30 second ficlets
It was such a blast to write my one-sentence ficlets for those of you who were sweet enough to give me a prompt and a pairing the other night. You rock me to the core, you do!
I wanted to take them out of the comments and put them together, so now they are behind the cut nice and neat-like.
And if you missed this little meme, or even want to prompt me up some more, the offer's still open, and my pen is still smokin' hot.
*lures you*
Bones
For thatotherperv:
Booth/Zach
The force of the light, glancing touch bows Zach hard over the stainless steel table where the closest thing to love is reassembly; the ghost of lips on his throat tingles, burn-like, and must be something like love or reconnection -- or else Booth never would have dared.
For killerweasel:
Jack/Angela, after leaving the church
"Back seat works for me," Jack purrs, lifting layers of satin and silk shantung that will never be smoother than the plain of dewy flesh on the inside of Angela's thighs, or as exquisite as the moist ribbon of tendon behind her left knee, or as precious as the smile she beams as he unlatches the hook on her garter belt with two agile fingers, loosening one ludicrously expensive lace stocking to puddle around her ankle, spent.
For spikendru:
Zach/Andrew, spam
"Hodgins calls this a pornado," Zach notes, and even though he's struggling to listen to Andrew's elaborate and multifaceted definition of spam, all he really wants to do is reach for his credit card and order the double-ended jelly dildo so they can both bottom together, just once.
For makd:
Seeley/Cam, heat wave
Angela/Cordy, Cape Cod
1) A bead of perspiration rolls diamond bright from beneath the line of crimson spandex at the smooth cusp of Cam's thigh, leaving Booth no choice but to swipe a spatulate fingertip through that tiny river of temptation, lift it to his lips, and taste.
2) Her mouth is hotter than the dunes, sharper than seagrass, briny and sweet and mysterious, and it suddenly doesn't matter to Cordy how she got here, or why she's letting this wild boho chick turn her around like this, toss her identity like a smashed-up dinghy in the middle of the perfect storm, because all she wants is more.
For beadattitude:
Booth, Hodgins, pool
"You're a hairy bastard," and it's out of Booth's mouth before he can suffocate it, but Hodgins doesn't seem that offended.
For carmen_sandiego
Brennan, tea, linen nightie
1) The challenges are too much to take on some days and not enough to sustain her on others, but she tries not to dwell on the maddening inconsistencies in her recent life, preferring instead to curve over her cup of lapsang souchong, and breathe.
2) "He bought it in Galway and gave it to me as a wedding present, but I just... here..." Angela sighed, pushing the slightly stiff woven packet into Brennan's outstretched palms and turning away before the tears could splash free, staining the nightie she couldn't quite bear to part with -- or to wear.
For tabaqui:
Brennan & Booth friendship, rabbit
He watches silently as Brennan frames her newest set of flea market woodcuts; he's heard one exhaustive lecture on Albrecht Dürer and his influence on printmaking already today, and as much as he'd like to remind her that any crackpot who obsesses over fat rabbits and starving peasants is a cruel asshole, Booth can live without the ensuing repartee.
For forensicgater:
Booth/Hodgins, dark chocolate
Brennan/Angela, chocolate chip cookies
1) Booth prefers Hershey’s Kisses over Vahlrona, Bud over a microbrew, a jar of marinara dumped over a plate of spaghetti instead of corzetti alla novese, but when it comes to satisfaction of a more intimate and lasting kind, he prefers Jack, splayed over him and panting, blind to everything and everyone else but him.
2) The miniature chocolate chip lands in Brennan’s mouth before Angela can protest and steal it from her slender fingers, so she leans forward for a semi-sweet kiss that makes her long for how they could be, if they’d only try: the perfect balance of dough and candy, substance and frivolity, mind and heart, timeless.
BtVS/Angel
For cheesygirl:
Wes, Angel, art
Questions dwell unanswered in Wesley's heart, a collection of ravenous, restless ghosts with mixed intentions; there's no choice but to keep them simple as he stands with Angel in the gallery, waiting for the d'Gnesh to reappear, so he asks why Seurat chose the strokes and color he did instead of the one he needs to know: what more can I do to love you?
For beadattitude:
Giles, Buffy, pie, ice cream
1) Peaches and berries burst on his tongue, but it's the cloak of cinnamon sugar that brings him home for a precious moment; home, sweet home -- where California's endless summer fades and bright tins of crumbling butter biscuits ease the longing in his weary heart.
2) Food was joy, once upon a time, when love was a leaf torn from a brand-new notebook, when sunny days melted like Cherry Garcia over sticky, well-licked fingers, when a silver cross burned her desire in his cool, smooth flesh, so very long ago.
For samsom:
Cordy/Angel, crucifix tat
Worship is never sacrilege, not when Angel traces the ghosts of hematite beads with a pointed, fierce tongue, not when he laves the stricken savior as if it’s the memory of his own languidly tortured body etched into her succulent flesh, and certainly not when he scribes his heart’s prayer on serpentine trails of indigo ink: always, forever, mine.
For rivers_bend:
The words appear from a place beyond his grasp, and for once he doesn't stop to think them through or feel their weight or judge their relevance; he just keeps moving the pen across the page and trusting that when the last loop is curved and the final line is drawn, Jenny will read his note, read it, smile, and understand.
For damnskippytoo:
Wesley, Cordy, lips
Wes holds the book in shaking hands, wonderstruck, glimpsing a moment he never imagined he'd witness: Cordy, every trace of sharp indifference gone, dissolved into a soft and luminous smile, her lips pressed lovingly against the baby's tender cheek.
