December Drabble Dump!
It's time for the December 2010 drabble dump! All of these are from comment_fic, with a wide variety of fandoms, pairings, and ratings. I have a little Criminal Minds, some Heroes, Supernatural, Leverage, Firefly (in songfic form!), Torchwood, along with some Firefly/Leverage and Firefly/Supernatural. Enjoy!
Any, any, two ladies + masks.
Mirror - Criminal Minds, Prentiss/J.J., PG-13
Emily's fingers disappeared into Jennifer's newly-black hair, smoothing and brushing it back until it was shiny and smooth. It matched the slick black arm coverings, like sleeves bereft of their garments, oil-smooth and elegant, covering their arms from wrist to elbow.
Jennifer turned around, smiling as she picked up the masks from the table, pressing Emily's mask against her eyes, tying it tight, hiding the ribbons in her dark hair. Emily's dark red lips echo Jennifer's as she does the same, the twisting black horns of the mask rearing up over her head. They were like dark doppelgangers, twins, black and pale and red crossing each other's vision again and again.
Jennifer turns again so Emily can help her into her dress, tight against her skin, skirt loose so she could move. Emily drops a soft kiss on the back of her neck as she smoothes the fabric back down, her hands gliding across Jennifer's shoulder, goosebumps rising in her wake.
Jennifer twirls as Emily turns, like the image of a mirror, helping her into her own dress. From the back it's completely scandalous, so plunging that nothing could be worn underneath, so easy to slip a hand in to touch where Emily must surely be aching for contact.
Emily turns again, solemn now, her lips serious and tempting, looking imperious, mysterious, and untouchable. The effect was teasingly erotic, and from the glitter in her eyes, Jennifer had to look the same to her.
The two women turned back to the door, the murmur and buzz of the party outside reaching their ears now, intruding on their private show. Jennifer set her mouth in the same serious mien as Emily reached for the door, her hand clasped in Emily's, both of them unwilling to let go.
Cost of Silence - Heroes, Sylar/Peter, Hard R'>
Any, any, pretending to be into a kink just because one's partner likes it
Cost of Silence - Heroes, Sylar/Peter, Hard R
Sylar loved to see Peter struggle. Maybe it was a holdover from the bad days before he'd learned to control his hunger. Maybe it was simply a power thing, the last control he got to have over anyone, now that he was trying to reform.
And Peter loved to see Sylar look at him with lust and trust in his eyes, eyes glittering with anticipation, lips glistening from licking them over and over, pale skin flushed with desire as Peter fought against his telekinetic bonds.
Peter let out a moan as Sylar descended on him, struggling up against Sylar's invisible hold, skin denting as he pressed futily against the power of Sylar's mind. The kiss Sylar pressed against him, all desperate lips, needy, sucking tongue, and breath-stealing desperation, nearly made up for not being able to move.
Peter soaked it in, reveling in every touch of Sylar's body against him, every bit of contact he could get before Sylar pulled away. A teasing touch, but cool and without the heat from Sylar's body, tormented Peter, making him squirm and writhe.
"You're so damn beautiful," Sylar murmured, fingers stretching out in an echo of his telekinetic touch. He stifled a moan of his own as Peter's cock twitched, imagining it was from the wonderful feeling of helplessness.
Peter kept his eyes focused on Sylar, imagining the heat of his touch, wanting that contact, that physical warmth that he craved above all else. Being held down did little for him; above all, he wanted to be touched, but this was what Sylar craved. It was the last bit of control that he let himself desire, and Peter was all right in letting him believe Peter wanted it as ardently as he did.
So Peter thrashed against Sylar's hold, moaning and crying out in anticipation, keeping just one last secret so they could enjoy themselves. And when Sylar let him go, and Peter touched him and drew him deep inside, it was more than worth the cost of his silence.
Neutral State - Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, PG'>
Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, there's a 500 year age gap
Neutral State - Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, PG
River Tam was eighteen going on forever. Or five, depending on the hour, only to switch again. The tampering with her brain had kept her going past the eradication of her own self.
Sam Winchester was twenty-eight going on an eternity spent in Hell. The imprint of Lucifer on his soul had kept him going past the destruction of his own planet.
She'd been smuggled on board in an attempt to save her life, and stayed on to keep it.
He'd paid his way on board to escape old enemies, and stayed to stay away from it.
