you tell over beer:
"What, I'm supposed to take that shit seriously," Eliot says, pausing only long enough to swallow some beer since clearly he hasn't had enough, "that you... and an angel, like, a real angel and not fuckin' Warren Worthington the mother-fuckin' third..."
"Least it's better d'an some of de other rumors," Remy says, and he manages to smirk while wrapping his lips around the bottle. Eliot blinks, a lot, because neither of the other men are sayin' anything and damn but if Winchester ain't turning the brightest shade of red...
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, how you get what you want:
Remy knows it's Dean that lifts the talisman not Eliot, and not just because the man is clumsier than Eliot at the fine art of pick-pocketing; he has a tell --there's always a tell-- in this case the way he holds his breath, mouth stilling while he thinks with his fingers instead of his cock (though he has the same tell during sex, amusingly enough). He can see the moment Eliot gets it from Dean, smooth as silk and with a devil's smile, though there is not a tell (none that Remy is able to discern, and this pleases him), not from Eliot, in any case.
But the way that Dean gasps and moves between them gives him away, nevermind the way it covers for Remy stealing the talisman back.
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, the stories you tell over whiskey:
Eliot's voice just sort of stops, and Dean can tell from the look on his face that there's actually an end to that sentence (to the whole story), that the only reason why Dean and Remy heard as much as they did is the couple bottles of whiskey they're steadily draining. Remy pours another (heftier) round, and Dean presses the glass into Eliot's hand until he's sure the man's back in the present enough to keep hold of it.
"For d'e t'ings we'd change if we could, and d'e t'ings ain't ever gon'be forgot," Remy says; this shot seems to burn more as it goes down.
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean + Parker, not that kind of reputation:
Parker blinks and looks at Remy and Eliot like they'll make what Dean just said make sense, and asks "But... you saved the world, shouldn't everyone be giving you high fives and stuff, or at least the ones who know cos most people don't, even though come on everyone ought'a know angels exist..."
"Ain't how it works," Eliot says, the fondness in his voice doing nothing to hide his exasperation, and Parker scrunches her nose.
"Yeah," Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face, "not when we maybe started the Apocalypse to begin with."
For luc_darling:
White Collar/Castle, Neal Caffrey / or & Alexis Castle, behind blue eyes:
Clever hands can hide the truth like clever smiles can lie so sweetly, but the eyes are the windows to the soul, and the soul needs to be dead for your eyes to really lie to the perceptive; the problem with knowing if you can get away with it is making eye contact.
Neal knows better than to risk so great a tell with the cop, and lies easily to the writer, but the girl, with her bright blue eyes and perfect posture, she looks him in the eye and sees straight through him, one eyebrow raising subtly. It's not until Peter leaves him alone (relatively speaking, of course) to eat that she corners him, eyes narrowed, and asks, "Why are you so sad?"
Brothers!AU (Olyphant & Kitsch), it's a slow burn going down:
"Well that's gotta be the dumbest damn thing you've ever done," Tim says, mostly growling as he hands over the bag of ice and a shot of whiskey to Taylor, the first for the budding black eye and the latter for the pain in his shoulder, "and that's in a long damn list of stupid."
Taylor pouts and mutters, "Wasn't that dumb," before laying delicately pressing the ice to his face.
Tim huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms, and says, "Oh, no, this is definitely in your top ten, boy."
Justified/Castle, Raylan Givens+Alexis Castle, spinning tales:
Plays off of this.
"Dad always said the trick is to tell the truth," she says a little wistfully, "because it's hard to find the spin between that and the confidence, whether you're a writer or a politician. There's one piece of advice I never thought I'd need."
"Well, I for one am grateful," Raylan says, "and I'm pretty sure if you were older my boss'd be offerin' you a job.
Brothers!AU (Olyphant & Kitsch), read between the lines to what they'll never say out loud:
"You stupid sonuvabitch," is what Tim says -it's what Taylor expects, he snuck out after all- but he's never looked so distraught, his long arms reeling Taylor in for a hug at once so tight and so careful that Taylor's throat closes around whatever retort he might have had. They stay like that for a long, long moment, the smell of smoke and wet ash hanging acrid around them, oblivious to anyone and everyone else.
