Various ficlets
so, evidently muscle relaxers make me want to write vague disjointed things. so, here are three four ficlets (and yes, they are actually ficlets - about 200 words each)and none are pornish.
WaT
Danny had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. All the usual things, sunsets, the lush colors of Florida, ranging from the deep greens to the cool cool pinks, the absolute pristine whiteness of those first few snowflakes dusting down on the trees in Central Park. Beautiful. Beautiful women, beautiful men. Lots of beauty. But he’d never seen anything that made his breath catch like Martin.
He was standing in front of the mirror, eyes still heavy lidded, prickle of beard stubble on his cheeks. There was a crease along the skin of his back where the sheet had gotten rumpled up beneath him, the mark red against his pale skin. His body was still half-wet from the shower, and it made Danny smile. Martin was so meticulous about some things, but he never took the time to dry off. He’d make a couple of desultory swipes with the towel and then wrap it around his waist, oblivious to the trail of water drops that he left across the bathroom floor.
Martin’s eyes met his as he crossed those last few steps to stand behind the other man. Martin’s eyes widening, impossibly blue. The pale pink of a blush climbing his cheeks, and that made Danny grin even more. Because no matter how many times he was with Martin, no matter how many times they lay tangled up together, touching and tasting, Martin still blushed. Beautiful.
SGA
There was something to be said for training with Ronon. The feel of those large hands gripping his body, twisting it into all sorts of uncomfortable positions until Rodney cried out. Impossibly long legs locking around his hips as they wrestled on the floor, until Rodney was pinned underneath, his face pressed into the open vee of Ronon’s shirt. Smell of sweat, and spice, and something primitive, that smell that seemed to cling to Rodney until he could wash it from his skin. Rodney’s cock would inevitably go hard, pressing against his pants, pressing against whatever part of Ronon happened to be in the vicinity. Ronon would just grunt and shift until his own cock returned the favor.
He really did enjoy those training sessions with Ronon, even though he would never admit it. Rodney always left those sessions will cheeks flushed from more than just exercise. He would head back to his room, eager to strip off his clothes and take things in hand, so to speak. But the best part of those training sessions, the part that Rodney liked to remember when he wrapped his hand around his cock and fucked his own hand, was the way Colonel Sheppard looked when he watched them. The Colonel’s body would go rigid, all that natural grace evaporating, hand pushing back through rumpled hair while he stared at Rodney with the same expression he usually reserved for the puddlejumper or a nice turkey sandwich.
Lost
Jack missed running for pleasure. Missed the feeling of eating up the earth with his feet, leaving everything else behind. Before the island he favored long slow runs that made his body come awake slowly, getting a little bit faster with each mile. He missed that rush of adrenaline that spiked through him when he pushed himself that last half-mile sprint, until his face was red, body dripping with sweat, heart pounding like it could beat right out of his chest. He did a lot of running on the island, but none of it was for pleasure. It was running for life, or running from death, but none of it running for pleasure.
Some mornings, when things were quiet, and no crisis had kept him up all night, he would sneak down to the beach and kick off his shoes. He’d stand there, toes buried in the sand, and watch the sun break over the ocean. Those were the mornings when he’d remember running for pleasure. Then he’d hear that drawl and a lazy hand would snake across his back and he’d remember that the island offered other pleasures. Things that made him feel that same rush of adrenaline and left his body dripping with sweat and his heart beating out of his chest and he wouldn't miss running quite so much.
ETA WaT Ficlet for aesc who wanted something combining Martin's obsession with food with his obsession with Danny
WaT
He didn’t miss ice cream. It was one of those things that he could take or leave. He’d eaten it as a kid, still did on occasion after he had carefully dosed himself with Lactaid. The craving for ice cream never woke him up at night, never made him feel a pang of longing or curse the fates that made him lactose intolerant. There were plenty of other things that he missed a lot more than ice cream. Cheese, for one.
Unfortuntately, watching Danny devour an ice cream cone while making what could only be described as orgasmic noises had moved ice cream right to the top of his list of most-wanted foods. Watching Danny lick along the edge where ice cream met cone, his tongue making swirling motions, sticky drops of melted vanilla sliding down to coat his fingers, made Martin view ice cream in a whole different light.