River had told Sam he was too old for her.
"But I'm too young for myself, so these pieces fit quantifiably. The revolution of the age means that eventually we are all the same at certain points of time and space."
Sam told her he had enemies stretching back centuries.
"Old baggage. Really old. And they have a whole lot of hurt stored up against me."
"My own enemies seek to obliterate the future. Positive and negative, they cancel each other out. We become a neutral state. Safe. Safer together."
She kissed him, five hundred years young, and he kissed her back, five hundred years old, and just like she said, the ages fell away, and they were whole for one moment in a thousand years of starlight and hellfire.
Leverage, Team & Eliot, Eliot is in too much pain not to take the painkillers, no matter how they make him feel.
Anchor - Leverage, Team & Eliot, PG-13
He was floating, mind barely tethered to his body, weak and disoriented.
----
"Don't-," Eliot says, pushing Hardison's hand away. "No."
Hardison normally might have backed up a few steps, or a few rooms, at the glare Eliot was leveling at him, but stood his ground easily. Part of it was that those two words were about the only ones Eliot could get out without clenching his jaw to keep from groaning in pain. Part of it was the rest of the team at his back.
"No man. You need this stuff. Seriously, you are in a bad way," he said insistently.
----
He couldn't feel his flesh, didn't feel anything real. Fear surged briefly, held at bay by drugs, remembering an opium druglord that thought to create an addicted slave out of him.
----
"Eliot, you were hit by a car after you took on three of those thugs by yourself! You have four broken ribs and a broken arm; your doctor friend wants you to get some sleep, not lie here in pain!" Sophie pleaded.
----
Where was he without his body? He was the hitter, it was his job to use his body. He couldn't feel, couldn't feel anything...
----
"You look like hamburger. That's gross," Parker said, wrinkling her nose and pulling Eliot's blanket up farther to cover his arm, warming his chilly skin.
----
He saw people when he was floating, faces out of the dark corners of his mind. He didn't want to see them again, didn't want to have to explain...
----
"Eliot, we're here, and we're not going to leave you alone, all right? We can watch over you for once. We can handle this," Nate said, his voice confident and supportive, knowing exactly what Eliot needed to hear.
"Don't... leave," Eliot whispered, almost in a gasp. "I can't-."
Nate jerked his head, keeping Eliot from saying what he didn't want to. Eliot stayed silent as he let Hardison push the button on his morphine drip, feeling the rush of floating oblivion hit his system, and the stabbing, agonizing pains finally fade.
----
He was in blackness, no way out, but it was ok, because he could just about feel Sophie's hand on his, hear a voice that wasn't accusing, giving him an anchor that would let him find his way home.
Firefly/Leverage, Jayne + Eliot, bar fights.
As Much Trouble As He's Worth - Firefly/Leverage, Jayne + Eliot, PG-13
Normally, Jayne sized up most men with a view to the easiest way to take them out of action, if it came to that. Some people needed just a bit of intimidation or harsh language. Some needed a few pushes, or maybe just a serious punch to show them you meant business. Others needed to see a gun or knife. And some clearly were way more trouble than they were worth.
Those guys, if they weren't the kind that were fixing to kick Jayne's teeth through the other side of his head, could often appreciate the finer points of a good bar fight.
The short, long-haired guy was one of those.
Mal had thrown the first punch (feeling his U-Day oats, not that Jayne needed an excuse), but Jayne had thrown the second. The long-haired guy threw the next ten or so, until Jayne had broken into a grin and body-slammed the low-down dirty skunk who thought he'd sneak up and try to end the fight with a knife.
A very brief pause in the action brought Jayne right next to the man, long enough to exchange a few bits of crucial information.
"Eliot," the long-haired man said quickly.
"Jayne."
"I'll go low."
Nothing else really needed to be said. Eliot knocked any and all opponents to their knees, and Jayne gleefully finished them off with a few well-placed fists or elbows to the head.
A celebratory whiskey afterwards was just common politeness; Jayne's mamma had taught him that.
"You're good," Eliot said, tossing back his whiskey without a grimace, following it up with an insurance kick to one of the semi-conscious bodies on the floor that was trying to stir.
"Not bad yourself," Jayne said, raising his glass in salute.
"Jayne, much as I like that you've made a new friend, we have lawmen on the way," Mal said, his post-fight euphoria fading as the sirens grew louder.