"C'mon," Tim says, pulling back just enough to walk towards an ambulance and drag Taylor with him, "you're getting looked at, and then we're going home."
Apollo!AU, Morpheus & Hermes, quicksilver tongues & sticking together:
"Your tongue is not so clever as it once was, brother," Benedict says, the corners of his mouth curling up despite himself; it takes the barest amount of will to pass this small delight on, crafting good dreams where there would have been nightmares.
Hermes --Matthew now, of course-- holds a hand to his chest as though wounded, but his eyes twinkle with the enthusiasm of boundless self confidence. "And yet you will come, and I'll make sure Rachel and Robert and Jeff keep you entertained."
Sherlock, Sherlock, "violent opposition from mediocre minds":
Sherlock had always known the truth of Einstein's words even before he'd read them, though to be sure his first discovery of them had been some small comfort. He was long used to criticism from people like Donovan; they are easy enough to toy with when bored, but they are at the very least decent at what they do, with sound minds if not excellent ones.
But men like this are like gadflies --sadly, not in the Platonic sense-- that would readily shake their shotguns in your face for being smarter, and without the added provocation of at least showing off...
Inception, Arthur/Ariadne/Eames, "sophistication isn't what you wear or who you know":
"It isn't about reputation, pet," Eames says in her ear, one hand on the small of her back and the other lifting her wrist, guiding her hand to the appropriate position in the air across from Arthur, "or even what you wear, especially not in the dream."
"Sophistication begins with poise," Arthur intones, and there's something about the way he's standing, the tilt of his head, the way he moves when he finally approaches her, something so smooth and elegant she's barely aware of Eames turning her, guiding her to the next dance position.
"Poise and confidence," Eames says, chuckling, "things which our dear Arthur has is spades."
Without further ado~
For ladywinchester:
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, don' look at me, t'ain't what I 'ad in mind:
They're back to back to back, and normally that'd mean winning, but then, normally doesn't include facing a goddamn pack of werewolves; which, seriously guys, what the fuck, werewolves are supposed to be solo sons of bitches (literally).
"Y'owe me fifty bucks, Winchester," Eliot growls, "told you he'd get us into trouble again."
Remy clicks his tongue at them and shakes his head, saying, "Trust me, mon ami, I 'ad much better t'ings in mind."
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, the stories you tell over beer:
"What, I'm supposed to take that shit seriously," Eliot says, pausing only long enough to swallow some beer since clearly he hasn't had enough, "that you... and an angel, like, a real angel and not fuckin' Warren Worthington the mother-fuckin' third..."
"Least it's better d'an some of de other rumors," Remy says, and he manages to smirk while wrapping his lips around the bottle. Eliot blinks, a lot, because neither of the other men are sayin' anything and damn but if Winchester ain't turning the brightest shade of red...
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, how you get what you want:
Remy knows it's Dean that lifts the talisman not Eliot, and not just because the man is clumsier than Eliot at the fine art of pick-pocketing; he has a tell --there's always a tell-- in this case the way he holds his breath, mouth stilling while he thinks with his fingers instead of his cock (though he has the same tell during sex, amusingly enough). He can see the moment Eliot gets it from Dean, smooth as silk and with a devil's smile, though there is not a tell (none that Remy is able to discern, and this pleases him), not from Eliot, in any case.
But the way that Dean gasps and moves between them gives him away, nevermind the way it covers for Remy stealing the talisman back.
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean, the stories you tell over whiskey:
Eliot's voice just sort of stops, and Dean can tell from the look on his face that there's actually an end to that sentence (to the whole story), that the only reason why Dean and Remy heard as much as they did is the couple bottles of whiskey they're steadily draining. Remy pours another (heftier) round, and Dean presses the glass into Eliot's hand until he's sure the man's back in the present enough to keep hold of it.
"For d'e t'ings we'd change if we could, and d'e t'ings ain't ever gon'be forgot," Remy says; this shot seems to burn more as it goes down.
X-Men/Leverage/SPN, Remy/Eliot/Dean + Parker, not that kind of reputation:
Parker blinks and looks at Remy and Eliot like they'll make what Dean just said make sense, and asks "But... you saved the world, shouldn't everyone be giving you high fives and stuff, or at least the ones who know cos most people don't, even though come on everyone ought'a know angels exist..."