WaT
Danny had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. All the usual things, sunsets, the lush colors of Florida, ranging from the deep greens to the cool cool pinks, the absolute pristine whiteness of those first few snowflakes dusting down on the trees in Central Park. Beautiful. Beautiful women, beautiful men. Lots of beauty. But he’d never seen anything that made his breath catch like Martin.
He was standing in front of the mirror, eyes still heavy lidded, prickle of beard stubble on his cheeks. There was a crease along the skin of his back where the sheet had gotten rumpled up beneath him, the mark red against his pale skin. His body was still half-wet from the shower, and it made Danny smile. Martin was so meticulous about some things, but he never took the time to dry off. He’d make a couple of desultory swipes with the towel and then wrap it around his waist, oblivious to the trail of water drops that he left across the bathroom floor.
Martin’s eyes met his as he crossed those last few steps to stand behind the other man. Martin’s eyes widening, impossibly blue. The pale pink of a blush climbing his cheeks, and that made Danny grin even more. Because no matter how many times he was with Martin, no matter how many times they lay tangled up together, touching and tasting, Martin still blushed. Beautiful.
SGA
There was something to be said for training with Ronon. The feel of those large hands gripping his body, twisting it into all sorts of uncomfortable positions until Rodney cried out. Impossibly long legs locking around his hips as they wrestled on the floor, until Rodney was pinned underneath, his face pressed into the open vee of Ronon’s shirt. Smell of sweat, and spice, and something primitive, that smell that seemed to cling to Rodney until he could wash it from his skin. Rodney’s cock would inevitably go hard, pressing against his pants, pressing against whatever part of Ronon happened to be in the vicinity. Ronon would just grunt and shift until his own cock returned the favor.
He really did enjoy those training sessions with Ronon, even though he would never admit it. Rodney always left those sessions will cheeks flushed from more than just exercise. He would head back to his room, eager to strip off his clothes and take things in hand, so to speak. But the best part of those training sessions, the part that Rodney liked to remember when he wrapped his hand around his cock and fucked his own hand, was the way Colonel Sheppard looked when he watched them. The Colonel’s body would go rigid, all that natural grace evaporating, hand pushing back through rumpled hair while he stared at Rodney with the same expression he usually reserved for the puddlejumper or a nice turkey sandwich.
Lost
Jack missed running for pleasure. Missed the feeling of eating up the earth with his feet, leaving everything else behind. Before the island he favored long slow runs that made his body come awake slowly, getting a little bit faster with each mile. He missed that rush of adrenaline that spiked through him when he pushed himself that last half-mile sprint, until his face was red, body dripping with sweat, heart pounding like it could beat right out of his chest. He did a lot of running on the island, but none of it was for pleasure. It was running for life, or running from death, but none of it running for pleasure.
Some mornings, when things were quiet, and no crisis had kept him up all night, he would sneak down to the beach and kick off his shoes. He’d stand there, toes buried in the sand, and watch the sun break over the ocean. Those were the mornings when he’d remember running for pleasure. Then he’d hear that drawl and a lazy hand would snake across his back and he’d remember that the island offered other pleasures. Things that made him feel that same rush of adrenaline and left his body dripping with sweat and his heart beating out of his chest and he wouldn't miss running quite so much.
ETA WaT Ficlet for aesc who wanted something combining Martin's obsession with food with his obsession with Danny
WaT
He didn’t miss ice cream. It was one of those things that he could take or leave. He’d eaten it as a kid, still did on occasion after he had carefully dosed himself with Lactaid. The craving for ice cream never woke him up at night, never made him feel a pang of longing or curse the fates that made him lactose intolerant. There were plenty of other things that he missed a lot more than ice cream. Cheese, for one.
Unfortuntately, watching Danny devour an ice cream cone while making what could only be described as orgasmic noises had moved ice cream right to the top of his list of most-wanted foods. Watching Danny lick along the edge where ice cream met cone, his tongue making swirling motions, sticky drops of melted vanilla sliding down to coat his fingers, made Martin view ice cream in a whole different light.