"Yeah, Mal," Jayne said, rolling his eyes as he pushed back from the bar, putting a few more marks on someone's face as he did.
"Where you headed next?" Eliot asked in an undertone, eyes glancing towards the back door.
"Persephone," Jayne said in the same voice, grabbing the bottle from the bar as he stood up to make an exit.
"You know Danny's bar?"
"Yup."
Eliot grinned at Jayne's savage expression of understanding, and vaulted over the bar. Cradling the whiskey bottle in his hand as he followed Mal out, Jayne realized he'd never been looking forward so much to planetfall.
SPN, Dean/Cas, Cas may have made Dean a little more sensitive in the prostate area when he rebuilt him, just in case he ever reciprocated his feelings.
Positive Pressure - Supernatural, Dean/Cas, NC-17
Dean had to turn his head to the side to breathe through the feathers filling the air. The feathers being from when he ripped the pillow in half a second ago, after Cas had touched him.
Touched him. Jesus. That didn't even do it justice. Cas had been all gentle and careful and Dean had snarked at him to "Hurry the hell up, Cas, I'm not made of damn glass!" Then Cas had slid his fingers inside and hooked them and Dean had shattered like a car crash. He'd come so hard his vision had whited out, he'd probably said things he'd never intended another living soul to hear, and had damn near destroyed the bed.
"Ah. That was... unanticipated," Cas said slowly. His fingers, Dean realized, were still deep in his ass. Dean was surprisingly comfortable with that.
"Wha?" Dean managed, trying to not inhale a mouthful of down.
Cas moved his fingers again, and Dean gasped, ignoring the feathers for the pleasure that spiked inside his ass, making his spent cock valiantly try to rise.
"Mrr!" he got out, a wordless plea for more.
"I did not mean for this to be so intense-." Castiel stopped talking as Dean eagerly pushed back on Cas's fingers, trying to impale himself deeper. "You are enjoying this?"
Dean nodded frantically, reaching one hand back and flailing it in Castiel's direction until they clasped hands. Dean squeezed his hand fiercely, and Castiel took his hand away, ignoring Dean's protest as he effortlessly flipped him over.
"I must make certain you wish to continue," Castiel continued solemnly.
Dean looked up at him blearily, eyes wide and dark with lust, hips restlessly twitching, seeking the friction they'd had just a second before.
"I may have... cheated," Castiel said, hanging his head in shame.
"Cas, if you don't get back to what you were doing, I swear I'm-."
Castiel gently touched the rim of Dean's hole, teasing it enough to stop Dean's pleas.
"We have a profound bond, you and I. From the moment I was commanded to raise you from Perdition, you were the one I chose."
Castiel's fingers penetrated deeper, and Dean kept a death grip on the angel's arm as he got closer and closer to where Dean craved his touch the most.
"But I have a male vessel. I could not know how you would react to me in that state."
"Cas, it's ok, I-."
"When I rebuilt you, I made certain... changes."
Dean froze for a second, and then relaxed. "You rehymenated me. Yeah, I got that."
"That was not all."
Castiel's fingers crept closer, and Dean's breath got short.
"If you ever reciprocated our bond, I wished for our joining to be pleasurable."
Castiel pressed down on Dean's prostate, and the world exploded briefly, coming back together with Dean's ass clamped around Cas' gently rubbing fingers.
"Intensely pleasurable," Castiel continued, his voice a low purr.
Dean reached up and pulled Castiel down, seizing on his lips and kissing him hard, gasping slightly at every deeper pressure Cas exerted inside him.
"No arguments here," Dean said positively, and groaned as Castiel pulled his fingers away.
"Then..." Castiel said slowly, pushing Dean's thighs apart, his eyebrow quirked.
Dean reached out to him and pressed Castiel's hand to the brand on his shoulder, shuddering in sympathy when he saw Castiel shiver like he had a moment before.
"More," Dean demanded. "You gave it to me, so let's take it out for a spin." Castiel's cock nudged at him just once, and then split him open, filled the ache inside him, the pressure on his sensitive gland making him yell out Castiel's name.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Torchwood, team, the most epic snowball fight that the world had never seen.