And thanks to everyone who left such divine feedback. Mmmm, good! :D
I wanted to take them out of the comments and put them together, so now they are behind the cut nice and neat-like.
And if you missed this little meme, or even want to prompt me up some more, the offer's still open, and my pen is still smokin' hot.
*lures you*
Bones
For thatotherperv:
Booth/Zach
The force of the light, glancing touch bows Zach hard over the stainless steel table where the closest thing to love is reassembly; the ghost of lips on his throat tingles, burn-like, and must be something like love or reconnection -- or else Booth never would have dared.
For killerweasel:
Jack/Angela, after leaving the church
"Back seat works for me," Jack purrs, lifting layers of satin and silk shantung that will never be smoother than the plain of dewy flesh on the inside of Angela's thighs, or as exquisite as the moist ribbon of tendon behind her left knee, or as precious as the smile she beams as he unlatches the hook on her garter belt with two agile fingers, loosening one ludicrously expensive lace stocking to puddle around her ankle, spent.
For spikendru:
Zach/Andrew, spam
"Hodgins calls this a pornado," Zach notes, and even though he's struggling to listen to Andrew's elaborate and multifaceted definition of spam, all he really wants to do is reach for his credit card and order the double-ended jelly dildo so they can both bottom together, just once.
For makd:
Seeley/Cam, heat wave
Angela/Cordy, Cape Cod
1) A bead of perspiration rolls diamond bright from beneath the line of crimson spandex at the smooth cusp of Cam's thigh, leaving Booth no choice but to swipe a spatulate fingertip through that tiny river of temptation, lift it to his lips, and taste.
2) Her mouth is hotter than the dunes, sharper than seagrass, briny and sweet and mysterious, and it suddenly doesn't matter to Cordy how she got here, or why she's letting this wild boho chick turn her around like this, toss her identity like a smashed-up dinghy in the middle of the perfect storm, because all she wants is more.
For beadattitude:
Booth, Hodgins, pool
"You're a hairy bastard," and it's out of Booth's mouth before he can suffocate it, but Hodgins doesn't seem that offended.
For carmen_sandiego
Brennan, tea, linen nightie
1) The challenges are too much to take on some days and not enough to sustain her on others, but she tries not to dwell on the maddening inconsistencies in her recent life, preferring instead to curve over her cup of lapsang souchong, and breathe.
2) "He bought it in Galway and gave it to me as a wedding present, but I just... here..." Angela sighed, pushing the slightly stiff woven packet into Brennan's outstretched palms and turning away before the tears could splash free, staining the nightie she couldn't quite bear to part with -- or to wear.
For tabaqui:
Brennan & Booth friendship, rabbit
He watches silently as Brennan frames her newest set of flea market woodcuts; he's heard one exhaustive lecture on Albrecht Dürer and his influence on printmaking already today, and as much as he'd like to remind her that any crackpot who obsesses over fat rabbits and starving peasants is a cruel asshole, Booth can live without the ensuing repartee.
For forensicgater:
Booth/Hodgins, dark chocolate
Brennan/Angela, chocolate chip cookies
1) Booth prefers Hershey’s Kisses over Vahlrona, Bud over a microbrew, a jar of marinara dumped over a plate of spaghetti instead of corzetti alla novese, but when it comes to satisfaction of a more intimate and lasting kind, he prefers Jack, splayed over him and panting, blind to everything and everyone else but him.
2) The miniature chocolate chip lands in Brennan’s mouth before Angela can protest and steal it from her slender fingers, so she leans forward for a semi-sweet kiss that makes her long for how they could be, if they’d only try: the perfect balance of dough and candy, substance and frivolity, mind and heart, timeless.
BtVS/Angel
For cheesygirl:
Wes, Angel, art
Questions dwell unanswered in Wesley's heart, a collection of ravenous, restless ghosts with mixed intentions; there's no choice but to keep them simple as he stands with Angel in the gallery, waiting for the d'Gnesh to reappear, so he asks why Seurat chose the strokes and color he did instead of the one he needs to know: what more can I do to love you?
For beadattitude:
Giles, Buffy, pie, ice cream
1) Peaches and berries burst on his tongue, but it's the cloak of cinnamon sugar that brings him home for a precious moment; home, sweet home -- where California's endless summer fades and bright tins of crumbling butter biscuits ease the longing in his weary heart.
2) Food was joy, once upon a time, when love was a leaf torn from a brand-new notebook, when sunny days melted like Cherry Garcia over sticky, well-licked fingers, when a silver cross burned her desire in his cool, smooth flesh, so very long ago.
For samsom:
Cordy/Angel, crucifix tat
Worship is never sacrilege, not when Angel traces the ghosts of hematite beads with a pointed, fierce tongue, not when he laves the stricken savior as if it’s the memory of his own languidly tortured body etched into her succulent flesh, and certainly not when he scribes his heart’s prayer on serpentine trails of indigo ink: always, forever, mine.
For rivers_bend:
The words appear from a place beyond his grasp, and for once he doesn't stop to think them through or feel their weight or judge their relevance; he just keeps moving the pen across the page and trusting that when the last loop is curved and the final line is drawn, Jenny will read his note, read it, smile, and understand.
For damnskippytoo:
Wesley, Cordy, lips
Wes holds the book in shaking hands, wonderstruck, glimpsing a moment he never imagined he'd witness: Cordy, every trace of sharp indifference gone, dissolved into a soft and luminous smile, her lips pressed lovingly against the baby's tender cheek.
And thanks to everyone who left such divine feedback. Mmmm, good! :D