"Ain't how it works," Eliot says, the fondness in his voice doing nothing to hide his exasperation, and Parker scrunches her nose.
"Yeah," Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face, "not when we maybe started the Apocalypse to begin with."
For luc_darling:
White Collar/Castle, Neal Caffrey / or & Alexis Castle, behind blue eyes:
Clever hands can hide the truth like clever smiles can lie so sweetly, but the eyes are the windows to the soul, and the soul needs to be dead for your eyes to really lie to the perceptive; the problem with knowing if you can get away with it is making eye contact.
Neal knows better than to risk so great a tell with the cop, and lies easily to the writer, but the girl, with her bright blue eyes and perfect posture, she looks him in the eye and sees straight through him, one eyebrow raising subtly. It's not until Peter leaves him alone (relatively speaking, of course) to eat that she corners him, eyes narrowed, and asks, "Why are you so sad?"
Brothers!AU (Olyphant & Kitsch), it's a slow burn going down:
"Well that's gotta be the dumbest damn thing you've ever done," Tim says, mostly growling as he hands over the bag of ice and a shot of whiskey to Taylor, the first for the budding black eye and the latter for the pain in his shoulder, "and that's in a long damn list of stupid."
Taylor pouts and mutters, "Wasn't that dumb," before laying delicately pressing the ice to his face.
Tim huffs out a laugh, crossing his arms, and says, "Oh, no, this is definitely in your top ten, boy."
Justified/Castle, Raylan Givens+Alexis Castle, spinning tales:
Plays off of this.
"Dad always said the trick is to tell the truth," she says a little wistfully, "because it's hard to find the spin between that and the confidence, whether you're a writer or a politician. There's one piece of advice I never thought I'd need."
"Well, I for one am grateful," Raylan says, "and I'm pretty sure if you were older my boss'd be offerin' you a job.
Brothers!AU (Olyphant & Kitsch), read between the lines to what they'll never say out loud:
"You stupid sonuvabitch," is what Tim says -it's what Taylor expects, he snuck out after all- but he's never looked so distraught, his long arms reeling Taylor in for a hug at once so tight and so careful that Taylor's throat closes around whatever retort he might have had. They stay like that for a long, long moment, the smell of smoke and wet ash hanging acrid around them, oblivious to anyone and everyone else.
"C'mon," Tim says, pulling back just enough to walk towards an ambulance and drag Taylor with him, "you're getting looked at, and then we're going home."
Apollo!AU, Morpheus & Hermes, quicksilver tongues & sticking together:
"Your tongue is not so clever as it once was, brother," Benedict says, the corners of his mouth curling up despite himself; it takes the barest amount of will to pass this small delight on, crafting good dreams where there would have been nightmares.
Hermes --Matthew now, of course-- holds a hand to his chest as though wounded, but his eyes twinkle with the enthusiasm of boundless self confidence. "And yet you will come, and I'll make sure Rachel and Robert and Jeff keep you entertained."
Sherlock, Sherlock, "violent opposition from mediocre minds":
Sherlock had always known the truth of Einstein's words even before he'd read them, though to be sure his first discovery of them had been some small comfort. He was long used to criticism from people like Donovan; they are easy enough to toy with when bored, but they are at the very least decent at what they do, with sound minds if not excellent ones.
But men like this are like gadflies --sadly, not in the Platonic sense-- that would readily shake their shotguns in your face for being smarter, and without the added provocation of at least showing off...
Inception, Arthur/Ariadne/Eames, "sophistication isn't what you wear or who you know":
"It isn't about reputation, pet," Eames says in her ear, one hand on the small of her back and the other lifting her wrist, guiding her hand to the appropriate position in the air across from Arthur, "or even what you wear, especially not in the dream."
"Sophistication begins with poise," Arthur intones, and there's something about the way he's standing, the tilt of his head, the way he moves when he finally approaches her, something so smooth and elegant she's barely aware of Eames turning her, guiding her to the next dance position.
"Poise and confidence," Eames says, chuckling, "things which our dear Arthur has is spades."