Epic - Torchwood, team, PG
It was Epic in every sense of the word. The Rift had opened up and spewed out a snowstorm from the Ice Age, blanketing Cardiff in eight feet of snow in a day. Jack, having spent a few years on an ice planet, insisted in dragging the whole team out of the Hub to enjoy it. With the whole city covered in snow, there was no place they couldn't go. Even running on rooftops was easy, with the snow packed down to make a ramp.
No one was sure who had thrown the first snowball, but after the first volley, it really didn't matter. Tosh had the foresight to bring up some piece of alien tech that could levitate small objects. Gwen was happy to put her relatively new marksmanship skills to the test against their fearless leader. Owen knew exactly where to toss his own snowballs for maximum effect. And Ianto was there with hot tea after half the snow in the city had been thrown, made into forts, fallen into, or ended up on the team's clothes.
By far, it was the best secret they ever had to keep.
Any, Any, Joker vs. Thief
All Along The Watchtower - Firefly, Wash and Saffron, PG-13
Inspired by Bear McCreary's version of All Along The Watchtower (music), Lyrics
-----
"There must be some way outta here," Wash muttered to himself, peering through the small windows of the spare shuttle.
"I greatly doubt it," Saffron said scathingly.
"It's just so... confusing."
"You'd think soup was confusing."
"I can't get any relief from these lights-." Wash went uncharacteristically silent as he piloted the shuttle through the wreckage of the dead space station, ducking and swerving under old walkways, and what used to be docking stations and entertainment kiosks. Intermittent lights confused the shadows, making what was once a way out into a dead end, twisting the corridors and opening up new avenues to explore.
"Look at all of this," Saffron murmured, as Wash had to slow down to figure out which way to go to get back to Serenity. "Hydroponics," she pointed at the ruptured water tanks, then at remnants of glossy wood and mirror-glass bottles, "Good taverns... these people had no idea what this was all worth. We're going to make a fortune off this stuff."
"Well, be that as it may, I'm a little bit more interested in finding Zoe again before our air runs out again," Wash said loudly. "We were supposed to be back a long time ago."
"There's no need to get excited," Saffron said calmly. "We found the extender tanks. We're fine."
Wash flipped the shuttle around a corner, ducking under a beam, searching fruitlessly for some glimpse of blackness and stars instead of lights, animated signs, and twisted metal and plastic.
"There are a lot of people, including your captain, who thinks life is just a joke. He lost the war, and now he's just hanging around, waiting for the big cosmic punch line. But you and I? We've been through this, and that's not our fate, is it? We're not just going to drift through life all angry and bitter, are we?"
"Generally I prefer to leave my bitterness somewhere on the dining table whenever someone makes Jayne cook," Wash said nervously, flicking his eyes up to catch Saffron's reflection in the window.
"Let's not tell each other lies, then. It's getting kind of late in the day for that," Saffron said quietly.
Wash snorted in laughter. "Uh, first time you met us, you lied about everything, and I have the headwound to remind me."
Saffron leaned forward, one hand on the back of Wash's chair, the other on the metal of the console, her silk-clad chest pressing into his arm.
"Look up," she said insistently. "There, those are the watchtowers. Those were the security stations. And they're pristine. Perfect. No one tried to take them out before the station was destroyed. They were letting anyone in. Probably this place had its share of unsavory trades. Slaves, most likely, on this end of space. Someone didn't like that."
Over the comm came a noise like a growl, standing out against the background static. Saffron suddenly stood up straight and folded her arms across her chest, going pale.
"And they wouldn't want anyone to know about it either," Wash said slowly, eyeing the silent, perfect sentinels. His sensors began to cheep at him, and he squinted to see two small signatures, scout ships probably, coming within range.
"Outriders," Saffron whispered, her voice trembling.
"Mal would have noticed them... He'd go to the opposite side to hide," Wash said, heart starting to pound as his eyes darted around the maze in which they were entangled.
"Do you trust me to save us?" Saffron asked urgently, her face almost white now as the lights flickered across her skin.
Wash barely hesitated. Saffron was excellent at getting herself out of any situation alive. And she needed him to get back to Zoe if she were to escape. He nodded.
"Follow the watchtowers, they'll lead you out. And gun the engines," Saffron whispered. Wash looked up at the towers again, seeing the sleek slopes of metal that connected them to the station. The vibrations would snap them off, creating chaos in their wake.
Wash spun the shuttle to point up and piled on the power, racing along the watchtowers. A silent howl pierced the stressed metal, making a wind, a gale of metal that fanned out behind them. The station writhed and howled with it as Wash and Saffron skimmed the edges of the wave, riding it all the way home.
Any, any, two ladies + masks.
Mirror - Criminal Minds, Prentiss/J.J., PG-13
Emily's fingers disappeared into Jennifer's newly-black hair, smoothing and brushing it back until it was shiny and smooth. It matched the slick black arm coverings, like sleeves bereft of their garments, oil-smooth and elegant, covering their arms from wrist to elbow.
Jennifer turned around, smiling as she picked up the masks from the table, pressing Emily's mask against her eyes, tying it tight, hiding the ribbons in her dark hair. Emily's dark red lips echo Jennifer's as she does the same, the twisting black horns of the mask rearing up over her head. They were like dark doppelgangers, twins, black and pale and red crossing each other's vision again and again.
Jennifer turns again so Emily can help her into her dress, tight against her skin, skirt loose so she could move. Emily drops a soft kiss on the back of her neck as she smoothes the fabric back down, her hands gliding across Jennifer's shoulder, goosebumps rising in her wake.
Jennifer twirls as Emily turns, like the image of a mirror, helping her into her own dress. From the back it's completely scandalous, so plunging that nothing could be worn underneath, so easy to slip a hand in to touch where Emily must surely be aching for contact.
Emily turns again, solemn now, her lips serious and tempting, looking imperious, mysterious, and untouchable. The effect was teasingly erotic, and from the glitter in her eyes, Jennifer had to look the same to her.
The two women turned back to the door, the murmur and buzz of the party outside reaching their ears now, intruding on their private show. Jennifer set her mouth in the same serious mien as Emily reached for the door, her hand clasped in Emily's, both of them unwilling to let go.
Cost of Silence - Heroes, Sylar/Peter, Hard R'>
Any, any, pretending to be into a kink just because one's partner likes it
Cost of Silence - Heroes, Sylar/Peter, Hard R
Sylar loved to see Peter struggle. Maybe it was a holdover from the bad days before he'd learned to control his hunger. Maybe it was simply a power thing, the last control he got to have over anyone, now that he was trying to reform.
And Peter loved to see Sylar look at him with lust and trust in his eyes, eyes glittering with anticipation, lips glistening from licking them over and over, pale skin flushed with desire as Peter fought against his telekinetic bonds.
Peter let out a moan as Sylar descended on him, struggling up against Sylar's invisible hold, skin denting as he pressed futily against the power of Sylar's mind. The kiss Sylar pressed against him, all desperate lips, needy, sucking tongue, and breath-stealing desperation, nearly made up for not being able to move.
Peter soaked it in, reveling in every touch of Sylar's body against him, every bit of contact he could get before Sylar pulled away. A teasing touch, but cool and without the heat from Sylar's body, tormented Peter, making him squirm and writhe.
"You're so damn beautiful," Sylar murmured, fingers stretching out in an echo of his telekinetic touch. He stifled a moan of his own as Peter's cock twitched, imagining it was from the wonderful feeling of helplessness.
Peter kept his eyes focused on Sylar, imagining the heat of his touch, wanting that contact, that physical warmth that he craved above all else. Being held down did little for him; above all, he wanted to be touched, but this was what Sylar craved. It was the last bit of control that he let himself desire, and Peter was all right in letting him believe Peter wanted it as ardently as he did.
So Peter thrashed against Sylar's hold, moaning and crying out in anticipation, keeping just one last secret so they could enjoy themselves. And when Sylar let him go, and Peter touched him and drew him deep inside, it was more than worth the cost of his silence.
Neutral State - Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, PG'>
Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, there's a 500 year age gap
Neutral State - Supernatural/Firefly, Sam/River, PG
River Tam was eighteen going on forever. Or five, depending on the hour, only to switch again. The tampering with her brain had kept her going past the eradication of her own self.
Sam Winchester was twenty-eight going on an eternity spent in Hell. The imprint of Lucifer on his soul had kept him going past the destruction of his own planet.
She'd been smuggled on board in an attempt to save her life, and stayed on to keep it.
He'd paid his way on board to escape old enemies, and stayed to stay away from it.
River had told Sam he was too old for her.
"But I'm too young for myself, so these pieces fit quantifiably. The revolution of the age means that eventually we are all the same at certain points of time and space."
Sam told her he had enemies stretching back centuries.
"Old baggage. Really old. And they have a whole lot of hurt stored up against me."
"My own enemies seek to obliterate the future. Positive and negative, they cancel each other out. We become a neutral state. Safe. Safer together."
She kissed him, five hundred years young, and he kissed her back, five hundred years old, and just like she said, the ages fell away, and they were whole for one moment in a thousand years of starlight and hellfire.
Leverage, Team & Eliot, Eliot is in too much pain not to take the painkillers, no matter how they make him feel.
Anchor - Leverage, Team & Eliot, PG-13
He was floating, mind barely tethered to his body, weak and disoriented.
----
"Don't-," Eliot says, pushing Hardison's hand away. "No."
Hardison normally might have backed up a few steps, or a few rooms, at the glare Eliot was leveling at him, but stood his ground easily. Part of it was that those two words were about the only ones Eliot could get out without clenching his jaw to keep from groaning in pain. Part of it was the rest of the team at his back.
"No man. You need this stuff. Seriously, you are in a bad way," he said insistently.
----
He couldn't feel his flesh, didn't feel anything real. Fear surged briefly, held at bay by drugs, remembering an opium druglord that thought to create an addicted slave out of him.
----
"Eliot, you were hit by a car after you took on three of those thugs by yourself! You have four broken ribs and a broken arm; your doctor friend wants you to get some sleep, not lie here in pain!" Sophie pleaded.
----
Where was he without his body? He was the hitter, it was his job to use his body. He couldn't feel, couldn't feel anything...
----
"You look like hamburger. That's gross," Parker said, wrinkling her nose and pulling Eliot's blanket up farther to cover his arm, warming his chilly skin.
----
He saw people when he was floating, faces out of the dark corners of his mind. He didn't want to see them again, didn't want to have to explain...
----
"Eliot, we're here, and we're not going to leave you alone, all right? We can watch over you for once. We can handle this," Nate said, his voice confident and supportive, knowing exactly what Eliot needed to hear.
"Don't... leave," Eliot whispered, almost in a gasp. "I can't-."
Nate jerked his head, keeping Eliot from saying what he didn't want to. Eliot stayed silent as he let Hardison push the button on his morphine drip, feeling the rush of floating oblivion hit his system, and the stabbing, agonizing pains finally fade.
----
He was in blackness, no way out, but it was ok, because he could just about feel Sophie's hand on his, hear a voice that wasn't accusing, giving him an anchor that would let him find his way home.
Firefly/Leverage, Jayne + Eliot, bar fights.
As Much Trouble As He's Worth - Firefly/Leverage, Jayne + Eliot, PG-13
Normally, Jayne sized up most men with a view to the easiest way to take them out of action, if it came to that. Some people needed just a bit of intimidation or harsh language. Some needed a few pushes, or maybe just a serious punch to show them you meant business. Others needed to see a gun or knife. And some clearly were way more trouble than they were worth.
Those guys, if they weren't the kind that were fixing to kick Jayne's teeth through the other side of his head, could often appreciate the finer points of a good bar fight.
The short, long-haired guy was one of those.
Mal had thrown the first punch (feeling his U-Day oats, not that Jayne needed an excuse), but Jayne had thrown the second. The long-haired guy threw the next ten or so, until Jayne had broken into a grin and body-slammed the low-down dirty skunk who thought he'd sneak up and try to end the fight with a knife.
A very brief pause in the action brought Jayne right next to the man, long enough to exchange a few bits of crucial information.
"Eliot," the long-haired man said quickly.
"Jayne."
"I'll go low."
Nothing else really needed to be said. Eliot knocked any and all opponents to their knees, and Jayne gleefully finished them off with a few well-placed fists or elbows to the head.
A celebratory whiskey afterwards was just common politeness; Jayne's mamma had taught him that.
"You're good," Eliot said, tossing back his whiskey without a grimace, following it up with an insurance kick to one of the semi-conscious bodies on the floor that was trying to stir.
"Not bad yourself," Jayne said, raising his glass in salute.
"Jayne, much as I like that you've made a new friend, we have lawmen on the way," Mal said, his post-fight euphoria fading as the sirens grew louder.
"Yeah, Mal," Jayne said, rolling his eyes as he pushed back from the bar, putting a few more marks on someone's face as he did.
"Where you headed next?" Eliot asked in an undertone, eyes glancing towards the back door.
"Persephone," Jayne said in the same voice, grabbing the bottle from the bar as he stood up to make an exit.
"You know Danny's bar?"
"Yup."
Eliot grinned at Jayne's savage expression of understanding, and vaulted over the bar. Cradling the whiskey bottle in his hand as he followed Mal out, Jayne realized he'd never been looking forward so much to planetfall.
SPN, Dean/Cas, Cas may have made Dean a little more sensitive in the prostate area when he rebuilt him, just in case he ever reciprocated his feelings.
Positive Pressure - Supernatural, Dean/Cas, NC-17
Dean had to turn his head to the side to breathe through the feathers filling the air. The feathers being from when he ripped the pillow in half a second ago, after Cas had touched him.
Touched him. Jesus. That didn't even do it justice. Cas had been all gentle and careful and Dean had snarked at him to "Hurry the hell up, Cas, I'm not made of damn glass!" Then Cas had slid his fingers inside and hooked them and Dean had shattered like a car crash. He'd come so hard his vision had whited out, he'd probably said things he'd never intended another living soul to hear, and had damn near destroyed the bed.
"Ah. That was... unanticipated," Cas said slowly. His fingers, Dean realized, were still deep in his ass. Dean was surprisingly comfortable with that.
"Wha?" Dean managed, trying to not inhale a mouthful of down.
Cas moved his fingers again, and Dean gasped, ignoring the feathers for the pleasure that spiked inside his ass, making his spent cock valiantly try to rise.
"Mrr!" he got out, a wordless plea for more.
"I did not mean for this to be so intense-." Castiel stopped talking as Dean eagerly pushed back on Cas's fingers, trying to impale himself deeper. "You are enjoying this?"
Dean nodded frantically, reaching one hand back and flailing it in Castiel's direction until they clasped hands. Dean squeezed his hand fiercely, and Castiel took his hand away, ignoring Dean's protest as he effortlessly flipped him over.
"I must make certain you wish to continue," Castiel continued solemnly.
Dean looked up at him blearily, eyes wide and dark with lust, hips restlessly twitching, seeking the friction they'd had just a second before.
"I may have... cheated," Castiel said, hanging his head in shame.
"Cas, if you don't get back to what you were doing, I swear I'm-."
Castiel gently touched the rim of Dean's hole, teasing it enough to stop Dean's pleas.
"We have a profound bond, you and I. From the moment I was commanded to raise you from Perdition, you were the one I chose."
Castiel's fingers penetrated deeper, and Dean kept a death grip on the angel's arm as he got closer and closer to where Dean craved his touch the most.
"But I have a male vessel. I could not know how you would react to me in that state."
"Cas, it's ok, I-."
"When I rebuilt you, I made certain... changes."
Dean froze for a second, and then relaxed. "You rehymenated me. Yeah, I got that."
"That was not all."
Castiel's fingers crept closer, and Dean's breath got short.
"If you ever reciprocated our bond, I wished for our joining to be pleasurable."
Castiel pressed down on Dean's prostate, and the world exploded briefly, coming back together with Dean's ass clamped around Cas' gently rubbing fingers.
"Intensely pleasurable," Castiel continued, his voice a low purr.
Dean reached up and pulled Castiel down, seizing on his lips and kissing him hard, gasping slightly at every deeper pressure Cas exerted inside him.
"No arguments here," Dean said positively, and groaned as Castiel pulled his fingers away.
"Then..." Castiel said slowly, pushing Dean's thighs apart, his eyebrow quirked.
Dean reached out to him and pressed Castiel's hand to the brand on his shoulder, shuddering in sympathy when he saw Castiel shiver like he had a moment before.
"More," Dean demanded. "You gave it to me, so let's take it out for a spin." Castiel's cock nudged at him just once, and then split him open, filled the ache inside him, the pressure on his sensitive gland making him yell out Castiel's name.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Torchwood, team, the most epic snowball fight that the world had never seen.
Epic - Torchwood, team, PG
It was Epic in every sense of the word. The Rift had opened up and spewed out a snowstorm from the Ice Age, blanketing Cardiff in eight feet of snow in a day. Jack, having spent a few years on an ice planet, insisted in dragging the whole team out of the Hub to enjoy it. With the whole city covered in snow, there was no place they couldn't go. Even running on rooftops was easy, with the snow packed down to make a ramp.
No one was sure who had thrown the first snowball, but after the first volley, it really didn't matter. Tosh had the foresight to bring up some piece of alien tech that could levitate small objects. Gwen was happy to put her relatively new marksmanship skills to the test against their fearless leader. Owen knew exactly where to toss his own snowballs for maximum effect. And Ianto was there with hot tea after half the snow in the city had been thrown, made into forts, fallen into, or ended up on the team's clothes.
By far, it was the best secret they ever had to keep.
Any, Any, Joker vs. Thief
All Along The Watchtower - Firefly, Wash and Saffron, PG-13
Inspired by Bear McCreary's version of All Along The Watchtower (music), Lyrics
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"There must be some way outta here," Wash muttered to himself, peering through the small windows of the spare shuttle.
"I greatly doubt it," Saffron said scathingly.
"It's just so... confusing."
"You'd think soup was confusing."
"I can't get any relief from these lights-." Wash went uncharacteristically silent as he piloted the shuttle through the wreckage of the dead space station, ducking and swerving under old walkways, and what used to be docking stations and entertainment kiosks. Intermittent lights confused the shadows, making what was once a way out into a dead end, twisting the corridors and opening up new avenues to explore.
"Look at all of this," Saffron murmured, as Wash had to slow down to figure out which way to go to get back to Serenity. "Hydroponics," she pointed at the ruptured water tanks, then at remnants of glossy wood and mirror-glass bottles, "Good taverns... these people had no idea what this was all worth. We're going to make a fortune off this stuff."
"Well, be that as it may, I'm a little bit more interested in finding Zoe again before our air runs out again," Wash said loudly. "We were supposed to be back a long time ago."
"There's no need to get excited," Saffron said calmly. "We found the extender tanks. We're fine."
Wash flipped the shuttle around a corner, ducking under a beam, searching fruitlessly for some glimpse of blackness and stars instead of lights, animated signs, and twisted metal and plastic.
"There are a lot of people, including your captain, who thinks life is just a joke. He lost the war, and now he's just hanging around, waiting for the big cosmic punch line. But you and I? We've been through this, and that's not our fate, is it? We're not just going to drift through life all angry and bitter, are we?"
"Generally I prefer to leave my bitterness somewhere on the dining table whenever someone makes Jayne cook," Wash said nervously, flicking his eyes up to catch Saffron's reflection in the window.
"Let's not tell each other lies, then. It's getting kind of late in the day for that," Saffron said quietly.
Wash snorted in laughter. "Uh, first time you met us, you lied about everything, and I have the headwound to remind me."
Saffron leaned forward, one hand on the back of Wash's chair, the other on the metal of the console, her silk-clad chest pressing into his arm.
"Look up," she said insistently. "There, those are the watchtowers. Those were the security stations. And they're pristine. Perfect. No one tried to take them out before the station was destroyed. They were letting anyone in. Probably this place had its share of unsavory trades. Slaves, most likely, on this end of space. Someone didn't like that."
Over the comm came a noise like a growl, standing out against the background static. Saffron suddenly stood up straight and folded her arms across her chest, going pale.
"And they wouldn't want anyone to know about it either," Wash said slowly, eyeing the silent, perfect sentinels. His sensors began to cheep at him, and he squinted to see two small signatures, scout ships probably, coming within range.
"Outriders," Saffron whispered, her voice trembling.
"Mal would have noticed them... He'd go to the opposite side to hide," Wash said, heart starting to pound as his eyes darted around the maze in which they were entangled.
"Do you trust me to save us?" Saffron asked urgently, her face almost white now as the lights flickered across her skin.
Wash barely hesitated. Saffron was excellent at getting herself out of any situation alive. And she needed him to get back to Zoe if she were to escape. He nodded.
"Follow the watchtowers, they'll lead you out. And gun the engines," Saffron whispered. Wash looked up at the towers again, seeing the sleek slopes of metal that connected them to the station. The vibrations would snap them off, creating chaos in their wake.
Wash spun the shuttle to point up and piled on the power, racing along the watchtowers. A silent howl pierced the stressed metal, making a wind, a gale of metal that fanned out behind them. The station writhed and howled with it as Wash and Saffron skimmed the edges of the wave, riding it all the way home.